Devil's Advocate Ch.1
A story series that explains my fursona's background. I'll also dip into some erotica/yiff along the arc of the story, and some really awesome, world-changing fights and encounters. Stick around, this might end up being pretty epic.
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"Okay, pal." The bartender seized the shotglass, "you've had enough."
"I will tell you..." Aleks shot him a sharp glare, "...when I've had enough fucking booze."
The bartender turned away, and slid down the bar, tending to a bottle of unopened Jack Daniels. An ice cube shattered on the back of his neck, sending prickles of cold down his back.
"I wasn't done talking to you." Aleks snarled as the bartender turned, rubbing the flakes of ice off the back of his neck.
"Oh really? Well, lets call my boys over, and they'll finish up the discussion." He flicked his hand, and Aleks felt himself being lifted by three sets of powerful hands. "Hey guys, back so soon?"
"Come on pal," One replied, "lets go outside and have a chat."
Aleks groaned as his back hit the wall, and one of the heavier guards drove a sharp jab into his stomach. The wolf grimaced as pain shot up through his body, and brought his elbow down on the bridge of the bear's nose, shattering the cartilage. The massive creature reeled back, swearing as blood trickled down along his chin, matting his fur. "Fucker...broke my fuckin' nose!"
The leader, Marcus, reached into his jacket, pulling out a revolver. "Look Aleks, every week you come in and start this, and I've had to drag you out by your collar and have it out more times than I'd like to count." He cocked the revolver, and trained it on his chest, "get out of here, don't come back."
Aleks smiled, blood trickling between his teeth, "Marcus, do you think you could shoot me?" He stood straight, and leaned forward, his chest just inches from the nickel-plated snub-nosed .38 pistol. "Then do it, murder someone in cold blood behind your boyfriend's bar. I'm sure he'll be pleased."
Marcus' hand shook, the gun trembling in his grip as they stared one another down. Aleks snapped his hand around the gun, and Marcus bit his lip. "Do it, Marcus, it's easy, you just gotta squee-"
He was interrupted suddenly as a bar struck the back of his head. The last thing he remembered was the gun going off, the burning sensation of the gases expanding from the cylinder into his pawpads, and violently sudden darkness. But before long, he awoke to stinging agony, the feeling of liquid warmth trickling down his side.
"What..." He looked down to find his shirt covered in blood, a .38 calibre hole punched into the right side. He bit his tongue and lifted the shirt out of the way, and found the last thing he wanted to see, blood-stained fur, and a bullet-wound, though he was thankful it was a through-and-through. He winced and looked up, realizing -to his horror- that he was no longer in the alley behind Madison & Thorn's Tavern.
He rolled to his hands and knees and stood shakily, "what....the fuck?"