FSE

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so another random story im only expecting one more part from. it feels good to write again!!!!

Carson leaned purposefully over the table, tail pointed for balance, eyes level. He kept his back poised like a feline ready to pounce, and despite his best efforts he felt his tongue point just past his lips with concentration. He always loved this part the most, the planning, the position of his paws and their degree of grip on the smooth polished wood of the cue.

Pool was an art, and he fancied himself an artist, if only one up in coming. The cue ball clicked and bounced off the side, rebounding into the 8 ball and sinking it effortlessly into the called pocket. Across the table the doberman who challenged him growled disapprovingly as the small group laughed and cheered. The Dobies crossed arms now reaching aggressively into his pocket, "Lucky prick." he mumbled.

"Don't be such a sore loser Bucky." a grizzly laughed a hardy laugh and finished his beer in a big gulp, "That 'prick' beat you fair and square."

"He conned me!" the dog insisted, making eye contact with Carson and tossing the money he won down on the table next to the three remaining balls he had yet to sink. "Fuckin' husslin' is illegal." he informed the Pitbull.

Carson tried not too, but couldn't suppress a grin. He took the money and did a little solute, walking over to the bar before he got into too much trouble. Being 19 in the States he was two long years away from legally procuring a drink at Mulligans. Still, he wasn't much of a drinker anyway, a beer here, some vodka something-or-others there, and he was fine. He had yet to blackout or even get past the slightly tipsy stage.

"Sometimes you just don't play fair." Andy, the graying Boar behind the counter noted with a grin, not looking up from the mug he was cleaning until it shined. Carson had known Andy since he was young. His dad used to take him as a pup to the, honestly, divey bar after his mom passed away. His dad wasn't an alcoholic, but he hated being at home. Infact the ritual of Carson getting his homework done right at the counter before it picked up didn't end until they moved into another apartment. His dad was never well off, he was a blue collar dog through and through, but at least he also picked up on the 'love thy neighbor and son' aspect of it all.

Carsons dad was many interesting things, and far from perfect, but he wasn't a bad dad, if just a bad role model. He took Carson to baseball games and didn't make him quit his little league after his mom passed. He helped with school when he could and even made it a big deal that Carson go to college. Granted he was a bit of a hick, who would take a little pup to dive bars and became more of a friend than an actual parental figure to his son, but in retrospect it could have been worse.

"Well it's not every day someone new comes in here." Carson shrugged, "Not many regulars play me for money anymore." he grinned his wide Pitbull grin, his tongue just begging his teeth to let it hang out.

The boar shook his head, "Well dont go taking all the new guys money, I need him to get enough to want to come back." he grinned with a look only Carson could see as playful. The boar had a rather dark furred and splotchy brown face to begin with, add some wrinkles and a wonderfully cartoonish scar across his right eye and he looked damn near villainous, they didn't write bond villains this iconic anymore. But the pitbull could see the pull in his fat, lower lip, the way he tried to make his teeth look imposing and the way his bushy eyebrows raised that the boar was trying his best to sarcastically over-express himself.

"He only bet fifty bucks." Carson sipped the water Andy offered him, "Although if he asks I'm definitely 21."

The pig laughed so hard he squealed for a moment and leaned in close to the closest he had to a nephew, "And why did you go ahead and say that? I'm not covering shit for you, going around lying to people again." he squealed once more, making the dog lower his head and blush under his brindle fur. "No fack names like 'Chris Henson' or 'John Winters' or," he scratched his his stubbly chin, "Fuck what was that one? The good one, Jesus Christ you had me pissing my pants."

Carson grinned, "'Austin Steele'." he started laughing with the pig.

"That's it! Hahaha! I sat here in open mouthed awe that he kept calling you that." Andy went on, "Fuggin' drool, all over the counter I had to sanitize the whole thing!"

"I didn't think they made suckers like that anymore. That was iconic tourist." Carson said, recalling the retriever who was in town on business and thanks to Apple maps, came to Mulligans because it was the closest bar that wasn't a hotel funded, $6 a glass. The way he had been so serious about calling Carson 'Mr. Steele', after the pitbull had grunted that that was what he preferred having been called Austin by the goldie.

"You're way too young to be wondering what happened to all the suckers." the pig shook his head, "Back in my day anyone and everyone was a sucker if you talked right. Now everyone and their mothers have gone to college and feel they deserve more than to be suckered into something."

"Oh please, I can't think of another time period that common sense was any less common. If one more kid in my English class presents an essay on a movie adaptation and cant even be bothered to spark notes, I'm going to kill myself." the canine rolled his eyes and spun around in his chair.

The Doberman was setting up another rack at one of the two pool tables in the bar. He still had sharp and fast, aggressive motions so it probably wasn't a good time to ask for a re-match. Carson might have been the most regular regular in Mulligans, but he wasn't stupid enough to ask for an ass kicking.

He couldn't help but grin though. It was childish but he almost reveled in the fact that a runt like him got under the big bad Dobies skin. He was a 5'8", lanky little pitbull with a classic fat head and too-big tongue. His fur grew short and brindle which didn't help hide his ribs; he wasn't underfed, just naturally big boned. He had a healthy BMI, some muscle and a bit of fat, but it hardly mattered when his ribs were involved.

Meanwhile his victim was a towering 6' plus Doberman with the cliché biker vest and multi-pierced ears. His muscled were apparent and his friend bear was just as intimidating so it didn't even hint that he had a nicer side. Somewhere inside it just felt good to be able to beat someone like that. And the fifty bucks he had in his pocket helped ease the feeling in.

Before he realize what happened, Carson was looking straight into the eyes of the Doberman who bared his teeth. "What are you looking at pipsqueak?" It was honestly terrifying. Carson felt his tail try, despite the chair to duck between his legs instinctively. The doberman might have been a victim in pool, but Carson knew he would be the victim in a real confrontation.

The pitbull ducked his head a bit and was turned back to Andy when the front door swung open ringing the bell above it. The may Andy looked up and momentarily stopped cleaning the glass in his hand Carson knew the customer had to be new and imposing. It took a lot to intimidate the 37 year biker-bar turned gang-bar turned dive-bar veteran bartender.

Carson perked his ears and turned his head slightly, already hearing he heavy footsteps immediately behind him and heard the chair to his left get pulled out and sat in. the Pitbull turned a little quicker than he would have liked, trying not to seem as timid as he was.

The customer was a monster of a Rottweiler. Now Carson was not new to the game of 'natural intimidation', but this guy was ridiculous. He looked to be at least 6'2" which was impressive for such a stereotypically stocky breed. He was also proportionate to other rottweilers Carson had seen, his arms were big all the way around, his chest prominent and his head large and properly sized so that it didn't look small or large atop his mighty shoulders. Even his voice when he asked for a whiskey was a solid tenor that left no question of his masculinity; like his body had refused to be anything less that a big burly manly man in all aspects.

Carson gulped audibly and went back to his water, trying not to look over again. Andy was back in a flash with a glass and poured some of the amber liquor into it with a practiced hand. "You from Jackson?" the boar asked, all signs that he had just previously been keeled over in laughter gone. His face was stone.

"Just moved." the dog the mumbled, tipping the glass back effortlessly. "long drive." he said next, as if it clarified a lot, "can I have another?"

"Aren't you sick of sitting?" the boar asked then, making small talk and pouring another drink.

The larger dog shrugged his large shoulders. "If I go home I'll just be sitting in a mes of things to unpack. At least here the liquor is cool and the mess isn't my problem." Carson raised his eyebrow and did his best not too make any eye contact. Andy loved his bar and took pride in its upkeep. This stranger wasn't exactly getting on his good side.

"Sorry," the dog mumbled, "sorry sorry sorry. I didn't mean that. I'm just tired." he looked around a bit "It's actually quite nice in here for a place with a barred up One-Stop at the corner. Fuck. I can't talk right now." he mumbled again. "This place is nice." he clarified without pressing it anymore or giving the 'niceness' a handicap in the scoring system.

"It's all good stranger." Andy said in a flat tone. The boar had a way about forgetting and forgiving, but it wasn't a good first impression. "You could play some pool. Shoot some darts." The bartender offered. "Their both free of charge to paying customers." it was a lot more curt than Carson was used to seeing from Andy.

The Rottie looked around again, eying the gaming area. "Anything I should know about anyone here?" he looked back to Andy, "I know how people get about the bars they regular. I don't want to step on any toes.

As much as Carson knew it was an etiquette thing, he was in disbelief that someone of this guys size would even worry about toes to begin with! Not many people would be able to challenge him and not many people would want to try. The boy finally looked back at the new guy fulled by curiosity. He was different from the other regulars. As much as Carson had come to love the bar folk like family, he was still aware they weren't the best of people. This guy was different, something about him was strange and new to Mulligans bar. He brought a sort of intimidation and masculinity that showed itself physically instead of audibly like most of the others. His bark was gentle, but the threat of his bite was fierce.

For the life of him all Carson could think was 'Big Stick Diplomacy'. He gulped again and looked back to the water that was being refilled. Finding something fascinating in the flat tilt of the water, trying to distract himself.

Another thing that set Carson apparent from, statistically 90% of his peers, was that he was gay. He hadn't really figured it out until after he got a third girlfriend in highschool. He knew something was wrong, and he knew on some level he enjoyed the kissing and the groping that transpired in dim rooms at loud parties, but it didn't seem entirely right.

His junior year he hooked up with a very drunk member of the hockey team and that sealed the deal. He liked dude, and that was that. Since than he never had a boyfriend, only a string of hook ups and a lot of internet searches since he was, as far as he knew, the only non-flamer gay in town. He had long since told his dad and Andy whom were both weird about it for no longer than a week. Neither were mad and now they were back to the way things were.

And by back to the way things were Carson of course meant being a horny teenager. His junk pulsed almost teasingly against his jeans and he took another long gulp, excusing himself to the bathroom.

As much as he would have loved to oogle the muscled Rottweiler online, he couldn't bare to look at him in a public venue that used 'fag' as an insult on a semi-regular basis. It was too big a tease. Carson was, without a hint of regret, used to semi-older males. The sites he could and did use were frequented by late twenty to mid forty year olds and older. The oldest Carson had ever slept with was 38, not too old, but definitely not in his own age group.

To be quite honest he preferred the older guys. There was something about their experience that made everything ok, it wasn't awkward when Carson would try something new or even ask question after. It was kind of cool how casually you could talk to a booty call about that new style you were trying with your hair, or an entire genre of fetish. It took the Pitbull finding a leather daddy lion to find the joy of bondage and leather. The feel of the cool material against his skin and the absolute focus your mind held on the sex when you could hardly move. It really snapped your brain into overdrive with adrenaline.

Not to mention how much it accentuated a good body. Leather had a thing about always seeming tight, so even on skinny guys it almost looked impressive and filling. But on real muscle builders and fit men, it was a fucking dream. Every muscle packed in tight and everything seeming wild yet tamed in a harness.

Carson had to verbally tell himself to stop in the dirty stall of the bathroom. He took a quick piss and washed his hands, looking in the mirror and distracting himself enough to calm down in his nether regions. He grumbled a bit in his throat and umphed. That rottweiler was sure something. The Doberman would have been fair eye candy too if he wasn't as asshole. To be honest Carson always thought that was the queerest quality about him. (besides the butt-sex thing) He couldn't see someone as eye candy of they were bad people. He_actually_ took personality into account when oogling, which, entirely defeated the purpose of the oogling!

He sighed, giving himself a once over. He was far from his personal ideal. He wanted muscle and belly and so badly to hide those protruding ribs. It had only come up a handful of times, but it was off putting for some furs to try and think about getting things going when their partner for the evening looked starving. One bear had even offered him food after! Being fair though, his weight was healthy and was his only complaint. He like his eyes and his un altered ears and tail. He even liked how he could use his tongue to play off his grins as extra cute or his natural demeanor to play the dominant one. Depending on his mood, he was successfully versatile and he liked it.

Returning to the now empty counter the Pitbull looked around as casually and he could for the missing man candy, despite his reason for having to leave. The big bull of a dog was over at the pool table with the doberman and the bear, apparently stirring up a game.

"He seemed nice enough," Carson noted, turning back to Andy, "At least for around here."

"Oh shut up." The boar rolled his eyes, "He was a fucking muscle head so you were head over heels."

Carson did his best to glare at his close to kin. "Fuck off old man." he did his best teenage rebellion voice and walked away from the bar, flipping a bird in the general direction behind him. The pitbulls face was a mess of blush under the fur. He knew he shouldn't have confided so much personal information in the pig.

He didn't even know what he was doing before he was standing next to the beast of a Rottweiler again. He was eying the pool table with a focus he reserved exclusively for the game. He looked up, the bear from before grinning and putting a paw of the doberman's shoulder who was doing his best to literally kill with a look. The rottweiler just looked confused, but went back to the game.

"Stripes or solids?" Carson asked the new guy, leaning haphazardly on his elbows, head in his paws. He did his best to sound bored; cool and suave.

"Fuck off you hustling little shit." the doberman barked, his friend not even trying to hold him back anymore. The bear took a seat at a stool and just watched.

"Solids." the rottie breathed, "You any good?"

Carson shrugged, "I'm ok, better than some I guess, but it's just because I play a lot."

"He'll rob you blind." the doberman snuffed, taking a shot and missing the pocket he aimed for entirely. He seemed to be completely unaware that he was actually complimenting Carsons playing ability.

"It's not robbing, a bet's a bet. It just means he beat you cause you didn't do your research." the rottweiler spoke evenly, leaning gently into a perfect, effortless shot that set him up for another.

Carson had watched quite a few talented and not so talented men play pool at this bar but this stranger was one of the few Carson ever felt the urge to call an artist. Carson might have been full of himself, but he could see so clearly see the purpose in every shot he made. The trajectory and the goal met. It was impressive, but interrupted.

"Excuse me? I don't think I heard you." the doberman challenged the rottweiler as he made his way around the table and next to the now snarling canine.

"With those ear's I'm sure you managed." Carson raised his eyebrows and took a healthy step away from the table. He had seen some fights go down and new it was best to just stay away. Anything and everything in he bar could be tossed around the the few moment before Andy or either of his help defused the situation and he didn't want to be caught in the crossfire.

"Do you have something to say asshole?" the bar went that sort of eerie quite Carson had long since realized happened when everyone was focused on the same thing. It was inevitable something happen now. With all eyes on him it was obvious the doberman couldn't just do nothing and walk away.

"Yeah," the Rottweiler stood to his full imposing height and looked down a bit at the Doberman, "Quit being a bitch. Some kid beat you, get over it, get better, or get out. I've had a long day and I don't want to hear you mouth running about money you already lost." It was firm and booming. Authoritative without being aggressive or snarling. He didn't even bare his teeth.

Carson watched in total awe as the two stared each other down. It was a long few seconds, recorded into the memories of everyone currently at Mulligans. Then, the doberman relented. In a huff he went around the table and took his shot, finally sinking his first ball. Carson had deftly danced away from the raging dog and was next to the rottweiler again, honestly just desperate to steer clear of the other guy.

The pitbull watched as the game ended rather quickly and the doberman paid another fifty bucks to a winner and left in a huff. It was predictable, but it was still fulfilling. The rottweiler grinned for the first time Carson could see and pocketed the money. "So are you actually any good? Cause it didn't take much to beat that guy."

The pitbull grinned himself, unable to contain it. "I'm ok, like I said. Not the best, but no push over I guess." he looked the man over again, the way his clothes fit his form and finally he got to look long enough to see he had a rather handsome face as well. No strange color patterns or scaring. It had a strong chin and gentle eyes. "Whats your name?" he asked before realizing it.

"Jacob." The man replied, "And yours?"

"Carson." he answered.

"Nice to meet you Carson." he lifted a paw to shake. His hand was strong and firm. He didn't hold much back in the near crushing gesture. "Care to play a round?"

Carson grinned, but tried to think straight, "I would, but I kinda need the money honestly." It was true. Every dollar counted with college books and gas to put in his car. He wouldn't be getting his state money for a while and this was the first set of bills his wallet had seen in a while.

The rottweiler nodded slowly, leaning on the table. "How about just a friendly wager, no money involved? Just for fun."

The pitbull creased his eyebrows. "You get friendly pretty quick for a scary biker." he noted, trying not to seem intimidated in the least, but he had nearly choked on the words, unsure if he was going to offend the man.

But he just chuckled, "My bark is worse than my bite."

"I highly doubt that."

"Fine, then I'm just a nice guy." the man said with something in his voice Carson could not place. They both locked eyes and leaned into the table. Something about this 'friendly' conversation picked up a very heavy undertone Carson wasn't expecting.

Was he....flirting?

"So about that game." Jacob said again.

The pitbull gave an unsure look, "What are the rules?"

"I break, one game only, loser buys the winner dinner."