Obligatory Content Warning:  The following story contains BAD LANGUAGE and SUGGESTIVE SCENES involving a FATHER and his DAUGHTER.  His YOUNG daughter.  OMFG CUB.  If you find any of this offensive, DO NOT READ ON.  By reading beyond this point, you waive your right to be offended by my work, because YOU WERE WARNED.  For those of you who I haven't scared away... enjoy!

Mark sighed as he sat in the back of the van, leaning back in his chair.  Here he was, crammed in to the back of a van on a tiny street in a little suburb, so bored he could rip his own headfur out, waiting for SOMETHING to happen.

The coyote was going on thirty hours without sleep, but he could not rest.  The equipment around him reminded him that he was not alone -- he had a job to do, and while it was boring as all hell, he knew it was important.  The entire investigation depended on this stake-out.

Up front, Roger, a fox, and Frank, a German shepherd, munched popcorn.  The fox kept an eye on the house, a pair of binoculars sitting in his lap.

"How you doin' back there, Marky?" Roger asked.

"Fuck you, Roger," Mark replied.  "I didn't sign up for this."

"And we did?" Frank shot.  "We're following orders, just like you."

Roger turned around and offered the bowl of popcorn to the coyote.  "Have a snack, try to relax.  It'll be worth it when we finally catch this bastard."

"Light on," Frank said.  "Looks like the daughter's bedroom."

"Oh, snap," Roger said, dropping the bowl.  "Mark, get on the bug."  The fox whipped around and looked toward the house.  "You see anything, Frank?"

"Negative," the shepherd replied.  "The curtains are drawn."

"I've got audio," Mark called from the back, linking the feed to the van's sound system.  "Recording..."

"Hello, sweetie," said a voice that filled the van.  The three agents immediately recognized it as the mark, Tom.

"Hi, Daddy!" came a squeaky voice in reply.

"The daughter," Mark muttered.

"I've got a surprise for you!" the father said brightly.

"For me?" the little girl replied.

"Mmhmm.  Let me get it out for you."

There was a rustling over the audio.

"What's he doing?" Roger asked.  "Frank, you got a visual?"

"Not even a shadow," the frustrated shepherd replied.

"He could be undoing his pants," Mark offered.

"Hush," Roger spat.

The little girl squealed in delight.  "Woooow!  It's so big!"

The father chuckled.  "Yep, and it's all for you, my sweet little girl."

"Yaaaay!" the little girl replied.  "But what do I do?"

"You just lick it," the father said.

Roger groaned.  "That's sick... he's getting her to lick his cock!"

They heard the distinct sound of a cub slurping.  "Mmmmm!"

The father chuckled.  "How does it taste, sweetie?"

"Really good!" the girl replied.  "It's all white and creamy!"

"Damn, he's quick," Frank muttered.

Roger slammed his paws against the steering wheel.  "We can't let this bastard get away with it."  He threw his door open.  "Come on, if we go fast enough, we might be able to catch him in the act!"

"Oh, yeah!" Frank said, throwing his own door open.  "Action!" he muttered triumphantly as he pulled out his Glock.

The coyote wasted no time in crawling into the front and following the other two agents out, his paw groping for his Beretta as they went.

"Frank, go around back," Roger whispered.  "Mark, you're with me."

The fox and coyote pressed themselves up against the house on either side of the front door.  Roger whipped out his own Glock and whispered into his radio, "In position?"

"Roger," Frank replied.

"Yes, this is Roger," the fox whispered.  "But are you ready?"

The dog growled.  "Yes, you fucking idiot!" he whispered, barely able to contain his rage.

"Go," Roger said.

Simultaneously, Mark kicked in the front door as Frank kicked in the back.  The three agents converged at the bottom of the stairs, and Roger led the charge up, keeping a wary eye out for the suspect to make a break for it.

The three agents paused outside the girl's room, and Roger kicked in the door.

"FBI!  Get down on the ground!" he shouted as he burst into the room.

The two cats screamed as the fox burst into the room, sending an ice cream sundae flying right into the fox's face.

"I'm under attack!" he cried as he fired a shot.

Mark grabbed the fox's paw.  "It's not an attack!" he screamed.  "You fucking moron!"

On the bed, the girl started to cry.  "Daddy, dey made me spill my ice cweam!"

"What the FUCK is going on here?!" the confused father cried.

The three FBI agents paused, taking in the room.  Before them was a crying little girl, a spilled bowl of ice cream, and a father who was clearly fuming.  And fully dressed.

"Oh, um..." Roger said.  "Well..."

Behind him, Mark and Frank sighed.  "You idiot," they muttered, whacking the fox upside the head as they turned and left the room.

"Well, I, uh... bye," Roger said, quickly following after them, snatching the microphone from behind the dresser as he went.

The agents quickly grabbed up all the microphones from the house, beat a hasty retreat back to the van.  Roger leapt into the driver's seat as Frank climbed in the passenger side, leaving Mark to get around and head in the back.  Roger almost didn't give Mark enough time to get in before revving the engine and driving off.

"Man, we're so dead," Roger replied.  "Biggest... fuck-up... ever."

"You mean YOU'RE dead," Frank spat.  "YOU'RE the one who insisted on starting this investigation in the first place.  I'm not taking the fall for you!"

Mark sighed and closed his eyes as he buckled himself into the van.  "I need a new career," he muttered.