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Gunther sipped his tea too quickly and a droplet escaped between his lips to hit his bare chest. He cursed and brushed it away, but it still left a stinging mark between his pecs. He shifted his weight to find a more comfortable position at the kitchen table, but the designer chair's metal feet made a squealing noise against the black marble floor, which cut his ears and irritated him. The kitchen was bathed in brilliant sunlight pouring in from the large, wall sized window that gave a dizzying view over the murky smog below and the ocean ahead. The bay was swarmed by cargo ships from all over the world waiting for their turn to dock, but from so high up they looked like toys in a bathtub. Commerce had always been the city's lifeblood, but it pooled in the hands of the few, who then fed people like Vincent little drips to ensure that it stayed that way.

Not that people like Gunther had a high horse to sit on. The only difference between him and Vincent was that Vincent got paid more for the lives that he took. Feeling distraught by his train of thought, Gunther squinted in the brightness and looked around him. The kitchen, like the rest of the apartment, was spotless and shiny but had all the personality of a hotel room, filled with uncomfortable design furniture and color choices he could not even begin to name. Sleek, metallic kitchen appliances glittered unused in the sun, and the large fridge was used to store only a bottle of cum lube and spare ammunition. The person living here was either neurotic about cleanliness or had a maid, and Gunther knew for a fact that it was the latter.

It had been just a couple days after he had moved in with Vincent when he had met his cleaning lady. She had a stocky build, a surly disposition, and a vaguely Slavic name, and both of them had noticed the huge blotch on the living room carpeting that was clearly a semen stain at the same moment. Gunther had blushed fiercely, feeling too awkward to come up with an explanation, but she had just fished a cigarette out of her pocket, taken a long drag and muttered "goddamn dog cum impossible to get off fabric" before pushing Gunther aside. He had tried to explain that it wasn't what it looked like, even though it absolutely was, but she had not deigned to reply and had just pulled on rubber gloves with a snap and a scowl. The last few months had been a strange time in Gunther's life, but that memory was one that still made him flustered.

The chair squealed again and Gunther got up in annoyance, picking up his mug and padded to the living room. He was wearing a red silk dressing gown two sizes too small for him, with golden dragon patterns that twirled across his back and around his biceps, left open to show off his bulging pecs and the padding on his belly, and a pair of comfortable boxer briefs. He had just settled down on a low couch when he heard footsteps coming from the bedroom. Vincent came out and yawned with a big stretch, then scratched his belly. He was completely naked, and the morning sun played on his fur like on a slick of midnight oil when he shifted his balance from one foot to another.

"Ugh, can't you put on at least something," Gunther said, his mug stopped halfway to his lips.

"Why? I'm not showing anything you haven't seen yet. Besides, the AC's broken. Get it fixed." Vincent grinned and flexed theatrically.

"Yeah, yeah..." Gunther made a mental note. Vincent didn't like handling practical matters.

He walked across the soft carpeting and leaned over a glass coffee table, planting his hands on Gunther's knees and kissed the tip of his snout. "Good morning to you too, sourpuss."

Gunther noticed that his low hanging dick brushed off against the fruit in a bowl on the table, and he made a disapproving groan.

Vincent flopped down next to Gunther, his head against the armrest and his feet in Gunther's lap, and picked up a banana to eat. Gunther could feel his pawpads touching his inner thigh through the cloth, and he cleared his throat when Vincent shifted them to massage his jiggly sheath slowly.

"You're going to make me hard if you keep doing that."

"Oh, I'm making you hard? I don't think having sex is a good idea right now. I haven't gone to the bathroom yet."

"Christ!" Gunther set his mug down with a loud clack.

"Are you sure you want to bring him into this? Surely he wouldn't approve." Vincent smiled and took a bite of his banana.

Vincent gave him a flat stare, took a sip of his mug, and let Vincent play with his bouncy bits while he looked into the distance and backwards in time.

The first few weeks of their relationship had had a clandestine feel to them. They'd meet at Vincent's gym, lift weights together and get some food in an eatery, never the same one twice in a row. Sex took place furtively in hotel rooms rented for the purpose under a false name or in secluded spots in parks. Vincent humored his friend for a time, perhaps amused by his spy-games antics, but he eventually grew tired of the repetitive routine. One evening as they were eating pizza he had slid his hand in his pocket and tossed two tickets on the table.

"Two seats for next Saturday's performance at the city opera," he grinned, "I hope you have a tux in your wardrobe."

Gunther swallowed his mouthful with some difficulty. "A what?" he said with round eyes.

"A tuxedo. You know... these fancy black suits they wear in the movies," he said, arranging an imaginary bow-tie around his neck. Then, seeing the look of sheer bewilderment on the dog's face he added: "And no, you don't have anything planned for next week, so I won't accept any excuses."

When the big night came Gunther had felt more nervous than before a hit. The tuxedo itched and was too tight, despite Vincent helping him to pick it, and the drinks and appetizers served before the show were too small. The place was full of people in expensive-looking clothes who spoke in hushed tones and laughed a lot even though their jokes weren't funny. Gunther felt awfully out of place, and it didn't help that the only people who looked like him were the security staff. The dog stuck close to Vincent during the first half of the evening, and it was a genuine relief when they were herded to their seats.

Gunther tried to follow the play, he really tried. The actors wore ridiculous clothes, so he assumed it took place during the Middle Ages or pirate times but he wasn't sure. The story was about some guy from a rich family who wanted to marry a poor girl, but the guy's father didn't like the girl so everyone was really upset and sang in sad tones. Gunther couldn't really make sense of it. Why wouldn't that wimp just stop crying and tell his old man to go fuck himself? That's what he would have done for sure. He soldiered on, thinking that the real, more interesting story must surely start soon but when the curtain closed on the first act a sense of absolute dread filled him as he realized that this was it and that there would be two more hours of the ordeal. He instinctively fished his phone out of his pocket and started fidgeting with it but Vincent slapped his wrist and gave him a stern look. Gunther set aside the offending widget and sulked in the darkness for a while. He smothered a yawn behind his hand, feeling his eyelids grow heavy.

The thunderous applause woke him up with a sudden jolt. He blinked and saw that the play had ended and that his head was resting on Vincent's shoulder. Before Gunther could utter a word the cat gently dabbed the corner of his friend's mouth with his handkerchief.

"That lady played the best Violetta I have ever seen on stage. The guy who did Alfredo was a bit over-the-top but his voice was golden. What do you think?" he said with a slight smile.

Afterwards Gunther sat in an embarrassed silence in the car that took them home that night. Finally he blurted out: "I'm sorry okay? I know you must think I'm too stupid but this stuff simply isn't for me."

Vincent eyed him for a moment, as if thinking of a stinging remark to fling at the sullen-looking dog, but then he burst out in laughter.

"Oh god, I wish I could have taken pictures. You were so damned cute, especially when you started drooling."

The dog looked away with a ruffled snort but Vincent slapped his hand on his shoulder. "All right, maybe I did you a dirty trick by dragging you to this play. But we have to vary our evening plans. What do you say you come over to my place next week? We'll order takeaway and watch the match on TV."

This was something Gunther could agree to, and after a few visits he naturally accepted Vincent's offer to move in with him, though he stubbornly insisted on contributing to the rent. Only a few months ago he'd have laughed at--or punched--anyone who suggested that soon he'd move in with another man, yet here he was, happy and content despite the initial feeling of weirdness.

Gunther shook the memory out of his head with a sigh. "I never thanked you for that night at the opera. You could have made a fool out of me but..."

He didn't finish his sentence. Vincent had managed to pinch his sex between his toes and was now stroking his rod through his boxers and the loose skin of his sheath. Gunther stared at him but the feline purred and took another suggestive bite out of his banana.

"God dammit... Can't we have a nice conversation for once?"

"This feels like a nice conversation to me," Vincent said mischievously and stroked Gunther's manhood, making his red tip peek out of its sheath and dab his boxers with a damp spot.

Gunther pushed Vincent's legs off his crotch gently but firmly. "I'm being serious. It's really hard for me to talk about my...feelings, okay? It's just how I was raised." He swallowed. "But I really want to, and especially with you. About why we're...here. Together."

"I can think of a reason," Vincent grinned and tried to grasp Gunther's half erect cock, but the rottweiler stopped him again. He snorted and retreated to his own end of the couch, pouting.

Gunther cleared his throat and looked into his mug. "Back at the opera you could've made fun of me, and called out how dumb I am. You should've done that. That's how you operate." He looked up at Vincent and met his eyes. "But you didn't. And that's why I wanted to move in with you. Because I think that you love me."

Gunther realized that he had been holding his breath, and exhaled deeply.

"What? No!" Vincent shook his head. "Don't start getting any ideas." Vincent straightened up, pulling his legs close to himself. "We're just fuck buddies and that's all there is to it," he murmured quietly and averted his gaze.

"Okay," Gunther opened his hands a little, "Then say it out loud. Say to my face that you don't love me."

"This is dumb." Vincent sprang from the couch and paced back and forth on the luxurious carpet, like a restless animal on a leash.

"If you don't love me then saying it out loud shouldn't be a big deal. I don't mind if we're in it just for the sex," Gunther lied and kept his voice nonchalant.

Vincent gave him a half glance, biting his nail as he thought. His athletic body made his pose look stunning, like a classical sculpture crafted from obsidian, tense and sharp.

"Get dressed," he snapped. "I want breakfast. We're getting bagels."

Gunther just watched him without replying, with a smug little smile rising to his lips. Vincent scoffed and turned on his heel, stalking back towards their bedroom, his long tail swaying back and forth along his springy steps. Gunther sipped from his mug and sighed in relief.

--

Vincent had relaxed by the time they arrived at the mall, returning to his usual mood and being content to make small quips and look good in public. Nevertheless, Gunther could pick up an apologetic, almost kind feel in his tone which was something entirely new. He seemed to have come to a decision that irritating Gunther had become a dumb game to play.

Other times when they had been in public it had been great fun for Vincent to slip his hand in Gunther's pants and cop a feel when no one was paying attention to them, but now he kept his hands to himself, only occasionally touching his arm or shoulder to draw his attention. In a way it was a pity; Gunther did not enjoy being made embarrassed, but there was a certain thrill to it. He remembered one time at the back of a crowded sports bar when Vincent had secretly jacked him off under the table. Creaming his pants in a place full of patrons had made him flustered beyond belief, but he had to admit that it was one of the most intense climaxes he had ever experienced.

In return he had fucked Vincent hard when they had come back home, throwing him on the bed and burying his entire shaft and knot to the hilt in the feline's supple, tight ass. Gunther had had anal with women before, of course, but afterwards when they had laid together in bed with Gunther hugging the purring Vincent from behind the experience had been different. The details bubbled up from the murky depths of Gunther's desires: the panther's toned buttocks pressing against his thighs, the base of his tail brushing against his tuft of sweaty pubic hair, the trickle of warm sex juices from Vincent's asshole onto his rumpled up sheath, the musky, raunchy smell of their lovemaking lingering in the air, his hard knot rubbing against the hardness of Vincent's prostate, the sensation of peace he had felt at that moment. Instead of hurrying to detach himself, he had let the two of them drift off to sleep stuck together.

Gunther emerged from his reverie and shook himself clean. He was wearing tight shorts and a loose sleeveless shirt, a red varsity jacket and ratty flip flops, his gold chain and a pair of sunglasses worth a family budget. As such he felt at ease at the high end mall that they were visiting. True to his style Vincent was wearing a business casual suit, and he had quipped how much money Gunther had to spend to look so poor. He had shrugged and noted that in his experience people paid less attention to what you were wearing than how you were wearing it. As it were, when he had walked in the mall with the absolute conviction that he belonged there, the security guards at the entrance had let him pass with just a passing glance.

After their breakfast they went for a stroll around the megaplex. The low level streets might have been the real face of the city, but this place was undeniably nice. The polished marble floors were pleasantly cool, the HEPA filtered air crisp and fresh, the tastefully placed waterfalls and fountains provided an inoffensive background sound, and the staff was politely detached yet eager to serve.

Which was why the stranger stood out like a sore thumb to Gunther.

Vincent had popped into a luxury watch store to check out the merchandise, but Gunther didn't want to enter with his frozen yoghurt and stayed outside to window shop. In the reflection he noticed a hawk standing a little ways off but looking at his direction with keen attention. He looked like a biker thug, wearing a heavy jacket emblazoned with logos, puffy pants and knee high boots, and his expression was uncomfortably intense. He was not merely checking out Gunther's drip, but seemed to be actively watching him. To test this Gunther strolled to the other side of the display window, and when the hawk's stare followed him unerringly, the hair on his neck crawled up with the foreboding sense of danger.

Gunther could've alerted Vincent, but at that moment his first instinct was to draw attention away from his mate. He walked casually along the row of shops, checking the reflections to confirm that the stranger kept following him, luring him further away from the watch shop while pretending to be oblivious to his presence. When he came across a corner he approached it with deliberate idleness, stopped, and burst into action. Without warning he dashed around it to break the line of sight, but stopped immediately after clearing the corner, his sandals squeaking in protest on the shiny tiling, and pressed himself as thin as possible against the wall. Soon enough the hawk came running after him at full speed, and a single shove with an open palm sent the surprised bird sprawling on the floor.

"Looking for someone?" he said and gave his frogurt a lick.

"The fuck is your problem?" the hawk shot back and stumbled to his feet.

"Mmh, let's see... A lowlife punk who thinks he's James Bond is trailing me and my buddy. That's my problem," Gunther said and tossed his treat in a nearby bin. "I think the two of us should have a little chat in private," he added, cracking his knuckles.

"You're fucking crazy. Leave me alone or I'll call security," the biker said, slowly backing off.

"Good idea, let's call security so they can check your ID and run it against a biometrics database," Gunther chuckled and stepped forward. "No friend, I'm pretty sure calling the cops is the last thing you want to do..."

Gunther caught a glimpse of steel and jerked away just in time as a blade swooshed through the air and cut the front of his shirt. "Son-of-a..." he shouted, feeling a sharp bite of pain on his left pectoral where the knife had cut his skin. Anger and training overrode his surprise, and he stepped back in a defensive position, ready to dodge the next strike. At that moment the hawk turned and ran down the hallway in the direction of the escalator, pushing shoppers and passerbys out of his way. In a fraction of a second the dog was racing after him, determined to catch the bird to make him talk and pay, in that order.

The bird ran up the stairs so fast that Gunther struggled to keep up with him, and as he reached the landing he kicked his cumbersome flip flops away, preferring to continue the chase shoeless. Only a few people strolled the mall at this early hour, and they all gave both men a wide berth as they speeded past the glistening shop windows and giant advertising screens that lined the marble alleys. The rottweilers' leg muscles had been augmented with synthetic microfibers, but despite this the distance between him and the fleet-footed bird remained frustratingly constant. Gunther gnashed his teeth and ran harder, ignoring the burning sensation of the cut and the growing blood stain on his shirt. He climbed another flight of stairs two at a time and saw his prey dive into an elevator. The dog rushed to block the doors but missed by a hair's breadth, and he could only swear and mash the call button as the hawk soared out of reach with a sarcastic grin on his face. It took only moments for another elevator to arrive but by the time the doors finally opened Gunther was of a mind to smash his knuckles into the reinforced glass. He pressed the button to the top floor but kept his eyes fixed on the cabin above him, ready to stop where it did. He only spared a few seconds to look down into the ground level and saw Vincent emerge from the watch shop and turn left and right, looking for him. The dog pulled his phone from his pocket and with dexterous fingers texted his mate "Someone followed us, I'm in the lift." Before he could watch the cat's reaction he saw the hawk stop and dart out of the elevator. He followed him seconds later, just in time to see the biker disappear into a fire escape that led to the parking garage.

Barefooted, panting and dressed in a now-bloodsoaked shirt, Gunther must have presented an alarming sight, but fortunately the multi-storey parking lot was deserted. The hawk's booted steps echoed in the vast structure but there was no place for him to hide. Gunther's main worry was that the bird would reach his bike before he could catch him, so he ran as fast as he could until the chase led him to the garage's top storey. There he cornered the hawk.

"Well, well... Forgot where you parked your car? Happens to me all the time," the dog said. He was more than a little winded, but the biker's panicked look was ample reward for the effort. The man's eyes darted from left to right and back again, as if he had expected a getaway vehicle to await him. But the two were alone, and the rottweiler slowly backed him against the railing. "Tell me why you were following us and maybe I'll let you leave with most of your bones in the right place."

The hawk lunged forward with his knife, but this time surprise was not on his side. Gunther dodged the blow and grabbed his hand. "I was hoping you'd do that," he grinned and twisted the man's wrist with practiced ease. A shrill screech pierced the air and the knife dropped to the ground with a metallic clink.

"How about now?" the rottweiler asked.

"Fuck you asshole," came the answer between gasps of pain.

Without hesitation Gunther grabbed the bird by his jacket's collar and hoisted him over the railing. "Enough playing. Spill your guts now, or you'll do it on the pavement," he growled.

The bird wriggled in the canine's grasp and glanced downwards, towards the street a good ten storeys below him, and his tough-guy act suddenly vanished. "Stop it! I was only supposed to watch you," he shrieked, "Let me go or they'll kill us both!"

"Nobody will have to kill you if I kill you first," Gunther barked and shook him like a rag doll.

The bird opened his beak as if to finally talk when a loud crack rang out and half his face disappeared in a red mist.

"What the..." Gunther cried out as the limp body slipped from his hands and fell noiselessly into the void. The dog instinctively dived behind a pillar but the unseen gunman seemed content with his well-aimed hit, and the roar of an engine sounded his imminent escape. The rottweiler emerged from behind cover just in time for a huge bike to swoosh past him, leaving a hot gust of exhaust fumes and burned rubber in its wake. The assassin wore a black leather jacket, a pair of heavy-duty denim trousers and a full-face helmet but the muscular, scaly tail that trailed behind him left little doubt as to their saurian nature. Gunther took a few steps to pursue them but the roar of the killer's engine became a purr and then a distant noise. Swearing under his breath he trotted towards the nearest exit when a door swung open and Vincent burst into the parking lot.

"Gunther! What the fuck have you been doing?" he shouted, but there was genuine relief beneath the anger in his voice.

"I had him. I fucking had him and then he shot him," the dog muttered and leaned against a pillar, breathing heavily.

"Shot him? What are you..." the cat began and then noticed the blood-encrusted shirt. "Shit!" he swore and rushed to his friend's side, "Is it bad? Let me..."

"It's nothing," the rottweiler replied and shook the sweat from his brow. "I'm in deep shit. I chased that bird through the whole mall and now he's splattered on the pavement outside," he added and jerked at the railing with his thumb. "I didn't kill him though. That lizard guy did."

Vincent froze. His eyes became cold and his demeanor precise and mechanical.

"Whatever happened we need to get you out of here. This place will be swarming with cops soon enough."

Gunther was happy to let Vincent lead the way, and after a few minutes spent navigating the service corridors the pair was out in a back alley.

--

Gunther almost collapsed on the couch when they reached Vincent's flat. But his relaxation was short-lived when the cat pulled a first-aid kit from the bathroom cabinet, tore his shirt open and began to clean and then suture his wound. The gash was superficial but it ran from just above his left nipple to his shoulder. The dog spread his arms over the backrest of the couch and tried to not let a sound escape his lips as Vincent worked with swift and precise gestures.

"Be honest," he said, "Will that scar look good on me?"

Vincent did not reply to his attempt at levity, but kept working silently. When he picked up a synthskin spray to seal the wound, Gunther stopped him by taking hold of his hand.

"You're awfully quiet." His tone was more accusatory than he had intended.

"I'm just not in the talking mood."

"Do you know who is behind this?"

Gunther thought about Martin, but a pang of guilt went through him when he remembered his treatment of the borzoi. It would be nicer if Martin had decided to seek revenge like a man, instead of making him feel bad about himself.

"No." Vincent's reply was curt. "It was just a mugging gone wrong. Don't worry about it."

"Bullshit."

"Stop being a baby and let me apply the spray. It's gonna leave an ugly scar otherwise."

"What if it's a relative of a former mark?"

"Highly unlikely. I kill only people who nobody likes."

"Or a former employer." Cogs were spinning in Gunther's mind, but he was missing a piece that connected them.

Vincent rolled his eyes. "You're being impossible again." He leaned in to recline on Gunther, and kissed his neck before murmuring in his ear. "But I don't mind. I'll still love you even if you turn ugly." His words sounded sincere, but his smile felt forced.

"Vincent, please tell me. What are you hiding?"

"Shh, let me kiss it better for you."

Vincent shifted his weight downwards to kiss Gunther's wound, and at the same time slipped his hand in his shorts. Gunther felt a sensation between tickling and cutting when the cat's lips touched the fresh stitches softly, and pressure in his crotch as his hand squeezed his sheath around its base. The dog planted his hand on the cat's clavicle and pushed him back.

"I'm serious. You're not listening to me."

"I'm being serious," Vincent smirked and stroked the loose skin over his knot, feeling it plop in and out of his grip. He was just about to lick Gunther between his pecs when the rottweiler shoved him back, with much more force than necessary. Vincent stumbled and banged against the coffee table as he landed on his ass. He sprang to a half sitting position, surprised and furious.

"Vincent," Gunther's voice was almost pleading, "you're withholding information and that is putting us both at risk!"

"Well sometimes things just happen!" Vincent spat back. "You can't be a hitman and expect a risk free life!"

"This isn't a game!" Gunther tapped his temple as if his finger was a bullet. "It could have been me."

"I'll talk to them. It's just a misunderstanding." Vincent's voice became quieter as he spoke, and he looked aside with a pouty expression.

"Talk to whom? Who's 'they'?"

Before Vincent could reply there was a knock on the door, and both men froze in place. Neither of them had missed the soft chime of the intercomms, so the intruder knew how to get into the building on their own. Vincent exchanged a look with Gunther, and then got up and padded silently to the front door. Gunther slid off the couch and followed him.

Vincent reached for a heavy caliber pistol on the hat shelf and pressed it against the door, while Gunther got in position to open it. He was unarmed, but out of the two of them only his body could absorb small arms fire. He laid his hand on the handle, drew a deep breath, and then cracked open the door with a sudden jolt.

That spooked Lorenzo badly, who had been huddling in the corridor. He was wearing a baggy hoodie with a black metal logo, a knee high plaid skirt, and combat boots left untied, but he smelled like he had been sleeping in them for a couple nights. The ocelot's hair was unkempt and had lost its shine, and he looked like he had been crying. His eyes widened when he saw Gunther and he stepped back, cowering as if expecting a blow.

"P-please, is Vincent here?" he said with a meek voice.

Vincent mouthed 'no' and shook his head, but Gunther frowned. "You're Lorenzo, right? What happened? You look like a mess."

"I just need a place to stay. I have nowhere else to go. Just for one night okay? Can you ask him please?" He wringed his hands, but could not hide the nervous energy of an addict trembling through them.

Vincent stepped into view behind Gunther. "What? No! You look like gutter trash. Fuck off before someone sees you!"

Lorenzo's expression turned to utter exhaustion and he stood there trembling, tears welling up in his eyes. "But, buh, we could party, and, and..." his voice trailed off between sobs and sniffles.

"I wouldn't touch you even with a rotten dick." Vincent's voice was filled with disgust. "Now do I have to get the building security to beat you up, or do I have to do it myself until you get the point and piss off?"

"Fer chrissakes," Gunther shook his head and pulled Lorenzo in despite Vincent's protests. His heavy arm rested over the youth's shoulders, and for a moment it felt like Lorenzo would collapse on the spot. He recovered and let the bigger man walk him, leaning against his side for support, and to Gunther it felt like he weighed almost nothing.

"Thank you, thank you..." Lorenzo mumbled between sniffs. He kept his eyes fixated on the floor as he walked past Vincent and when he and Gunther reached the living room he stood there awkwardly, as if afraid that a single gesture would get him thrown out on the spot.

Gunther turned to face him and lifted his chin with his hand. The young man sported a black eye and a bruised cheek. "Who did that to you?" he asked.

"No one," Lorenzo replied and tried to avoid eye contact with the much larger man.

"Fell down the stairs, eh?" the rottweiler grumbled, "Was he the same guy who sold you drugs?"

The youth began to tremble again and then suddenly burst into tears. "He... he said I owed him money and he forced me suck him, and then he wanted me to do the same to his friends but I didn't want to, so he hit me and..."

His voice broke off into incoherent sobs so Gunther laid his hand on his shoulder and seated him on the couch. From a corner of the room Vincent watched the scene and let out a "See? I told you" sigh.

"Go get him some water," Gunther asked.

"I'm not taking care of your pet," the feline shot back.

"Vincent, not now please," Gunther said between clenched teeth and jerked his head towards the youth.

Lorenzo had taken his head between his hands and was crying freely. Tears were dripping from his face and a trail of snot hung from his nose. Vincent put up his hands in exasperation but walked to the kitchen. He emerged a moment later with a glass and a freshly-opened bottle of mineral water. Lorenzo gulped his glass in one long draught and sat there hyperventilating. Eventually his chest started to rise and fall more evenly and his tears ran out.

"Are you going to uni?" Gunther said and sat next to him.

"They kicked me out," Lorenzo said and wiped his nose with his sleeve.

"You have a family? Are you on speaking terms with them?"

The ocelot turned his head and his eyes met the dog's. He nodded silently.

"Good. Tomorrow we'll give you some money for a ride home. You can't stay in this city." He glanced over the youth. His clothes were soiled with the grime of the streets and from him wafted a smell that reminded Gunther of the homeless drunk that used to sleep outside his old gym. "Go take a shower," he said "The bathroom is that way."

Lorenzo almost physically recoiled from the dog and his face turned pale. A brief flash of confusion came over Gunther and then he understood.

"I'm not going to do anything to you, but you need a shower and clean clothes or they won't even let you board the plane."

Lorenzo gulped and gave him a tight lipped nod, then got up and walked across the room holding himself nervously while the other two men watched. Gunther waited until he could hear the sound of the shower from behind the closed door before he spoke to Vincent.

"Don't you feel even a tiny bit of guilt?"

"For what?" Vincent replied and took a long drag from his electronic cigarette.

"For this," the rottweiler said and waved in the bathroom's direction.

"Not at all. I was one of his nicer clients," the cat exhaled and walked over to the liquor cabinet.

"You lured him down a destructive path."

"Don't give me that shit. He's not a kid anymore, he can look after himself."

Vincent pulled out a bottle of scotch and poured himself a glass. He took a sip while watching the sky through the glass-paneled window. It was only midday but the sky was darkening, and Gunther had a feeling it was going to rain. "...And so should we. In this line of work you can't let your emotions get the best of you," Vincent continued, his back turned to Gunther. "I want him gone first thing tomorrow morning."

Gunther passed the youth a pair of his shorts and an old t-shirt through the half-open door. When Lorenzo emerged into the living room again he seemed to be drowning in clothes far too large for his frame. In other circumstances the scene would have been almost comical but now it only highlighted his sickly thinness, and the dog could barely believe this was the same person as the voluptuous young man he had seen at the club only a few months ago. After making him sit in front of the TV to keep him occupied Gunther tossed the filthy clothes into the washing machine and fumbled a bit with the commands until he figured out how to turn it on. Only then did he remember that he was far from smelling like a bed of roses himself. He snuck a glance into the living room but only saw Vincent sitting at the kitchen bar reading a magazine while Lorenzo watched a cartoon with eyes that had the liveliness of a day-old fish. Reassured, the dog closed the bathroom door, took off his clothes and washed himself, wincing every time he accidentally touched his pec.

"Maybe Vincent's right. I almost got killed this morning and now I'm adding something to our list of problems..." he muttered as he stared at his reflection in the mist-covered mirror. He sighed deeply and shut his eyes.

--

Gunther opened his eyes and stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, then spat toothpaste in the sink and rinsed his mouth. He shut the lights and padded to the dimly lit bedroom. He was naked for the bed, as always, but Vincent was wearing azure blue silk pajamas with elaborate gold colored filigree, sitting in the bed in a half sitting position and thumbing a data pad. He did not look at Gunther when he sat on the bed and snuck under silk sheets next to him. Through the glass wall of their bedroom Gunther could see storm clouds gathering in the night sky, a massive black maelstrom of summer heat that roiled heavy and malevolent wide across the horizon. Lightning flashed in the depths of the clouds in a series of pulsing lights, charging up and ready to tear asunder anything they hit with a thundering crack. Even now, when the clouds were still creeping towards them over the sea, Gunther could hear low rumbling that dwarfed even the city's constant hum. From experience he knew that when the storm would hit the rains would come pouring down harsh and heavy, scrubbing the city fresh and raw all the way down to the lowest levels.

Gunther put his hands behind the back of his head, and studied the ceiling for a while before turning to look at Vincent. "You're pouting."

"No I'm not," Vincent said smartly and swiped the text on his pad. He was wearing half rim reading glasses that he absolutely did not need, but he said he liked how smart they made him look. Gunther thought that they made him look cold.

Sweat beaded on Gunther's exposed armpits and trickled down his side, leaving a damp patch on the sheets. "Lorenzo's fast asleep on the couch. He was so wound up that I had to give him a couple sedatives."

"Good for him. I want him out the first thing in the morning."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll take him to the airport." Gunther sighed and started to turn his shoulder to Vincent, but was stopped. Vincent had laid the pad on his lap and was now looking at him, frowning.

"Why would you go in person? Get him a lift."

Gunther shook his head. "I want to see him board the plane with my own eyes. The lil' guy must be terrified of facing his family, so he might take the money and run instead."

"I don't like it. It's a completely unnecessary risk."

"Well...you can't be a hitman and expect a risk free life." Gunther gave him a tiny smirk.

"Fuck you." Vincent crossed his arms and pouted.

Gunther sighed and shifted to rest on his side, and laid his meaty hand on Vincent's upper arm. He could feel the cat tense up, but he relaxed when he stroked him.

"Why do you hate the kid so much?" he asked softly.

"I don't hate him. I just can't form attachment to anyone in this line of work. I have to be able to start a new life at the drop of a hat." He gestured with his free hand. "All of this must stay disposable, and everyone that comes along with it."

"Even me?"

Vincent inhaled deeply, and turned his head to look Gunther in the eyes. His yellow stare made Gunther hold his breath, but it did not feel as piercing as before. He laid his smaller hand on Gunther's big paw and shook his head a little. "No. Not you."

Gunther drew breath again and nodded, and then pulled Vincent into a hug, wrapping his arms around him from behind. Vincent did not resist, and they laid together silently for a while, with Gunther's nose tip buried in the hairs on the back of Vincent's neck and inhaling his scent.

"Why do you care so much about him? He's just some random college kid I picked up for fun. He would be terrified of you if he got to know you." Vincent's voice was soft and tired, and he petted Gunther's strong arms as he spoke.

The rottweiler took a moment to reply. "He reminds me of my younger brother. He's... no longer with us." He paused. "Medical bills, you know."

"Is that why you became a hitman? To make money for the medical treatments?"

Vincent could feel Gunther's body shift as he shook his head. "Nah. I was already knee deep in the killing business by then. My old man was too proud to take anything I tried to give him to help. Called it 'gangster money'." His broad chest pressed against Vincent's back as he huffed slowly. "We're no longer on speaking terms."

Vincent squirmed around in Gunther's hold until he was facing him, their nose tips close enough to touch. Gunther could see sweat starting to bead on his skin too, trickling along his throat and down between his pecs. His breath was minty fresh when he reached for his lips with his own, and this time Gunther let him kiss him.

"How on earth did a big sentimental oaf like you ever end up in this business?" Vincent asked and kissed his nose, his hands scratching him behind his ear.

"Bad neighborhood," Gunther replied and kissed his forehead, taking his ears between his finger and thumb and rubbing them softly.

Vincent purred and arched his back, and licked at the perspiration on Gunther's cheek.

"I'll show you a bad neighborhood..."

Vincent casually turned off the lamp on the bedside table, plunging the room in semi-darkness. His hand slipped between Gunther's thighs and cupped his sack. The skin was smooth to the touch save for a few coarse bristle-like hairs, and the damp heat in the room made it feel loose and leathery. The cat rolled the dog's testicles with his digits, weighing each big orb between fingers and thumb.

"It's been too long since we emptied those," he whispered.

"Shh, what if Lorenzo wakes up?" Gunther murmured and gave the cat a lick on the nose, feeling the rod in his sheath grow stiffer.

"Let him, I love an audience..." Vincent replied and took off his glasses. He tossed them on the plush carpet where they landed noiselessly, and with a few more supple gestures pulled down his pajamas and kicked them away. Both men lay naked and erect on the bed and for time they were content to rest in each other's sweaty embrace. Outside, a loud crack was followed by a heavy rumbling that even the triple-glazed windows could not muffle, but the two men paid it no attention. Their male organs rubbed against each other, Gunther's red, canine cock squirting a near-constant stream of watery precum that wetted Vincent's smooth penis and soaked the bedsheets. Gunther let out a small whimper as another trickle of clear liquid spurted from his cocktip and onto Vincent's belly fur, and he moved his hand to grip their manhoods and grind them to an early finish.

"No," Vincent said and gently brushed his hand off, "I don't want it to go to waste."

Putting his hand on Gunther's shoulder, he delicately pushed him so that the dog was lying on his back. "Let me guide you," he said and caressed the rottweiler's padded belly. Gunther simply nodded and allowed the cat to sit astride him, take his dripping cock between his fingers and slowly ease it inside his ass.

It never ceased to amaze Gunther how tight Vincent was. Of the two of them the panther was by far the more sexually experienced but obviously only a select few males had been granted the privilege of penetrating him. Gunther moaned as he worked his way in, feeling the warmth of Vincent's cavity engulf his member. This was different from the time he had mounted the cat from behind. This time the two lovers saw each other face to face, two pairs of eyes gleaming in the night. Vincent's face was shrouded in darkness but Gunther glimpsed his white teeth as his lips parted in a silent groan--a few seconds of discomfort before Gunther's knot plopped past the feline's sphincter and the feeling turned to one of mutual pleasure.

The rottweiler closed his eyes, let his head rest on the pillow and moaned as Vincent's hot, tight walls closed in on his penis and began to massage the sensitive organ. Then he laid his hands on Vincent's thighs, close to his hips, and began to pant and thrust rhythmically.

"You feel amazing," he sighed, his hands gripping the cat's damp fur. The bedsheets under him were soaked with sweat and the skin of his pawpads were slick and slippery so that he had to dig his dull claws into the feline's skin.

"And you feel big," Vincent panted. His eyes were ablaze and his tail fluttered behind him as he rocked and moved his body in unison with Gunther's. In the unlit room the dog could barely discern his partner's dark-skinned member but the steady dribble of warm goo that landed on his skin was evidence enough of Vincent's arousal, and the dog felt happy knowing that he was having such an effect on his lover.

Another, much louder crack split the air and was followed immediately afterwards by the furious rattle of heavy rain lashing against the windows. Gunther groaned, gripped Vincent's fur and continued with his rapid pumping. Vincent's member bobbed with each thrust and his damp balls rested with all their weight on the dog's lower belly. Gunther felt a mild flash of pain across his pec, and something more than sweat began to spread on his chest but he barely registered it. His attention was solely focused on the lean, mighty form that rode him and in which he was about to pump his seed.

"Ooohh fuck," he swore, "I'm sorry but..."

His entire body tensed, the muscles around his urethra contracted and he began to shoot his load. Several long jets of semen gushed from his tip and filled Vincent's rectum. The cat let out a snarling roar as his lover came inside him and gripped his cock just in time to aim his own climax at Gunther's face. Within seconds several long ropes of hot cum criss-crossed the rottweiler's snout and chest.

When they had both finished they were content to lay panting and huffing for a while. Vincent's member was slowly deflating, although the occasional rush of blood caused it to stiffen again erratically and spurt another thin jet of cum. Gunther's knot kept his seed firmly trapped inside his mate, and he could feel the spunk collect and squelch around the base of his shaft. The rain outside had lost some of its initial violence and had settled into a steady drumming that provided an almost soothing background to their afterglow.

"Mmmhh... I need to train you to last longer," Vincent said and poked his finger on the tip of Gunther's cummy nose. His tone was playful, and as he spoke he repositioned his body, taking care to not accidentally untie himself from his canine lover.

"Wait a second, it smells like..." Gunther responded and fumbled for the bedlamp switch. "Fuck," he said, "I'm bleeding again."

The stitches had given way during their lovemaking, and blood mixed with sweat had ruined the sheets. Gunther moved to prop himself on his elbows but Vincent smiled and traced his fingers along the wound.

"You look like a warrior who has slain a rival and claimed his prize," Vincent dabbed his fingers in cum and drew lines like a war-paint on Gunther's face.

Gunther panted and grinned, letting the cat play with his face while he waited for his knot to subside.

Minutes later Gunther looked gingerly into the living-room, and seeing the youth still fast asleep the two men slipped past the couch and into the bathroom where Vincent cleaned and stitched up the wound again. Gunther picked up the synthskin spray and tried to hand it to Vincent.

"Actually I'd rather not if that's ok with you," he said and brushed off the spray with a gesture that was almost timid.

"Why? You said it'd leave an ugly scar."

"Precisely. I'd love you even if you were ugly."

Gunther took Vincent's head between his big paws and kissed him on the brow. "I believe you," he chuckled, "No need to actually make me ugly to prove it."

"Then I'd like you to keep this scar as a memory of how you got it. You fought to protect me today," Vincent replied and grabbed his hand.

Gunther stared at him for a moment, as if he expected this to be one of the cat's clever jokes. But Vincent did not burst out laughing. His yellow eyes shone against his dark fur, and they were utterly serious.

"All right. I'll be your big battle-scarred savage," Gunther said with a smile, "But this better make me look sexy."

"Oooh, I know it will," Vincent said and kissed his pec.

"What time is it?" Gunther asked.

"Two o'clock," the cat responded after checking his watch.

"You still want Lorenzo out at the crack of dawn?" the dog yawned.

Vincent rolled his eyes, "Alright, maybe we'll order brunch first."

They both crumpled on the bed, too exhausted to change the dirty sheets.

--

The highway leading to the airport hugged the peninsula's coastline in broad curves, and their convertible made a steady purr as it sped along between the hills and the glittering sea. It was a sunny day and the air felt fresh after the storm, so Vincent had decided to come along and drive them by himself. Gunther thought himself as better driver out of the two of them, but it would be a cold day in hell before the cat would sit on the passenger seat of his own car. Lorenzo sat on the back seat quietly, eyes closed and body propped up only by the headrest, while the breeze rustled his short fur. He cleaned up well, Gunther thought to himself. He reminded him of a frat boy returning from a night of partying, not the human wreck he had witnessed yesterday. He was still under influence for the flight, of course, and every now and then his fingers twitched as he dozed off restlessly.

A thought occurred to Gunther.

"Did you and Lorenzo ever fuck in the car?" he asked while still looking over his shoulder at the back seat.

Vincent furrowed his brows, but kept his eyes on the road. "Sure. He would lean over and blow me while I sped up."

Gunther returned to being seated properly. "Want me to do that to you?" He had never taken Vincent's cock in his mouth.

"Nah." Vincent caressed the stick and shifted gears. "It wouldn't be the same. You don't like doing gay stuff like that."

Gunther crossed his arms and looked to his side at the ocean. "I'd really do it if you asked."

"I know..." Vincent said and petted Gunther's thigh without looking, giving it a firm shake and squeeze.

Curious to see where his hand was going, Gunther lifted the waistband of his designer sweatpants to give Vincent a peek of his cock and balls, but the cat had to shift gears again and left him hanging. Gunther sighed and let the waistband plop back in place, and they drove on without talking much.

--

Their stay at the airport was thankfully brief. They escorted the withdrawn Lorenzo to the boarding area, and Gunther gave him a hug for goodbyes. Vincent told him to delete his number and never contact him again, and then they watched as the youth shuffled to the gate and entered the plane that would take him all the way back inland to his family. Soon they would be on their way back, the leather seats of their back seat occupied only by an oversized Tolbereno bar.

Gunther rested his eyes and enjoyed the sunlight, when his peace was disturbed by the sound of loud revving. He looked to his left side with mild annoyance, but was jolted fully aware when he realized that a reptile on a motorbike had pulled up to the driver's side and was keeping pace with them. They were wearing visor glasses, but Gunther recognized the heavy leather jacket and the custom engine of the bike. It was without doubt the same lizard that had shot the hawk back at the parking garage!

Vincent turned his head with deliberate lack of hurry to meet the lizard, but Gunther saw how he was gripping the wheel with both hands. The lizard lifted their hand just enough to point at Vincent, then straight ahead, and turned the handle of their bike to blaze away with a screeching roar.

"That was the lizard! What was that about?" Gunther blurted.

"There's a diner ahead." Vincent said with a quiet voice. "I'm expecting a meeting there."

"Gotcha, I'll cover you."

Vincent shook his head. "No, I'm going to take care of it."

"But-"

"I said I'm going to take care of it." Vincent's temper flared, after which he kept a brooding silence.

Gunther looked at him tight lipped, then slouched back to his seat. "Fine. Have it your way."

Vincent spoke again when their car pulled to the parking lot of the rest stop and rolled to a stop, but this time with a more pleading tone.

"Hey, everything's going to be alright. It's just something that I need to take care of alone. Do you trust me?"

Gunther sighed. "Sure."

"Thanks." He patted Gunther's shoulder. "Just stay in the car and wait for me, promise? It's the safest way."

Gunther covered his hand with his own, and grasped it firmly. "I promise," he said as he looked him in the eyes.

Vincent nodded. "Wish me luck," he said and got out of the car.

Gunther watched him walk across the parking lot to the diner at the other end, and because he loved him, as soon as the panther disappeared from view he got out and followed him without being seen.

Through the front windows he saw Vincent meet with the lizard inside, and then walk out together to take seats on the terrace. Luckily for him the table they were headed to was the nearest one to the corner, so he jogged around the building to eavesdrop on them in secret. Gunther pressed against the faux red brick wall mandated by the restaurant chain, and inched ever so close to the two of them talking in hushed voices.

"...so I don't see why you are freaking out." Vincent's voice sounded irritated. "He means absolutely nothing to me."

"Then kill him." The lizard's voice was raspy, and they pronounced the words in a curt, clipped manner. It did not sound like they were interested in banter.

"Now why the fuck would I do that? It's completely unnecessary and would just create a paper trail!"

"You've done it before."

Vincent groaned and sighed. When he spoke again he was using a voice as if explaining something to a slow child. "Only because that poor bastard was dumb enough to try to blackmail me."

"A compromised asset is less than worthless to us."

"Like talking to a fucking brick wall..."

Gunther's ears caught the hurried steps of a waitress coming round the corner so he jerked away from the wall, grabbed his phone and pretended to be absorbed in a text chat. The employee rushed past him, her arms piled high with plates, but to Gunther every wasted second felt like a minute. When she finally disappeared he resumed his snooping on the conversing pair.

"... rid of him when I feel like it. I've always had my fun that way, and it's never been a problem for you before."

Gunther recognized the cocky tone Vincent used when he wanted to put down someone.

There was a pause, and Gunther could hear the lizard sniffing the air, first inhaling deeply then exhaling in a slow, languid manner as if enjoying a cigar. "I can tell when you mammals lie. It makes you smell weak, and scared." There was a rustle of leather as the lizard crouched over the table. "And right now you smell like a bitch."

"Oh I see what's going on, Janice." Vincent's cocksure tone did not falter. "You'd love it if I took a swing at you in public, wouldn't you? Face it, you never got over me besting you, because deep down you know that I'm a better hitman than you ever will be. That's why you've been spreading nonsense rumors about me to my handler!"

There was a clattering sound as a polyrattan chair was pushed back and the lizard got up. "You have until tonight," she simply said, followed by the thud of her heavy footsteps moving away.

"We'll see about that. I can make phone calls too!" Vincent shouted after her, and Gunther took that as a cue to hurry back to the car before he would return.

Gunther hopped into his seat and soon enough the diner's door swung open and Vincent came out. The feline walked towards the car with fast but measured steps, opened the door, sat next to Gunther and ran his hands over his face with a deep sigh.

"So?" the dog asked.

Vincent pressed the car's ignition. "I'm afraid our big concert night is postponed," he said as the engine roared into life. "I need to jump on a plane tomorrow morning. A last-minute assignment outside of town."

"What? Where?" Gunther pressed him.

Vincent kept his eyes on the asphalt as he maneuvered the car out of the parking lot and onto the road. "I'm not allowed to divulge any details. But it may be a couple weeks before I return. And no, you can't come with me."

"Two weeks? But..." Gunther started.

"I know. But you'll have the mini-bar and TV to keep you company. I'm sure you'll survive," Vincent said, a slight smile on his lips, "I'll even show you my secret stash of vintage pornos in case you get lonely."

A thousand questions battled inside Gunther's stunned mind but Vincent beat him to it. The lizard served as a middleman between him and his employers since the latter didn't trust electronic communications, he explained as he drove. The incident at the mall was the result of a very unfortunate misunderstanding but it was fine now, Vincent's handlers would forget all about it if he did them that little favour they asked. There would even be a nice bonus as a carrot.

"Here's something to keep you busy while I'm away," the cat said as he deftly navigated through the thickening traffic, "I want you to come up with a full holiday plan for the two of us. I'd like to go hiking and biking. Somewhere quiet, scenic and pristine. But none of that eco-tourism bullshit, I want full modern comfort..."

"You talk too fucking much," Gunther thought. It was a statement of cold hard fact rather than a reproach. Sure, Vincent had always loved the sound of his own voice but now he was too chatty, too pleasant, too quick to crack jokes. Gunther nodded every few sentences and drummed his fingers on the car's interior padding, occasionally glancing at Vincent from behind his sunglasses.

--

The flow of words continued until they were back at the apartment. There Vincent started to prepare his suitcase for tomorrow's flight while Gunther flicked on the TV. We should order something nice for dinner, Vincent shouted from the bedroom, anything Gunther liked. The rottweiler had no preferences, so Vincent suggested burgers. Gunther had no objections to that so Vincent ordered burgers with extra toppings and potato wedges.

The delivery boy was late and the burgers and potatoes arrived a bit cold, but Vincent tipped him anyway. Once reheated they would be just as good. He put them in the oven and set the timer to five minutes. Gunther watched him from the couch as the cat put two glasses on the kitchen bar and uncorked a bottle of wine. He was no oenologist, but he reckoned the bottle was worth more than their maid's monthly paycheck.

"What's with the nice stuff?" he said, looking up from the game he was playing on his phone. "You're only gone for two weeks, remember?"

Vincent filled the first glass, lifted it to his nose and took a deep breath of the wine's bouquet. "I just thought we should have a good time. Two weeks without a romp is a pretty dismal prospect to me, and I hope the feeling is reciprocal."

Gunther tossed the phone away and walked to the other side of the bar.

"What time is your flight tomorrow?" He asked.

"Leaves at eight thirty a.m.," came the answer, a bit too quickly.

"Where are you going?" Gunther laid his hands on the bar.

"I told you, I can't divulge any details," Vincent sighed.

"You just told me your flight time. I can figure it out by looking at the departure board."

"Good job Sherlock, now what? Are you going to buy a ticket? This airline doesn't have economy seats." Vincent took his eyes from Gunther's as he spoke, but the dog saw that they had narrowed to two angry slits.

"Who did they tell you to kill?"

"Why do you care? The name would mean nothing to you," the cat shot back and started pouring the second glass.

"Is it a name that means absolutely nothing to you either?"

Vincent's hand shook. Not much but enough to spill wine on the bar's wooden surface.

"No. That's not true," he whispered with a voice that was like a soft plea for understanding.

"Vincent, listen to me please," Gunther licked his lips and spoke with difficulty. "Do you really want to take this job?"

Vincent put down the wine and Gunther saw his dark-furred hand tighten around the bottleneck. The feline stared at the glass and spilled wine as if looking for an answer in the burgundy liquid. Then he slowly raised his head and Gunther found himself face to face with a pair of cold yellow eyes and a sly grin.

"Sometimes your job requires you to do things you'd rather not do," he said, "But heh, that's why you get paid the big bucks."

The oven let out a loud ding to let them know their food was ready.

Vincent swung the bottle and hit Gunther's temple, hard, shattering it in a spray of glass and wine. The rottweiler cursed and stumbled back holding the side of his head, blood flowing profusely between his fingers, but the cat did not wait to witness his handiwork. Instead he grabbed a knife from the kitchen drawer and walked around the table with a purposeful stride. He feinted towards Gunther's eyes with his free hand, but Gunther knew him too well and blocked low, stopping the blade hitting his vulnerable inner thigh. Instead it cut a gash across his upper arm, but he didn't even register the pain and instead threw a series of rapid jabs towards Vincent like a practiced boxer.

Vincent danced back to dodge the blows, bringing his knife between the two of them and delivering a couple of superficial slashes on Gunther's arms, but he was deliberately being driven towards the corner. Suddenly Gunther bullrushed him, tackling his midriff and crashed both of them against the marble countertop. Several hundred pounds of dog flesh ramming into him knocked the wind out of Vincent, his knife stuck uselessly in Gunther's reinforced chest while his own ribs screamed in pain. Gunther made a low, primal growl and pulled Vincent into a bearhug, his muscular arms squeezing him like bands of iron. Both of them could feel the snapping, popping sensation shuddering through Vincent's body.

Vincent hissed and grabbed Gunther's head with both hands, plunging his thumbs into his eye sockets. The dog yelped and let go of him, stumbling backwards and slipping on the blood and glass shards on the floor. He made a juddering thud as he hit the floor, but before he could recover Vincent rushed forward and stepped on his crotch with his entire weight. This time Gunther could feel the blinding pain when his big dog balls were crushed under the cat's heel, and he doubled over breathless and wincing.

"You dumb fuck," Vincent spat blood and leaned to pluck the knife off Gunther's chest. "You fucking dumb fuck." He sounded more pitying than angry.

Gunther tried to get up, so Vincent sat on his chest and hit him between the eyes with the palm of his hand, slamming his head against the floor with a loud crack. He did it again, and again, until Gunther's eyes became unfocused and his motions sluggish.

"You just had to make this hard for yourself," Vincent huffed and wiped his hand on the front of his shirt. He went instinctively to fish out his vaporizer, but when he realized that it was in his jacket pocket he pointed at Gunther angrily with the knife. "You picked the worst possible moment to start being clever, you know that?"

Gunther tried to say something but his speech was too slurred to make it out. His hand tried to grasp Vincent's jacket lapel feebly like a drunk, but Vincent just slapped it away.

"We could've ended this with a fun memory, but you forced my hand. Your mistake was that a real killer never hesitates. Let this be a lesson to you. A pity that you don't get to live to benefit from it."

Vincent hunched over Gunther's bloodied face, and pressed the knife's edge in the unprotected gap between his jawline and jugular.

"I never loved you," he whispered quietly over Gunther's raspy breath. "Whatever you thought we had wasn't real. You were just an experiment for my entertainment. And now I'm bored with you."

He paused to listen for Gunther's reaction, but the dog was too dazed to reply. He smelled of sharp blood and expensive wine, and the glass shards jutting in the black, coagulated blood on his temple glittered like the night sky. Vincent grasped the knife handle firmly and readied himself to slit his throat.

Yet his hand did not move.

He inhaled deeply, cracked his neck and steeled himself, but he could not move the blade to part the defenseless flesh.

"Come on, don't be dumb. There's no going back from this," Vincent whispered hurriedly to himself, then leaned back. He closed his eyes and shook his shoulders, refocusing himself and tried to banish all nagging thoughts from his mind. He opened his eyes and looked down on the unconscious Gunther, drooling in his sleep like on the first night together when they had shared the bed.

He grimaced and threw away the knife angrily, flinging it in the corner as if to punish it for his sins. He leaped up and paced back and forth, eyes wild with indecision.

"Fuck! Fucking Christ." He stopped and ran his fingers through his hair, looking at Gunther's battered shape. "Jesus Christfucking fuck," he shook his head.

Gunther groaned, and moved groggily on the floor. At first Vincent shied away from him, looking on like a spooked cat while he tried to slowly roll to his side and brace himself against the floor, but then he stepped in to help him on his feet. Gunther leaned on him heavily, hanging his head low and taking time to breathe between every word.

"We...have to... flee." He sounded hoarse, but his intent felt clear.

"With you in that condition? Don't be-" Vincent started, but Gunther grasped his upper arm with a fierce grip, and looked him straight in the eyes, blood dripping between his snarling teeth.

"Right now."

Vincent opened his mouth then closed it again without a word and stared at Gunther. With another groan the dog pushed him away, wiped his nose and shambled towards the jacket that Vincent had carelessly tossed on a chair earlier. He began to rifle through its pockets, his fingers smearing the fabric with blood. Vincent took a step to follow him, hands raised a bit as if to help, then thought better of it and stepped away to sit on the couch.

"It's ok, it's ok..." he patted his trousers and looked around for something, "I'll speak to them, they'll have to see reason. They can't let everything go to shit, not after all I did for..."

Vincent jumped as his vaporizer fell from his jacket onto the tiled floor with a loud clank. Gunther paid it no attention and dropped the garment after finding the cat's wallet.

"Why did your bosses tell you to kill me?" he said, his voice now more steady.

Vincent looked at the broken device on the floor and bit his thumb nail. "I told them it was just a fling but they said I was becoming emotionally attached, that it was a breach of security... oh god..."

The dog cast a glance towards Vincent. "And they wanted you to close that breach?"

The panther took his head between his hands and stared at the floor. "They wanted proof of loyalty, gave me until tonight..."

"Nice of them to give us a chance to say goodbye," the dog grumbled as he went through the wallet and took out a handful of notes and a couple credit cards. "I know you got money and guns stashed somewhere, where are..."

He suddenly felt very dizzy. The flat around him began to blur before his eyes and his legs became wobbly like the floor beneath his feet was the rolling sea. Too late he leaned on the chair for support and slumped.

"Fuck! Oh fuck I'm so sorry..." Vincent stammered and shot from the couch.

He grabbed the rottweiler's arm and tried to lift him up but a pang of pain exploded in his ribs and with a sharp cry he fell, joining his fallen mate on the wine and glass-covered floor.

Gunther hissed and grabbed the cat by his shirt's collar. "Listen," he said with ragged breath, "I'd love to bite your fucking face off but now's not the time. We have hours, perhaps just minutes, before they figure out what happened and send someone to finish the job. We need to grab what we can and fucking run. Do you understand?"

There was no anger in the dog's brown eyes, just raw determination. Vincent nodded and helped him to his feet, ignoring the pain that stabbed at his own ribs. The two staggered towards the kitchen sink where Vincent splashed cold water on Gunther's face and pressed a towel to the wound at the back of his head.

"All the cash you can find, and a gun..." the dog repeated and swallowed enough painkillers to anesthetize a buffalo.

Vincent grabbed a gym bag and went to work quickly, but Gunther grimaced upon seeing the results. There was enough to tip royally during a night out but not enough to live on for more than a few days.

"Jesus fuck..." he muttered as he bandaged his chest and put on a clean shirt, "Ready to abandon everything at the drop of a hat but all you have is pocket change."

Vincent popped a couple painkillers, clutched his suitcase and bag in one hand and helped Gunther walk to the elevator with the other. There was an ATM at the foot of the building and they maxed out their cards, stuffing their pockets with what not long ago would have felt like a small fortune to the dog but now seemed grossly inadequate.

"Your car is surely bugged," Gunther said, "We'll have to walk and catch a tube to the lower levels." He felt woozy again as he finished his sentence, and he had to lean against the wall to remain upright.

Vincent put his bags on the ground and pulled his phone from his pocket. "No way I'm letting you walk. Let me call a cab..."

Gunther snatched the phone from his hands and smashed it against the concrete of the pavement. "Wh-what did you do that for?" The cat stuttered, more stunned than angry, "I had all my contacts on..."

"Don't you fucking get it?" the rottweiler barked, "This life is over. We're the ones being hunted now."

Night had fallen and the darkness made them look like a pair of drunks shuffling between bars rather than suspects fleeing a crime scene. They made it to a station where they found that the ticket machine did not accept cash so Vincent had to run to a convenience store to buy a pack of tickets. The long ride was uneventful though they had to change lines several times, each station looking a bit gloomier than the previous one. It was Gunther who picked their hotel, one cheap enough to not make too big of a dent into their pool of cash but not so cheap that they risked being stabbed by drug addicts in the corridors. The rat behind the desk pocketed their money, gave them their keys and watched them ascend the stairs, arms around one another.

"Have a good fuck," he called after them as they disappeared round the corner.

--

The room was lit dimly by a yellowing lampshade on a nightstand, and it smelled of harsh disinfectant and mildewy carpeting. The sparse furniture was made of worn out plywood and decorated with colors and patterns garish enough to be called retro. Muffled, indistinct noises that could have been arguing or moaning carried from other rooms, interrupted by the sound of a tram rolling by on an elevated track near their window. A beam of light cut across the floor, coming from the bathroom where Gunther was sitting on the edge of an empty bathtub wearing only his boxers. Vincent sat on the toilet seat next to him, leaning close to his face and plucking out shards of glass with a pair of tweezers from the manicure kit that he had had in his emergency bag.

Gunther breathed calmly, holding on to the tub's edge for balance and rested his eyes like an implacable statue, only twitching when a shard was pulled from his skin and tossed into the sink with a little tinkling sound. Vincent looked like a knot of anxiety, both fearing and hoping that Gunther would speak up. He finished extracting the glass and started dabbing Gunther's temple with a warm, damp towel to clean away the caked blood.

By midway Vincent could not take the silence any longer. "Are you angry with me?" he asked quietly.

"Take a wild guess," Gunther said with a neutral tone of voice.

A thought occurred to Vincent and he stopped, resting his hands on his lap. "Did you lead me here to finish me off in secret?"

He looked at Gunther's heavy, calloused hands. He was not certain that he would put up a fight if he tried to strangle him.

Gunther opened his eyes a little. "I hadn't thought about that. I guess it would make sense." He sighed deeply, feeling the tiredness of his body. Adrenaline rush had gone and left him feeling hollowed out. "But no. That wasn't my intention."

"Then why?"

Gunther shrugged. "We had to get away from there."

Vincent frowned. "I meant why get away with me?"

Gunther looked Vincent in the eyes, and held the contact silently. He did not look angry, or sad, but merely disappointed.

"Oh." Vincent turned his face away feeling ashamed. He did not like it one bit. He cleared his throat and resumed his work. "Let's get you patched up."

-

There was only one bed in the room so they had to share it. They laid side by side in the darkness, accompanied by the steady hum of the air conditioner and occasional wailing of sirens carrying from outside. Vincent could not get sleep and laid stiffly, his arms by his sides, and listened to Gunther's even breathing. He lifted his hand slightly and moved it towards Gunther's, but then hesitated.

"Hey, are you awake?" he whispered, but received no reply beyond Gunther's steady snoozing.

He brushed his fingertips against Gunther's knuckles. The dog felt solid and firm, unlike the ground that had fallen out from underneath his feet. His throat suddenly choked up and water out of nowhere tried to well up in his eyes. His breath turned ragged from an invisible weight pressing on his chest and he tried to fight it, he truly did, but then, in the darkness of that ratty, cheap hotel room where no-one could see him, Vincent gave in and cried for the first time in his adult life.

TO BE CONTINUED...