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Okay, making good time on bringing out new chapters.

This one's got some man on man loving, some plot deepening, and so on.

Please let me know what you think!

Chapter 3: Shadows and Knives

"If I find out this is your fault somehow, Arlen, I'm gonna-"

"Gonna do what, you pacifist shit? Take the fucking money or I'll shove it up your ass and pay the doctor who gets it back out with your organs."

Arlen rolled down the window of his 95 Cadillac Seville and threw his phone out to bounce once, twice, then shatter against a street light as he whizzed down the highway.

Oh great move, stupidass. Yeah, throw the phone. Real mature.

The black tiger rubbed at his face and remembered the lessons he'd had from that sifu the old company doc had made him see. He took a breath, held it, then blew it out, envisioning the stress leaving his body like smoke. It hardly worked, but it was better than flipping out in front of the new client. Or smashing more things he really couldn't afford to replace right now.

Within ten minutes, he was zipping up his jacket and stepping out into the winter weather, boots crunching on snow as he walked up to the house of his client.

Oh yeah. Going to be a real challenge. This part of town's a regular Fallujah.

A six year old so swaddled in shiny red winter gear she could barely move toddled by with a similarly-attired pet poodle on a leash.

Arlen rolled his eyes and rang the doorbell, while giving the street a once-over for any sign, just in case.

From inside the house, he saw a curtain shift, and a flash of brown eyes, before the front door opened enough for the chain to catch, and a reedy, frightened voice spoke.

"Are you Mr. Blacktiger?"

"If I wasn't, you just told me who to pretend I was to get you to open the door."

A stunned silence.

Arlen sighed and rubbed the bridge of his snout. Fucking civilians.

"Close and lock the door, Mr. Bayter. Then you're going to call your contact and ask her for a description of me. Verify it through the camera you rigged up over the door. If I match the description, then you let me in. Got it?"

Bayter closed the door without answering.

Carlos Bayter was a squirrel in just about every sense of the word. Big brown bushy tail, skinny, liked to hoard, and a generally squirrelly demeanor. When he stumbled back from the front door near hyperventilation or arm-flailing hysterics, the boyish ocelot on his couch just rolled his eyes.

"Seriously Carlos. Do what the guy said, don't leave him hanging. You're being paranoid."

The squirrel just muttered an 'eep' and ran off to the stairs, bounding up them three at a time.

Pushing aside the heap of crap on the couch, the ocelot grabbed a t-shirt that went down to his mid-calf, and pulled it on, then ran a paw through his headfur to get it back to something approaching an acceptable level of 'mussed' rather than 'bed-head.' Then he got up and walked to the front door, going up on tip-toe to peer through.

What he saw outside made him raise a brow and whistle under his breath. Through the fish-eye lens, the black tiger appeared even more massive than he really was, the ocelot knew. But even correcting for that, the guy was a beast. Six foot or so, black with slightly darker black striping, probably over two hundred pounds of solid muscle and murder, and a black look that gave him a chill half of fear and half of adrenaline-fueled curiosity.

Ever the thrill-seeker, he undid the chain and opened the door.

What Arlen saw was a tiny little ocelot, barely five feet tall, who looked like he just woke up but had hair like a boy band idol. And a t-shirt covering him to the mid-calf, with a bulge at the waist that had him resisting the urge to raise an eyebrow.

The ocelot gave a chipper grin and held up a paw to shake.

"I'm Ronnie, Carlos' boyfriend." A test. The ocelot wasn't about to leave his boy in the hands of a homophobe, even if he didn't believe the squirrel's conspiracy theory about the whole drive-by business.

"Right." Arlen took the hand and gave it a firm shake...Then turned it over to look down at Ronnie's wrist when he felt scars there. Sure enough, a long scar ran down from wrist almost to elbow, thin but wobbled. "Arlen Blacktiger. Carlos Bayter's new bodyguard."

The ocelot laughed and flushed slightly, though he didn't pull his arm away.

"Don't worry, the medication works. Tried to off myself a few years back. Its how I met Carlo, actually. Same mental ward. Me for a suicide attempt and bipolar disorder, him for a panic attack and paranoid episode. We're quite a pair, right?"

Arlen just nodded.

"I'm not in much place to judge folks for having troubles. Can I come in?"

Ronnie grinned and bobbed his head, stepping aside and bowing like his mental image of a butler as he gestured into the cluttered living room.

"Pardon the mess. Trying to get Carlos to stop keeping everything sparkly he sees, but it's a challenge y'know?"

Talkative little guy, jeez.

All the same, Arlen couldn't help but be a bit more at ease. Being in other peoples' homes was easier when he was there for a job, he knew. No need to worry about making friends or offending someone. No concern about peoples' opinion of him, since he'd likely never see them again after the job was done.

Still, while the ocelot yammered on and made efforts to be friendly, Arlen's head wasn't in the conversation. He was wandering around the spacious first floor getting an idea on the security situation, and not liking it one bit.

"Too many windows," he uttered under his breath. Though at least, he thought, the squirrel had the good sense to pull the shades.

"Um..." Ronnie was behind Arlen, just to one side so he could still be in peripheral. "I'm distracting you, huh? How bout I get you a soda or something and you go take a look around."

"Yeah...Sounds like a plan." Arlen left the ocelot to go buttle around in the kitchen, and went to walk the property.

As he stepped out the back door, Arlen felt a wave of something. He grabbed the door jamb and bent down, taking a deep breath as his image flashed a scene of blasted-out city scape. He could smell it, hear the sounds of gunfire and screaming injured people, nearly touch...

Arlen pulled his hand back and by force of will pulled himself back into the present.

Mind in the job, Arlen. Flip out later.

The back yard looked like a series of bomb craters and trenches...Probably what had set him off, he thought. It was dug up all to bits, though winter was hardly landscaping season. As he wandered around, he noticed a few things sticking out of the ground here and there, and knelt down to yank a frost-covered shovel out of a ditch.

"Hey! You check out! I guess that means we don't have to shoot ya!"

Arlen looked up to see Ronnie leaning out the upstairs window, waving with a grin.

"That's...Good?"

"C'mon back inside! I'll put some TV on for you or something."

Arlen tramped back in, kicking a bit of slush off his boots as he went.

"What if this is some kind of setup? I m-mean what if he works for them?"

Carlos was chittering with nerves, curled up on his bed with his arms around his knees, his tail tucked under his rear, chin on his knees, lying on his side.

"Wh-wh-what if he hurts you or...?"

Ronnie gave the poor barrel of nerves squirrel a look of endearment and sympathy as he paced over and slid onto the bed to wrap his arms around the little bundle of shaking terror, nuzzling into his neck.

"Carlo, babe, you trust me right?"

"Of...Of course I do!"

"Then don't worry, alright? I'm a good judge of character. Mr. Blacktiger's not a friendly guy, but he's a good person. He looked at me like he was seeing a kid he wanted to help. You know that look, the condescending loving one?" His words were a soft susurrus against the other man's fur, a gentle whisper of comfort that had the squirrel slowly unclenching despite himself.

"Does he know...About us?"

Ron snorted into the squirrel fur under his nose.

"Yeah he does. And you need to stop worrying about that. Nobody cares that you're gay, Carlo. 'Sides, I think he's kinda cute in that scary-old-guy sorta way."

The squirrel chirped, half a laugh half a sound of nervous outrage, and poked the ocelot with an elbow.

"Don't. Seriously, don't. I'll freak if you start hitting on him. What if he goes all phobic and walks out?"

"Hehe you worry too much. But if you want me to leave him alone, I will. Still...You'd look hot with his dick in your mouth. Y'know, while I fuck you to bits." He nipped the squirrel's ear with sharp little teeth, snickering as he slipped a lithe little around front to grope his boyfriend's package.

Carlos gave a squeak and wriggled as the ocelot's paw slipped up to undo the button and get inside. Then squirmed and made an embarrassed cough.

"Aw. Not feeling it, babe?" Ron cupped the squirrel's groin, massaging it with gentle fingers, trying to tease out some reaction. He knew the other man had serious anxiety issues, and didn't blame him for being soft.

"N...No...G-go ahead...I..."

Ron sat up a bit, leaning against the headboard, and then forward to kiss the squirrel's thin lips, teasing them with his own till they parted and he could slip his tongue inside, all the while caressing the squirrel's sheathe and balls. He held the kiss for long seconds, until he could feel just the slightest twitch in the warm softness in his paw.

Carlos looked up, his eyes softened and teary, headfur splayed out on the pillow.

"D...Did you mean that? I'd look h-hot in a threesome?"

"Babe, you'd look hot covered in dried mud, upside-down, on your worst day."

The squirrel laughed then, at the nonsense response. How the ocelot knew him so well, he had no idea.

"Its just because you have a d-dick like a porn star."

Ron snickered and sat up to tug off his shirt. Sure enough, despite his being just a hundred pounds and five feet or so, the ocelot's slightly spined shaft was a monster. Eight inches of sleek hardness jutted up from his lap, bouncing slightly as the shirt went over it and away. Ron preened and flexed his groin to make it bounce again, as the squirrel unconsciously licked his lips and flushed.

"Lube."

"Lube, r-right."

Carlos barely had it in his hand from off the nightstand before the ocelot pounced him, pinning the squirrel down by his shoulders as grabby hands went for the lube. He squeaked and wiggled, trying to get his knees up under him so he could at least make things more convenient.

Then all thoughts of movement or convenience went away, as he let out a sound that was half grunt and half sigh, Ron's lubed-up fingers sliding over his balls and up to trace at the puckered entrance there, teasing it slowly open.

"Wow, you really need this. So tense...My poor squirly."

The squirrel bit his lip as a second finger entered him, then a third, slowly spreading him as the ocelot leaned over him and nibbled at the side of his neck.

"C'mon, Ron, just...Mmf...Put it in."

"Tsk, impatient."

With a grin, the ocelot lashed his tail out to the side, used a paw to guide the squirrel's fluffy plume fully aside, and pressed his tip against the slightly gaped pucker he'd just pulled his fingers from. A few more seconds of lubing, and he was pressing gently inside, dimpling the ring in before spreading it around his crown.

Carlos hissed in a breath, and hitched his hips up higher, trying to push them back onto the hot flesh, but held in place by the ocelot's paws and the tiniest prick of his claws.

"Mm...Careful love. You're still too tight, it'll hurt."

"Please..."

The quiet plea hung in the air as the squirrel begged, digging his paws into the bed spread. He didn't have to wait long. Feeling his lover's muscles shivering and relaxing, Ron waited for the right moment, then pressed in, hilting himself in a torturously long stroke.

"Unf shit...M...More..."

Ron's paw slid down around his lover's hip as he pulled back, finding that still half-flaccid member, an began to toy with it, tickling it with his fingertips as he thrust forward again in a potent but careful push that had the squirrel's paws gripping for purchase on the bed. As he stroked and strummed at his lover's flesh, Ron leaned over him again and bit down on the back of his neck, holding Carlos still as his hips started to hammer into the upturned rump.

That got the squirrel's attention. Or rather, the attention of his finally-wakening shaft. And as soon as it was anywhere near erect, the clever little ocelot had his paw around it, stroking it for all he was worth as he repeatedly pistoned himself in and out of the squirrel's heated passage.

Carlos was squeaking with lust, digging his front paws into the bed and curling his toes trying to get purchase to push back despite the paws holding him still as the ocelot drilled him. Then the little cat shifted himself, intensified his stroking just under the squirrel's tip, and slammed the crown of his shaft directly into the squirrel's prostate.

The yelp of pleasure was audible downstairs, and caused Arlen to glance up at the stairwell, snort and shake his head, and go back to watching football.

Ron let go of the squirrel's hip finally, so he could use both paws on that shaft. With his hips, he kept up pressing on the little pleasure center, while one paw kept stroking and the other started brushing over the squirrel's tip.

"Cum for me, squirly. I know you want to. Let it go."

Carlos panted, gasped, wriggled under the fingers' ministrations, then bit his lip with a hoarse noise issuing from his throat as he blew all over the hand covering his tip, which cupped to hold the sticky mess. A few seconds' milking later, the ocelot brought the paw up, nipped the side of the squirrel's neck, and held the white pawful under his muzzle.

"Lick it for me. I want to see what you look like doing it."

The lustful voice, the still-pounding hips, convinced the squirrel to lap at the salty stuff, uncaring, just wanting to please the cat who loved him. The ocelot, being a prurient sort when it struck him to be, smeared the sticky handful over his lover's muzzle. Then, able to see the dripping of cum from chin in the mirror across from the bed over the dresser, smirked for a moment before the look was stolen from him by the beginnings of his own orgasm.

Gripping the squirrel's hips again, he thrust forward and let out a reedy choked-sounding roar, holding that rump in place as his spines swelled and grabbed, and his balls emptied out pulsing blasts of his pleasure into the depths of his panting, gasping lover.

"Yeah I get it. Saw too much, whatever. I don't give a fuck why we're doin' it, just so's we get paid, Mr. Goza. We'll call you when its done."

The two shadowy shapes behind him in the unlit vehicle were readying their weapons, a motley assortment of knives and bats and a smattering of pistols.

They'd arrived just after sunset in their beaten, rusty old Camaro, and had parked blocks away despite their annoyance at having to walk. Goza gave specific instructions when he wanted something, and disobeying him wasn't a good idea, not even for a bunch of gangbangers who cared about little more than some fun, some tail, and some heroin to pass the time.

Looking at the radio clock, the panther tied a bandana around his mouth and gave his friends the thumb's up.

"Okay, here's the plan. We go in, thrash up some little queers, and knife some big black tiger asshole. Don't fuck around till we got all three of 'em down, got it? Take whatever you want from inside, Goza don't want it."

This got grins from the back.

"And Rico, your job is to make sure the tiger's dead. Fuck him up as bad as you want to."

The panther named Rico smirked and toyed with a butterfly knife, flipping it open and shut.

"You got it man."