A Golden Opportunity
By Limewah
Commission for SarcasticKoopa
18+

The brown-furred fisher pressed the damp cloth tighter against the ursine chef’s face. The big guy only lasted a few more seconds before the fumes made his struggles cease. From there, Roman guided him gradually to the cold floor of the kitchen. 
“There we go, bud. Sleepy time.”
Once the bear was carefully laid on the floor in a foetal position, Roman peered up and around. 
“Done here,” he hissed.
“Same here,” came the voice of the thief’s co-worker. Only slight hints of the lion’s blue fur peeked out from the tight woollen cap and scarf he wore, matching the dark clothing the pair were decked out in.
“Right. Let’s move.” Roman brandished a small, gleaming stone, wrapped tightly to his wrist with a piece of cord. “Got your communicator?”
“Of course.” Rory nodded. “I’ll start with the library wing, you go for the gallery.”
“And whatever we find, we keep to ourselves.”
“Exactly. G’luck.”

They slipped up the stairs from the basement kitchen and out into the ornate halls of the duke’s manse. True to the duke’s aesthetic, it was a mixture of deep ebony and luminescent gold. Black walls, golden moulding. Golden chandeliers, black-lacquered wooden floors. It was unlike any other mansion in the entire state, which made it the holy grail for would-be burglars. Of course, that meant that getting in and out with loot was far easier said than done - no one had succeeded, all of them falling for some unknown trap.

As Roman peeled away from Rory and slithered down the eastern hallway through the darkness, he was sure in the knowledge that he was built different. He was glad he’d gotten Rory to agree to the ‘finders keepers’ rule - he knew for a fact, based on the bribes he’d passed to a butler he’d been corresponding with, that there were tons of secret compartments hidden behind various paintings in the private gallery.  He was going to make out like a bandit - and probably have to skedaddle before his ‘partner’ caught on.

Directly in front of a large, black teak writing desk was the gallery’s centrepiece; of course, it was a portrait of the duke themself. An ebony furred poodle with golden eyes, wearing a golden robe and reclining against a deep blue backdrop - the cost of that amount of pigment would have been enough to fund a small army. Roman scoffed. That dog probably wouldn’t even notice whatever he stole - they were filthy rich.
Naturally, every single painting had been set into bright golden frames with dark polished jewels encrusted into them. With his gloved paws, Roman took his time examining each one, lifting it just a little to look for compartments or indentations behind them as he popped out the jewels from the frames. The first few turned up nothing - it would have been too easy. But then he came across the first jackpot ; an assuming painting of a beautiful landscape of thousands of little daffodils. It was impressively detailed, with a great level of depth - he would have liked it more if he didn’t know that art was a total waste of time.

There was an indentation barely visible just behind the frame. He slowly and gingerly lifted the painting off the wall and set it down. The seams of the compartment were almost impossible to spot with an untrained eye. Roman, of course, was not that. A gentle push inwards made the panel click and slowly swing open on a little hinge. His face was bathed with the glitter of a golden lockbox, as big as an encyclopaedia. He tested it for weight, and could hear - and feel - the jingle and clatter of thick coins inside it.
Roman grinned. He was off to a great start.
The weight wasn’t too much of an issue once he slid it into his shadow-sack - the bag’s contents were always light as a feather. He could probably fit another couple boxes in there at most… he couldn’t get too greedy, of course.
“How’re you doing so far?” Rory’s voice was a distant whisper as the stone shone. 
“Nothing at all so far,” Roman lied with an exasperated sigh. “How about you?”
“I’m rolling in it!” Rory said, his voice breathless with excitement. “I can’t believe this… Don’t think I can fit anything more - I’ve literally got three fistfuls of solid gold rings, and there’s even more! You gotta check it out, quick…!”

Roman frowned as he listened and nodded along. On the one hand, it could have been a trick. If he was planning to fuck Rory over, Rory was probably planning the same. Maybe an ambush or a trap to steal his shit and leave him to get caught.
On the other hand, Rory was honest, credulous… and an idiot. If Roman played his cards right, maybe he could screw the lion over and take his gear. 
It was that sort of mindset that was going to set him for life. 
“I’ll be right over.”
Why not risk it…?
Roman did one last quick sweep, grabbing some golden paperweights and pens from the writing desk before he went. 
As he slipped out of the painting gallery, he failed to notice the gleaming eyes of the portrait of the duke following him, and the inscrutable expression turning briefly into a grin, before it returned to its impassive state.

Roman took his time slinking his way over. Knowing Rory, he’d still be rummaging about for more stuff, and wasn’t going to bolt before they met up again. Better safe than sorry.
As he passed by doorways, he could hear footfalls and soft chatter - hard to make out, until he pressed his ear to listen.
“... new assistance coming in very soon.”
“Finally… I thought we’d never get more staff.”
“You know the Master… they’re particular about their tastes.”
“And that’s why-”
“We love the Duke so…” the two voices spoke in unison, rehearsed, their voices soft and dream-like. The footfalls got closer to the door, and Roman held his breath as he flattened himself against the black walls. To his relief, the two servants went in the opposite direction… back towards the gallery. He did catch a glimpse not only of their golden waistcoat with shiny black tights… but they seemed to be wearing golden masks - canine, with long floppy ears, and no apparent holes for the eyes, nose, or mouth. Like mannequins in a shop window, devoid of personality or hints of individuality - aside from the scaly tail one had, and the lack of a tail for the other.
Shit. If they went in there and found the place had been rumbled, Roman wouldn’t have much time to escape at all. He had to find Rory and get his loot - and fast.

The smell of old parchment and glue met his nostrils as he entered. Thankfully it wasn’t one of those ultra-labyrinthine libraries - Arno’s entire collection took up just one of the walls, allowing the sunlight to be let in from huge windows with - what else? - gold curtains.
His communicator pinged off again.
“Where are you, Roman?” Rory still sounded quite excited. “I tell you, this place is swimming in loot!”
“I’m almost there,” Roman hissed softly. He spied Rory off in a corner of the room, standing in front of a big grandfather clock… without his hat on anymore. He was such a rookie.
“Just sit tight…” Roman said, reaching into his satchel and pulling out a flat wooden club.
The idiot was just staring at the clock, his head jerking a few degrees from side to side with each thick, resonant tick.
“This place is amazing!” Rory said to the communicator. Strangely, his voice was still excited and breathless, even though he was sort of slumped forward, his elbow dangling as his wrist was raised to his lips. “A bunch of the books have been hollowed out; there’s loads of stuff in them!”
Roman looked at the shelves. Not a single book had been touched.
“That’s… that’s great,” Roman said, slowly sneaking closer. Just what was he playing at…?
Rory’s tail was no longer tucked into his pants, the way it was supposed to be. The tip was similarly flicking with the rhythm of the clock.
“Hurry, quick!” Rory said, still chirpy, still unaware.
Roman was soon right behind Rory. His club was at the ready. He’d hit the lion just hard enough to knock him out, leave him to deal with the Duke’s wrath. Then he was home free.
He inhaled sharply and raised the club. 
The next thing he knew, the lion’s hand was gripped tightly around his wrist.
“GAH! F-fuck!”
Rory didn’t look at him. Roman only now noticed a golden gleam coming off the lion’s eyes, like steam pouring from a boiling pot of water. His smile was serene, blank, almost puppet-like. He was following the ticking clock even now. Not only that, a golden varnish was spreading over Rory’s face, like a mask. 

“Rory, what are you doing?! Stop… stop looking at the clock, okay? It’s me, your buddy! Look at me!”
As Roman frantically pleaded, his gaze shot from Rory’s face, to the clock, back to Rory again, and he tried to squirm away, watching as the longest, thinnest hand of the clock veered up to 12…

BONG.

As soon as the bell sounded, Rory stiffened, his hand squeezing Roman’s wrist so hard he thought it might snap like a twig.
“Yes, Duke…” Roman said, softly, dreamlike… with a very similar tone to those butlers. “I will obey.”
“What’re you talkignhrk!”
Now Rory was looking at him. His other hand gripped Roman’s throat, the bigger lion lifting the little fisher off his feet. He was still smiling, his eyes swirling with gold and orange spirals. He was under the clock’s spell… no, the Duke’s.

“Th..kh… there wasn’t any treasure, was there…?” Roman choked, struggling just to breathe.
“No,” Rory said, his voice bright, but lacking any warmth or sentience. “I was told to pretend and lure you here, and then subdue you when the clock struck and my conditioning was complete.”
“By who?!” Roman said.
“My Master, the Grand Duke Arno, of course!”
“You fffucking… id..iot…” Roman’s vision was failing him, as his head felt lighter and the air felt thicker, and unconsciousness came closer and closer…

Roman managed to cinch one leg up against Rory’s stomach and push back, wriggling himself free from the lion’s grasp and landing on his back. He rolled onto all fours, and took off into a loping sprint - 
Running straight into the knees of those faceless butlers. The same ones? No… one had long ears poking through their puppy-hood, the other one had a feline tail. Rory had enough time to gain on him and grab him, yanking him to his feet as he spat and screamed and writhed…
He caught a glimpse of ebony fur and golden eyes, regarding him from the library wing’s entrance.
I don’t care for that racket,” the poodle said. “Plug him up. I’ll be in my room.”
SPLAT. A gold gloved hand was pressed to Roman’s face, and he could feel it melting onto his fur like boiling treacle. His jaw was pulled shut and his snout was held in place as the golden effluent covered both. His screams and shouts were turned to muffled complaints, completely unintelligible. As much as he kicked and resisted, there was nothing to be done. He was held in a full-nelson by Rory, and the other butlers grabbed his legs, forcing him to stare at the filigréed ceiling as they carried him through the halls. 
Roman didn’t have a lot of stamina for thrashing about, even with the fight-or-flight chemicals flooding his system. By the time his head tilted back as Rory and the butlers carried him upstairs, he had nothing left in the tank. All he could do was rest, and breathe through the thankfully breathable gag, and keep an eye out for any potential way to escape. A window or something. At this point, escaping with the loot was less important than escaping with his life.

He could hear the sharp twang of music just ahead, as they brought him through two large doors into an upstairs parlour. The Duke had just arrived inside themself, and sank into a deep, black velvet chair in the middle of the parlour, their head inclined towards the gold-suited bear-dog hunched over a tiny harpsichord, plinking away. Roman was thrown down onto the ground, rather roughly, his grunts muffled by the gag around his jaw. He looked up at the poodle. Arno crossed one leg over the other, slowly and languidly, their yellow-painted claws flexing as their toes splayed out. They grinned a pearl-white grin.
Roman looked to his left - Rory knelt next to him, eyes still spiralling, a placid look of contentment on his face.

“Well… this is nice.” Arno’s fingers were steepled, their index fingers tap-tap-tapping together as they tutted. “Two guests. I hope the place was clean enough for your liking… you came in through the kitchen, I assume? I hope you didn’t hurt Frederic. Otherwise…”
Roman frantically shook his head and tried to say ‘no’, before Arno could finish that potentially dark threat.
“Oh, good!” The bright tone was back, and the poodle’s hint of a snarl became a full grin. “So, that means there won’t be any need for punishment before I put you two to work.
“I can’t wait, oh Duke!” Rory said, brightly. Roman glared at him, even though he knew he didn’t even exist as far as that lion was concerned.
“And how about you?” Arno asked, turning their deep golden gaze on Roman. “Steady employment, a roof over your head at all times… it must be far better than a life of crime. Easier, for sure…”

Roman wanted to spit at them. But Arno clicked their tongue, and the two other butlers took him up by the armpits and brought him right up to Arno’s throne. Their scent was earthy and sweet, like charcoal and honey. Arno hummed to themself as their golden claws traced little circles around each other. 
“Since you took longer to get caught, I think you’ve earned the right to get suited up first.”
Arno’s hands spread apart, and between each finger was a long strand of golden ichor, pulled thin like dough to the point where it was almost see-through. As the webs of gold approached Roman’s face, he tried to pull himself back, frantic, terrified, his pleas still muffled…

Arno hummed along to the melody of the harpsichord. Roman could hear it with perfect clarity even after the golden film enfolded his face and stopped up his ears, flooding into him. The claws almost seemed to poke through the new second-skin as Arno’s soft hands kneaded it into his face. He could feel it permeating into him - not just his body, but his heart and soul.
The hands moved away as the slime coated Roman’s face and congealed. Just translucent enough for him to see, but everything was tinged with gold and honey, swirling and pulsing endlessly.
Roman wondered if Arno could see him smiling under that blank muzzle. He found himself hoping that they did…

“Now that’s the head-piece done,” the duke crooned, “But before you get fitted for your waistcoat, 
The next application of Arno’s magic ichor wrapped around Roman’s neck and shoulders, before being massaged and kneaded downwards. His arms fell limp by his sides as the gold coated him, slithering into his brain and giving it a massage. He never knew what a sensation like that could have felt like. A sense of awe and fixation washed over him thanks to that massage. Arno’s claws stroked his back, traced down his spine, painting him more and more with that golden ichor. The gold formed into a sort of sleeve-less top with a low cut neckline, baring his slender cleavage. But Arno’s massaging didn’t stop there. The gold continued to trickle down around his tail and his rump… his clothes dissolved away as Arno’s paws pressed between his legs. 
Roman moaned and mewled in spite of himself as the ichor formed a form-fitting pouch, nestling everything between his legs into a tight, round, and very aesthetically pleasing package, about the size of a ripe orange.
Arno’s fingers rolled underneath it, and Roman’s mask stretched a bit as his jaw opened into a groan. A groan that said ‘Thank you for this gift’.
“Mmh, well, don’t you look marvellous?” Arno cooed, their snout so close to Roman’s ear that he could hear every click of their tongue inside their mouth. It was electrifying. Roman was humiliated. But exhilarated at the same time. 

He gazed into the spirals inside his mind, and let those words slither into him, branding themselves onto his very being. He could envision the gold penetrating deeper, replacing his muscles, his skill, his insides with gold. The gold held his tail by the base, and he felt it wagging back and forth. He felt his tongue loll from his mouth and penetrate through the thin film, so it could wag as well. It came from nowhere, yet it felt perfectly natural.
“Good boy~” Arno crooned. “Good boy! That’s the spirit. SPEAK.”
“Rrrrarfh!” Roman barked. So did the other servants, except for Rory, who was just the barest bit out of sync. But then… he wasn’t besuited just yet. The outside didn’t match the inside.
Roman remained and wagged, staring at Rory and wiggling with excitement.
“Yes, yes, of course~” Arno giggled. “You too, darling. I’ll make sure to take my time with you.”

Roman sat on his haunches, wagged, and panted. He was so happy for his friend. Now that he understood how silly it had been to try and steal from the Duke. But it was a blessing in disguise, really, since he could now just stare and wag and smile as Arno worked their paws over the kitty-cat’s face. Before his swirling eyes disappeared under the visor, Rory stole one last glance at Roman - trying to look at his eyes. 
There was a hint of fear or confusion there. Very odd. But it was gone a moment later as the whimpers of fear turned to whimpers of puppy-dog pleasure. And soon, he was wagging too, as the golden singlet and nullifying bulge wrapped around the rest of him. Arno’s delightful hum made Roman feel so warm and gooey inside - he was in love. But why wouldn’t he love the Duke, after all they had already done for him…?

“Now, will we try that again?” Arno asked with a smirk. “SPEAK.”
“RARF!” 
Every voice in that room barked in perfect synchronicity.

–

“Yeah, for sure, this window’s going to need more reinforcement…”
“But we can’t spoil the Duke’s aesthetic!” 
“I know! Don’t worry. Hmm… maybe we can nestle in a few alarm-charms in the corner? They’ll definitely blend in.”
“Good thinking, Rory. You make a better security guard than a thief…”
“Ah, heh, thanks. Have you got the patrol routes for everyone figured out too?”
“Mhm. No room in this house is going to be unoccupied for more than thirty minutes at a time.”
“That’s a pretty big window.”
“Sure, sure, but the rota’s all pretty-well staggered, so I’m not worried.”
“This has been kinda fun… guess we’ve found our true calling now, haven’t we?”
“Mm… and that’s why-”
“We love the Duke so…”

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