FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

"It's quite simple really," the neatly-dressed arctic fox told Gunther in the dimly lit booth of a fashionable bar, "I need you to help me disappear off the face of the earth. The Krakov corporation has offered to pay me five times what I make now, but my employer won't release me. I know too many trade secrets, you see?"

"I usually get paid to kill people," the grim-looking rottweiler replied gruffly, "But you want me to pretend I killed you?"

"Precisely! You will come to my office late at night, murder me and take my body away. Or so this is what it will look like to the investigators. Then I will be reborn as a new man with a new job. And you will be a hundred thousand credits richer. Easy money, don't you think?"

Easy money indeed. It had been child's play for Gunther to procure the pass and uniform of a lowly cleaning worker. The security agents barely glanced at his card in the entrance lobby, and the few tired-looking salarymen still staring at their computer screens at this late hour all ignored him as if he were the invisible man. Hiding in plain sight, the assassin-turned-janitor pushed his trolley among rows of empty desks to the elevator that led to the executive suite at the top of the building.

The soft humming of the glass-panelled elevator was all that could be heard as Gunther ascended the floors of the tower in the heart of the city. The rottweiler, however, paid little attention to the nightly vista of towering skyscrapers and neon lights that unfolded before him. With the methodical calmness of a professional, the hired man made a mental review of the task ahead. The fake pass wouldn't fool the more sophisticated security systems of the higher floors but this was a minor inconvenience.

A loud ding marked the end of the ride. The doors opened into a wood and marble-panelled lobby, with a bored-looking wolf seated at a desk to the right.

"Please scan your pass," the guard said, barely looking up from the tablet in his hand.

"Sorry... My card is a bit worn," Gunther said, "The guys downstairs told me to check with you."

With a groan of annoyance, the guard rose from his seat and leaned to get a closer look at the piece of plastic. The dog waited until the wolf's fingers were a safe distance away from the alarm button hidden below the desk and in a flash grabbed him by the throat.

The guard's mouth opened, as if he were trying to scream, but only a choked gargle escaped his lips. Without a hint of nervousness, Gunther drew a gun from under his uniform jacket and pressed it to the other canine's temple.

"Alright buddy," he said, "Here's a question for you. Do you have a wife and kids?"

The wolf returned him a frightened look, but the cold metal against his skull seemed to focus his mind, and he silently nodded as far as he could.

"Good. Second riddle: do you think you get paid enough to be a hero?"

Both of them knew the answer to that question.

The plush carpet of the corridor felt good under Gunther's feet and the soft lightning rested his eyes, but the man wasn't here to marvel at the comforts offered to the people at the top of the corporate ladder. The security cameras watched him silently as he headed towards his target but with the guard taking a well-deserved nap in the supply closet it would be a while before anyone noticed something was amiss. Tomorrow though they would provide plenty of visual evidence that a murderer had infiltrated the floor and killed a defenseless employee. The deed itself was going to take place in the fox's office. The "victim" would be sedated, hidden in a trash bag and carted away to the exit, never to be seen again.

"I'll have some cosmetic work done so they can't track me," the fox had told him after they had shaken hands on the deal, "You know, alter my fingerprints and genetic profile, change my fur color... It's too bad though. The girls love my white fur."

The polished brass name plate on the wall told the rottweiler that he was at the right place. He swiped the guard's pass and the door silently slid open, revealing a well-lit office. Gunther took a step forward and froze.

The arctic fox's fur had changed color already, except Gunther doubted the man had wanted it dyed bright red. The fox was sprawled on his back, his throat slit ear-to-ear and his amber eyes staring lifelessly at the ceiling.

Well-honed instincts swept away Gunther's shock. A glass of whisky lay on the floor next to the man's right hand but otherwise there was no sign of struggle. The fox had not seen death coming. The blood looked and smelled fresh, which could only mean that the killer wasn't far.

Gunther drew his gun as he heard a furtive noise coming from a side room.

The door to the executive bathroom to the side was left ajar, and inside Gunther could see the back of a black panther leaning over the sink. He had broad shoulders and slim waist, and the way he carried his expensive, form fitting business suit made him look like either a high functioning sociopath or an investment banker. Gunther hesitated. He was not paid to be a hero, either, but someone here certainly owed him money. He looked at the panther over the snub barrel of his gun and gripped its handle tighter.

The panther finished washing his hands and glanced at the mirror. His cool, yellow eyes made contact with Gunther's, and he straightened up. He frowned as he looked over his shoulder, seemingly unfazed by being held at gunpoint.

"What's with the gun? You don't look like a janitor." His voice was as smooth as midnight.

"Shut it. Get out of there," Gunther barked an order and nudged towards the main room with his head.

The panther held up his hand and turned around slowly. He was wearing his jacket open, showing to Gunther a pristine white dress shirt that was just a bit too tight at his pecs, a black tie with silver strands worked in the fabric, crisply pressed black pants and black shoes polished to glossy sheen. Gunther motioned with his gun impatiently, and at the exact moment the barrel was off its target the panther burst into action.

Hidden from view by his body his other hand had grasped the bar of soap on the sink, and he flung it at Gunther's face in a blur of fury. The rottweiler dodged and fired, but taken by surprise his shot went wide, the flechette hitting the far wall like a sharp whisper. The panther ducked out of view and Gunther leapt to his side reflexively, trying to keep the man in his field of vision.

He rolled on the floor and slammed against the arctic fox's desk. His body was bulked by hormones and reinforced with nanofiber, and the impact sent the desk screeching backwards, but his aim held true as he pointed at the bathroom door with his weapon.

"They don't pay you enough to deal with this!" The panther shouted angrily from inside. "Just walk away and nobody has to get hurt."

Gunther discharged his weapon again, aiming at the wall where he estimated the panther would be standing. The rounds ate concrete like wet paper.

"Jesus!" the panther yelped. "Okay, you win! I'm going to come out, just hold your fire!"

"No tricks?" Gunther said with a gruff voice as he got up, keeping the weapon trained at the doorway.

"No tricks." The panther sounded resigned, but when he came out with his hands held up he had resumed a smug look. "I'm not cheap to hire. If you shoot me, people will come looking for you. They want to know what happened to their investment, you know?"

"Like fuck they will," Gunther snarled.

"Do you mind if I vape?"

"Do you mind a hole in your forehead?"

The panther had made a motion to reach for his pocket, but the way Gunther brandished his gun stopped him. He sighed theatrically.

"Look, it's obvious that we're both hitmen. Just hand me the gun and I'll leave my fingerprints on it to take on the heat, just as a favor to you."

Gunther blinked. "Do I look fucking stupid to you!?" he started to yell, but then lowered his voice to an angry whisper. "You got some real nerve, you bastard!"

"Eh, worth a try," the panther shrugged. "Doesn't change the fact that this is a fucking murder scene and both of us need to get away real fucking soon unless you feel like answering some real fucking uncomfortable questions." The way the panther swore felt extra dirty coming from someone as refined looking as he was, and he seemed to enjoy it.

Gunther hesitated again. Nothing about this exchange had gone as he had imagined. The entire wall behind the panther was made of glass, and he took in the shine of the city's neon lights looking like a colony of deep sea creatures and corporate slogans. He noticed that below them he could see police helicopters droning lazily in the night air. The only sound was the steady hum of ventilation, bringing in a faint scent of ozone that got drowned in the overwhelming stench of blood.

They looked at each other, panting, but then the panther broke the silence and gave him a smile far too friendly for comfort. "You're a good looking guy. Wanna help me leave DNA evidence on site?"

Gunther licked his lips nervously. He did not know what was happening, but his throat suddenly felt tighter. "W-what do you mean?"

The panther gave him a knowing smile and stepped closer, lowering his hands. "I mean that I can see where your eyes are looking. They go from here," he gestured at his pecs, "to here." He lowered his hand to point at his crotch.

He took a step closer.

Gunther let out a warning growl. "Back off you freak. My dick is for girls only."

"How fortunate," the panther purred with a voice like molten honey, "I got a soft mouth just like a girl's." He licked his lips, showing off a silky pink tongue and perfect white teeth.

The dog's fingers tensed around the handle of the gun. "One more step and I'll blow your brains off," he said, weighing each word as if it was a bullet.

The panther came no closer but began to unbutton his shirt. "Let me suck you dry before you shoot me," he continued, running his fingers over the ebony fur that covered his well-defined abs, "I want to die with the taste of a handsome man in my mouth."

Gunther fought to control the red tide of anger washing over him. What game was this pervert playing? He would press the trigger if he had to, the panther knew it, and at such short range there would be no dodging. He was trying to distract him. But from what?

A faint light flashed behind the panther. The fox's computer had fallen to the floor during the commotion, and for the first time Gunther noticed that a small drive was plugged into the terminal. The device was flashing green on the front, as if to let its owner know that its job was done.

"The fox... he said something about trade data..." Gunther said, and his eyes wandered towards the body for a fraction of a second.

This was all the panther needed. There was a blur and a yell as he hit the rottweiler's wrist with the blade of his hand. The gun flew through the room and before Gunther could lift an arm the panther's fist caught him on the jaw and sent him down.

"My, you ARE almost as stupid as you look," the panther chuckled as he picked up the drive and put it in his pocket. "So long buddy, I hope the cops aren't too rough on you," he added, walking towards the exit.

He had barely stepped into the corridor when the dog dove at him from behind and grabbed his legs. Together they fell in a wrestling mass, trading blows on the floor but Gunther's heavier build gave him the advantage, and soon he was on top of the feline, one hand hanging threateningly in the air and the other clutched tightly around his throat.

"I'll rip off your filthy tongue," the rottweiler snarled, "But first you're going to tell me who pays you and what is on this drive."

"Awww," the panther smiled despite a bruised eye, "Why the anger? Feeling threatened in your manhood perhaps?"

His knee caught Gunther right in the testicles, smashing the big orbs against his pelvis. The dog's eyes went wide and he tumbled to the side, clutching his wounded jewels with a high-pitched whine of agonizing pain. He writhed on the floor until something pricked his skin and made him open his eyes. Through a veil of tears he saw the panther crouched over him, a sharp knife in his hand. The smile was gone from the cat's face, and his eyes were all business.

"Shit, I'm dead," Gunther thought. But the feline seemed to think the question over, and after a few seconds he flipped the blade back into its handle and rose. The rottweiler remained prostrate as the muted sound of the panther's footsteps faded into the distance, his brain trying to make sense of what had just happened.

--

"Fuck it," Gunther swore in the empty gym room and gave the punching bag one last rage-fuelled blow. The bag swung back at him, the inanimate object loaded with kinetic energy, but the dog dodged out of its way with ease. He took a deep breath and flicked his head to remove the sweat that streaked his brow. This had been a close call. After the pain in his crotch had subsided somewhat he had limped to the security console at the guard's desk only to discover that the panther had erased all the camera footage before leaving. This was perhaps the worst part of it, he was alive and free only because the panther had felt like it. And of course he has no money to show for his trouble. He clenched his fists until his palms hurt. After forty eight hours his balls had stopped tormenting him but the wound to his pride would not heal so easily.

The rottweiler grabbed his towel, tossed his shorts aside and entered the gym's showers. Two rabbits were already there but all it took was a mean look for them to pick up their stuff and leave in a hurry, one of them even covering his privates nervously as if the dog was going to bite them off. Gunther allowed himself a grin. Petty but satisfying.

The hot water felt good on his sore muscles, and the dog closed his eyes and allowed some of the accumulated tension to seep out of his shoulders. At thirty he was justly proud of his body, it retained all the vigor of youth and was honed by years of hard practice, not to mention the best augmentations the black market had to offer. His fur was short cropped, enhancing rather than hiding his features. His sheath and sack were a rich shiny black, like most of his body, but his jaws, forearms, feet, inner thighs and buttocks were a fiery orange-tan. All in all he was looking pretty good, as the panther himself had noted.

The anger came back. "Fucking faggot," he muttered. He wished he had beaten him to a pulp when he had the chance. For a moment he had the feline under him, his body pinned helplessly to the floor, so close he could feel his breath on his face...

A weird sensation in his lower body made him open his eyes and glance downwards. His sheath was swollen, and a little nub of pink flesh was showing. "What the hell..." he thought. He turned the water off and ran his hand over his face. He needed to clear his head and relax, and then get some rest. The restrooms were right next to the showers, and after a glance left and right to make sure no one was around he entered a stall and locked the door behind him. He sat down, grabbed his sheath and pictured a girl in his mind, one of the nice, big-breasted bitches that the more raunchy clubs advertised on giant screens in the streets. Yes, he could see her now, she was pouring him a drink after a successful hit, and now she was removing her clothes. He licked his lips as he stroked his flesh and brought himself to an erection, imagining the lady kissing his shaft. His cock was thick, long and veiny, another part of himself he was very proud of. Precum spurted from his tip and he began to grunt and sweat again from the effort, massaging the soft spot just under his swelling knot. He was so close but could not finish off, so he imagined her taking him in her mouth, except her fur was now black like ebony, and she had amber eyes like...

Gunther yelped as his dick shot multiple thick ropes of cum that splashed on the door. When the last wave of pleasure receded the dog caught his breath and stared at the off-white strands of semen that slowly dribbled to the floor, as if unsure he had made them. He stormed out of the stall and into the locker rooms, not even noticing the two rabbits that stared frightfully at his dangling, spent cock as he hurriedly dressed.

The cool night air cleared his head a little but wasn't enough to temper his rising fury. He would find that panther, and the two of them would have a long hard talk.

The city was busy as always, its streets jammed with traffic no matter what the hour. The neon haze of night would meld into the smog shrouded gloom of day with little perceptible difference in the ambient lighting at the lower levels, where people like Gunther conducted their business. He made his way dodging between tuk-tuks and automated drones, and despite wearing a designer tracksuit and gold chain far too thick to look good, he was not hassled by the street vendors or the thugs. Maybe a level or two higher he would've passed for a clueless tourist ripe for mugging, but down here standing out like a sore thumb marked him only as trouble.

The chaotic streets did not bring him ease of mind, however. Usually after a hit he wandered among the noise and smells of the city, letting his thoughts dissolve until he felt scrubbed clean again, but now a persistent, intrusive thought kept dogging him. Without prompting, the memory of panther's face returned to his mind, hovering over his prone body, followed by Gunther's imagination filling in how his breath would feel on his skin... Gunther punched the air angrily, as if he could crush the thought like a fly. He was built and affluent, and he could have a woman any time he wanted to. He had no need to think of other men at all. Not even that panther and his taunting smirk, his lips opening to taste him...

Gunther smacked his forehead with enough force to make his knuckles pop. As he shook his throbbing hand he focused on the sharp kind of clarity it gave. His thoughts were a storm, and the pain was its eye. He had no homosexual urges, of course, beyond once getting an erection in the high school locker room, but that could be chalked up to teenage hormones. He had no interest in men; he had interest in that panther. It made sense to Gunther: the cat had humiliated him, so his brain was now coming up with ways to humiliate him in revenge. He would press a gun against his head and make him beg for his life, then force him to suck his cock like a bitch!

Gunther punched himself in the gut.

--

The rottweiler was in a foul mood as he entered the bodega, and bumped into another customer who hurried away after just one look at his face. The owner sitting behind a reinforced plexiglass, a gruff looking hog, just nodded at him and continued minding his own business. In one corner a couple worn looking bar tables were set aside for customers to have standing meals, and Gunther beelined towards a scruffy looking borzoi leaning against one of them. He was sickly lean, wearing mirrored aviator glasses and a red beanie, and a ratty hoodie a size too large for him. His hands were almost skeletal and restless, picking at dozens of nicotine patches on his arms, and jumping to make notes on a few data pads he had spread on his makeshift office. His attention was drawn to an improbable crt tv on the ceiling flickering with betting information, so he did not notice Gunther until the dog slammed his palm on the table.

"Glad you could see me on such short notice, Martin." Gunther's tone made it sound like a threat. "I need some info."

"Ain't no snitch." Martin's voice would've suited a surly teenager had it not come from such a wracked body.

"Well how do you fucking do to you, too. How come you guessed that I'm looking for someone, huh?"

Martin scratched a scab nervously and did not reply.

"I don't have patience for games. The Krakov job, who was hired for the hit on the fox?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Gunther grabbed Martin by the front of his shirt. "Like fuck you don't! A high class exec gets offed by a professional hitman in your city, and you haven't heard of it? No one even farts without your skinny ass keeping tabs on it! I want names even if I have to beat them out of you!"

The hog behind the counter grunted, and turned to a new page of the magazine he was reading.

"Jesus fucking pisschrist!" Martin put up his hands. "I've been your fixer for, what, eight years by now? And now you're threatening me, of all people?"

Gunther smacked him straight on the snout, hard enough to draw blood. "I want names, not an employee review."

"You'll never work in this town again!"

The second punch took wind out of Martin's sails. After that he was agreeable to providing the addresses of the panther's usual haunts, and something even more valuable: the man in the forefront of Gunther's mind now had a name. Vincent, he tasted it in his mouth like cold wine. Suitably fancy, even a bit charming. Breaking someone called Vincent would be fun.

--

The Midnight Demon was the kind of place that straddled two worlds. The nightclub catered to a mixed clientele of gangsters from the lower levels and salarymen in search of after-hours thrills. It was seedy enough to give its suit-clad customers a delicious tingle of adrenaline, with the occasional brawl and mugging part of the package. But the well-muscled security staff ensured that things never went too far, at least not in public.

The overbearing electronic beats pounded Gunther's temples and made his pulse throb faster as he worked his way through the throng of people. Dancers pressed around him in the blue and magenta light, their faces flashing and disappearing in an endless blur, but the dog paid no attention to the sea of sweaty bodies and went straight to the rear of the nightclub. There a flight of stairs led to the VIP lounge, where the more discerning and moneyed guests would seek private pleasures. Upon reaching the landing he found the way barred by an alligator in a dark suit.

"Invitation-only," the reptile stated with a voice like a brick wall.

"Mine came in the mail this morning, do you mind checking it?" the rottweiler said, flashing a wad of bills.

Greed flickered in the gator's yellow eyes. He snatched the offered cash with the dexterity of a professional and rammed it in his jacket's pocket.

"Mmmhh... No. I don't see your name on the list. Must have been an error," he shrugged with a saurian grin, "Now get lost before I throw your ass out."

A subdued expression came over the rottweiler's features, like a schoolkid chastened by a domineering bully. He turned as if to go back down the stairs and then wheeled around and gave the man a hard right on the jaw. The gator's teeth broke against Gunther's knuckles with a satisfying crack.

"Urgh!" the man gargled as blood poured from his ruined snout. He reached for the stun gun at his side but Gunther twisted his wrist and turned the weapon against him. There was an electric buzz and the gator collapsed like a disarticulated doll.

"Keep the money for the dental work," Gunther said as he stepped over the sprawled form.

The door slammed against the wall and the dog burst into the lounge, gun raised. An ethereal bluish light bathed the room and illuminated a glass table over which a cornucopia of bottles and multi-coloured pills was spread out. Behind the table was Vincent, seated royally with a glass in his hand and his shirt open to show a lustrous dark chest. A lithe ocelot with a silver earring sat on his lap like an exotic pet. The spotted feline was entirely nude, his jeans and t-shirt laying discarded in a pile on the floor.

"What took you so long?" the panther smiled and raised his glass.

"I had to ferret out your hiding place," the dog replied, his gun firmly aimed at the feline's head.

"Hiding place? Puh-lease... you found me because I allowed it." The panther chuckled and took a sip. Many of the bottles were half-empty and Gunther noticed a faint powdery trace under Vincent's nose, but the great cat spoke lucidly and his face remained a mask of enigmatic coolness.

"Vincent, who's this handsome thug?" the ocelot said in a voice that sounded like his brain was a galaxy away.

"This is my good friend Gunther," Vincent replied and kissed the smaller cat on the cheek, "The two of us have had... a very close physical encounter."

Gunther narrowed his eyes. So the panther knew his name, and God knew what else.

"Mmmhhh... I've always wanted to fuck a big dog. I bet he got a huge knotted dick," the ocelot slurred dreamily. He half-turned, half-slipped from Vincent's lap, making no attempt to shield his intimate parts from the eyes of the newcomer. "Honey, you're going to lose me if I don't get another drink..."

The panther grinned and poured a glass of champagne into the cat's expectant maw. The two males then exchanged a long kiss, Vincent tasting the bubbly wine in his lover's mouth. Gunther gnashed his teeth in silence. He felt the urge to avert his eyes from the indecent scene but he had learned the hard way to keep the panther in his sights at all times.

"But where are my manners?" Vincent said as he licked his lips, "Would you like to join us? I'm paying for the bottles and the boy. With all the money I got from the data it's only fair."

"Get that little slut out of here," Gunther said.

"All right," Vincent sighed. "Lorenzo, my dear, why don't you go and find yourself another daddy for tonight? The grown-ups need to talk in private." His fingers slipped a roll of bills into the ocelot's sheath.

"Hey! I want to have fun with the dog too!" the cat pouted angrily.

"I said leave. Now."

A growl rose from deep in the panther's throat and even Gunther felt the temperature in the room drop precipitously. Lorenzo appeared to sober up in an instant. "Sure Vincent, good night... just call me whenever you want," he mumbled as he picked up his clothes and edged towards the exit without getting dressed, only stopping to pick up the money when it fell from his sex.

"You do have a knack for ruining my evenings," Vincent said as the door closed behind the ocelot.

The gun trembled in Gunther's hand. "Have you no shame? Corrupting a young man like this?"

The panther laughed. "Believe me, Lorenzo didn't require much corrupting."

"Vincent... Is that your real name?" the rottweiler grumbled.

"I'm not hiding who and what I am, unlike some..." the cat smiled innocently.

"What's that supposed to mean?" the dog barked and waved his pistol.

"What's with the gun? Haven't we been through this before?" Vincent said and rose from his seat in one smooth movement. "Should we cut to the chase and roll passionately on the floor? I swear I won't bust your balls this time."

"I should bust your kneecaps for that."

"Then fucking do it. What's stopping you?" the cat purred and took a step forward.

He flung the shot glass over his shoulder, where it landed with a soft thud on the carpeting. Gunther did not budge so he took another step forward, still smiling that infuriating grin of his.

"Well, here I am. Blow my brains out if you want to. Wouldn't be the worst thing that has happened inside these walls."

Gunther held his gun arm rigid and pointed at the cat, but he could only watch in stunned silence as the cat closed in and pressed his forehead against the barrel of the gun. He made eye contact with Gunther, his deep yellow eyes staring intensely into his, the luscious black fur on his torso shimmering along the motions of his heavy breathing, and Gunther could smell the heat of his scent.

"No more words," the cat purred and licked his lips hungrily. "You want to shoot me? Then shoot me."

Gunther stood paralyzed by indecision. All of his instincts were tearing him into different directions. Anger, because like an amateur he had let his target get in too close. Frustration over feeling his control of the situation rapidly slipping away. And, arousal. He could feel a pulse go through his cock and it started to grow dense as blood flowed in it, throbbing in his pants against his wishes. He knew that he should pull the trigger. He should throw a punch. But his body did not want to break the spell. He was enjoying what was happening, but for entirely wrong reasons than he imagined.

"Y-you sick fuck," Gunther managed a hoarse whisper. He tried to gulp, but his mouth felt suddenly dry. "You should be begging for your life."

"Nah. Not my style," Vincent said with a mischievous grin, and nuzzled the barrel of his gun with his nose, then gave it a lick. His breath felt moist on the small hairs on the back of Gunther's hand. The cat was breathing rapidly, like an adrenaline junkie on a high. His smiling lips parted, and he took the barrel in his mouth, sucking on it and making deep, guttural moans, twisting his hips and curling his toes. Gunther's teeth chattered ever so slightly as he shivered from witnessing the cat's perverse delight, and little trembles coursed along his stiffly held arm as he let the cat fellate his weapon.

Vincent pulled back sensuously, a string of saliva still connecting the corner of his mouth to the stubby barrel, and he licked his lips. "I'd rather beg for something else."

He laid his hands calmly on the gun, and Gunther let him pull it downwards until it rested between his pecs. Gunther saw Vincent's chest heaving, his jet black nipples rock hard, as the cat positioned the weapon's blunt muzzle firmly over his heart.

"I want you to shoot something inside me tonight," Vincent was hyperventilating just as much as Gunther when he spoke. "Your choice if it's gonna be a bullet or cum."

Gunther was unable to reply, having lost the grip on the situation entirely due to his bewildering emotions, so Vincent simply pushed harder against him, forcing him to take steps back. Gunther tried to keep him at arm's length but soon he felt the velvet cushioned wall against his back, and he gave in, relaxing his weapon arm. Vincent let it go from his grip and it laid slackly by Gunther's side, without Vincent trying to make a move to grab it. The panther was intimately close to the rottweiler now, their nose tips almost touching and their toned, muscular bodies pressing against each other. The air was thick with body heat and musky sweat. Vincent's chuckle turned into a purr and he pretended to bite Gunther's jawline, making him gasp.

"Hff, that took the fight out of the pupper," Vincent laughed, amused by how Gunther had not tried to resist him. Gunther simply swallowed nervously, and tried to look away.

Vincent took hold of Gunther's shirt and ripped it open with a single, firm tug, then rolled up his white tank top all the way to his collarbone. He whistled softly as he took in Gunther's masculine build, the way his bulging pectorals melded with his muscular abdomen padded with a bit of fat, how his bristling, black fur accentuated his shapes and gave him a warm, tangy dog smell.

Vincent leaned in to whisper in Gunther's ear but the dog jerked his head away from him, making the panther stand tiptoed to reach him, and against Gunther's intention to press his entire body weight on him. He felt smooth but powerful, like a constrictor snake relaxing in sunlight, and his breath left a sickly sweet taste in Gunther's nostrils.

"I'm sorry for kicking you in the balls. Would you like me to kiss them better, big boy?" he purred with a fake, demure tone.

"Stop. This is too far," the dog said in a voice that was little more than a gasp.

"I'll show you too far," Vincent whispered. His fingers wandered towards Gunther's crotch and deftly undid his zipper, exposing what turned out to be an already swollen sheath. Ignoring Gunther's feeble protests, the panther pulled back the furry skin and freed his engorged cock.

"Very nice," Vincent whistled appreciatively as he sized up the massive member in his hand. It was red, turgid and moist, and from it wafted a slightly salty aroma. "I wonder if it tastes as good as it looks," he mused, his fingers idly playing with the dog's testicles in their smooth, dark-skinned sack.

Vincent went on his knees, still clutching the male organ, and his free hand took hold of Gunther's wrist and guided the gun firmly towards his own forehead.

"And I really, really, wonder if you'll still want to splatter my brains after I show you what good head I give."

Gunther stood petrified and stared at the wall opposite him, his legs paralyzed as Vincent gently stroked his cock, sniffed it deeply and finally took it in his mouth. A wet warmth enveloped his manhood and a shiver went down his spine.

The cat was very good at this. His tongue was rough but he handled it with the agility and skill of a consumed professional. He lathered Gunther's cock with his drool, making it slick and keeping it wet as he pumped the dog. One instant his lips squeezed his tip, the other his tongue licked his apple-sized knot. He even probed the loose folds of skin where the shaft emerged from its sheath.

"Aaah..." the rottweiler moaned. The gun shook visibly in his tense grip, the cold metal of the barrel still pressed against Vincent's skull. A voice deep inside his brain was screaming that it was enough, that now that he had forced the cat to suck his cock he should blow his head off and walk away. That voice could fuck off. The sensation was divine, an electric wave of pleasure that radiated from his shaft and rippled through his entire body. Another guy was touching and sucking his dick, but now he did not care one bit. No girl had ever felt this good or made him this horny, and he did not want it to ever end. Vincent must have known it too. His lips suddenly parted from Gunther's dick and he gave the dog a "now's the part where you shoot me, right?" look. The dog stared at him, his chest heaving with each breath and his expression like that of a confused pup. Vincent returned his gaze, his fingers still wrapped firmly around the hand that held the gun. Despite the instrument of death pointed at his face he was not even trying to conceal his amusement at the other male's ordeal. Gunther's neglected cock twitched in dissatisfaction and a soft whine escaped the rottweiler's throat. Instead of pressing the trigger he thrust his hips towards the cat, a dollop of warm drool and precum dangling precariously from his tapered cocktip.

"I take it to mean... that you've changed your mind...?" Vincent said, his own voice hoarse from arousal.

Gunther was panting hard, his heart racing. He felt a lump in his throat but the anxiety and indecision were receding fast and now he wanted nothing more than for the panther to wrap his tongue around his cock again. He nodded, almost imperceptibly.

"What's that? I didn't hear you," Vincent responded, grinning like a naughty imp.

"Yes, please..." Gunther managed laboriously.

"Yes what?" Vincent replied, not letting the squirming prey escape so easily.

"I said suck it. Suck my fucking cock!" the dog barked, angry drool flying through the air.

"That's the spirit," Vincent nodded, and for the first time Gunther saw the massive tent he was pitching through his impeccably-tailored pants.

When the panther leaned over and deep-throated him Gunther knew he wouldn't last long. He raised his eyes to the ceiling and shut them tight, striving to soak every moment, every sensation into his being. It still ended too fast. The cat was saved only by Gunther's trigger discipline as his body tensed, and then clenched. Pressure rose in his balls, his cock strained even further and before he had time to yelp he was shooting his load and painting the back of Vincent's throat with his cum. The panther made a gagging noise but swallowed it anyway, waiting until he had milked the dog dry before taking his mouth from his cock. Off-white spunk dribbled from his dark-furred chin as he pulled his own dick from his pants and vigorously stroked the twitching member. He came almost instantly, moaning and unloading hot feline semen all over Gunther's feet. The forgotten gun fell from the dog's limp fingers and hit the ground with a dull thud.

The two males panted and caught their breath, too exhausted for words. Eventually Gunther dared lower his head and his dark-brown eyes met the panther's golden gaze.

Vincent grinned and licked his lips. "Oops, looks like I ruined your sneakers. Those cost, what, four k a pair?" As they watched, Gunther's still rock hard cock squirted clear fluid on Vincent's muzzle, where he let it dribble down his cheek.

"Shut it," was all Gunther managed to spit out. Out of his comfort zone every move felt like the wrong one to take, so he waited.

When Vincent could not get a reaction out of Gunther he reached to pick up the gun, and then leaned back to lay on the carpeted floor. He propped himself up with his elbow while aiming the gun at Gunther casually, as if he was reclining on a divan and pointing at some choice grapes.

"What a goddamn fag," he said looking at him over the sight of the gun, "I should shoot you on principle."

"W-what!" Gunther sputtered. "It was your-, I only because-, you, you wanted this!"

Vincent threw back his head and laughed deliciously. "Relax. I'm just messing with you." He lowered the gun, then shrugged. "But I guess this means that you're gay now. Not that it matters, I've fucked straight men before."

Chastised, Gunther tucked his cock back in his pants. His eyes wandered over to Vincent's lean, midnight black body. The cat's good sized member laid flaccid and glistening on his belly, not hidden in a sheath like his but exposed and covered in thin, smooth skin. No wonder that felines had a reputation for being insatiable if their dicks constantly flopped out like that!

"You're a fucking weirdo." The way Gunther said it made it sound not an accusation, but a fact. "You like guns? Is that why you're a hitman?"

"Nah," Vincent shook his head and twiddled with the gun on his palm like a fidget spinner. "If I gave this gun to someone like Lorenzo then it wouldn't do anything for me, because I know he wouldn't have the guts to shoot."

He suddenly tossed it to surprised Gunther, who had to fumble to catch it.

"I'm into danger," Vincent continued, "and you're the most dangerous thing that I've met."

Gunther hesitated but then pocketed the weapon. "What happens now?" He hated how apprehensive he sounded in his own ears.

Vincent studied him silently for a while, then got up to a kneeling position in front of him. "Give me your phone."

"What? It's really expensive..."

Vincent rolled his eyes. "Could you stop being a little bitch for one moment and give me the fucking phone already!"

Gunther let out a whine and fished out a sleek bar of glass and steel. It looked tiny on his massive paw, and he dropped it into Vincent's outstretched hand. Vincent fiddled with it for a moment, then handed it back.

"There you go."

"What did you do?"

"I gave you my number. Call me the next time you hit the gym." He got up and shook his shoulders, as if relaxing after a workout. "Or don't. It's all the same to me."

"But, what about...the thing that just happened, and us. Like, are we, you know?" Tonight Gunther had done something previously unthinkable to him, and he did not think that Vincent understood the severity of the matter.

Vincent raised his eyebrows. "Who said anything about there being you and me? That's one big if." Nevertheless, he leaned in to give Gunther's cheek a little kiss and then nudged his shoulder. "Don't let tonight get into your head. You still have some hefty competition if you want to become my favorite pastime."

He detached himself from Gunther's side and walked towards the table with hard liquor and clandestine pharmaceuticals, while the dog stood watching his back.

"Speaking of which, I have some drinking alone to do. Maybe jacking off too. Who knows, the night's still young. Ta-ta, pupper."

Normally Gunther would have reacted to the rudeness with violence, but he felt simply overwhelmed by everything going on around him. He could feel the dampness in his underwear as his cock squirted out its last drops, the cum burning on his shoes shamefully, the heady musk of their lovemaking and the warm aroma of the cat's body. He felt choked by the hazy club air, by his heart beating fast in the throes of his post orgasmic bliss, and he felt a burning need to breathe in the cool night air and clear his head.

"I'll call you later," he said with a gruff voice. "Don't tell anyone," he added and stormed towards the door with hurried steps.

Vincent shrugged, slouching on the sofa again, and lifted a bottle to salute his receding back.

"Tsssk... maybe I should put him in touch with my therapist," he said to himself when the door slammed shut and he took a swig.

--

Gunther finished the last rep with a growl and racked the heavily loaded barbell above his head. He laid on the bench panting, with sweat glistening on his bare chest and arms. Vincent had agreed to spot him, and as hard as he tried he could not ignore having the contents of the cat's gym shorts hovering just a little above his face. This late at night there were few other customers at the gym, and Gunther preferred it that way. He did not like distractions when working out.

Vincent, however, had other ideas. He got around the bench press and sat on Gunther's heaving chest, leaning on the bar like a fence and looked down at the dog.

"Because you're predictable," he said with that infuriating smirk of his.

"What? What are you talking about? Get off my chest!"

"No."

Gunther lowered his voice to a whisper. "What if others see us?"

"Let them. I don't care at all."

"I care a lot!"

Vincent looked around. "Calm down, right now there's no one else here than us. What kind of person uses a flechette gun?"

"Wha-" Gunther was completely bewildered, but he did not try to shake Vincent off him. Feeling him on top of him was...interesting, now that there wasn't anyone else to see them. "You mean mine?" He frowned.

"Yes, the shitty one you brought to Krakov case."

"Close range it has superior penetrating power-" Gunther protested, but was cut short by Vincent.

"-making it effective against opponents with body armor, yes. So, if you expect others to be armored then you have implanted subdermal armor on yourself."

Gunther looked aside and grunted in acknowledgement. He wanted to cross his arms but Vincent's butt was in the way, and he did not want to go there. Vincent shifted his position and made himself comfortable on Gunther's profusely sweating chest. It was seeping into his shorts making them stick against his fur.

"That means your torso and major arteries are protected, and I can't get through there with my knife. That leaves your eyes, ears, underside of jaw--and technically anus, but what are the chances of that happening--so I needed to get within your intimate range."

"Wow, you really read me like an open book," Gunther said sarcastically, and gave him a flat stare. "If you're so smart then you know what I'm thinking about you right now."

Gunther had not taken off his heavy gold chain even for his workout, and Vincent grabbed it like a collar and leaned in up close to his face.

"Do you really want me to say it out loud?" he said with a taunting voice, "others might hear it."

The rottweiler opened his mouth, but before he could say a word the answer came out of Vincent's instead.

"You're thinking I'm the slickest, deadliest hitman you've ever met, and you really wish I'd teach you everything I know."

Gunther snorted. "You got nothing on me. I had you at gunpoint, remember?"

"Yes, and I also remember smashing your pretty face and walking off while you were crying on the floor," Vincent retorted with unflinching eyes.

Gunther felt his blood pressure spike. The dog closed his eyes for a few seconds and took several deep breaths, but when he finally replied there was a note of genuine interest in his voice. "Okay hot shot, now you have my attention. So what can you teach me?"

Vincent leaned even closer until their noses brushed. "A few... close-contact tricks that you will find very, very disarming."

Gunther groaned angrily and pushed Vincent off his chest, the feline fell back and landed on his ass, his hands softening the fall. He leaned back on his elbows, a huge smile splitting his face.

"Can't you be serious for a second? You're a fucking pervert, that's what I'm thinking," Gunther barked and tapped his temple with his finger.

"I was talking about fighting techniques. What the hell is wrong with you?" Vincent replied. His tone was indignant, but his eyes told a different story.

"You think I'm a moron?"

"I think you have a dirty mind."

"You..." Gunther began, then shook his head and got up, "Just fucking forget it. Besides, I'm not interested, I'm not..."

"A fag? Thanks for setting the record straight. I could have gotten the wrong impression about that the other night," Vincent said.

"Shut up or you're going to get this," Gunther spat back, brandishing his fist, "I don't even know why I called you." He picked up his towel and headed for the showers.

"What, you gonna leave without a kiss to say goodnight?" Vincent called after him, loud enough for his voice to echo in the empty gym, "Come on, just a little peck on the cheek."

Gunther flipped him off without looking back.

"Fucking asshole..." Gunther grumbled under the cascading water. The patter of bare feet made him turn his head and he saw Vincent entering the showers, his damp shorts casually flung over his shoulder. The dog sighed a mixed sigh of relief and annoyance. The feline was breaking his balls but part of him had been afraid that he would leave after his outburst. He awkwardly ignored the cat until Vincent stood in the shower opposite him.

"Hey, I'm sorry I teased you. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," Vincent said and he squeezed some soap into the palm of his hand.

Gunther's alarm bells rang and he eyed the panther suspiciously. The cat whistled as he lathered the soap on his chiseled body, starting with his pecs and shoulders and moving on to his thighs and calves. He was like an ebony statue, with powerful muscles and well-proportioned limbs. Both men were in peak physical condition and of similar heights, but Gunther could see the subtle difference between their bodies. He was the bulkier of the two, with square shoulders, a broad chest and a little bit of padding around the midriff that didn't make him fat but rather provided an extra layer of protection. Vincent in contrast was of a more lean and supple build. He had all the muscle that his line of work required but his strength was evenly distributed over his body, and his movements had the fluidity and grace of a natural acrobat. If Gunther was like a charging bull, then Vincent was a rangy and deadly hunter.

"It's just that sometimes I get carried away," the panther continued. He scooped up a handful of foam before smearing it on his crotch and rubbing his manhood for just a bit longer than he had to. His hand squeezed his shaft and worked some of the soap on his cockhead in a back and forth motion. The frothy mix dripped down his dangling member as it swayed with his every movement.

Gunther felt his face flush, but not because of the damp heat of the shower. Vincent had turned his back to him now, and water was running down his spine and onto his ass, plastering his short dark hair against his skin and highlighting his muscular buttocks. The dog took a deep breath and turned to face the wall, trying to stop what he knew was the beginning of an erection. Now was not the time to get a hard-on, not after what he had just told the panther. He needed to blank his mind, finish showering and get dressed. Then the two of them could...

A hand snatched his wrist, twisted it up behind his back and shoved him forcefully against the tiled wall. "What the..." Gunther blurted, but a voice whispered in his ear.

"What did I tell you about not letting me within intimate range?" Vincent purred.

"If I wanted to, I could smash your skull against the floor," Gunther growled with a voice that meant it.

"Relax, I just figured you needed some help washing your back, or perhaps a nice massage," Vincent said. His free hand began to rub the dog's neck and shoulders and then trailed down the muscles of his back, "You're awfully tense," he noted, "I wonder why..."

"Maybe because there's a naked man groping my ass in the fucking showers," the rottweiler said.

"True, true, we need to work on your insecurities..." Vincent nodded, "Did you know your tan fur makes a lovely little heart shape on your butt?"

Gunther growled again and clenched his buttocks. "I told you, this is off-limits and I'm not interes..."

"Oh yeah? So explain this."

Vincent quickly wound his right arm around Gunther's waist and grabbed his package. The dog gasped as the cat's finger's closed around the rock-hard erection he had been trying to hide.

"Enough!" he hushed, "We can't do this here." He tried to yank himself from the panther's grasp.

"Move and I'll scream so loud that the whole goddamned city will wake up and come see what's going on," Vincent said with unrepressed delight.

"You're fucking crazy!" the dog said with a rising tone of panic.

"I know, you keep telling me," Vincent replied. His left hand let go of Gunther's wrist and slid between the dog's asscheeks, just under his little stub of a tail. Despite the pouring water Gunther felt sweat seeping out all over his body as a wet digit tickled and then massaged his hole. "Yeah, nice and puffy, just the way I like it," Vincent said and licked his lips.

Gunther shuddered as he felt his private spot being probed and clenched tighter, trapping the fingers between his asscheeks. He felt nervous and nauseated as if looking down from great heights and wanted to turn away, but the cat had the base of his turgid dog cock firmly in his grasp. He could feel Vincent's nipples brushing against his shoulder blades as he moved closer, and whispered in his ear with a silky smooth purr.

"Relax. I'm not gonna do anything weird, I just want to make you feel good. Consider it a favor between friends."

Gunther let out a low growl, but gradually loosened up. "O-okay, but be quick about it. Someone might come in at any moment!" He could feel the hairs on his buttocks prickling up as he imagined the panther's manhood hovering right behind them, and much too close for comfort.

"That's the spirit," Vincent said and patted his shoulder with his free hand.

He slid his hand from Gunther's shoulder to the nape of his neck, then along his spine to take his stubby tail between his fingers and gave it a soap-slickened tug.

"I didn't realize earlier that you're cut," he said as he toyed with it.

"Wh-," Gunther jerked his head in confusion. "What of it!? My family's traditionalist, okay?"

"Ah, mine's reformed. I hope your dad won't mind?" Vincent gave the back of his head a little kiss.

Gunther blinked. Right now his father's tail was absolutely the last thing he wanted to think of, but before he could form any kind of reply Vincent reached around him with his left arm. Gunther felt his fingers crawl over his pecs and give their firm flesh a squeeze, groping them with a hungry grasp and then pinching his rock hard nipples.The hand made its way lower along his abdomen, as Vincent knelt behind him slowly and kissed his spine, sipping the warm water that rippled down his back in an even flow.

Gunther gasped when he felt Vincent's nose tip find its way under his tail and touch his pucker, but the panther was holding onto his cock with both hands by now, so Gunther had nowhere to turn. Vincent was squeezing and massaging him behind his knot to keep him on the edge, while working his tip carefully with his other hand and smearing precum along his purplish, swollen shaft. Resigned to his fate, Gunther planted his hands firmly on the shower tiles and braced himself, in his mind as if he was preparing to mount a hefty bitch.

Vincent took this as an invitation to probe deeper into his behind. He nuzzled between Gunther's round, bulging buttocks with his face, inhaling the musty aroma of his sweaty skin, and then gave his dark colored pucker a lick with his coarse tongue. Gunther inhaled sharply but did not budge, so he took the tender flesh between his lips and started making out with the other man's asshole. A low, muffled moan rose from Vincent's throat as he french kissed Gunther's opening, licking and sucking in the soft parts and exploring its pink inner folds. Gunther shivered when he felt the panther's tongue tickle his insides, but the sensation was not entirely disagreeable. He tried to relax by calming down his rapid breathing, and then some deeper impulse made him arch his back and push out his ass to offer Vincent a better access to his private parts.

Vincent let go of his cock and grasped his buttocks roughly, his claw tips digging into Gunther's skin, as he doubled his effort to ravage the dog's ass. At first Gunther squirmed as he felt the tongue lap and tickle him from inside, but soon the movement of his hips turned into a slow, rhythmic wave as he grinded his ass against Vincent's face, his heavy cock bouncing along the motion. He glanced between his legs and saw that Vincent was almost painfully erect too, his cock glistening in the water and mist that sprayed over them.

Afterwards Gunther could not tell what made his hand detach from the wall, except that it felt like the right thing to do in the moment. He reached behind himself, sliding his hand between his ass cheeks, and then stretched out his hole gaping wide with his fingers. Vincent lifted his head to kiss his knuckles, purring against them, and nudged them with his nose to encourage them to move in deeper. Alarmed but enthralled, Gunther dared to dip his index and middle fingers inside his own rectum, and was surprised by how warm and silky smooth it felt, and by how little resistance his sphincter mounted when invaded by something going in. His fingertips brushed against a hard, sensitive spot that sent electrifying tingling through his entire lower body, and he inhaled sharply.

"Feels nice, doesn't it?" Vincent murmured and bit the back of Gunther's hand, tugging the skin between his teeth and then licking it. "That spot is hard to reach with just a tongue..."

A pang of self-awareness struck Gunther and he withdrew his fingers precipitously, as if unsure how they had gotten here. He opened his mouth, trying to think of something to say, but the painfully hard truncheon that dangled between his legs was the only thing his brain could focus on. With a low grunt he braced his legs further apart and lifted his tail in a silent invitation to continue.

"I'll take that as a yes," Vincent moaned and buried his muzzle between the dog's buttocks.

The urge to blow his load was overpowering, and Gunther stopped trying to make sense of the maelstrom of emotions coursing through his head. He wrapped a hand around his engorged shaft and began to pump his fist furiously while Vincent sucked his warm asshole with renewed fervor. The water had stopped flowing from the shower head, and Gunther could feel beads of sweat pearling on his overheated hide. He groaned, snorted and stroked himself harder until the floodgates burst open and great ropes of dog cum spurted from his tip to paint the steam-covered tiles. His virgin pucker twitched and clenched from the throes of pleasure that gripped his body, and he rocked his hips back and forth until long after his ammunition was all spent. Lost in the afterglow of release, he did not notice Vincent get to his feet, grasp his own cock and hump the air a hair's breadth away from his tawny butt. Within seconds the panther let out a mewling roar and Gunther felt something hot splatter against his exposed backside.

"What the..." the rottweiler muttered and instinctively swiped a hand across his buttcheeks. The fingers came back all sticky, and he turned to face a beaming Vincent.

"Didn't I tell you it would feel good?" the cat said as he squeezed his cock.

"What did you do that for?" Gunther grumbled. His hand hovered above his ass, as if he wanted to wipe it clean but was hesitant to touch it. He could feel the gunk slid down his skin and pool into his crack, and he began to look around for a towel.

"Jesus, how fussy can you be..." Vincent said and rolled his eyes, "There, let me clean it for you."

Before Gunther could utter a word the panther was back on his knees, licking the salty goo that clung to his hairy cheeks. The dog rested his hands against the wall and said nothing, unsure how to feel about the raspy, muscular tongue that greedily lapped at his cummy ass and tickled his hole with its bristles. Vincent made it last as long as he could but eventually the hot mess was all gone, and after a playful squeeze at Gunther's chubby balls he was standing behind the rottweiler again.

"So, did you like it?" the feline asked and gently made him turn around to face him.

"I don't know..." Gunther mumbled and looked away.

"You don't know?" Vincent grinned. His hand reached between Gunther's legs and caressed his spent manhood. The slick, semi-flaccid cock slid between his fingers as it retracted into its sheath. "You're not a very good liar."

The dog said nothing, so Vincent circled to face him properly. "Are you alright?" he said, his tone suddenly serious.

Their gazes met, and there was a hint of sadness in Gunther's brown eyes. "Yeah, I'm alright. It's just... a lot to process, you know?"

Vincent wrapped an arm around his shoulders and moved closer to him. "I'm sorry if I was a bit brusque. We can take it slower if it's too much."

"Maybe," Gunther replied. He took a deep breath and exhaled. "Not saying I didn't like it, right? But I'd never have imagined..."

"I know..." Vincent nodded. "It will be alright..."

His face moved closer to Gunther's, his hot breath caressing his muzzle. Their noses touched, and Vincent tilted his head to the side. For a fraction of a second Gunther tensed, remembering where these lips had just been, but Vincent simply brushed a kiss on the corner of his mouth. A faint scent of salty seed and tail musk filled the dog's nostrils, and Gunther caught himself wondering how the panther would taste.

"Hey," Vincent said as he ruffled his companion behind the ear. "What do you say we get cleaned up and then go out for a beer and something to eat?"

"Yeah, sounds like a plan," Gunther said, a timid smile lighting his features.

"Good, because for a second I thought you were going to fucking cry," Vincent laughed and slapped him on the shoulder. Gunther bared his teeth and gave him a mock punch.

The clatter of a soap bottle hitting the floor made them turn their heads. The door to the nearby restroom slammed open and the blurry form of a white rabbit darted away with all the speed of frightened prey. The two men stared at each other as the sound of running feet grew more distant. Gunther's face was a mask of frozen stupor but Vincent contorted his features into a grimace and burst into such laughter that even the dog could not repress a chuckle.

--

They picked a place a Suber ride away, a nice little upscale burger joint with good reviews, frequented mainly by hipsters looking for something authentic but expensive. On their way there Vincent spread his legs wide open on the backseat, enough so that their knees touched.

"Not now," Gunther whispered and pushed his leg discreetly back.

Vincent raised his eyebrows, but then shrugged. "Okay, have it your way."

The rest of their ride went uneventfully. When they got out of the car the everpresent drizzle had turned into a downpour, and they had to cross the sidewalk in hurry, bursting in through the doors from the muggy noise of the street into indirect lighting and smooth jazz playing in the background. The place had the faux casual look of a business orientation video and few customers, but the food smelled good and the chefs seemed busy, which lifted Gunther's spirits and made his belly rumble.

A perky waitress took them to their booth, but when Vincent tried to sit next to Gunther he coughed.

"Do you mind?"

Vincent rolled his eyes and bounced to sit opposite to Gunther.

"I'm sorry about my friend," he confided to the waitress, "he gets anal retentive like this at times."

The waitress carried on completely unfazed unlike Gunther, who busied himself by studying the menu card intently, holding it close to his eyes to hide the red on his cheeks.

True to his habits Gunther ordered the fanciest imported beer on the menu, not the best tasting but the most costly one, but when their drinks arrived Vincent reached for Gunther's bottle.

"Oh hey let me take a sip." Before Gunther could react he took a swig and swished it around in his mouth before swallowing. "Not bad. A bit too much hops for my taste, but it has a nice aftertaste of orange peel and caramel malt."

Gunther looked upset when he set down the bottle. "Are you gonna pay for that?"

"What, you suddenly became poor?" Vincent lifted his eyebrow.

"Well I can't drink that now, your lips have touched it."

"Wait, you're not joking," Vincent said and stifled a surprised laughter. "I just had my mouth tonsils deep in your ass, and you're afraid of getting my spit in your drink?"

"Shh! Not so loud," Gunther hunched over the table and glanced over his shoulder before whispering to the cat. "They might get ideas about you and me."

"I can't imagine what kind of ideas they might get from two bros having burgers." He leaned back and looked at Gunther with an amused expression, leaving the dog in an awkward position hugging the table.

Gunther straightened himself, looking hurt. "I like you, but I also don't like how friendly you behave towards me in public. You're too...casual about touching me."

Vincent chuckled and grinned conspiratorially. "Speaking of touching, did you see the eyes on that rabbit? You sure gave him the surprise of a lifetime!"

Gunther made a low, deflated sigh and buried his face in his hands when a realization dawned on him. "Ohgod. I can't ever go back to that gym."

When he did not budge for a good while, Vincent tore off a piece of bread stick and tossed it at him. It bopped off his head and landed on the carpeting. "Come on, are you going to mope the entire evening?"

"Yes," came the muffled reply.

"You can't eat your burger like that. Aren't you hungry?"

Gunther looked up slowly. "...I guess so."

"Good. You're a big boy, you must have a hearty appetite."

"Please. I know that you're headed for a sex joke, but could you not when everyone's watching?"

"Tsch, tough crowd." Vincent looked sour for the first time in the night. "Do you mind if I vape, or is that too much for you too?"

"Sure, go ahead." Gunther shrugged.

"Seriously though," Vincent said when he scrounged around in his jacket pocket, "clearly you want to be around me. Otherwise you wouldn't have called me in the first place." He took a puff and let the vapor linger out of his mouth. "But then you get anxious like a teen girl meeting her first crush. What's with that?"

Gunther tapped the table with his fingertips while he thought about it. "I...am interested in you," he said with deliberate weight. "It's just that everything about you is so, so," he made big gestures with his hands, "so extra that it makes it hard for a guy like me." He arranged and rearranged the pepper pot and the salt shaker. "I'm a simple guy. I like looking tough to strangers. I get that you don't give a damn what people think about you--you've done a real good job of convincing me of that thank you very much--but for me it matters."

Gunther twitched when Vincent touched his foot under the table. His first reaction was to yank it away, but then he relaxed himself and let Vincent caress his lower leg with his shin.

"We can keep it a secret if that makes you feel better," Vincent said and looked him in the eyes. His were as yellow and sharp as wasp honey, and Gunther felt oddly more naked in front of them now than back at the gym. "I really want to get to know you better."

Gunther studied him and then nodded. "Me too. I'm curious, but you're just a lot to take in."

The panther's eyes lit up, but Gunther's stern frown stopped him from making the quip. They stared at each other in silence, then both of them broke out in good natured laughter.

"When am I going to see you again?" Gunther asked.

"It depends," Vincent said and fished out his phone. "Unlike you I work for an organization of...legitimate businessmen, and they like keeping me on a short leash. I know, it's a tragedy, but the money helps a lot to make it bearable."

"How did you know that I'm a freelancer? I don't exactly advertise my hitman services online."

Vincent continued his scrolling. "Please, you almost made me botch a job. That's liable to make one send out feelers." He looked up. "In the meantime, feel free to visit my local gym. I heard that you're looking for a new one. It's a high end place and membership is by invitation only."

"Is it, like, a gay gym?" Gunther frowned.

"What? No. I go there to lift weights, not pick up guys. What gave you that idea?"

"I can't even begin to imagine," Gunther said with a serious tone but couldn't help the corner of his mouth rising up.

That was when their burgers and fries arrived. They ate together, like regular friends enjoying each other's company, chatting about tricks of their trade and other casual topics. Vincent had not watched yesterday's game because he had little interest in sports, and he preferred the garrote for that intimate level of control it gave. Gunther had not seen the latest opera because he had no interest in classical music, and he liked a clean headshot for that instant takedown over a safer but messier shot at the center of mass.

After their meal was done and they were waiting for their bill, Gunther watched Vincent with half closed eyes.

Is what I am feeling love?, he thought to himself. He had had flings with girls before, but they had been superficial and he had little recollection of any of their personalities. But Vincent held Gunther's undivided attention. The night before he had slept restlessly, fretting about how their meeting would turn out, and now knowing that it had gone past his wildest imagination he felt content with his decision to come.

Vincent noticed Gunther's eyes resting on him.

"I could kill you," he mouthed quietly.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because that's what you're thinking of too. Calculating how you could take me on in a fight." He snatched a cold potato wedge off Gunther's plate.

"Wrong." Gunther wanted to explain, but telling him what he had really been thinking of felt embarrassing so he shut up.

"It's also a statement of intent. Not only am I physically capable of killing you, I'm also entirely willing to do it if it becomes necessary. No hard feelings."

Something welled up inside Gunther's chest. He could not tell where it came from, but he felt a certainty like never before in his life.

"Wrong," he replied.

Vincent stopped and squinted at Gunther, the uneaten potato wedge frozen midway into his mouth. "How..." he started, but then the waitress returned and he shut up.

Vincent paid for both of their meals, tipped the waitress generously, and then bid Gunther goodnight. He got up and told Gunther that he'd call him as soon as he was able to hang out with him again, and without further explanation he stalked off with that sauntering gait of his. At the doorway he crouched his shoulders, popped his collar, and walked into the rain, leaving the rottweiler watching his back meld with the unseemly shapes of the night.

To be continued...