Aardvark -- Treasured
"A creature is the sum of its parts. Be judged by them."
The Book of All
Darkness blanketed the great stone city of Cestmielef. Lanterns lining the streets were dimmed hours ago by hired street pups paid a copper for their time, so now their light only cast a small bubble of glow around their bases. High above them, amid the architecture of upper-class homes, shadows shifted in the wild freedom that lay between the blackness of the rooftops and a starry sky above. Within those thick shadows, Marc pierced the side of a spiraling tower with his long aardvark claws, keeping his vulpine body flush against the stonework to better aid in his camouflage, counting on the blended raccoon and striped-hyena patterns of his pelt to complete the illusion. He needed no clothing; he'd been born in the perfect attire. Inching sideways, his toes scraped along a thin ledge that served as decoration around the tower by day and his footrest for the moment.
Despite his years of experience, Marc hated this part. The slinking and hiding in the dark, often teetering above perilous drops, all because he'd been born representing species whose station in life could go no higher than a thief or smuggler. Although he hated it, he couldn't deny how well-designed his genetics were to make a spectacular thief.
Stupid book! His chest thrummed as a breeze ruffled through his fur. The subtle pull downward as the wind brushed past him momentarily reminded him of gravity's tug. His stomach lurched, and he dug his claws in deeper to reaffirm his grip. Why is some ancient set of rules controlling my life? Why does it have to be right all the time?
A look upward told him he still had a long way to go. But he had more to worry about than the climb ahead.
Marc's long aardvark ears were ideally shaped to pick up distant sounds, and fortunately, his senses were those of a heightened carnivore instead of an insect-loving orycteropodian, so he caught the sound of two guards clanking toward him. Holding his breath, he froze while they passed below his hiding spot. With a high price on his head, chances were slim he'd get away with tonight's caper if they heard him.
With the paw closest to his chest, he thumbed his magic necklace (the only item he ever needed to wear), hoping its power would protect him tonight. The rough aardvark skin of his ancient ancestor slowed his racing pulse and calmed his nerves. My aardvark blood beats it's magic through me. I am diligent and fearless. Diligent and fearless. He repeated his mantra a few more times, reaffirming his decision to undertake such a crazy assignment. He probably never would've taken on the job had the client not been so personal. It also helped that tonight he could be near Laleia. His secret love.
Patrolling guards chatted not far off, their mumbled, unconcerned voices and the rhythmic clang of their steps filtered to his ears. They hadn't a clue that he clutched to their master's wall, sneaking his way toward the daughter's window. They couldn't see him; he blended into the blackness of the night. He waited motionless until the shuffled clanking of armor rounded a distant corner.
Able to resume accending the tower, he crept onward. He followed the swooping ledge that sloped and curled round the cylindrical building. All he had to do was step into the window at the top, but, like spiraling an alicorn, Marc continually found himself retracing the landscape as he slinked around, and eventually upward.
The large moon above traveled a few inches in the sky by the time he finally glanced along the wall, and saw a gentle glow of light radiate from a small balcony window. The warm haze contrasted against the night-drenched city scape below.
Marc moved closer. Beyond this wall, awaited the most beautiful female he'd ever seen, and the boodle he'd been hired to retrieve.
Almost positioned to jump onto the balcony, the curtains rustled, and out stepped Laleia. Marc practically swallowed his tongue from the shock, but managed to keep his composure by chewing his lips. His heart pounded. He dared not move an inch, just clutch the wall, and mentally recite his mantra while he ogled her.
Dressed in gossamer silks draped across her curvaceous feline frame, she leaned her thick hip against the balcony's ledge. The fabric parted, revealing black tigrine stripes on top of golden fur, like a leopard with the wrong pattern. The way she rested her hip against the wall bunched the muscle into a delicious bulge and rippled her wavy markings. A hairbrush in her exotically striped paw, she ran the bristled brush around branched horns, in between conical kangaroo ears, and through long, wavy black hair. While she stared out at the darkened cityscape, her long tail slipped over the wall as if she were lounging in a rowboat, trailing her tail in the water's wake, instead of overlooking a city. She swished her tail back and forth, the large rounded end getting dangerously close to whapping him in the nose. But the new angle afforded him a rare opportunity to see the reddish outline around her striped fur.
Her motions wafted forest wildflowers sweetened by notes of orange blossoms to his nose. The same perfume that had lured him the first day he ever saw her. She smelled like freedom, like an open landscape waiting to be explored.
His crotch twitched at the thought, but he remained motionless while Leleia stood a mere paw's length away.
Still seemingly unaware of his presence, Leleia tossed her head to the side while brushing different sections of hair. In profile she displayed the sloping muzzle of a jaguar, and with her hair pulled out of the way, Marc could see the soft black feathers around her ears that marked her tainted avian bloodline.
Marc looked down at his wrists, where he'd shorn and plucked the feathers that branded him a crow. Most who sprouted feathers in Cestmelief hid them, but not Leleia. She proudly sported the long tendril feathers of the birds of paradise, and let them grow long enough to form teardrops at the ends. Black teardrops with shimmering blue centers that trailed from the corners of her ears -- they marked her untrustworthy, as all avians were in Cestmelief. Their history of deceit had been recorded in the Book of All, and not even a prestigious lineage of the birds of paradise could change that. Her refusal to hide her avian side was why her father kept her locked away, out of sight, only showing her off for politically social events.
No matter what the king wishes, he couldn't prevent that juicy rumor from spreading around the city like wildfire. Gazing up at Leleia, Marc tried to take in every line, every curve, emblazoning them into his mind. Never know when I'll get another chance to see her this close.
Once she'd finished with her hair, tossing her curls over her shoulder, she slid from the wall, her tail trailing behind her. She retreated inside, taking her delicious sent of blossoms with her.
Marc let out the breath he'd been holding in. It'd been full of her smell, and he ached for another whiff. He waited with one clawed hand inches from the balcony ledge, listening while she undressed and retreated farther into her rooms, turning on a distant shower.
Of course the richest family in the entire city has showers. He shook off jealousy's tight grip. He refuse to harbor negative feelings toward Leleia. She deserved none of it. It's not her fault that my family was born poor. She's just as much a victim of circumstance as I am. Marc knew she never asked to be born branded a treacherous avian who'd never be given the right to rule in Cestmelief. She had no control over her mother's lies about her heritage, or her mother's death which prevented the queen from ever defending herself against the king's accusations of her tainted line. The way Kingy behaves, I wouldn't be surprised if he were the one with the tainted blood.
With Leleia far beyond earshot, Marc let out a sigh as he pressed himself into the corner between the ledge and the balcony, where it'd be easiest to climb over. Poor girl can't help her situation any more than I can change mine. In that sense, they were equal.
After a good-luck thumbing of his amulet, Marc slipped over the balcony. He hunched in the shadows, listening to the sounds within the room. Nothing, other than the distant rushing tinkle of water hitting tile.
Keeping to the darkest areas, he crept into the room. The lantern sconces were turned down to a flicker, offering quite a selection of shadows. Once he'd crossed to her bed, he rested his back against the cold, metal hope-chest at the foot. From there, he caught an eyeful of the jewels on her dresser. Despite the low light, every bijou and baguette glittered all spectrums of color under the glow of the sconce above them. Salivating at the sight of all those priceless gems, his head spun in a momentary swirl of greed.
He shook it off with a fierce headshake. Not yet. I still have time. He glanced toward the bathroom. There's a few minutes to spare for a quick peak. Unconcerned, he turned his attentions to the brightest light beyond her bedroom, where wisps of steam curled around an open archway.
The closer he crept, the fall of water grew louder, and the warmth from the humidity ruffled his short fur. Beyond that, he picked up a softer sound -- barely audible at first, but with his back against the wall and large ears pointing in her direction, it was unmistakable.
A stuttering heave, a sniffle, a sigh in between falling water. He heard her crying.
His heart ached to leap from his hiding spot and hold her naked body in his arms. Let her wet fur squish against him. Yet he knew it wouldn't play out the way his fantasies hoped, so he remained obscured.
Almost as sudden as he heard the sound, her shuddering heave of falling tears petered to a stop, overpowered by the constant rush of water. Curious, Marc peaked his head into the small bathroom. The sheer curtain did nothing to hide Leleia's wet figure, only slightly distort it. The folds in the fabric wavered her stripes even while she stood motionless. Still, he could see her. Beautiful breasts curving upward, covered in short pale fur turned cream now that she was wet, with outlines of fluff curling around dark nipples. Nipples that begged for him to suck. The curve of her ass, molded at the perfect angle so that when she cocked her hip, the water cascaded off the edge like a waterfall.
He was staring at that ass when the water switched off.
Ducking back into the shadows, his heart hammered in his chest. Shit! I shouldn't have been staring so long. I still have a job to do.
When Leleia pulled back the curtain and stepped from the shower, Marc's cock sprang to life. He cupped his paw over his pink flesh, fearing its starkness might give him away.
Out of the corner of his eye he gazed at her. Dripping wet, she possessed just as much beauty as she did dry.
She walked toward him, towel in hand, but her almond cat-eyes looked elsewhere. Using the towel to dry herself until her fur clumped into soft peaks, she returned it to its hook, and strode naked into her bedroom.
Marc held back a jump when she walked past. So close he could smell the jasmine soap she used for her shower -- her wet tail even flicked a few droplets of water onto his eyelashes, and she still smelled of citrus flowers. Something in her natural scent, perhaps.
Oblivious to his presence, she crossed the room to her dresser.
Marc took the chance to dive under her bed. He'd have to wait until she fell asleep before he could get what he came for.
Safe but trapped, he listened to her clack around the room, puffing out lanterns and humming to herself. The tune, foreign to his ears, must have come from her mother's servants. Once the room darkened, save for the glow around her night stand, her dainty, black hoof-toes crossed to the side of the bed. After rapping individual toes against the wood floor, she lifted herself onto the thick mattress.
Above him, the old wooden frame shuttered as she settled. Fluffing pillows, and yawning, before she let out a squeaky moan.
Such a cute sound. He repressed the urge to laugh, and instead expressed a wide smile that pulled his cheek muscles so tight his ears felt the pinch.
She puffed out the last light by her bedside, and the room fell into complete darkness save for the distant glow of the moon outside.
Lost as to how long it might take her to fall asleep, Marc had no choice but to wait. After nearly getting caught, his heart still thundered in his chest, and adrenaline made his skin tingle so much his fur stood on end. It took every effort not to heave in his breaths.
Knowing Leleia rested a few feet above him, Marc couldn't stave off the giddy excitement that quickly replaced his meager fear. His cock pulsed, reminding him of how she looked dripping wet from her lavish shower. If I'm quiet, I might get a bit of relief while I wait.
With his eyes glued to where he assumed Leleia lay, he inched his paw up to his mouth. Licking his soft palm-pads, he crept his paw back down to his crotch, and gripped his dick.
Envisioning her with sprays of water hitting her face, liquid trailed lines down her fur, adding their own striping of wet fur amid dry, until her entire body tinged dark with wetness. He entertained the image of her delicate fingers trailing over her body, helping water reach the crevices her showerhead couldn't touch alone. He fantasized about her perfect body jiggling beneath the water, tossing spray all around the tile of her shower. Beautiful, exquisite, even pressed against the wet walls, staring back at him, while he parted her pussy with his thick cock.
Just as Marc began to get really into his fantasies, he heard a rustling of sheets above him and a soft feminine moan.
He froze. Stretching his ears in the location he'd heard the sound, he strained, searching to identify it.
The moan rumbled, this time with an unmistakable feline purr. Leleia's motions shuddered the wooden frame.
His heart leapt, sending the sensation into his throat. Is she really . . . masturbating with me?
Her happy gasp confirmed it.
Thinking of her above him, pleasuring herself, made his penis throb. He tightened his grip, imagining himself slipping into her warm depths.
She groaned softly, muffled as if she hid her face beneath a pillow.
Yeah, you wouldn't want your daddy to hear you, baby. He envisioned how she looked in the moonlight, trying to hide her pleasure-filled cries. Thinking about how her breasts would bounce with each thrust, and how tight she'd grip him, made his balls jump. He hung on every sigh and squeal she made above him, punctuating his fantasy of her taking him with her sounds of delight.
She made the best noises, and the wooden bed frame translated every movement, letting Marc know whenever she hit a sensitive spot. She wanted to come. Her needy moans told him as much.
Encouraged, his cock ached for release, but he wanted to hear how far she'd go. Marc needed to hear her finish. His paw continued stroking, each pump driving him further beyond the point of no return. A trail of pre dripped from his tip, but he held back. I was ready before I got here. I can wait for you.
When her gasps and moans became rapid, Marc could almost sense her building climax. The moment she let out a sharp, but pillow muffled, cat-like screech, Marc let his own orgasm go -- repressing his own cries. A blast of come hit her mattress, then another, and one last splurt that left his balls tingling.
Giving a mental sigh, he released his dick, all tension from the evening's events now a distant memory. It didn't even bother him to face the climb back down her tower. The time he spent here had been well worth the effort.
Still, a job needed finishing, and Marc wasn't about to leave empty pawed. Even if it took her all night to fall asleep, he would stay until he completed his task. Though he doubted it would take that long.
Marc listened to her shift positions. A few moments passed before her slow steady breathing filtered to his ears. I love how a good orgasm can get a female to pass out in no time. After rolling onto his stomach, he inched his way from under her bed.
Along the floor, he crept toward the dresser decorated with her jewelry. With his goal before him, he could finaly do what he came here for. Carefully, he picked over each item that he wasn't interested in, remembering its exact location. It didn't take long to find the specific piece described to him. A large, black pearl ring, gold twisted around the gem in an elegant setting accented by three smoky diamonds:
Leleia's father commissioned it from a jeweler in town, but the bastard refused to pay the promised price for it. Probably didn't think his traitor-blooded daughter was worth the money to actually pay for a present. Instead he hired some petty thief to rob the jeweler. The hack even stabbed the owner, Marc's childhood friend, when he tried to defend himself. That wannabe won't be stabbing anyone again, thanks to me.
He slipped the ring into a bag, gripping the top between his teeth. He thumbed his amulet again for another dose of luck. Afterward he returned all the jewels to their former location and turned from them. I won't steal from her yet. I don't know what the histories of these jewels are. I couldn't bare to steal an important gift of hers. Not unless I have something to replace it with.
Silently, he crossed the room, and neared the balcony window. Her sleeping face lay in the perfect position so that the moon could highlight the small jaguar spots there. He watched her for a second, her chest slowly rising and falling beneath her blankets. Resolute, he pushed his feelings aside and slipped out of the room.
One day I'll have a fortune, and run away with you to the places where they gathered the flowers that make you smell like freedom. He didn't want to look back, to be reminded of how close he'd been to her, but the irresistible temptation taunted him. Maybe I could be the answer to the reason you cry. Giving in, he cast a quick glance over his shoulder while he edged toward the balcony. He hoped so. He would love to give her the happiness she so rightly deserved. Maybe she might be the type of daughter looking to defy her father. For now, he could only dream. But he knew for certain that this was only one step in his love affair with Leleia, his forgotten princess, his treasure.
After a final look at her sleeping form, Marc slipped over the balcony, and back into his world of darkness, rooftops, and danger. Tonight a debt had been repaid. He, a brilliant thief, dealt justice to an unworthy King. And he got his rocks off. All in all a perfect night.
According to the book I'm using for this project, in Africa aardvarks are revered for their diligence at finding food, and fearlessness when facing soldier ants. Also, Hausa magicians make a charm out of body parts of the aardvark. When worn on the chest it's supposed to give the owner power to pass through walls or roofs. The charm is sought after by burglars and those seeking to see women without their father's permission.
A big thanks to Orange04's awesome hybrid artwork, for helping me visualize cool looking hybrids.
This was originally written with humans, but I really wanted to bring out the furry in it. If you're interested in the original, feel free to click this link to view it on my FA page.