But, he doesn't like bars...
Bars. The big lion hated them, it was evident on his young face as he stood in line, waiting for the bouncer to check his I.D. Still, he couldn't help but to rock back and forth on his paws excitedly when the velvet rope was finally withdrawn; the music inside pumped and echoe'd, the lights swirled dizzyingly, and there was more flesh within ten inches than in the entire city. He passed everything one would expect to see in a gay bar; lithe circuit kids dancing alluringly to attract big daddies; stocky gents reveling in their size and leathers, dominating their surroundings with a sense of power and a promise of pleasure; partners obviously more intrigued with each other as they sulked in a corner, the music barely over-riding their grunts and growls whilst restrained -and a few unrestrained- cocks pressed together teasingly, tauntingly; the usual crowd of shy, or lazy, or boring, or ugly, or utterly uninteresting swarming the multiple bars like flies. The lion wandered through it all carefully, occasionally stepping up to a dance floor to flirt or fondle, though it all grew very boring, very quickly.
That wasn't the reason he was here, to flirt randomly or fondle with no intention of taking the fondled home. That's what people that liked bars did, and ever time he thought he saw his quarry only to have it turn out unsubstantiated, his well defined muzzle would wrinkle in displeasure. He really hated bars. It wasn't long before he migrated to the upper deck to sip on a martini and check his cell phone, hanging by a thin chord from a pair of tight leather pants. The time read a quarter after eleven, and on further speculation, the big cat realized he was getting impatient. It would take another martini to settle his nerves.
At twelve, the lion checked his phone again; he did it again at twelve thirty. Suddenly, it was one o'clock, and there was no longer any sense in waiting. He payed his tab, leaving a fairly healthy tip to the cute lemur slinging his drinks -they had been good martinis, if not as good as his own- and made his way back downstairs. He was very careful to keep his face neutral; in this place, and most others, people tended to get flighty and skittish around a six foot four lion in leather and mesh wearing a frown, though the stereotype was broken in him; but they, of course, couldn't know that. He always kept to himself, choosing his partners with a quiet efficiency; no one knew him, and he usually preferred it that way. He actually jumped when a powerful, short digited hand belonging to an unbelievably cute zebra cupped his firm butt through the leather, but after the shock wore off, he had to regretfully decline the invitation with a small smile and a shake of his head; and a promise in his look that said, "Next time... Maybe next time..." It was usually 'maybe next time' with him.
The ground floor was just as busy as he'd left it hours ago, and just as uninteresting. A pair of dingos, odd looking foreigners in linen and silk, caught his eye for a minute -he swore they had to be twins, despite their suggestive griding- and he made to swing his way towards them. They were interesting, at least interesting enough, and he was feeling a bit saucy of a nonce. He pushed past another cute lemur, then a beautiful young kangaroo, on his way to the perspective menage-a-trois, but another pair of dancers shifted, and he never made it to them. Standing in the middle of the floor, looking directly at him, was Charles, apple of his eye, a true blue surviving piece of his soul. The greying wolf didn't move, didn't betray a single thought as he stood there, calmly, watching. The lion's expressive features flashed surprise, then shock, and ultimately pleasure, but he felt rooted to the spot.
Chuck wasn't one to waste his time, and it was odd that he was on the dance floor at all. The lion wondered how long he'd been standing there, waiting on him; knowing the patient lupine, it may have been minutes, or hours, or days. Something in his stance said his stillness was a ruse. He didn't stand still for very long.
Two martinis and the heady scent of men, men, men; lights, music, pumping blood and pounding hearts; the lion was surprised to find himself instantly arroused as he met the wolf's gaze from only a few feet away. Not only was he arroused, he realized, but so arroused that his cock was hurting, confined in the tight leather; but, this wasn't one of their games, it wasn't the kind of pain he'd normally beg for... It was an ache, a longing, a burning need. The wolf knew it. He smiled, warmly, predatorily, and stalked forward.
They didn't speak as they left the dance floor, it wasn't needed. They still didn't speak as they found their own corner and feverishly pressed their swathed crotches together, in pain but unaffected. They didn't speak, but in an instant their muzzles met, and in truth, nothing else mattered; not the people dancing around them, not the bar flies watching this new scene with interest, not the rules, and certainly not the regulations. Heat waves poured from the mass of entangle tawny and grey streaked black fur.
Nature called them both. This wasn't the place for foreplay or sex games... This was the place for sexual urges to be fulfilled. The lion broke their kiss abruptly, his over-large paws quickly popping the button on the tight leathers and drawing the zipper down with an inaudible sound of popping teeth. Like clock work his rather average sized member flopped out -who wore underwear to a club- and was immediately inveloped in the wolf's delicately stroking hand. He popped his own fly, and nine inches of thick, veined wolf meat stood straight out of the crotch of his denim jeans. The lion slid the soft fur of the backs of his paw up the engorged cock, his deep, rumbling voice begging for it without lucid vocabulary. He pushed the wolf away and turned to face the wall, moving more fluidly and graceful than he would for almost any one else in this place, and spread his legs, his tail arching high behind him. From this angle, and dangle, his painfully swollen cock looked much larger.
The lion heard the tell-tale gathering of flem in his partner's throat, a sound he was desperately waiting to hear even above the rukus, and he braced his shoulders on the cool wall. A slim finger was suddenly there, warm and slimey, gently pressing against the puckered star beneath the feline's tail; then it was inside, gentle but insistant, loosening the lion's tight ring for a larger inhabitant. It withdrew, and he heard another spit, and suddenly there were two fingers inside him, just as insistant as the first. The lion clenched himself as hard as he could around those fingers, and let out a too-long pent up groan. It was increased to three fingers violating him, and then, suddenly, none at all. The lion shivered as they withdrew.
There was no warning, nor a need of one, for the coming cock. It was there in an instant, pointed head pushing past the first sphincter muscle, and the second, in one fluid move. With no hesitation, the wolf slipped his growing knot inside his partner's well lubricated posterior and exhaled a soft breath while their soft, furry sacks gently crashed together. The lion felt hands on his hips and teeth on his neck, and then the sexual experience began in earnest.
It didn't last long, their coupling, not in this place. The wolf pressed his dick deeper and deeper into the warm and inviting tunnel, never pulling out very far, just enough to get the lion's rear to stretch around the base of his knot. He fucked his partner slowly, never mind the heat and the music, and when there was that much warmth banging against his prostate, the lion was finding it hard to hold out. A mouth was suddenly there, between his legs, swallowing his cock to the hilt, wet tounge dancing and flickering back and forth across the lion's sensative bumps. The big cat groaned and placed his free hand behind the mystery ears, then adjusted his stance a bit so that the curiously pointed head was resting against the wall, his paw between the skull and the concrete. He gave no warning, didn't need to, before giving in to the mounting pleasure and bowing a wad right down the new comers throat. He felt himself tighten like a vice, and assuredly his partner felt it as well; the wolf grabbed the front of the lion's hips and shoved himself in one last time, straining on the tips of his toes to compensate for his toy's height. The lion felt something warm and wet on his foot, and could only assume the unknown mouth had blown his load as well.
Later, getting coffee with the admittedly fun and friendly pair of dingos in the local beatnik drag, he revealed to them the fantasy that had taken hold of him whilst the two of them had him in their grasp; they thought it immensely amusing, if not flattering. The lion couldn't help but think foreigners were strange. He paid for their coffee, even gave them his number, though he'd forgotten their names as soon as they'd said them. As they left, one of the twins -which amused the feline in turn, that they were litter mates of all things- turned and blew him a kiss. He spoke over the clatter of a stack of falling plates, emphasizing his British accent a bit too strongly, and said," We're Nick and Nonce."
"I'm Leo," the lion replied quietly, then ducked his nose in to his coffee cup.