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1. Dinner and Drinks

“I knew I said we'd be seeing each other again soon, but I didn't expect it to be this soon!" Asher said, bouncing in his seat as he drove along, casting a sideways glance towards the shark.

“Yeah," Jet replied, the side of his brow resting against the passenger window as he stared at the buildings passing them by like a crowd of silent witnesses. He fidgeted with his hands in his lap. “Small world, heh."

The leather steering wheel squeaked and crackled under the strain of Asher's claws. He pressed the pedal harder, picking up speed.

“We only see each other at the club," Asher began again, a low rumble escaping from deep within his chest, “Or on top of my desk at work!" He bellowed a hearty laugh at that, and then cleared his throat before continuing:

“I'm sorry that we don't see each other more often."

“It's… fine. Really."

“No, it isn't," Asher interjected, waving his hand as though he was wiping Jet's words from the air. Jet winced and leaned away, pressing himself against the passenger door.

“No. Jet, I've been a massive fuckin' asshole to you. And I promise: I will make it up to you. For everything."

Asher placed his hand across his breast, straightening his back and, after an exaggerated ahem - as though he had suddenly become some posh, regal aristocrat - asked:

“How about lunch, on me, at one of my favorite places?"

Jet turned his head towards the drake, hands still fidgeting, picking at his claws. Asher smiled at him, his eyes glittering and the usual sharp angles of his snout seeming to lessen in that moment of his goofiness, making him appear younger, softer. Believable. He slid his hand down from his chest and onto Jet's thigh and left it there.

Jet gulped, quivering at the touch, warm and tender this time; one that filled his mind with both desire and dread and yearning and fear; but why? It wasn't on purpose; it never was; and in spite of everything; his shoulder and ribs screaming in silent protest; he finally felt himself relaxing before Asher like so many times before. His forearms tingled and face burned. The end of his tail flicked back and forth. His footpaws shifted around restlessly. After a long moment the shark nodded.

“I could go for something to eat, sure."

“Perfect…" Asher whispered, the word slithering out of his mouth like a hiss.

As Asher drove Jet through the city, the pair sat in silence. The drake kept one hand on the car's steering wheel, and the other on Jet's. Asher sped them along to their destination.

They pulled up to the building: a medium sized mixed-use high-rise. The ground floor had been split vertically down the middle into two separate establishments, with one half being the lobby for the apartment floors above it, and the other half the restaurant. The front of the restaurant was sleek and modern, with long, straight lines and sharp right angles. Black painted steel beams framed massive, single-pane windows, below which sat rows of spotlights that were aimed upwards, shedding cones of rich, golden light onto the facade. Hanging above the tall double-door entrance was the sign: a piece of brass plated steel that had been cut, bent, and shaped into a pair of feathered wings spread into a large V-shape. Attached to each wing tip were the ends of another piece of metal that had been shaped into a flowing ribbon. Amber Wings Est. 1991 was engraved into it.

Asher parked his car and hurried around to the other side, opening Jet's door. He extended a large, clawed hand and helped the shark get out, lacing his fingers into Jet's as they walked into the restaurant.

The foyer was a small room with walls of black wooden panels on the bottom half, and white wallpaper with golden, delicate swirls on the top. In the corner was a cut-out nook under a brass, rectangular plate upon which the words COAT CHECK were stamped. White crown molding, into which tiny dragons had been carved, ran along the ceiling. The floor was made of oak and stained a deep, rich burgundy. The host stood behind their podium and led the pair inside.

The foyer was certainly beautiful, (Gaudy as fuck, Jet had thought), but the dining room was something else (Gaudier than fuck, Jet had thought). The walls and floors matched those in the foyer, the dark colors of the wood; the hushed voices from other diners; a soft and melodic laugh above the low din every now and then; the gentle, delicate tinkling of glasses against glasses and silverware against plates; or the bubbling whisper of a drink being poured; candles flickering and glowing on table tops; all of which felt intimate and personal. This was the place you took someone to impress or show off to, or where you took someone after a fight to kiss and make amends

On the right side of the room, opposite from the dining tables was a massive bar, running the entire length of the room. Shelves with mirrored backs stood behind the bar and housed hundreds of bottles of alcohol, spirits, and mixers as well as glasses and mugs of all shapes and sizes - all of them sparkling even in the faint light.

The host sat them down at a table in the back corner. One long, continuous booth ran along the wall, and so Asher decided to sit next to Jet rather across from him. He sat to Jet's left, turning a bit to face into the shark.

Jet looked around, amused by the sheer excessiveness of the place more so than any beauty it might have had in another's eyes. He began looking over the menu, reading descriptions of dishes he'd never even heard of before.

What the fuck is “plus three contemporaries?" he thought, scratching his head, and realized, after looking at the prices, that there was no way in hell he could afford to eat here regularly, especially if he was the one buying.

Fuck. I'd have to suck so much more dick to afford the shit here, he cracked a smile at himself, covering his mouth as he snickered.

“Something funny?"

“Oh, no nothing at all. This place is quite… uh… very pretty?"

Asher leaned into the smaller male and brushed Jet's hair away from his brow, tracing his forefinger down and along Jet's jaw, then under his chin. Asher smiled, his eyes narrowing.

“Only the best, for you."

Jet gulped, straining his neck as he felt a sharp claw dragging against his flesh. His gaze flashed up at Asher, ears lowering. Seemingly pleased with that, Asher turned away and lifted his menu.

After the pair discussed their order, Asher flagged down the waiter and relayed it. They sat there, again mostly in silence, and waited. Jet slid his glass of water around on the table absently, bored, eyes getting lost among the ice cubes, his palms coming away wet with the condensation. He clapped them together rhythmically and snickered to himself with lascivious glee at the sound.

Hearing those himself, Asher slipped his hand under the tablecloth and slid it between Jet's thighs, caressing him through the front of his shorts. Jet gasped and wriggled in his seat, toes curling and couldn't help but rock his hips forward, thrusting himself against Asher's palm. The drake rubbed his hand over the growing bulge and smirked. Jet returned a smirk of his own.

Unfortunately, before they could enjoy their dessert first, Asher spotted the waiter appear through the kitchen doorway and, with a final squeeze, stopped his teasing. Jet shuddered, straining against his shorts, the tent throbbing with each of his rapid heartbeats. The waiter arrived and set a steak down before Asher, and a bowl of mac and cheese before Jet.

“Ah, well," Asher whispered with a sigh. “It's for the best we don't get kicked out."

Once Jet's mind cleared and the blood returned to the correct head, he looked down at his meal. His dinner steamed and bubbled: spiral noodles covered in a white, cheesy sauce with a blanket of (what he assumed was) cheddar and bread crumbs that had been baked until golden brown.

I don't even recognize some of the fuckin' cheeses in this thing, Jet thought and smiled, but at least it smells good.

As he went to pick up his fork, Asher snatched it up. He stabbed a few noodles and held it before Jet, his other hand curling under Jet's chin, lifting his head up.

“Allow me, my darling," Asher said, eyes narrow and glittering.

“It's too ho-" Jet began in protest as Asher stuffed it into his mouth. He chewed quickly and swallowed it, grimacing as it burned the entire way down. He chased it with water to snuff out the glob of molten lava sitting in his stomach, and then slumped back against the booth, tongue scalded and throat sore.

“What's wrong?"

“It's nothing."

“Tell me."

“Just burned my mouth a bit."

“Oh, no, how awful…"

Asher threw his arm around Jet, tucking the shark tightly against him. Jet squirmed as the drake nearly smothered him, his shoulder and ribs throbbing in agony as they were crushed against Asher's chest.

“I just wanted to do something nice for you. Dinner is ruined."

“No," Jet sputtered out between labored breaths, “It's not a big deal - I'm sorry - I shouldn't have said anything."

Asher tugged Jet closer, claws digging into his arm, like little razors begging to slice flesh. Jet wheezed, eyes fluttering and pushed against the drake who finally released him.

After that incident, they ate in much of the same silence as before they were served. Asher devoured his quickly and stormed outside for a smoke while Jet pushed his around with his fork. Every now and then, he took a bite. It was good, he couldn't deny that, now that it wasn't burning up his insides, anyway. Now that he could enjoy it in peace.

When he finished eating and Asher had returned and paid, they both left. They slid between his car and the giant minivan of some asshole who had parked too close in the next spot, and Asher opened the door for Jet. As Jet stepped past him to get inside, Asher loomed behind him, looking around the street, and then down his snout at the shark, a fist clenched, his eyes like two small suns, erupting and boiling.

* * *

Jet stepped out of Asher's car and turned around, shutting it with a gentle click. Asher was silent, staring straight ahead with a cigarette in his mouth, fingers tapping the steering wheel. The sun had begun to set, drooping in the sky, its golden magnificence matched only by the sheer intensity and fury in Asher's eyes; meeting the sun's gaze with his own, as if daring it to try something. Jet's shoulder throbbed and he stood there holding his arm. He hung his head, his ears flat, and forced himself to keep his expression blank, detached, and his eyes on the ground.

“I'm sorry I ruined dinner and upset you." Jet said, his voice small and trembling.

“All I wanted was a nice romantic dinner with you." Asher spat, eyes still forward, unblinking. His fist ached and he flexed his fingers, claws slicing through the air. “Maybe if there's a next time, it'll go better."

Maybe… Jet thought, the word drifting off somewhere in the farthest, darkest reaches of his mind; as if carried away by a gentle breeze that, in that moment, Jet wished would pick him up and spirit him away, too.

He stepped back and up onto the curb and Asher sped off, wheels squealing as he went. When his car finally disappeared around a corner, Jet reached up and gently squeezed his shoulder. It pulsed with his heartbeat, burning under his shirt. He turned around and looked at the building Asher had left him in front of - Swampwater - and ventured inside.

Amber Wings, Swampwater was not, and that was perfectly fine with Jet who, as the sounds and smells within the bar - familiar and comforting - hit his senses, began to brighten up. He walked inside and looked around. The interior was hazy with cigarette smoke, filled with low tabletops beneath exposed bulbs that flickered when someone shut the front door too hard. It was loud, rowdy, and unapologetically grimy with the stench of nicotine, greasy bar food, hard liquor, and both good and bad decisions made from the bottoms of empty mugs. The bar top was rough and warped with dents and gashes from fights and years of spilled drinks seeping into the wood. The seat of every booth was split to pieces and taped back together with duct tape. The floor was dusty and scuffed. The music was obnoxiously loud and great. People of every identity sat or stood around, clanking mugs together in toasts and cheers, laughing and shouting. Arms were across shoulders, around necks, and hands - hidden under tables - up skirts and down pants.

Jet stepped over to the bar and sat there, leaning forward on his elbows - well, one of them anyway - the other arm he kept relaxed, resting across his lap. He swung his legs slowly and rocked along with whatever noise was coming across the radio; his tail, too, dancing in its own way behind him, swishing left and right. Rakkarth hadn't noticed him yet, and, being perfectly honest with himself, Jet was fine with that too.

That'd be really fuckin' embarrassing, he thought, closing his eyes.

After he finally reopened his eyes, he looked down to see that a glass had materialized in front of him, and pouring into it was bourbon from a bottle held by a large, black furred paw. Jet looked up and he couldn't help to smile in spite of it all; shame and embarrassment be damned; starting off small - a gentle upturning of one corner of his mouth, and quickly growing wide across his snout, sharp teeth sparkling in the haze.

He rest his chin on his hand, leaning forward as Rakkarth filled his glass. “Well, aren't you a beautiful sight for these fuckin' eyes of mine. Hello, gorgeous, how did you know I was thirsty?"

“You don't drink often." Rakkarth replied flatly, studying the shark for a moment; face blank save for that bit of a grumpy scowl that was always there it seemed, forever carved into his muzzle. He twisted the cap back on the bottle and placed it under the counter.

“Someone bought you this round," the wolf continued, crossing his arms. “Said to get you whatever you usually drank."

Jet's face grew pale. He whipped his head around, half expecting to see a massive silver drake standing somewhere in the room; within the haze or under a table, waiting; expecting to see two yellow eyes watching him from a shaded corner. Instead, he saw only strangers and he let out a sigh of relief before turning back to Rakkarth.

“Who?"

Rakkarth's gazed flicked upwards and past Jet and he tilted his head, pointing his muzzle in the direction of the wolf sitting near the door. His fur was thick and marbled with both browns and beiges, like coffee and creamer that hadn't been fully mixed together. His eyes were a sharp, icy blue. Shoulder length black hair that curled gently at the ends framed his face nicely and nearly hid two pointed, tufted ears. He wore a navy denim jacket with the sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms and a black tee shirt with jeans.

Smaller than Rakkarth, though not by much, he sat there neither rocking to the music nor engaging in tipsy chit-chat with anyone else. Instead, he sat alone, and when Jet turned to face him, he lifted his glass in cheers. Jet raised his glass and smiled.

“Well," the shark began and took a sip of his booze, “I know what I'm doing later…"

Rakkarth shut his eyes, “Are you serious?" He asked, the words came out as a sigh.

The shark cast a sideways glance at Rakkarth, still smiling, having finally been able to lock away what happened earlier that evening; somewhere dark and growing ever more crowded. For a while, at least.