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The show was well under way, so of course Jon was on his third beer. He held the red plastic cup aloft above his head and roared in approval as the band onstage finished a long, drawn-out drone. It wasn't the style of song that really got him going though, so he was currently hanging out safely at the edge of the mosh pit with Thaddeus, occasionally yelling a humorous comment to the dog about the music or a particular mosher. The shorter white-furred canine's brushy tail was bobbing behind him lazily as he cheered for the band too, though not as forcefully as Jon. Damn, that otter's got pipes on him. Maybe he's got more of that bear blood in him than he thinks...

Thaddeus moderately nursed his own beer, still not quite having come around to the spirit of slamming the cheap stuff at the metal shows he'd taken to attending with Jon. Especially after all the interesting world of flavors and styles of beer his new otter friend had introduced him to over the past several weeks. To Thaddeus, always very careful and ordered in his thoughts (and for good reason), the extra-toothy lutrine seemed to be a bundle of contradictions. But he'd grown to enjoy Jon's spontaneity, even if the otter's enthusiasm or blithe bluntless was sometimes worthy of a facepalm. And, Thaddeus thought with a sort of satisfied smile, there was one thing the otter never wavered or changed his opinion about, and that was the thing he tended to mince words about the least. He knows what he wants, and that big mouth of his usually gets it for him. Or, well, his mouth gets it for itself.

The band started up another song, this one with a bit more of a slow stomping beat instead of a dirge. It got the few guys in the pit going more than the last one did, and instinctively Jon and Thad both raised their other arms to chest level so they'd be able to ward off any stray moshers that got flung their way. Thaddeus had already gotten used to having mild impact bruises on his forearms after these shows, especially when he got into the pit himself. And despite his complicated mental relationship with scars and such, he'd grown privately proud of wearing those "battle wounds" along with his more experienced otter buddy.

The two had started coming to The Crow at Jon's suggestion when they'd bonded over music at Jon's apartment, which in turn was after them bonding over beer at the bar Jon worked at. Jon's enthusiasm for big cathartic music had led them to start jamming on a few ideas Thaddeus had on guitar, and they considered it research to come down to this charmingly seedy club every few days and check out the mostly-local talent. And they were both grateful for the companionship and the mutual encouragement to break out of their shells. They shared a sense of excitement, of rekindling, of freshness, that had them both focused and ambitious as well as freewheeling.

And the sex was nice too, of course.

Thaddeus thought of that and glanced over at his sabertoothed companion almost shyly. The otter did look handsome in his obliviously goofy sort of way, swigging from his beer almost carelessly and wiggling side to side to the beat of the music, as he always did once he started to loosen up towards the end of his second beer. Tonight he had even snapped on his favorite collar with a dogtag on it. Thaddeus had never asked him if there was some sort of significance to the accessory, but imagined it was probably just another thing the otter just did without really thinking about it. It DID look good on him as the tag jingled almost merrily, and he didn't even look very out of place in the current crowd. One of the later bands was more of an industrial synth type, and plenty of audience members were bordering on goth attire, so Jon wasn't even close to the only one with some sort of strap buckled to his person.

At this point, even the more reserved Thaddeus was feeling his inhibitions relax pleasantly. Beer seemed to work on him faster than Jon, but the gap was closing. Jon was careful these days to not go as overboard with his drinking as he had at a few periods in the past, but his tolerance and experience were still at a solid level. Thaddeus's smaller size probably contributed to his more lightweight temperament, but he tended to adapt quickly. Soon he'd be matching Jon drink for drink, their friendly competitiveness pushing them both on to more and more ridiculous debauchery.

The mutt felt fuzzy and tingly inside as he daydreamed about the future of their friendship. It had been a long time since he'd had someone who made him feel like opening up this way. He was very grateful to the bony-bodied otter, his new best friend. The big dumb scrawny fucker.

Jon was leaning over to the dog and yelling something, but Thaddeus couldn't understand him. They huddled their heads closer, taking their eyes off the churning crowd in front of them for a few seconds while Jon repeated himself. In that moment, though, a lanky rat boy was catapulted backwards out of the pit by a glancing blow from a chubby spotted cat, and both Jon and Thaddeus were caught off guard as the rat wheeled and stumbled towards them, crashing into the tall otter.

Thankfully, Jon was used to being around frantically windmilling people at metal shows, and kept his feet flat on the ground, holding out his arms to catch the rat and steady him. Thaddeus reached out behind Jon's back and propped him up as well. The rat mouthed an apology at Jon, who flashed him the metal horns, gave him a pat on the back, and then a push back into the whirling pit. The only harm done was that Jon's left hand was now sticky with beer that had sloshed out over the rim of his cup upon impact. He couldn't be angry; this stuff happened. He gulped the rest of the suds that remained in the cup, gave Thaddeus a clap on the back to let him know he'd be back soon, and discarded the cup on the way to the bathroom to wash up.

Thaddeus continued watching the band and crowd with content amusement. He started to feel a little hazy, and suspected a contact or secondhand high from some of the stoners that made up the audience for this particularly trudgy band. Due to his fuzzy good mood, it was another 10-minute song later, when the band had already thanked the audience and were unplugging their gear, that the dog started to wonder where Jon had gone. The door to the men's bathroom was just to the right of the stage and to the left of the bar, surely Thad would have noticed if he'd come out and gotten another beer. The canine narrowed his eyes for a few seconds...then rolled them. _Surely not... not here. _

Thad sighed but had a smirk on his face. He needed another beer.

Jon scrubbed at the fur on his hand and forearm with suds from the sink. On a planet as advanced as this, even the dive bars had self-sanitizing water coming from the tap. He hummed the guitar riff to himself along with the muffled thudding that was coming from outside the bathroom door. There was no one else standing in the bathroom, but he took out one of his earplugs anyway, just to get some relief from the constant cottony fuzz that all sound turned into with them in. It was actually funny that he was just starting to vaguely think that he hadn't seen Matthew since the current band went on stage, when he heard a flush behind him and out came the large lion from the lone stall in the tiny bathroom.

Matthew Banhart was a benevolent constant in the local music scene, a sort of well-loved fixture. Since he ran a nearby hip coffee shop, he had his finger on the pulse of a lot of young musicians and music lovers in the area, and of course hosted regular open-mics at the shop. By night, he was often seen at shows like this one mixing with other regulars or making new friends. He was also known for quietly introducing people who wanted to start bands or projects, so that some thought of him as effectively the father of the scene. Or, as Jon delighted in teasing him, the "daddy" thereof.

Jon's cavalier attitude toward sexual come-ons meant that Mat had many times had to chuckle and rib the otter back while politely declining his flagrant offers. Not that he really minded; a more laid-back and unoffendable person than Matthew was very rare. The lion just didn't swing that way. Though single since his divorce a few years ago, and though he proudly hung an LGBT flag in his shop, he found Jon's smirking innuendos flattering but uninteresting. Besides, they were good friends after all, always making sure to say hey at shows they both attended, and Jon made more-than-occasional stops in the coffee shop and usually made an appearance at open mic night with an acoustic guitar and his surprisingly sprightly baritone voice. And really, what's a few forward remarks about anus between friends?

And Jon could really barely help himself; he was weak for big cats and dad-types, both of which Matthew qualified for in spades. Thaddeus by now would have recognized the otter's adage of "Dads have the best buttholes", and Matthew knew the effects of the belief well. His striking mane of black against his normal lion-colored tan fur made for a handsome figure regardless of perversion, and the way the mane was curled into tight dreadlocks that hung to the middle of his back (he usually kept them tied back in a bunch) gave just the right exotic touch.

The big lion's thin, librarian-esque glasses didn't hurt his hipster-dad image a bit, either.

Now, having thought he was all alone in the bathroom, Jon half-turned over his shoulder in mild surprise. Well, now he knew where Matthew had been for the past fifteen minutes or so. And all of a sudden, just the thought of it made the otter's mouth water and his whiskers quiver, and took over his mind to the point where he almost literally couldn't stop himself. He HAD to have it.

Jon cranked off the taps on the sink, holding his hands quickly under the dryer so Mat couldn't get away after the requisite awkward small talk seemingly always involved between male acquaintances in restrooms.

"Oh there you are. Me and Thad wondered where you'd gotten to." Jon plucked the earplug out of his other ear, and deposited both of them in his pocket.

Mat rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah sorry, had to."

"Course." Jon shook his hands off hastily, and flicked his eyes towards the bathroom door. Nobody.

Before the lion even made it to the sink to wash his own hands, Jon had a hand on Mat's chest and was pushing him back towards the stall. If the lion had been on his guard, there would have been no way he could have been manipulated like this, but he hadn't had any cause for alarm before and now he was off-balance, so he stumbled back to the stall door and pushed it open when he tried to catch himself on it. "Jon! What!..." he babbled helplessly, his tail thrashing wildly and its black tuft at the end whipping against the stall's wall.

The heavy-breathing, now-steely-eyed otter pushed into the stall after him, closing and bolting the door behind them. It's a good thing Jon was so thin, otherwise there would have been no room to maneuver at all in there. But maneuver Jon did, quickly and with slick ottery grace, his collar-tag jangling on its ring like an oddly merry sleigh bell. The mustelid male used Mat's momentum and unbalance to position him facing away from the door, and the lion had barely even caught himself with his palms on the wall before he felt warm hands on his ass.

"JON. This isn't funny. Quit it." Matthew tried to turn around, but there was nowhere behind him to step that wouldn't be stepping on otter, and the stall was barely wider than himself anyway. And since Jon behind him was basically forcing him to be leaning over the closed toilet, he couldn't get his full weight on his feet.

Fingers were already fiddling frantically with the snap in the front of Mat's loose cargo shorts. "Just... let me. I want...ungh. I really want it right now, just please let me get in there..." Jon grunted from behind and below him. The lion took one hand off the wall to go to his crotch and try to either pull Jon's hand away or button himself back up, but it was way too late. Otters are quick with everything. And Mat's waistband was already on the way down.

Now that his head had mostly stopped spinning, Matthew remembered where they were, and lowered his voice in case anyone DID come in or the music stopped and someone at the bar heard. "Stop. It. Do NOT get me naked in here, young man," he hissed behind him, clutching at his shorts frantically but missing them...and he didn't exactly want to bend over any further to attempt recovery.

"Not naked. Just enough. I just want--" Jon shucked the shorts down to below Mat's knees, but the lion's white and green-trimmed briefs were still almost all the way up. The otter couldn't even stop a growling moan at finally seeing the thin soft fabric stretched tautly over the big lion-dad booty. And the ultimate prize was just beyond it...

Jon licked the side of one of his saberteeth. Better to ask forgiveness...

Matt was making the mistake of holding up the FRONT of the waistband of his underwear. Jon was only marginally interested in what that was covering. His thumbs spared only a second to rub the lion's impressive thighs upward and dip into the legs of the briefs, before his hands pulled down on the back of the waistband and bared the older man's buttocks.

It was lucky that Mat tended to dress extremely casually on evening excursions like this, and hadn't worn shorts or underwear that required his tail to be threaded through the rear. One downward pull and the lion's tawny ass was revealed to the ecstatically trembling otter. It was everything Jon had daydreamed of. Full, firm fleshy cheeks covered with coarse golden-tan fur. A lighter cream-colored splotch on the inside of the thighs and buttocks, that basically begged for those cheeks to be spread so the full coloration could be revealed. And if the whole thing wasn't already perfect enough, there was a very occasional black hair or two embedded in the rest right on his ass area, and the concentration of them increased as they led toward his ass crack.

Jon couldn't even stop to really admire and comment like he usually would. He stuck his nose right against that cleft and huffed deeply, eyes rolling back in his head in complete bliss.

"Holy FUCK Jon, don't, I just took a--"

"I don't care. That's why I wanted it." Jon's words were muffled against the sloping insides of the lion's buttocks, but they were decisive. With how meticulously clean-though-casual Matthew always seemed to be, and how spotless he liked to keep his coffee shop, the otter had no doubt he'd find nothing but perfect cleanliness once he finally opened up the lion's butt. Most toilets on Rua had an automatic washer installed anyway, and they were very efficient.

"You are fucking...crazy, you damn otter!! Get offa me!"

Jon was so entranced and almost drunk off of the gratification of baring the lion's butt that he didn't even seem to hear the protestations from above him. His only answer to them was to shove his muzzle forward and pull aside the halves of Mat's ass and plant his mouth right on where he knew the lion's asshole would be.

It was indeed perfectly clean, except for a light sheen of sweat that had built back up in the last minute or so of scuffling. The fur right above, which Jon's nose was buried in, had a deeper musk of stale, semi-dried sweat from being in the dank and active club for the past few hours. To Jon, no finer cologne could exist. He let out a groan that Mat felt vibrate against his asshole.

At that point, Matthew heaved a sigh and just relaxed. Might as well let him have it. The less I resist at this point, the sooner he might have his fill and we can get out of here. And he's really a good kid, probably just pent up. Funny, I thought him and that white dog probably had a thing going on... Never mind. Let him enjoy himself, if...this is what he's really into...

Even Mat still didn't know quite how deeply Jon was into exactly this, and just how mind-scramblingly happy he was making the fangy otter by letting him in his bare ass. Mat even let go of the front of his briefs, the band snapping downward to around his thighs, which let his genitals swing forth freely.

The kneeling otter wasn't even remotely concerned with those parts yet though, as Mat's relaxed stance had allowed him to palm apart the lion's big ass cheeks and get the real, full view of everything they hid. A beautiful pink-rimmed anus, slick and shining with sweat and Jon's own saliva, pulsing almost shyly in the open air now that it had been revealed. "Oh my god," Jon breathed throatily, and reverently pushed his snout back inbetween those golden cheeks to kiss at the soft flesh of that butthole. His smooth-sided fangs helped nudge open the lion's ass, demonstrating firsthand his basically natural-born ass-burrowing attributes.

Now that he'd forced himself to just give in and ride this out, Mat felt an odd little thrill at the tone in Jon's voice, and his thin tail switched back and forth over the otter's head. He had to clear his throat a couple of time before he stammeringly asked, "You, ah...you... like my ass?..."

"I looooooooooove your asshole, fuck," came the immediate moaned reply, along with a few strong massaging kneads to his big bare buttocks. There was that little thrill again, and through his fading annoyance and growing anxiety that someone would come in the bathroom at any time, he felt a tiny subconscious glimmer of pleasure that someone appreciated a part of his body that much. Even if it was an extremely taboo part of his body that was the center of such appreciation. Mat still thought it was kind of gross, but the otter was so clearly enjoying himself that it made the lion's apprehension dissipate slightly.

Jon's enjoyment became even more apparent when Mat started to feel a constant vibration between his buns. Wait...could otters actually purr? Mat found that bizarrely adorable, even in this awkward situation with his actual anus being slurped on by another male, and his private parts dangling nakedly in front of him to boot.

Of course, the otter was indeed purring away, in his own personal mental heaven. His own good-sized penis was as stiff as it could possibly get in his pants, but he didn't want to spare his hands for even a second to tend to himself, when they were so busy roaming all over the big lion dad's thighs and ass. At one point Jon's fist gripped around the very base of Mat's shivering tail, and he used the hold to pull his own face into the other male's ass even more intensely. Lion tails sure make good handles, Jon thought, as if he'd heard the phrase before. The music still pounding from outside the bathroom contributed to the pleasant hum in Jon's brain from both the beer working and the intensely pleasurable situation he'd made for himself in this tiny bathroom stall.

After several minutes of suckling and licking over the folded opening in Mat's rear, Jon came up for air and just admired the sight of a prime naked manly lion ass. The tan-gold color of the fur on it and the pleasant but longing mental warmth in his head reminded the otter of... something else, an unstable and long-ago memory or association. It was only later, when he woke up in the middle of the night, that the memory was completed and gave him goosebumps as he recalled doing just what he was doing now to another tan-furred feline so long ago...

Jon was just going in for his last kiss on Mat's asshole before he knew they'd have to leave so they wouldn't get caught... when they were caught. The door banged open with no warning at all. Both men froze, Matthew's ass cheeks clenching around Jon's whiskers and Jon's lips staying right on the other man's anus. They noticed the music had stopped, and cheering poured in from the doorway as the door slowly closed.

One person stumbled in, sounding a little drunken by their mumbling and their uneven, clodding footsteps. The pair in the stall waited tensely, all four of their ears quirked upward and quivering. The guy outside clomped to a urinal, muttering happily to himself. Soon after the sound of a zip came the hissing of a stream onto porcelain. It was short but sounded voluminous.

It all only lasted a few seconds, but Jon was still so aroused by the whole situation he couldn't help giving Mat's ass cheeks a squeeze, and his soft flexing asshole a silent lick. It was just so damn delicious.

The sudden rasping of Jon's slick tongue over his anus after so much tension made Mat moan, out loud.

The guy at the urinal must have looked over at that moment and blearily registered the two different pairs of legs under the stall wall. "HAH!" came a cackle, and then the flushing of the urinal. Jon stopped caring, and began nursing on Mat's asshole again, sucking on the wrinkles lovingly with his lips.

Just when they thought the guy outside was going to just stagger out of the bathroom, his footsteps clopped over to the side of the stall, and he rapped loudly on the wall of it. Mat looked over sharply, and thanked the gods the man didn't seem to be tall enough to see over the top of the partition. "WOOO! GET ITTTTT!" the man whooped drunkenly, and seemingly without any real mocking. Only then did he shuffle out the bathroom door, laughing the whole way and apparently forgetting to wash his hands.

The sounds of the crowd outside wafting in when the door was opened seemed to sober up the duo in the stall. One last smooch on the butthole was all Jon gave Mat, complete with the lip-smacking sound this time. The otter stood up awkwardly, and now it was his turn to rub the back of his neck a little embarrassedly.

"Uh...thanks man. And...sorry. I just really wanted it and got carried away."

Matthew sighed, but managed a smile. "It's alright, Jon. I don't hold it against you. Just...I dunno...ASK before you do that to the next person?" The older lion hunched over and pulled up at his underwear.

"To be fair, I already asked you, many times. ...Persistence pays off?..." Jon offered a little lamely. After rolling his eyes, Mat noticed that Jon was staring downward and sideways as the lion shuffled and hopped while trying to cover himself back up. Even the experienced older man turned hot under his fur.

He's even got a handsome penis, Jon thought as he watched the big cat's privates bounce and wiggle. The otter didn't expect Mat to be uncircumcised, but indeed the fairly long appendage was still hooded. And it seemed to be sticking outward at half-mast, Jon observed with dawning pride. The lion's scrotum looked a little tightened up and wrinkly as well. And just before Mat snapped his underwear into place around his thick waist, Jon caught a glimpse of a black ridge of fur along the underside of those testicles.

Mat looked actually embarrassed, giving Jon a push toward the stall door before reaching down for his shorts. "Pervert," he lobbed at the otter without malice.

Jon laughed, halfway between a giggle and an ottery churr, but unlocked and opened the door out into the restroom. "I'll leave first, wait a few minutes. If that guy blabbed, it won't be skin off my back. Oh, and..." If Jon Sanders had ever looked "sheepish" in his life, it was right now. "I'd wipe before going out if I was you. Don't want it to get crusty."

By the time Jon left the bathroom, he'd only been in there about twelve minutes. But those were twelve minutes he thought about nonstop for weeks afterward.

Jon exited the restroom and sauntered to the bar gracefully, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and then realizing that was a terrible thing to do in front of people right after walking out of a bathroom. He saw Thaddeus standing by the bar, lifting a full beer off the bartop and pushing the signed chargepad back across. Casual. Don't be a loudmouth like usual. Be fair to Mat, he chided himself as he crossed over to his canine friend.

"November's Torture is up next, eh?" The otter slapped Thad on the upper arm in what he hoped was his usual bro-ish way.

"Yup. So who'd you get in there?"

For once, Jon didn't play dumb. But he did flush and fold his ears. "Nobody. Come on man, even I wouldn't do that HERE."

"Uh-huh. Tell me about it later when we get to your place."

"Nope. Nothing to tell."

"Then you just washed your hands for longer than any man in history has done."

Thaddeus eyed the door of the men's restroom. Several people were entering now that the previous band had ended and the pit had dissipated. And one person was exiting, and looking furtively around, then walking purposefully (and uncharacteristically) in the opposite direction of where he and Jon were posted up at the bar.

For the second time that night, Thad narrowed his eyes, and then he widened them in amazement. He looked at Jon incredulously. "You DIDN'T--"

"Another Low-Life, please," the tusked otter requested of the leather-strapped female bartender.

Thaddeus shook his head. He was never going to figure out this damn otter.