This is a short work of erotic fiction containing furry, or anthropomorphic, characters, which are animals that either demonstrate human intelligence or walk on two legs, for the purposes of these tales. It is a thriving and growing fandom in which creators are prevalent in art and writing especially.
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Ch. 06
Testing the Goods
"Oh, Donnie, Donnie, Donnie... Would you look at what I've done?"
And, truly, it was impressive what a few short years could accomplish -- all thanks to the plans that Donnie had, of course, filched neatly from Jaunt's system when he'd been busying himself with leeching what information he needed to get the authorities involved. Involving the law or, at least, setting someone up to fall into their path was risky enough but they'd had more than enough time to ensure that their tracks were good and covered (not that he made any sort of habit out of leaving a trail) while enjoying themselves a little behind Jaunt's desk too. Donnie swallowed minutely, Adam's apple bobbing, eyes fixed on the pile of drugs, ready to go through sorting and testing and then, undoubtedly, out to their distribution chain, the men on the ground who would do the dirty work that they, surely, were far, far above. It was easier, after all, to stay out of the line of fire.
Crystal meth. Simple and, yet, intrinsically beautiful. The underground room just outside the bounds of the city in a warehouse building that all records and people passing by only knew as for storage (and would find it storing perfectly asinine items too) and the perfect place to hide what they would have to send out onto the straights. Jaunt's plans had, truly, been extensive even if he didn't have the right head on his shoulders to actually head off out and distribute it, too hasty and angry and altogether rushed in an operation that should have remained more covert than it had. No, the fallen tech giant had gone into shame and disrepute, on the run where there were only rumours of where he was with the law hot on his tail. Either way, John and Donnie wouldn't be having any further trouble for him again -- not with just how effectively they had, step by step, dismantled his operation and lifted the plans he'd thought would take him into a new age of greed and wealth.
John smirked, one eyebrow cocked. It was funny how the tables turned. So funny, in fact, that he just about felt like another drink to celebrate, despite Jaunt's downfall being quite some time ago now. There never needed to be any big reason for a celebration though when his whole life was a celebration.
Clearing his throat quietly but deliberately (all that he needed to do), Donnie shook his head and rapped a pen against his clipboard. Maybe some would have found it funny that the pen in question was nothing more than a cheap biro but something fancier would have felt out of place amongst piles and piles of illegal drugs. Better to stick to the hard and fast, the tried and tested, when it came right down to it. And a dirty, cheap biro was just the ticket for a seedy sort of job that made his skin tingle and crawl in a peculiar mixture of disgust and anticipation.
"All that you've done?" Donnie snorted and shook his head, although he eyed John speculatively out of the corner of his eye, watching but not actively looking. "I think you're forgetting a key component of the operation."
And his brother smirked all the more widely, tapping a finger against the side of his nose. As alike as they were different, John's more confident and powerful stature, despite his slim build, came with black hair that he had dictated be trimmed back to his shoulders with the coming of the warmer months. It was hardly something that bothered him all that much (maintaining any style, really, was a waste of time and he'd rather have someone else to take care of all of that crap for him) but Donnie had had to make just a few little quips about how he didn't have as much hair to yank and pull during...well... They did not make a secret between themselves of the things they got up to behind closed doors and sometimes even out in public but not all that many would have paired Donnie's slighter and more delicate build, lithe like a weasel, with John, thinking them brothers from the get-go. It helped a little that Donnie had brown hair, taking after their mother rather than their father, like Charles and John both did, but they were different enough in their styles and attitudes to, at least, not pass for brothers when out in public.
The undercurrent of sexual tension was always there, however, and it truly was a miracle in itself that they had managed to keep things quiet and under wraps for so long. Being in the background of the operation, even when it had ratcheted up several steep notches all at once, had helped at least some, but neither of them were really ones to put themselves in the limelight, even when they wanted the praise and wealth to flow their way. Sure, John was more susceptible to dramatics and a show than Donnie was but even he was too lazy to really mess up all that badly: at least one mistake of Jaunt's that John with the arrogant tilt to his head was sure to avoid like the plague.
So, he could learn. Yet his eyes still roamed with a hungry lust behind them, greed coming in many forms. It was not, after all, merely for the chasing down of a high that could come or go intermittently as it pleased or even the money ramping up in many of his well-protected offshore bank accounts (arranged by Donnie, of course, who knew the ins and outs of that better than him) but the lust for another human being and, truth be told, few had taken his fancy in the time since Jaunt's downfall. It was a good thing that Donnie was there to satisfy them, a strange power play existing between them where John was, of course, always the one on top. That was where he thought he should be and, although Donnie may have pushed his luck when John was under the influence of even their own product from time to time, it had all come back around to him being the one on the floor, getting pounded in the ass or the mouth: either was good.
John, however, was not privy to Donnie's train of thought, imagining still that he was the centre of attention. Why, after all, should anyone not pay him the attention that he was due? It went without saying to such an extent that the thought simply did not even cross his mind and he stood in the very centre of the room surveying what he had created, the dull, grey walls and stacked boxes not truly paying homage to the empire of the resurrected.
"How's it feel to be second hand to the king then, Donnie?" John laughed, turning in a circle with his arms flung wide, the windowless room containing a solid portion of his so-called kingdom. "All this... On top where we should be. Of course, I'm the head, but I'll still keep you along, if only to hold my clipboard."
It was a taunt at best but Donnie had heard it all before and, well, there had to be a line between what was cruel and what was purely brotherly jest. Not even blinking, he gave John a carefully calculated look that conveyed just the right amount of polite confusion that was required, sealing his humour away behind the mask. If John really did believe that, maybe he'd have to take off for a while to see just how well (or not, most likely) he did on his own, but he didn't think that he'd like to see what he'd worked so many hours on crumble in the hands of an oaf.
Not that he would call John an oaf though. That may result in...certain things happening that may very well make it all worth the pain and the soreness that would come with the sinful pleasure.
When he did not get the response he wanted, John frowned and shook his head slowly, eyes half-lidded.
"Small Donnie... Has the cat got your tongue? Or perhaps the burglar ran away with it in the night?"
"Are you high or something?" Donnie shot back, lips pressed together. "Coming out with things like that, I'll start thinking you've gotten into the product. And we won't make money if it's not sold."
He stated it plainly, just as a fact. It needed to be nothing more than that, in all honesty, and got the point across to John who smoothed his hair back into place with the flat of his hand, his usual little smile on his face as if he knew that he could not be bested. Maybe the day would come where he was pushed off his own, self-made pedestal but it had not yet arrived, which was something that only time would tell the truth of.
Yet there was clearly something to be on with as Donnie glanced down at the clipboard, holding only sheets of lined paper. He doubted that John had placed them there himself and had probably instead taken them from an underling. Maybe he'd be looking for his clipboard later. It didn't matter.
"So, what exactly have you dragged me down here to do today?" He said with a small roll of his eyes, only enough that a discerning eye would notice the distaste ringing through his tone and stance alike. "With all going in and out... Well, I have to put it in layman's terms for you, John, just so you will actually understand, but I was up all night working on this."
Not that he minded, of course, being up all night. Anyone who really did know Donnie knew what a night owl he was, doing some of his best work in the wee hours of the morning, even though many could have disagreed with the term 'work' when it came down to criminal activity. It was still a means of acquiring money at the end of the day or even the end of the night, something that funnelled income from the bank accounts of other people, both big and small, to fund their illicit operation.
Well, it wasn't as if the cash was going to come out of their pockets, now, was it?
"Sure thing, Small Donnie, always the busy little bee... But I thought that maybe you could take a break from your hard-done life and sleeping through the day to do a little product testing."
It was Donnie's turn to raise his eyebrows, rocking back on his heels and exhaling sharply.
"The new batch? You know what happened on the last testing."
Of course, with all drugs there was the possibility for side-effects -- other than the intended high, that was. And the memory was all too fresh in Donnie's mind of how one man who they had had to make quietly disappear, wiping all record of him from digital or tangible existence, after he, essentially, 'went crazy'. Maybe he would have come around okay from it in the end but a drug that held an effect on the system for more than a few hours, well, that was hardly something that one wanted to trifle with if they wanted anything at all good to come of their venture. Meth addicts were into some serious shit and one only had to walk down the streets on the shadier side of town to tell just what effect their self-made empire was having on the world around them -- not that they would have wanted to end up themselves with such sallow and broken skin, teeth yellowing and eyes dead and vacant, lusting after only the next high.
