The Burning Spoon was never the most popular bar in town. Far from it, really. The food stank, and anybody who was sober enough would tell you that the patrons smelled even worse. The biggest tell of all, however, was that the front window, which had been formerly emblazoned with the bar’s logo, had now been replaced with nothing but a screen that kept the bugs out, a sloppily painted sign dangling just above it. Everyone agreed that it was a much needed change, really. The unlucky folk who would end up getting tossed through during one of the nightly brawls would attest to that, anyway. Some bars were the sorts of places that just being there was a party. Some bars were places you’d have loyal friends who’d help you through your toughest times. This was neither.
The gecko at the corner of the bar understood that, which is why he had found himself frequenting the place more often than he used to. Recent events, as the lizard would so gently put it, had left him in a mood less than conductive for making friends. And so Merk, as his friends and enemies had known him, spent most of his nights over at the nearby pool table, setting up the balls and sending them scattering all over again. As far as pool tables went, it was just as trashy and old as the rest of the bar. The felt was scratched with scuff marks, the table leaned to the left, and the actual balls themselves were sticky with something the lizard could only guess at. But with times like these, staring into that table made the lizard felt like a great philosopher pondering the universe.
Neatly placing the balls together in their rack with the utmost of care, Merk cut made quite an imposing figure. Clack. The balls were sent scattering with barely a flick, all those thick muscles giving more than enough momentum to send the spheres scattering. He stood at about six feet, almost pure muscle from snout to tail, and the way he held that cue made it very clear he wasn’t a lizard to be fucked with. Those that did learned that the lizard had a particular affinity for that cue, and that would be one more time that flimsy screen would need to be replaced. He squinted, nostrils flaring as those slitted eyes focused on their target, that thin tail trailing from side to side across the dirty floor. Clack.
The relative peace of the bar was suddenly broken by the sound of a nasty coughing fit, eyes turning from all over to get a gaze on wherever the hacking was coming from. A weasel stepped into the bar, two rows of thick, yellow teeth snarling at anybody who laid eyes on him, a single cigarette squeezed tightly between them. The weasel only stood a couple of inches or so taller than Merk himself, although he lacked the sheer muscle the gecko had on him. Most of that height seemed to be made up of the weasel’s long, almost serpentine neck, which lead down to a rail-thin body.  Nobody dared mentioned the fact that he had apparently neglected to bring a pair of pants with him, nothing but a button-up shirt and a vest leaving anything to the imagination. 
Without a word, the weasel strode right over to the end of the room, a thick cloud of smoke trailing behind him. He sat himself at the nearest stool, watching the gecko with that same general expression of distate he had given everybody else. After a few moments taking a look at his technique, the weasel finally broke the silence “You the pool player?” he asked, in a high pitched voice with just a hint of gravel.
Merk looked up, pulling the brim of the fedora up just enough he could get a look at the big blue weasel addressing him. “I’m a guy who plays pool, if that’s what you’re askin’. Nice teeth.”
The weasel only snorted, a cloud of smoke billowing out through his nose like an angry dragon. “Go fuck yourself.”
The gecko only shrugged in reply. “Tried it. Turned out it ain’t my thing.”
The weasel scowled, muttering something under his breath before fishing a couple of bills out of his pocket, placing them on the table. “You and me. I’m bettin’ fifty bucks.” Merk raised an eyeridge in brief surprise, before flashing the other male a smirk. The weasel hadn’t been the first cocky fleapile to walk in and attempt to hustle him. And with how much money he had made from their attempts, he certainly hoped it wouldn’t be the last.
“Yeah, why not,” he said, setting up the pool balls in their rack, handing the cue over to the weasel. “You gonna buy yourself some new lungs if you win, or what?” The weasel only responded by jabbing the blunt end of the cue straight into Merk’s ribs. The impact made him stumble a little, giving a brief grunt as he rubbed at the spot the weasel managed to hit. It didn’t actually hurt, of course. Not much really did since the incident, for better or worse. But the lizard figured he might as well keep up appearances that it at least stung a little. The weasel gave a snicker, seemingly satisfied, every single one of those yellow fangs glistening under the dull fluorescent lighting of the bar. Clack. With a flick of the wrist, the balls went scattering across the table, the eight ball ending up right in the center.
“Yeah, yeah, you think you’re hot shit,” mumbled the gecko, leaning in and staring down at the table, figuring angles and trajectories like an expert mathematician. He leaned in, and prepared to strike the eight ball. Crrk. Just before the moment of impact, the weasel let off another hard wheeze, the sudden interruption forcing some unintended English on the ball. The eight ball went spiraling off into a distant corner, too far away where it could do any real good. The nasty grin the mustelid gave showed that while most of his coughing was caused by all the smoking he got up to, that particular cough had been no accident.
The reptile only muttered, roughly grabbing the cue from the weasel’s paws and taking aim once more. There would have been a time when he would have been jonesing hard for a cigarette himself, especially with how the game seemed to be turning against him. Ever since the incident, however, he just didn’t have the urge. Just as well, really. It made it easier to focus on the next shot. The next shot that would send the last of the balls rocketing right into the corner pocket, wiping the smug grin of that mammal’s face for good. Clack. As the eight ball rolled past its intended target and straight into the hole, the grin on the weasel’s face seemed to grow so wide, Merk wondered if his face would snap under the strain.
“Figured you were better at handling balls,” the weasel said with a smirk, outstretching a paw.
“Yeah, maybe when they’re in your mouth, ya smug little co –“ Merk froze for a moment, palming around in his coat pocket and looking for bills, finding none. “Yeah, funny thing,” he muttered, a hint of embarrassment creeping up in his voice. “I don’t usually lose.” The weasel stopped for a moment, the other male’s implication dawning in his head like a busted light bulb. The gecko stood and waited for a threat, an attack or anything. What he didn’t expect, however, was for the weasel to start unbuttoning his shirt, exposing some of the short blue fur hiding below.
In just a few moments, the weasel stood naked before him, the bar patrons staring behind him with looks of shock on their faces. It seemed that the thrill of victory must have apparently gotten to the weasel while Merk wasn’t watching. The weasel was at full mast and drooling, the tip of his furry cock already starting to dribble, adding more sticky substances to the dirty floor under his feet.
“Clothes off,” the weasel ordered. “All of ‘em.”
Merk groaned for a moment, before slowly starting to comply, tugging off his pinsuit jacket before throwing it behind him. The thought occurred to the gecko that maybe he should run, or refuse to submit. As he started undoing his tie and unbuttoning his shirt, exposing those thick muscles, the lizard just put those thoughts to the back of his head. A deal was a deal, and it was his own fault for being reckless with his cash. Besides that, he had fucked worse looking guys than the weasel railing him, that was for sure. If he didn’t die of lung cancer before he got his rocks off, anyway.
No sooner than Merk had his pants around his ankles than he felt the weasel’s weight pinning him against the pool table, his paws bending him over at an angle. He could feel his arms wrapping tightly around his belly, that wet cock pushing tight between his scaly asscheeks. Merk gave off a hot groan, his own member rising under the table, that hefty nutsack swaying slowly as he was manhandled. As Merk felt the weasel starting to push that hot tip inside of him, he shook his ass from side to side, turning around to growl at his partner. “You gonna stick it in today, or what?” the gecko grunted.
The weasel responded by thrusting hard inside of the lizard’s ass, groaning out as he felt Merk already starting to work those tight muscles around that furry shaft. It was obvious the lizard had been catching for longer than he let on, because the gecko took that first powerful thrust like a champ, biting his lip to try to hold back a long, deep moan of pleasure. For the weasel, Merk’s ass was like nothing he felt before. No resistance, no dryness, just a perfectly tight, slick tunnel that seemed to know when to squeeze down at just the right moments. With all the encouragement the lizard seemed to be giving, the weasel practically had no choice but to pin Merk down hard against the table, picking up tempo as his sack started clapping against the gecko’s own scaly nuts.
“Sure are smooth,” the weasel grunted, his groans of pleasure being cut off every so often by one of those nasty hacking coughs. His lack of breath didn’t seem to slow down his hard breeding of the lizard at all, every thrusts forcing Merk’s body to rock hard with the force of that rock hard member. “Y’sure I’m not fucking somebody’s sloppy seconds?”
Merk groaned out, his resistance giving way under the pleasure of the weasel working himself right into his fleshy button. “N… nah, this is what you’re fuckin’….” The gecko’s eyes started to shimmer brightly, before starting to sprout a carpet of blue fur across his body, his paws and feet growing out to match the weasel’s. In barely a few moments, Merk had gone from a hunky gecko to an exact copy of the weasel who was currently fucking him, nasty cough and all. The crowd who was still left to watch the lizard get fucked gave off shouts of amazement and encouragement, some of the patrons tossing coins and bills in his direction.
Merk turned and gave the weasel one of those big, toothy smiles, using the brief moment of surprise to taunt the guy who had his dick buried inside him. “S’matter, tough guy, you ain’t ever gone and fucked yourself before? It’s just like jackin’ off!” It seemed that Merk had even managed to replicate the other weasel’s voice, down to that gravel hiding under his squeaky pitch. He gave his new furry rear another wiggle, that furry sack under him aching to release. The other weasel, the one that had Merk pinned to the table, gave off a hiss of anger, before continuing to rock inside of his copy, paw reaching out to give his replica a few swats across the rear, Merk’s furry ass jiggling as he took it like a professional.
Merk let himself give into the pleasure, moaning out hotly again and again as the original weasel worked him over, his ass clenching even tighter. He could feel the weasel on top starting to spurt off jets of that sticky precum, splashing his inner walls and giving him even more lubrication to work with. Merk let his ass squeeze tight with every thrust the weasel had to give, causing him to let off loud hisses of pleasure, punctuated with that now familiar smoker’s cough. “Ah, fuck, you WANTED this, didn’t ya?” the weasel accused Merk, giving a few more hard thrusts inside of him, balls churning as climax overtook him. “You little… fuck…. Agghh… FUCK!”
Merk just dug his claws into the felt of the table in front of him and waited. He would have cackled if that last hit to his prostate didn’t cause him to empty his cum in a few hot, sticky spurts all over the floor. The original weasel responded in kind, giving him a hard bite to the shoulder as he pumped Merk’s guts full of his own seed, load after load of his pearly weasel juices filling that tight asshole, the weasel slamming his dick in a few more times just before his hard release would drain him of his energy, leaving him hissing in relief. The audience scattered around the bar clapped politely, a couple giving off cat calls and propositions of their own.

The weasel stayed buried inside Merk for what seemed  like an eternity, before he slowly pulled out of that tight tailhole. With the blink of an eye, Merk returned to his original form, although close inspection would reveal that his scaly cock was still drooling the last of his own juices. Without a word, the lizard got onto his knees and started slurping away the excess cum that had built up around the weasel’s tip, amidst groans and wheezes of protest. After he was sure he had cleaned every drop the other male had to give, Merk stood up, took his clothes, and made his way through a back entrance out of the bar, giving a thumbs up as he faded into the distance. The weasel stroked his again balls with a pained groan, reaching over to grab at the money he had left from the original bet.
The fit of angry hacking the weasel made when he found out it was no longer there caused at least two residents of the neighborhood to file a noise complaint.