Midnight Mating Dance!
By: Mikolai
The bass thrummed through the floor of Treasure Trail Nightclub, a pulse so deep it vibrated in the ribs of anyone who stepped inside. Neon lights flickered across the dance floor, casting shifting hues over the crowd, bodies pressed close, laughing, sweating, alive in a way that only this place allowed. The air smelled of spiced rum, spilled cocktails, and the faint metallic tang of magic lingering from the enchantments woven into the club’s walls. It was the kind of night where the ordinary rules of the world outside didn’t matter.

At the bar, Tyson swirled the amber liquid in his glass, watching the ice clink lazily against the sides. His claws tapped against the polished wood, mismatched rhythms to the music, his golden eyes half-lidded as he took in the scene. A wolf with silver-gray fur and a leather harness bumped shoulders with a peacock whose iridescent feathers shimmered under the strobes, their laughter loud and unselfconscious. Behind them, a lynx and a fox were tangled in a slow, grinding dance, tails flicking against each other in playful teasing. It was easy to forget the exhaustion of the past weeks here, where the only expectations were to let go.

His own tail, a flickering gradient of orange and yellow that pulsed faintly like embers in a dying fire, curled lazily around the stool’s leg. The bartender, a broad-shouldered male badger with an eyebrow piercing, gave him a knowing smirk as he slid another drink his way, condensation already beading on the glass. “You look like you needed that,” he rumbled, nodding at Tyson’s empty glass. The feline grinned, fangs flashing, and tossed back the last of his drink before accepting the fresh one. “Long month,” he admitted, flexing his fingers and letting the warmth of the alcohol seep into his bones. His fire markings, intricate swirls of orange and gold that traced over his gray forearms, body, and around his ears, glowed faintly under the shifting lights, responding to his loosening mood.

At twenty-five, Tyson knew he should’ve been out there on the dance floor, his lean, fit frame practically built for it, but exhaustion clung to him like a second skin. The sleepless nights and overtime at work had left him hollowed out, and tonight was the first time in weeks he’d allowed himself to breathe. His black, spiky hair, streaked with fiery highlights, caught the neon in erratic bursts, making him look as if he were crowned in tiny flames. The snug black sleeveless shirt he wore clung to his torso, the low-cut collar revealing a smattering of gray fur and more of those mesmerizing fire markings that danced across his collarbones. His leather pants hugged his thighs, the material creaking faintly as he shifted on the stool.

Across the bar, a male bear with dark brown fur and a thick beard caught his eye, smirking as he licked salt from the rim of his margarita glass. Tyson felt a rush of heat that had nothing to do with his markings, his golden eyes flickering with something more primal. God, it had been weeks. His fingers tightened around his glass. The last time he’d been touched, really touched, was a blur of hurried hands and a hotel room he barely remembered. His boss had been understanding, even encouraging him to take time off, but the workload never stopped. He swallowed hard, forcing his gaze away from the bear’s broad shoulders before his tail betrayed him by flicking too eagerly.

That’s when the golden retriever sat beside him. Tyson caught the scent first, warm, like sunbaked grass and something faintly citrusy, the kind of smell that belonged to someone who spent more time outdoors than under club lights. The retriever’s fur was a rich, honeyed gold, his build muscular but lean, the kind of body that suggested he was no stranger to hard work or hard play. His blue eyes, bright as tropical shallows, crinkled at the corners when he smiled. "Mind if I steal this seat?" His voice was smooth, deeper than Tyson expected, with a rasp that sent an unexpected shiver down the feline’s spine. Tyson nods with an angelic smile to the canine.

The retriever, Billy, who introduced himself as 29 and unapologetically proud of it, ran a hand through his tousled blond hair, streaks of it bleached even lighter by the sun. It fell in effortless waves, just messy enough to look intentional. He wore a snug white tank that clung to his broad chest, the fabric straining slightly over his pecs, paired with dark jeans that hugged his thighs in a way that made Tyson’s tail twitch. A simple leather cuff circled his left wrist, worn and slightly frayed at the edges, like it had been there for years. Tyson couldn’t help but notice how the neon blues and purples of the club lights played against Kai’s fur, turning him into something almost mythic.

Billy leaned in, just close enough that the bass seemed to sync with Tyson’s pulse, loud enough that he had to dip his head to catch Billy’s words. "You’re not drinking alone tonight, are you?" Billy’s grin was wide, easy, like he’d already won something just by sitting there. His canines flashed, not sharp like Tyson’s, but still predatory in their own way. The feline shrugged, swirling his drink, the ice clinking softly. "Not if you’re buying," he said, and Billy’s laugh was warm, rich, like he’d been waiting for that exact response.

The retriever flagged down the badger bartender, ordering two shots of something amber and smoky. When they arrived, he pushed one toward Tyson with a playful nudge of his knuckles against the feline’s wrist. "To nights off," he said, clinking his glass against Tyson’s before tossing it back. The burn was smooth, settling low in Tyson’s belly, but Billy’s gaze was hotter, lingering on the way the feline’s throat moved as he swallowed. "So," Billy drawled, resting an elbow on the bar, his forearm brushing Tyson’s, "what’s a sexy guy like you doing in a place like this all by his lonesome?"

Tyson smirked, tracing the rim of his empty shot glass with a claw. "Same as you, probably." He let his golden eyes flicker over Billy’s frame, lingering on the way his tank top stretched across his chest. "Just cheaper when I’m alone." Billy barked a laugh, loud enough to cut through the music, and the sound sent a thrill through Tyson’s spine. "Cheap’s overrated," the retriever countered, leaning in until his breath ghosted over Tyson’s ear. "I’d rather pay for quality."

Around them, bodies swayed, a stag with branching antlers dipped a giggling otter backward, their lips meeting in a messy, laughing kiss. A pair of male foxes nearby were pressed chest-to-chest, tails twined together as they moved in slow, sensual circles. The music swelled, a deep, throbbing beat that pulsed through Tyson’s ribs, syncing with the quickening rhythm of his heart. Billy’s knee brushed his, deliberate, and the contact burned hotter than the alcohol.

Billy’s fingers tapped against the bar, not to the music but to an internal beat, his eyes fixed on Tyson’s face as if he were analyzing each flicker of the feline’s fiery markings. “You know,” he said softly, voice returning to that raspy tone, “those glowing spots? They're kinda hypnotic.” His thumb moved slowly along the rim of his glass, deliberate. "It makes me curious about what else lights up when you’re agitated or excited." Tyson’s ear twitched, with the fire markings along the knee flaring briefly, giving him away.

The feline leaned in, close enough that his next words brushed against Billy’s jaw. “Buy me another drink,” he purred, letting his claws drag lightly over the back of the retriever’s hand, “and maybe you’ll find out.” Billy’s breath hitched, just slightly, before he grinned, all teeth and sun-kissed confidence. He signaled the bartender again, this time ordering something stronger, darker, whiskey that smelled of oak and smoke. When the glass slid toward them, Billy didn’t push it toward Tyson. Instead, he lifted it himself, holding it just out of reach. “Come get it,” he challenged, blue eyes glinting.

Tyson didn’t hesitate. He closed the distance between them, his tail flicking against Billy’s thigh as he plucked the glass from the retriever’s fingers. Their knuckles brushed, and the contact sent a jolt of warmth up Tyson’s arm, his fire markings pulsing brighter for a heartbeat. He took a slow sip, watching Billy over the rim, golden eyes half-lidded. The whiskey burned, but not nearly as much as the retriever’s stare. “Satisfied?” Tyson murmured, licking a drop from his lower lip. Billy’s gaze followed the movement, his own tongue darting out unconsciously. “Not even close,” he admitted, voice rough. The two finishing their drinks.

The music shifted then, the deep bass giving way to something faster, sharper, dance hop, all staccato beats and infectious rhythm. Billy’s fingers closed around Tyson’s wrist, tugging him off the stool before the feline could protest. “C’mon,” Billy grinned, already moving backward into the crowd, pulling Tyson with him. The feline stumbled, laughing, caught off guard by the retriever’s strength. Bodies pressed around them, hot and shifting, the air thick with sweat and cologne and the ozone crackle of magic. Billy’s grip slid down to intertwine their fingers, his palm warm and calloused against Tyson’s.

They found a pocket of space near the center of the dance floor, pulsing lights overhead casting Billy’s golden fur in flickering neon hues. Without hesitation, the retriever rolled his hips, matching the beat effortlessly, his movements loose and confident. Tyson mirrored him, his own body remembering the rhythm of nights like this before work had swallowed him whole. The music thrummed through him, electric, his fire markings flaring brighter with every shift of his body. Billy’s eyes darkened as he watched, his grin turning wolfish.

The retriever stepped closer, close enough that Tyson could feel the heat radiating off him, smell the whiskey and salt on his breath. Billy’s hands settled on the feline’s hips, guiding their movements together, the friction between them delicious. Tyson arched into the touch, his claws skimming Billy’s waistband, teasing the edge where fabric met fur. The retriever growled low in his throat, a sound that vibrated through Tyson’s chest, and suddenly their dancing wasn’t just dancing anymore, it was a challenge, a promise.

Billy’s lips brushed Tyson’s ear, his voice rough beneath the music. “God, you move like fire,” he murmured, fingers tightening possessively. “Bet you look even better without all these clothes.” Tyson laughed, breathless, his markings pulsing brighter in time with the bass. He rolled his hips deliberately, feeling Billy shudder against him. “Buy me another drink,” he purred, tail curling around the retriever’s thigh, “and maybe you’ll get that privilege.” Billy’s answering grin was feral, his teeth flashing in the strobe lights.

They swayed together, bodies locked in a rhythm that had nothing to do with the music and everything to do with the heat between them. Billy’s hands roamed lower, tracing the dip of Tyson’s spine beneath his shirt. “Those markings,” he breathed, pressing closer, “they glow when you’re turned on, don’t they?” Tyson didn’t answer, just arched into the touch, letting the retriever feel the way his pulse hammered beneath his fur. The club lights flickered, casting Billy’s face in shadow and gold, his blue eyes burning.

The music swelled, a crescendo of synths and bass that drowned out everything but the sound of their ragged breaths. Billy spun Tyson, pulling him flush against his chest, his lips grazing the feline’s ear. “Bet you taste amazing,” he murmured, claws digging just enough to sting. Tyson shuddered, his tail lashing against Billy’s thigh. “Keep talking like that,” he purred, “and I’ll show you exactly how hot I burn.” Billy laughed, low and rough, his grip tightening.

Around them, the dance floor had dissolved into something wilder. Couples, foxes tangled with wolves, a panther pressed against a stag, were lost in each other, mouths hungry, hands roaming. The air smelled of sweat and spilled liquor, musk and heat. Billy’s teeth scraped Tyson’s throat, a warning nip that sent sparks skittering down his spine. The feline gasped, his markings igniting in streaks of molten gold. “Fuck,” Billy groaned, dragging his tongue over the spot. “You’re gorgeous like this.”

Tyson didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the retriever by the harness of his tank top and yanked him down, their mouths crashing together. Billy tasted like whiskey and salt, his lips rough but yielding. The canine growled into the kiss, his hands sliding under Tyson’s shirt, claws tracing the fire patterns along his ribs. Tyson arched into him, his own claws digging into Billy’s shoulders, their bodies flush. The music pulsed around them, but all Tyson could hear was the ragged hitch of Billy’s breath.

The retriever broke the kiss first, his blue eyes blown wide with want. His tongue flicked out to catch the lingering taste of Tyson on his lips. "Fuck," he breathed, his voice thick. "You’re even hotter up close." His hands dropped lower, squeezing Tyson’s ass hard enough to make the feline’s tail bristle. Tyson grinned, fangs flashing, and ground his hips against Billy’s, feeling the hard press of the canine’s cock against his thigh. "Took you long enough to notice," he purred, dragging his claws down Billy’s chest.

The next hour blurred into a haze of neon, sweat, booze, and tangled limbs. They danced, if it could be called dancing, when their bodies never stopped touching, with whoever crossed their path. A stag with antlers wrapped in black tights pulled Tyson into a spin, laughing when Billy snarled playfully and yanked him back. A fox couple twined around them, their tails flicking against Tyson’s legs in teasing strokes. Shots appeared in their hands, sweet and burning, tossed back with messy laughter. Tyson’s fire markings pulsed brighter with each drink, each brush of Billy’s fingers against his skin.

By 12 AM, the music had shifted into something slower, heavier, the bass throbbing like a second heartbeat. Billy’s lips were at Tyson’s ear again, his breath hot and uneven. “My place,” he rasped, teeth grazing the sensitive edge of Tyson’s ear. “Ten minutes from here. Penthouse.” His grip on Tyson’s hip tightened, claws pricking through fabric. “Say yes.” Tyson didn’t hesitate. He dragged his tongue up the column of Billy’s throat, tasting salt and expensive cologne. “Try and stop me,” he murmured, feeling the retriever shiver against him.

They stumbled out of the club together, the neon glow of Treasure Trail fading behind them as the night air hit Tyson’s fur, cooling the sweat along his spine. Billy’s arm slung possessively around his waist, fingers tracing the fire markings that still pulsed faintly under the streetlights. “Name,” Billy demanded suddenly, nipping at Tyson’s jaw. “You never told me.” Tyson laughed, breathlessly, his claws teasing the hem of Billy’s tank. “Tyson,” he purred, leaning into the canine’s warmth. “Do you drive like you dance?”

Billy grinned, all teeth, and whistled sharply. A sleek black sports car, low-slung, with tinted windows and a growl like a living thing, rolled up to the curb, driven by a uniformed bellhop who tossed the keys to Billy with a knowing smirk. “Like a dream,” Billy murmured, yanking open the passenger door and practically shoving Tyson inside. The leather seats were cool against Tyson’s skin, the scent of polished wood and expensive cologne wrapping around him. Billy slid into the driver’s seat, his fingers flexing around the wheel as the engine roared to life beneath them.

The car peeled away from the curb, acceleration pressing Tyson back into his seat as Billy wove through the neon-lit streets with reckless precision. Tyson watched the city blur past, his fire markings flickering in the dashboard’s glow, Billy’s thigh warm and solid where their legs pressed together. The retriever drove one-handed, the other resting possessively on Tyson’s knee, fingers tracing idle circles that sent sparks skittering up the feline’s spine. “Penthouse, huh?” Tyson teased, arching a brow. Billy shot him a sideways glance, his blue eyes gleaming in the dark. “Wait till you see the view,” he purred, knuckles brushing Tyson’s inner thigh.

Twenty minutes later, the building was a monolith of glass and steel, its lobby a cavern of marble and low-lit chandeliers. A uniformed lynx at the desk nodded at Billy with practiced deference, eyes flicking to Tyson just long enough to register the feline’s disheveled clothes and glowing markings before looking politely away. Billy quickly typed his numbers on the electric keypad to unlock the elevator. The elevator was all mirrored walls and plush carpet, Billy crowding Tyson against the back as the doors slid shut. His lips found Tyson’s throat before the ascent even began, teeth scraping over the pulse point as the feline’s claws dug into his shoulders.

Penthouse. The word didn’t do it justice. The elevator doors opened directly into the suite, revealing a sprawling space of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city’s glittering skyline. Tyson’s tail twitched at the sheer opulence, the leather sectional bigger than his apartment’s bed, the abstract art that probably cost more than his yearly salary, the wet bar stocked with bottles he’d only seen in magazines. Billy’s hands slid around his waist from behind, lips pressing against the sensitive base of his ear. “Like it?” he murmured, voice thick with amusement and whiskey.

Tyson didn’t answer. Couldn’t. The scent of Billy, sun-warmed fur, salt, the musk of arousal, flooded his senses, drowning out everything but the pounding need between his legs. He twisted in the retriever’s grip, their mouths crashing together in a messy, hungry kiss. Billy growled into it, fingers tangling in Tyson’s spiked hair, tugging just hard enough to make the feline’s breath hitch. Clothes became obstacles. Billy’s shirt hit the floor first, Tyson’s claws raking down the golden expanse of his chest, tracing the dusting of blond fur that tapered into a trail beneath his navel. Billy’s jeans and shoes followed, kicked off with a laugh as Tyson’s leather pants and clothes joined the pile, the sound of belts and zippers lost beneath their ragged breathing. Soon, underwear hit the floor with shoes and shocks.

Billy’s cock was thick, flaccid but already twitching with interest, uncut and flushed at the tip, nestled in a golden thatch of pubic fur. Tyson’s matched him, his own length dusky gray with that same fiery gradient as his markings, the base dusted with darker fur. They pressed together, skin to skin, fur to fur, Billy’s hands roaming the feline’s back, tracing the ember-bright swirls that pulsed hotter with every touch. “Fuck,” Billy rasped, nipping at Tyson’s jaw, “knew you’d be perfect.” Tyson’s laugh was breathless, cut off by Billy’s mouth claiming his again, their bodies stumbling backward toward the bedroom in a tangle of limbs and tails.

The bedroom was all shadows and luxury, a king-sized bed draped in black silk sheets, the city lights casting patterns across the ceiling through half-open blinds. Billy pushed Tyson onto the mattress, the feline bouncing once before propping himself up on his elbows, golden eyes gleaming in the dimness. His fire markings burned brighter here, casting flickering light across the planes of his chest. “You said you wanted to fuck me like I’ve never been fucked before,” Tyson purred, tail flicking lazily against the sheets. “Or was that just drunk talk?”

Billy laughed, low and rough, peeling off his cuff bracelet with deliberate slowness before crawling over him, the mattress dipping under his weight. His blue eyes burned with something primal, his cock already hard and pressing against Tyson’s thigh. “Oh, I can do that,” he murmured, dragging a claw down the feline’s chest, making him shiver. “But first,” He gripped Tyson’s chin, tilting his head back. “I want that pretty mouth of yours.”

Tyson didn’t hesitate. He slid down the silk sheets, his claws skimming Billy’s hips as he settled between the retriever’s thighs. The scent of musk and salt filled his nose, Billy’s cock thick and flushed against his lips. He flicked his tongue over the tip, tasting the salty bead of precum, before swallowing him down in one smooth motion. Billy groaned, his hips jerking upward, fingers tangling in Tyson’s spiked hair. “Fuck, yeah,” he rasped, his thighs tensing.

The feline purred around him, the vibrations drawing another ragged curse from Billy. His eyes flicked upward, watching the retriever’s face twist with pleasure as he hollowed his cheeks, taking him deeper. Billy’s claws scraped against the headboard, his breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps. “You’re… shit, you’re good at this,” he managed, hips rolling in shallow thrusts.

Soon, Billy’s grip tightened in Tyson’s hair, tugging him off with a wet pop. “Stop,” he growled, voice rough with need. “Off the bed. Now.” Tyson blinked up at him, lips slick and swollen but didn’t hesitate. He slid backward, tail flicking as he stood, the silk sheets clinging to his fur for a moment before falling away. Billy followed, his cock bobbing heavily between his thighs as he closed the distance between them. Their mouths crashed together, Billy’s tongue claiming Tyson’s with a possessive growl, fingers digging into the feline’s hips hard enough to leave marks.

Tyson melted into the kiss, wrapping his arms around Billy’s neck, his claws pricking lightly at the retriever’s warm fur. Billy’s hands slid down his back, over the curve of his ass, gripping tight before lifting him effortlessly, Tyson’s legs wrapping around his waist on instinct. The feline gasped as Billy adjusted his grip, his cock sliding hot and heavy against Tyson’s ass, the blunt head pressing insistently at his entrance. “Fuck,” Tyson breathed, his markings flaring brighter, his tail curling around Billy’s thigh for balance.

Billy didn’t rush. He nipped at Tyson’s lower lip, his breath ragged as he lined himself up, the slick press of precum easing the way. “Relax,” he murmured, voice thick with restraint, his muscles trembling with the effort of holding back. Tyson shuddered, his claws digging into Billy’s shoulders as the retriever pushed in, slow and deliberate, the stretch burning in the best way. The feline’s head fell back, a moan tearing from his throat as Billy filled him inch by inch, their bodies flush, Billy’s cock buried to the hilt.

Billy paused, his forehead pressed against Tyson’s, their breaths mingling. “Fuck,” he gritted out, hips twitching involuntarily. “You’re tight.” Tyson grinned, breathless, his fire markings pulsing like live embers. “Don’t tell me, ah, the mighty Billy’s already struggling,” he taunted, rolling his hips experimentally. The retriever snarled, gripping Tyson’s ass tighter as he pulled out almost entirely before slamming back in, the force driving a choked cry from the feline’s throat. “You asked for it,” Billy growled, his rhythm brutal, each thrust punching the air from Tyson’s lungs.

Tyson’s cock, hard and leaking, rubbed against Billy’s abs with every movement, the friction maddening. He clawed at Billy’s shoulders, his golden eyes hazy with pleasure. “Fuck, fuck, move,” he gasped, but Billy wasn’t done. With a grunt, the retriever turned, still buried deep inside Tyson, and began walking toward the nearest wall, his strides deliberate and heavy. The feline yelped, legs tightening around Billy’s waist as each step jostled him, the angle shifting deliciously. “Jesus, you’re, ah, strong,” Tyson managed, his voice cracking as Billy’s cock hit that spot inside him with relentless precision.

Billy’s growl vibrated against Tyson’s throat, his lips dragging over the feline’s pulse. “Hold on,” he rasped, and then he was slamming Tyson’s back against the wall, the impact rattling the framed art beside them. The feline gasped, his fire markings flaring bright as stars as Billy drove into him harder, hips snapping in short, brutal thrusts. Tyson’s tail lashed wildly, his claws scoring red lines down Billy’s back, but the retriever didn’t slow, his breath hot and ragged against Tyson’s ear. “That’s it, take it,” Billy snarled, one hand gripping Tyson’s thigh, the other fisting in his hair to yank his head back.

The city lights blurred outside the penthouse windows, Tyson’s vision whitening out for a second as Billy’s teeth sank into his shoulder. Pleasure crackled through him like wildfire, his cock twitching between them, smearing precum across Billy’s stomach. He could feel the retriever’s muscles straining beneath his claws, the way Billy’s rhythm stuttered, close, so close. “Touch yourself,” Billy ordered, voice wrecked, and Tyson didn’t hesitate, wrapping a hand around his own length with a broken moan. The added stimulation tipped him over the edge, his orgasm crashing through him in waves, his markings blazing like a supernova as he came across Billy’s chest in hot stripes.

Billy cursed, his thrusts turning erratic, his grip bruising as he chased his own release. Tyson, still trembling from his climax, clenched around him, dragging a ragged groan from the retriever’s throat. “Fuck, Ty,” Billy’s hips jerked once, twice, before he buried himself deep with a growl that vibrated through Tyson’s bones. The feline felt the hot spill inside him, Billy’s cock pulsing as he came, his forehead dropping onto Tyson’s shoulder with a shuddering exhale.

For a moment, they stayed like that, pressed together against the wall, their breaths mingling in the aftermath. The canine's cock slept out of Tyson's butt as semen fell to the ground. Billy’s lips brushed Tyson’s collarbone, lazy and sated, before he carefully eased the feline’s legs down, supporting his weight as Tyson’s knees threatened to buckle. Tyson laughed breathlessly, his fire markings dimming to a gentle glow as he leaned into Billy’s solid frame. “Penthouse view’s nice,” he murmured, nipping at Billy’s jaw, “but the ride’s better.”

Billy grinned, swiping a thumb through the mess on Tyson’s stomach before bringing it to his own lips with a satisfied hum. “Damn right.” His hands slid down to squeeze Tyson’s ass again, earning a playful hiss from the feline. “And this?” He gave another possessive grope, his cock already stirring against Tyson’s thigh. “Grade A.”

Tyson arched a brow, tail flicking lazily as he pressed closer, his own length twitching back to life against Billy’s hip. “Already?” he purred, claws tracing idle circles on the retriever’s chest. “Someone’s got stamina.”

Billy’s grin was all teeth, his hands sliding up Tyson’s spine to tangle in his spiked hair. “You bring it out in me,” he admitted, voice rough as he leaned in to nip at Tyson’s lower lip. The feline shuddered, his markings flickering brighter, but Billy pulled back suddenly, glancing toward the sprawling windows. “Wait,” he murmured, catching Tyson’s wrist as the feline reached for him. “I want you against the glass.”

Tyson arched a brow but obeyed, padding across the plush rug toward the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city’s neon skyline. The view was dizzying, the lights blurring into streaks of gold and violet beneath them. He pressed a palm to the cool glass, his reflection a smudge of gray fur and glowing embers, then glanced over his shoulder with a smirk. “Like what you see?” he purred, tail curling lazily as he arched his back, presenting himself to the retriever.

Billy’s chuckle was dark, appreciative. He crossed the room in three strides, his palm connecting with Tyson’s ass in a sharp slap that echoed through the penthouse. The feline’s breath hitched, his markings flaring as the sting bloomed into heat. “Damn right I do,” Billy growled, leaning down to nip at Tyson’s neck. “Best view in the city.” His hands gripped Tyson’s hips, claws pricking lightly as he pulled the feline back against him, his already-hard cock sliding between Tyson’s thighs.

Tyson pressed his forehead to the glass, the cool surface soothing against his heated fur. Behind him, Billy’s breath was ragged, his teeth scraping over the sensitive spot where Tyson’s neck met his shoulder. The feline’s tail twitched when Billy’s fingers traced his entrance, still slick and loose from their first round. “You’re gonna ruin me,” Tyson murmured, but his hips rocked back eagerly, his body already craving the retriever’s fullness again.

Billy chuckled, low and rough, his cockhead nudging against Tyson’s hole. “That’s the idea.” He pressed in slowly this time, savoring the way Tyson’s breath hitched, the way his markings pulsed brighter with each inch. The glass fogged under Tyson’s palms as Billy bottomed out, his hips flush against the feline’s ass. For a heartbeat, they stayed like that, Billy’s chest pressed to Tyson’s back, the city lights casting their tangled shadows across the room.

Then Billy moved, slow, deep rolls of his hips that had Tyson’s claws scraping against the window. The feline’s tail lashed, his ears pinned back as pleasure coiled tight in his gut. “Fuck, you feel, ah, good,” Billy groaned, one hand sliding around to wrap around Tyson’s cock, stroking in time with his thrusts. Tyson’s knees trembled, and his forehead pressed harder against the glass. The contrast of the cold surface and Billy’s scorching touch was dizzying.

The retriever’s rhythm faltered, his breath coming in ragged bursts against Tyson’s shoulder. “God, you’re tight,” he growled, fingers tightening around Tyson’s length. The feline’s fire markings pulsed erratically, his breath fogging the glass in uneven patches. Billy didn’t know who this stranger was, didn’t care. All that mattered was the way Tyson clenched around him, the way his body arched into every touch like it was made for this.

Tyson’s claws left faint streaks on the window as Billy’s thrusts grew rougher, more desperate. The retriever’s free hand tangled in the feline’s spiked hair, yanking his head back to expose his throat. Billy’s teeth found the junction of Tyson’s shoulder, biting down just hard enough to draw a gasp. “Say my name,” he demanded, hips snapping forward with brutal precision.

“Billy,” Tyson choked out, the syllables fracturing as Billy’s cock hit that spot inside him again. His fire markings blazed, casting flickering shadows across the glass. The retriever growled with approval, his grip tightening on Tyson’s length, thumb swiping over the leaking tip. “Louder.”

Tyson’s claws screeched against the window as Billy fucked into him harder, the glass vibrating with each thrust. “Billy, fuck!” His voice cracked, tail lashing wildly as pleasure coiled tight, unbearable. The retriever’s teeth sank into his shoulder again, the sharp sting tipping him over. Tyson came with a cry, his markings flashing incandescent, stripes of molten gold painting the window as Billy milked him through it. Tyson's semen splashes against the window and floor.

Billy’s rhythm stuttered, his grip bruising. “Fuck, Ty,” His hips jerked erratically before he buried himself deep with a growl, spilling inside Tyson in hot pulses. The feline shuddered, oversensitive but unwilling to pull away, his body memorizing the way Billy’s cock twitched within him.

The city’s neon glow painted their sweat-slicked bodies in kaleidoscopic hues as Billy slumped forward, his forehead pressed between Tyson’s shoulder blades. His breath came in ragged bursts against Tyson’s spine; fingers still tangled possessively in the feline’s fur. “Christ,” Billy rasped, nipping lazily at a fading bite mark. “You’re gonna kill me.”

Tyson twisted with a breathless laugh, his fire markings pulsing amber in the dimness as he caught Billy’s jaw. “Hope not,” he purred, dragging a claw down the retriever’s chest. “Sex is too good.” Billy’s answering grin was wolfish as he hauled Tyson backward onto the silk sheets, their limbs tangling like combatants rather than lovers.

The next hour blurred into a haze of sweat and shifting dominance, Billy pinning Tyson facedown into the mattress, the feline’s tail lashing as the retriever fucked him slow and deep; Tyson straddling Billy’s thighs after, riding him with deliberate rolls of his hips while his claws scored red lines down golden fur; Billy bending Tyson over the wet bar, the feline’s palms smearing condensation across chilled glass as whiskey bottles rattled with each thrust. By the time dawn crept through the blinds, they’d christened every horizontal surface Billy’s penthouse offered, Tyson’s markings dimming to embers as exhaustion finally overtook them. Eventually, they fell asleep in bed.

Hours later.

Sunlight painted stripes across the rumpled sheets when Tyson’s phone erupted in shrill pulses from his discarded pants. The feline twitched awake, disentangling himself from Billy’s sprawled limbs with practiced stealth. He padded barefoot across cold marble in the living room and hallway, hissing as he fished the vibrating device from his clothes. The caller ID wasn’t the funeral home’s bland logo; it was a Jade Devil's symbol that made Tyson’s claws extend reflexively. An encrypted call that only meant one thing.

“Hades,” Lavi’s voice crackled through the speaker, thick with smoke and venom. “Get your glowing ass to the docks. Warehouse 12B’s got a hundred stiffs that ain’t gonna disappear themselves.” A wet cough rattled the line, followed by the distinct click of a lighter. “Fuckin’ amateur hour over here. Blood’s still drippin’ off the rafters.”

Tyson leaned against the penthouse living room window, watching dawn bleed across the city’s skyline. His reflection flickered, gray fur streaked with fading embers, Billy’s bite marks purpling along his collarbone. “It’s my day off,” he murmured, flames coming to life between his fingers as he flexed them absently.

Lavi’s snort crackled through the phone. “Don’t give a shit, gay boy. Ivan says two weeks paid, after you torch this mess.” A wet hacking sound punctuated the offer. “Fuckin’ Vlad went full Texas chainsaw massacre down here. City coroner’s gonna have nightmares if the police find the bodies.”

Tyson’s flames coiled tighter around his fingers, the heat licking up his wrist in serpentine spirals. The AC kicked on, a cold draft brushing his bare thighs. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, dawn painted the suite in bloody hues. Two weeks’ pay would cover the rent and then some.

“And?” Tyson prompted, tail flicking against the glass. Lavi wasn’t done. The demon never led with his best offer.

A wheezing laugh crackled through the speaker. “Sharp as ever, kitty. Fine. Extra fifty grand if you make it look like nothing happened.” The line hissed with static, then dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Vlad left his signature at the scene. Ivan wants it… clean.”

Tyson sighed, extinguishing the flames on his fingers with a flick of his wrist. The ember-bright glow died instantly, leaving only faint smoke curling between his claws. “Fine,” he muttered, already calculating how long it would take to incinerate a hundred bodies without leaving forensic traces. “I need clothes. And a ride.”

Lavi’s rasping laugh echoed through the phone. “The car’s already downstairs, pretty boy. Your work clothes are in the trunk.” The call disconnected before Tyson could reply. Of course, Lavi always knew where Tyson was. The feline loves to hate the little demon, but he’s skilled at many things. One of those is always knowing the exact location of every mafia member or anyone, at all times. Which comes in handy in more ways than one might think.

The feline exhaled sharply, the last wisps of smoke curling between his claws dissipating. He moved silently through the penthouse, gathering his scattered clothes with practiced efficiency. The leather pants slid cool against his thighs, still faintly damp in places he didn’t examine too closely. His shirt smelled like whiskey and Billy.

Tyson paused at the bedroom doorway, watching the golden retriever sprawled across silk sheets, one muscled arm flung over his face. Dawn painted stripes across his chest, highlighting the fresh claw marks Tyson had left hours earlier. The feline’s tail twitched. Part of him wanted to crawl back into that warmth, to wake Billy with teeth and tongue until the retriever pinned him down again. Instead, he grabbed the notepad by the door.

The pen scratched softly as Tyson scrawled a message, his fire markings flickering faintly in the dimness: ‘Last night was incendiary. Call me when you wake up, burning for round two., Tyson’ He added his number with a flourish, then hesitated before doodling a lopsided flame next to it with his phone number. Pathetic. He almost crumpled the note until Billy stirred with a sleepy grunt, rolling onto his stomach, the sheets sliding dangerously low on his hips. Tyson’s ears flicked forward. Oh, he’d definitely be taking that mental image to work.

He placed the note beside Billy’s discarded cuff bracelet on the nightstand, resisting the urge to brush a stray strand of golden hair from the retriever’s forehead. Too tender. Instead, he ghosted two claws down Billy’s chest, just enough to make the canine twitch in his sleep, a smirk tugging at his lips. Satisfied, Tyson padded backward, pausing at the doorway to memorize the way dawn gilded Billy’s shoulders, the rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers curled possessively into empty sheets.

The elevator doors sighed shut behind him, swallowing the last traces of whiskey and sex. Tyson leaned against the mirrored wall, watching his reflection, rumpled hair, fading ember markings, the ghost of Billy’s teeth on his throat. He pressed a claw to the elevator panel, holding the button just a second longer than necessary. The descent felt heavier than it should, the penthouse’s warmth lingering in his bones like a promise.

Upstairs, Billy sprawled across silk sheets, his golden fur gilded by dawn. His fingers twitched against the mattress, gripping invisible hips as his dream played out in vivid detail, Tyson beneath him, claws raking down his back, fire markings blazing as Billy drove into him again and again. A slow, lazy smile curled the retriever’s lips, his cock stirring against the sheets, still thick from last night’s use. In his dream, Tyson arched into him, hissing Billy’s name like a curse, like a prayer. The canine is peacefully asleep with a smile on his face.