First sequence in a long while, commissioned/collaborated by the ever so awesome  dbear
Had a lot of fun with this sequence, i apologize in advance for the excessive glowing. i went into this sequence with the thought "make everything fucking glow" in my head...so yeah.

In addition, there's an amazing story that goes along with this, written by  dbear, enjoy!
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He had talked himself into and out-of it a dozen times.

Milo would say something or make a cute canine gesture, and he'd decide. Then they'd laugh or talk about the future and his ambitions, and he'd un-decide. His head was a jumble of lust and fantasy, barely held in check by the love he felt for the young man who he liked to affectionately refer to as "puppy" when the mood was right.

So here he stood, at the entrance to a long-closed auto graveyard. Trees grew up through the rusting corpses of automobiles from decades past, none of them newer than 1970 from the looks of things. The locals called the place the "car woods", and it rather eerily lived up to its name. The foliage had a twisted, greedy quality that made the trees look less like they were growing... and more like they were eating the cars scattered in their midst.

He'd heard stories for a while. Some folks referred to him as "the Shaman" and others spoke of the junkyard's only resident with less reverence as "that crazy old guy" - but whatever the reason, everyone seemed to avoid this place entirely. He walked slowly... carefully through the maze of debris, using his cellphone as a meager flashlight as he searched for any signs of life.

He rounded the shell of a VW bus and saw a dilapidated trailer sitting low on blocks, a sickly green light spilling through what remained of the rotting curtains. It wasn't much, but it was the only thing he had seen in this place that looked remotely promising - so he straightened his back, clenched his jaw, and strode toward the entrance purposefully. His friends called him "Bear" for a reason, and he tried to steel himself with a reminder that anything he encountered here would would probably think twice before messing with him.

The door was absent entirely when he got to the side of the trailer, and he stepped through the skewed opening into the room ahead. The space smelled of mold and wet dogs, and the glow that had illuminated the windows seemed to be emanating from a rectangle in the floor of the main room. The trailer itself was in shambles, but a set of sturdy looking metal steps led down through the opening into a space that appeared to be dug out of the ground beneath the trailer. He took a deep breath and crossed the soggy carpet, then descended the steps into the pale greenish glow.

There was more light as he went down, and he emerged in a surprisingly clean - if cluttered - space that stretched on to fill an area substantially larger than the trailer above. He saw rows of boxes marked with strange symbols that ranged from vaguely-familiar runes to shapes that were reminiscent of crop circles. There were two rows of tables with a mishmash of technology and history: a centrifuge; a microscope; rows of small black iron pots; a dozen mortars and their accompanying pestles; beakers of colored fluid; bottles with dried plants and animal hair. Several low flames guttered beneath bubbling beakers, and a curl of smoke crept through the lot of it like a lazy snake. He traced the smoke to its source and had to stifle a yelp when his eyes locked with the man sitting silently in the darkness, puffing calmly on his pipe.

"I've got your order all ready" the man drawled, a huff of smoke accentuating every syllable as he spoke.

"I... uh. My order?" Bear stammered like an awkward child now, still trying to regain his composure and play off the start from moments before.

"Yep... it's all set. Spent most of the night on it... some of my very best work, if I do say so myself. And I do." and the man's hand slid forward along the arm of his chair into the light, rolling a glinting, clear vial between his fingers.

"I think... maybe you've got the wrong guy. I don't... I mean I haven't even..."

The man rose from his heavy, clawfoot throne and came into the light. His bearded face grinned broadly as he proffered the vial "No, this is yours. You placed the order months ago. Both of you did, as I recall. I was just waiting here for you to pick it up."

"P.. placed... Uh. How much does..."

The Shaman raised a palm, smiling the same carnival-barker smile. "Payment can be discussed at a future date. My terms are always more than reasonable. I love my work, you see... love what I do. You could say that the bulk of my payment comes in the form of satisfied customers."

The Shaman stepped forward, heavy workboots scuffing on the hard-packed dirt floor. His height was imposing and the bear felt himself backing down involuntarily - something he didn't do often. The Shaman's hand darted out and grabbed his wrist firmly, pulling his palm forward and then rolling the glass cylinder into his fingers. Releasing his grip with a wink, he grabbed a small paper bag from the table beside them held it up with a playful shake. "A few more things you'll need. Full service, that's me. Can't have you fumbling for allen wrenches and instruction manuals in a moment of passion, can we?"

Again Bear sputtered, trying to steel himself in the face of the Shaman's unnervingly-cool delivery.

"Go home." the grin oozing back across his face "You already know what to do."

The Shaman turned on his heel and returned to the table, making it clear that their business was concluded. Bear stood dumbly for a moment then closed his jaw with an audible clop, tucked the vial into his pocket, and walked back to the stairs a little more quickly than he needed to.



His trip back to the car was a blur. He tried to remain calm, but as he walked back through the maze of the junkyard he noticed the silhouettes of a number of large dogs darting through the shadows around him. His pace picked up steadily, and by the time he reached the car he had broken into an unsteady jog. He jumped into the seat of the SUV and slammed the door. Then locked it.

He scarcely remembered the drive home - the entire trip was a strobe of headlights and turns that he made entirely on autopilot. He walked into the house and sat down at the table, then immediately jumped up and grabbed a bottle of scotch and a glass from the cabinet nearby. He poured himself a sloppy glass before placing his palms on the cool surface and steadying himself. With a deep breath, he downed the scotch, coughed a bit, then followed it with a second – and a third before staring at the vial. It seemed oddly clean - sterile - for the environment that it had come from. He relaxed for a beat and opened the bag, emptying the contents onto the table. Inside was a large glass-cylinder syringe that looked like it had been plucked from the pages of a steampunk novel, a small key and ring, and a slip of paper.

Instructions:

1) Restraints are recommended - and fun!
2) Lifespan will be unaltered - pet ownership is a lifelong commitment.
3) Results are permanent. No refunds.

He laughed out loud, relaxing slightly... it had to be a joke. The prelude to a hot scene, for sure - but a joke. Somehow the thought calmed him... the feelings of guilt at what he had been considering evaporated. As he picked up the key to examine, he noticed the ring... it was his. The key was to a set of handcuffs that he kept in a box under the bed. A key he had lost more than a year before.