Scouting Mission

- Horndog D -

The letters spelling HEARTTHROB seemed to speak their name in silence, the looping neon tubes pulsing steadily as if jetting blood through a network of veins. The sign burned a garish shade of red that pierced the moonless dark, shining like a beacon before the two men as they emerged from the mouth of an alley. They watched the lumbering shell of a deadheading bus roll past, then jogged across the street.

One of the large double doors flew open inches in front of them, a pair of horses immersed in conversation marching past without so much as a glance of acknowledgement. Devlin watched them clop down the sidewalk and pushed an annoyed huff of air through his nose. His grand entrance ruined, the jackal resigned himself to enter the nightclub nonchalantly, eyes darting left and right as he took stock of the place. A small stage sat to his left, lined on either side by rows of booths below shuttered windows. The bar counter extended half the length of the far wall below hanging racks of martini glasses all sparkling in the dim light. Shades of wine reds and coffee browns in the paint and carpet colors gave the space an alluring warmth. The interior was charming, all in all, if not particularly striking at first glance.

Devlin nodded to himself. "Not bad."

Behind him, a bull ducked as he walked inside the building, careful not to catch the tips of his horns on the doorframe. "What do we think? Looks pretty nice."

"Not bad," Devlin repeated. "Looks like it could be a hipster magnet, though. Let's hang out and see who shows up during prime time." He slipped a hand into the back pocket of his jeans and retrieved a faux snakeskin wallet. Parting the folds, he plucked one of two twenty-dollar bills. "Grab us a couple Rum and Cokes. And remember—"

"If I can taste the Coke, tell the bartender to make them again," Gerald said impatiently, reciting verbatim the instructions he'd be given twice before that evening.

Devlin patted the bull's shoulder. "Glad you're payin' attention. I'm gonna go check out the local clientele." He departed toward the lounge area, a bounce in his step as he bobbed his head to the beat of the song the DJ was playing.

Gerald shook his head and pocketed the money before making his way to the bar. "At least they don't have karaoke here," he said under his breath. Together, he and Devlin accounted for half the members of Destruction Project. Although the band had played less than a dozen formal gigs and was virtually unknown outside a small clique of fans, Devlin played his role as frontman with the utmost devotion, pursuing all the grandeurs of a rockstar lifestyle scaled down to a miniaturized version he could afford—if only just barely. After a few drinks, the jackal had been known to attack a karaoke performance with enough gusto to rile the other patrons into a frenzy that ensured they could cross the name of yet another business off their list of potentials.

Officially, their reason for being out that night was to scout suitable venues where the band might be able to book a gig. Unofficially, Gerald knew that assignment was little more than an excuse Devlin periodically recycled to go barhopping. His true goals had less to do with lining up shows than finding something warm to slide his cock into. Not that the bull disapproved of the excursions; they were entertaining more often than not, and had succeeded in providing him no shortage of fond memories, however hazy and speckled some of the mental images were upon recollection.

Having claimed the middle of three empty stools at the bar, Gerald sat and waited patiently for service, his tail swaying below shiny black pants packed full of muscular ass. His gaze dropped from the array of ceiling lamps in time to spot one of the bartenders and wave him down. The tiger approached and leaned on the counter to meet him at eye level. "Hey, handsome. Can I see some ID?"

"You flatter me," Gerald joked. He'd celebrated his thirty-first birthday a month earlier, but his imposing size and chiseled face gave him the appearance of being safely aged well beyond the need to bother carding him. The tiger, on the other hand, looked barely old enough to be drinking alcohol, let alone serving it.

"Gerald Caldwell," the bartender read aloud from the driver's license. "Pleasure to meet you, Gerald. I'm Miles." The two men shook hands. "So what're you drinking tonight, stud?"

Gerald noticed the feline's hand lingered in his. He applied more pressure to his grip and felt his palm squeezed tighter in response. "Take a couple Cuba Libres." With a playful smirk he added, "Nice and strong."

Across the room, the DJ seamlessly transitioned from the track playing into a new, heavier beat that thumped through the floor and furniture to shoot tiny ripples across the surface of a dozen half-finished cocktails. Devlin maneuvered about the cluster of tables in front of the stage, searching for any stray glances that invited an introduction. Turning toward one of the booths near the club's entrance, he caught the eyes of a fennec fox. She sat wedged between a Doberman and two rabbits, the foursome appearing to compose some kind of double date. He waited for the vixen to avert her eyes, but the stare lingered even after the hint of surprise vanished from her face. She smiled coyly, a sea of emerald green sequins glittering across her cleavage as she raised a hand to tickle the air. Devlin beamed and stepped forward, halting when the Doberman turned to shoot him an icy glare and shield his date with an arm placed protectively around her shoulders.

"So. You're just gonna piss all over the poor girl, huh fella?" Devlin leisurely ran a hand through the styled mess of hair atop his head. A shiver of excitement crawled up his spine. The hunt was always half the fun. Locking eyes with the other canine, he flashed his fangs in a predatory grin and mouthed the words, "Bring it on."

*  *  *

As the night progressed, the half-empty club gradually filled nearer to capacity. Conversations between the patrons grew louder, as did the crashing beats of the dance music. The bartenders deftly juggled bottles as the drink orders poured in, but Miles returned to chat with Gerald whenever a momentary lull afforded him the chance. "Sorry about that," he said after one particularly busy stretch. "So you said you're a musician?"

Gerald nodded. "Yeah, I play bass in a gr— rock band."

"What's a grr-ock band?"

"Heh. I almost called us a garage band, but my friend would go ballistic if he heard me say that."

Miles's laughter was bright and genuine, infectiously cheerful. "That's awesome, though! You guys are in an actual rock band. I thought you kinda had that look." He reached across the counter and groped Gerald's right bicep, his arm naked outside the vinyl vest draped over his broad chest. "Mm, bet you can shred one hell of an axe with muscles like these."

"Oh, well, you know. I do what I can." Gerald rubbed his arm bashfully and fluttered his eyelashes at the empty glass in front of him.

Naively believing that he was the one seducing the bull, Miles continued to supply a stream of free drinks for Gerald and the empty seat beside him. Every so often, Devlin appeared in silence, moving with wraithlike fluidity as he swallowed the contents of each refill and replaced the glass without audibly disturbing the ice. Then, with or without a friendly pat of Gerald's shoulder, he returned to the jostling chaos of the dance floor to move and watch the fennec fox and her bodyguard, waiting for an opening that never appeared.

When the hour grew late enough that the crowd of Heartthrob regulars began to thin, the shimmering facsimile of reality Devlin saw sharpened into focus with a distressing suddenness as he found himself facing the possibility of the Doberman running out the clock before he could make a move. He slapped feeling back into his face and squared his shoulders. Eyes alight with determination, he slipped the DJ his last twenty along with a note scribbled on a napkin, then slid into one of the empty booths. Beneath the table, his hands unfastened the rhinestone-encrusted 'D' shape of his belt buckle and worked his pants and underwear down two squirming legs. He gave his stiffening cock a few quick strokes, pumping himself to a full hard-on in no time. With his free hand, he signaled to the otter stationed behind the turntables, who gave the side of his beanie a tug and hit a series of keys on his laptop. A second later, every speaker in the club pounded with the opening notes of "Tonight (I'm Fuckin' You)" by Enrique Iglesias.

Gerald recognized the tune almost immediately. He looked up from the urinal he was using to the speaker in the ceiling of the men's room. "Oh, no," he said through a sigh.

"Hell yeah." The song's chorus marked Devlin's cue to rise to his feet, virtually naked save for the open coat exposing his bare chest. He lip-synced to the music and sashayed toward the booth where his vixen sat waiting, four pairs of eyes enlarging to the size of satellite dishes when they saw him approaching. This was the jackal's favorite form of gambling. He knew the near future most likely involved either a fuck or a fight—if he was lucky, one of each.

Gerald emerged from the restroom, saw his suspicions confirmed, and made a beeline for the bar. He caught Miles's attention right away, waving him down as he leaned over the counter. "Hey, I gotta take care of something real quick. What do I owe you?"

The tiger shook his head. "Don't worry about it. Meeting you guys was a kick. I'm sure the manager will let you play here, and I'll get props for bringing in some local talent."

A nervous smile parted the bull's lips. He doubted anyone from the band would be hired after it was discovered what was occurring elsewhere in the club, but he found the sentiment touching nonetheless. "Well jeez, thanks. That's mighty kind." Gerald began to straighten up with the intention of seeing to Devlin, but hesitated briefly before turning back to Miles. "Hey, you doing anything after work?"

"Didn't have any plans. Why?"

"You want to... I don't know, do something?"

Miles had been half expecting the question, but the reality of it still managed to momentarily fluster him. "Uh, yeah. Yeah! That'd be cool. It's almost last call, let me just, uh, see if Sandy can close up."

"Nice. I know this great little all-night diner near the park, if you want to get something to eat..."

"Actually, my building is just a couple blocks from here. If you want, I can, y'know, fix you something?"

"Really?" Gerald asked. "I'd love that."

"Awesome!" Miles leaned in close and motioned toward a door marked 'Employees Only' behind him. "Walk straight through there to the rear exit," he whispered, "and I'll meet you out back as soon as I cash everybody out." He landed a peck on Gerald's blunt bovine snout before hurrying to finish his duties for the evening.

Gerald stepped back, surprised at both the kiss and his own reaction to it as his face filled with a rush of heat. He looked toward the seating area and saw Devlin standing at the entrance, mercifully redressed, holding the door open as he bowed low in an overly elaborate "after you" gesture before a furious-looking Doberman cracking his knuckles. Close by, a fox and two rabbits exchanged worried glances among themselves. Gerald gave a sigh of relief when he watched the group exit the building, satisfied that whatever events followed would at least be less likely to result in a call to the authorities. Not wishing to involve himself further, he discreetly slipped out the back door into a parking lot.

Miles joined him ten minutes later, panting out an apology. "Sorry, we had trouble finding somebody's card. Where's your friend?"

"Oh, uh, I think he went home with someone."

"You guys are real players, huh?" The tiger prodded Gerald with an elbow to the side.

Both males laughed as they set off together. They walked several blocks beneath skyscrapers filled with windows as dark as the surrounding night sky, chatting jovially about local landmarks and favorite lunch spots until they reached a high-rise apartment building. By the time an elevator brought them to the seventh floor, the pair were a stumbling tangle of wet tongues wrestling to taste foreign mouths and arms snaking around each other to grope handfuls of bulging crotch. They twisted blindly down the hallway until Miles pulled away in front of his door, fumbling with the key for several seconds before he managed to stab the lock.

Gerald's head spun. He hadn't meant to pounce the feline so aggressively; it just happened. Inside the confines of the rising elevator, the heat of another body and the wafting scent of the tiger's cologne ignited some primal urge inside him. He watched as Miles absentmindedly licked his lips—those gorgeously full, soft, pale pink lips—and in that moment the desire for contact overwhelmed Gerald's brain. Every higher thought was steamrolled by some instinctual impulse that demanded he claim what was in front of him before it slipped away.

The moment seemed surreal in retrospect, only the taste in his mouth and the hammering beat of his heart confirming to Gerald that it had actually happened. A trickle of fear chilled the warmth in his neck and shoulders as he contemplated the possibility that he'd crossed a line.

Miles disappeared into his apartment. Gerald warily stepped in after him, his apprehension easing when the tiger waited for him to clear the reach of the door before pushing it shut behind him.

"So... This is my place," Miles quietly announced with the flick of a light switch. The apartment was small but nicely furnished, homey and clean. "Would you like anything to drink?"

"Yeah." Throwing caution to the wind, Gerald brought his hands to Miles's face and pulled him into a kiss, gently this time, moaning softly as their lips met and opened around each other. The bull had been nursing a partial erection since the elevator, and after a minute of passionate Frenching, his tight pants revealed the girthy shape of his manhood pinned against his thigh. Parting from the kiss, Gerald whispered, "I'm sorry about... grabbing you earlier. I just—" The breath required to speak suddenly left him when a hand slipped down the front of his pants.

"Don't be sorry," Miles said. "I'm a little pent-up, too." His fingers brushed the shaft of Gerald's cock, claws tracing lightly along the flesh. He removed all but one finger, leaving it hooked in the waist of the bull's pants as he pulled him through the apartment.

A dress shirt and a tank top hit the floor as soon as the pair entered the bedroom. Miles pressed his naked chest against Gerald's, their mouths joining for another kiss as hands wandered to undo each other's zippers. Gerald moaned at the marvelous feeling of his cock springing free from the tight confines of his pants, the constricting vinyl replaced by warm fingers wrapping lightly around his shaft. A pair of slacks fell around Miles's feet a moment later. The tiger stepped out of the crumpled garments and held Gerald's throbbing erection against his own. Two pearls of precum merged to become one that burst and bled down the underside of each shaft, coating the ruddy hot organs in glistening wetness as they slid against each other.

Miles reached down to cup the bull's impressively hefty balls, their size eclipsing his own by several times despite the difference between the size of their cocks being far less substantial. "God, these are huge," he moaned.

"Guess I need to be milked," Gerald said with a grin. He grasped two palms full of furry tiger ass, pulling the other male's hips forward as their erections rubbed together. Miles closed his fingers around both engorged shafts to stroke them simultaneously. Pre flowed copiously from the smooth head of Gerald's cock, spilling onto the feline's slightly shorter length.

Sounds of wet friction filled the room as Miles jerked both cocks with increasing intensity. "You're the hottest fucking thing I've ever seen," he growled. His free hand snaked through Gerald's long hair behind his head and pulled him into another lustful kiss. Miles purred as their tongues rolled over each other, each greedily pulling the taste of another's mouth into their own. With every passing second the tiger's movements became more excited, his heart pounding against the wall of his chest hard enough for Gerald to feel each thump against his strong pecs. The bull's cock jerked as it oozed a fresh load of viscous pre.

Gerald winced as he felt the distant beginnings of orgasm tingling deep in the base of his crotch. The tiger was quickly succumbing to impatience, masturbating them using fast, pounding strokes with the obvious goal of triggering a double cum geyser. When the urgency in his movements reached a boil, Gerald broke contact and took a step back. "Whoa there," he gasped, pausing to catch his breath. "Let's slow it down a little."

"Sorry, I got—"

"Don't be sorry." Gerald squeezed his slick cock from base to tip, producing a thick strand of clear liquid that drooled onto the discarded pile of his pants. "That was amazing. Just don't want to lose that edge so soon." He leaned forward and stuck his tongue out for the tiger to lick and suck before joining their mouths again. "Sthink we—ahhm—got more—mmm—fun'ta have."

Miles simply breathed in the scent of their combined arousal when Gerald pulled away. His eyes fluttered close, only to shoot open a moment later when a hand gave his ass a powerful slap. He turned to see Gerald grinning playfully. The bull tossed his vest over the back of a chair and climbed onto the bed on all fours, his hooves hanging over the side. He looked back at Miles and licked his lips invitingly before giving his own rump a hard smack.

Miles stroked himself as he knelt beside the bed, positioning his face inches from the bull's fat balls. He nosed each of the large ovals, inhaling the rich musk, then licked the warm, leathery sack until it glistened with saliva. Standing, he moved the rope-like length of tail aside to stare at the erotic sight of Gerald's rear. Solid, brawny thighs widened into the shapely curves of toned buttocks, the meat soft and yielding over muscles trained hard as iron. Miles smeared the head of his cock over the spit-shined scrotum, up the long bulge of taint to settle against the crinkled pucker. His breathing stopped as he pushed his weight forward, watching his cock sink into that hot ass, the ring of flesh stretching to engulf his shaft. Fresh air returned to his lungs in a long, shuddering gasp as Gerald clenched his muscles to pull the probing phallus deeper into his eager hole.

"Thaaat's it," Gerald moaned softly. "All the way in."

A wave of absolute bliss washed over Miles's brain as he felt his heavy scrotum press against Gerald's taint and continued to push forward, trying to cram nonexistent inches of his cock deeper into the moist tunnel. He stopped, pulled back, then launched his hips forward again. The feline was already so close from the frotting session that every thrust sent a crackling spark of pleasure surging through his pelvis to make his tail involuntarily jerk and lash the air behind him.

His nose against the bedspread, Gerald grunted, "Don't worry about taking it easy. Go as hard as you want."

Freshly encouraged and deliriously aroused, Miles gripped Gerald's ass and slammed forward, driving the whole of his frame into each vigorous buck. His cock hammered the clenching hole with enough force to whip his fluids into a creamy froth. His every sense heightened as he drew nearer to the point of no return, the sights and sounds and smells of sex so intense his mind reached overload. Sweat coated the skin beneath his coat of striped fur. The air itself felt like thousands of hands caressing his body with the lightest feather touch of ethereal fingertips, teasing his inability to distract himself. He wanted to savor this sensation for hours, but his resolve was crumbling. He watched the pools of shadow moving across Gerald's back as his shoulders heaved, heard him groan from deep inside the great chamber of his chest. As if surrendering, Miles unclenched his stomach muscles and hilted himself inside the other male. The force of orgasm hit him like a bullet train, stars exploding behind his eyes and his knees buckled beneath him.

Gerald stiffened and held himself steady as the tiger's full weight nearly shoved him over the opposite side of the bed. He felt the cock inside his ass twitch hard, followed quickly by the luscious sensation of liquid warmth spreading through his bowels. Pleasure mixed with faint bursts of pain as feline claws dug into the sides of his hips.

When the almost uncomfortably powerful contractions in his groin finally subsided, Miles let out a trembling sigh of satisfaction. His claws retracted and his fingers pulled back across the velvety texture of the bull's skin, reveling in the realness of the body against his. Strength returned to his legs enough that they could again support his weight. As he took in heavy breaths, droplets of perspiration ran down his whiskers to dangle from the tips like jewels. He leaned forward to caress a double row of abdominal muscles beneath the bull and whispered, "Are you close?"

Gerald swallowed. "Really close."

Miles traced a hand down the bull's torso to his thick cock. He grasped it firmly, leaking pre wetting his palm as it made slow, massaging strokes along the shaft. The cock pulsed and its owner growled pleasurably, prompting Miles to pick up speed until his fist roughly fucked the raging length from head to base.

The stimulation quickly brought Gerald near to climax—nearer still when another hand groped and fondled his balls. "Mmmnn!" he rumbled. "M'gonna make a mess all over your bed...!"

"It's fine, I'll wash it tomorrow. Come on, stud. Cum for me!" Miles recognized the signs when he noticed Gerald tense suddenly and felt the slick walls of his ass tighten around him. He gripped Gerald's cock just behind the flared ridges of his mushroom head and clenched his fist rhythmically.

Quick bursts of wordless sound came from Gerald's throat as he was brought to the height of physical bliss, a sensation of lifting making his spine arch. Long, white ropes of bovine jizz splattered across bedspread below his quaking torso. Half a dozen full shots were followed by several weaker spurts, then a light, steady dribble as Miles continued to milk out as much cum as he could get the meaty cock to produce. A good half minute after the final drop of seed had oozed from the bull's sensitive dick, Miles hesitantly relinquished his grip and stepped back. His own half-hard member slid out of Gerald's ass ahead of dribble of cum, a small amount of his load escaping down the bull's thighs before his stretched asshole squeezed shut.

The mattress squeaked as Gerald rolled onto his back and collapsed lengthwise across the bed with a contented sigh. Miles lay down beside him, pulling him into a sensual kiss. "Mmm... I'm so glad you came into the bar, tonight."

"I'm glad you came in me," Gerald said.

Miles couldn't help but chuckle gleefully at the awful pun. He felt more relaxed than he had in recent memory, a lazy yawn soon stretching his jaw before the whole of his body went pleasantly limp. For a long while, he and Gerald basked together in the wonderful comfort of afterglow. Eventually, light touches and gentle whispers gave way to stillness and silence as Miles drifted off.

Gerald positioned his hands under his head and stared up at the ceiling from under heavy eyelids, tranquil but not yet ready for sleep. He was contemplating a trip to the kitchen for a snack when a buzzing noise rose up from the floor. He looked to the feline lying beside him. Miles's eyes remained shut and his chest continued the subtle motions of rising and falling, the rhythm of his breathing unchanged. Gerald moved off the bed as quietly as possible to retrieve his phone from his pants, squinting to read a number he didn't recognize. He slipped into the bathroom and carefully shut the door behind him. "Hello?"

"Gerald!" Devlin's voice answered. "Hey man, where are you?"

"Hey, D. I'm in... somebody's apartment."

"Somebod— Oh! Stripes the bartender?"

The bull took a seat on the closed lid of the toilet and chuckled softly. "Yeah."

"Nice work. He looked like a real cutie."

"Knows how to have some fun, too. And he's a sweetheart. Said I could spend the night and he'd fix breakfast in the morning."

"Fucking A, that is adorable."

Gerald chuckled again. "So where are you?"

"Man, you are not going to believe this. I am calling"—he paused for dramatic emphasis—"from a real-life payphone."

"A payphone?"

"I shit you not. It's near the corner of Adler and Main. I didn't even know they had payphones anymore. There must only be a couple left in the entire city. I just had to try it out."

"Wow. So what happened? Last I saw, you were putting on a show for some poor girl and her boyfriend didn't take kindly."

"Yeah... Things didn't exactly pan out."

"You lose the fight?"

"Ha! You're a comedian. I kicked that poser's ass, and that was after I gave him a free shot to get things going." Devlin touched a finger to the end of his muzzle, testing to confirm the blood had ceased trickling from his nose and dried into his fur. "Here's the fucked up part, though: The second I lay him out on the pavement, his gal pal runs over practically in tears to kiss his boo-boos and tell me I'm some kind of bully. She's probably humping him back to health as we speak."

"Tough break. Guess it's a cold shower, then?"

"You kidding? It's only a little after three. The night is still young! I've got plenty of numbers to call. In fact, I just had a fun idea. If you're not too worn out, how about I call Zig and see if he's up for getting spit-roasted?"

Gerald leaned back against the porcelain tank, entertaining the idea with a low moan that gradually rose in pitch. A familiar itch returned between his legs, making his cock swell. "Maybe..." he said more to himself than the phone. His eyes turned to the bathroom door, his mind conjuring an image of the tiger sleeping soundly behind it. "Actually, I don't know. I think I'll sit this one out."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. I'd better get some sleep pretty soon here." Gerald smiled to himself, securing confidence in his decision. "I've got a date for breakfast."