FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

2

Nomac was never sure how to feel about the bar. He had things he appreciated about it--the dull lighting, cheap drinks, and horny guys for instance--but he had things he hated about it more--the horrible music, cliché celebrity photos on the walls, and the wrong kind of horny guys. Not that he considered himself to be the right kind of horny guy. Like the bar, he didn't know how to feel about himself either. He just knew what he wanted. Still, some of the guys he ran into were good old fashioned dicks even for his bottom-of-the-barrel standards. Not very spirit-lifting.

And, to make it terribly funny, the bar was called Elevate or something metaphorical like that, something ironic and off-base. He never recalled feeling uplifted after leaving. That only happened once, and he was still scarred from the "afterward" of that night. He'd always be scarred.

No one said anything to him as he trudged by. His sneakers squeaked against the grainy wood floors and left glistening prints in his wake like stamps. It was difficult to get a sense of the place with his hood up, but he left it on. He could see straight and that was good enough. He slipped a paw out and wiped off a cushioned, red-leather bar stool before sliding onto it. The ass of his pants flashed cold against him--wet. He grimaced and tried to ignore the dampness, swiping his bangs aside from inside his hood then tapping on the black, marble bar top. It was surprisingly clean. He didn't like his reflection in it.

"What'll it be, Coy-Boy?"

Nomac glanced up to meet the eyes of a lion, his mane trimmed short and sexy, wearing a black tank top and an apron: Rai the bartender. He loomed over Nomac, propped on the bar by his thick, vascular arms. The coyote squirmed but smiled, and Rai smiled back like bartenders tend to do. Those arms...he wanted to lick those arms. He wanted to nibble on them from wrist to corded deltoid. He wanted to know what lion tasted like, what they felt like...

"Uh," Nomac grunted. He pulled his baggy hoody out to try and cover the bulge in his pants. Good thing Rai couldn't see him blushing. Not that he'd be surprised. He knew the way he made guys feel.

"Heh," the lion snuffed. "The usual?"

Nomac just nodded. Rai nodded, too, and turned to do his job. The coyote hated how shy he got around guys like Rai. That's how he got his nickname: "Coy-Boy."

And Coy-Boy had a reputation here, a method.

Best not diverge from the norm. He had an obligation to himself that was craving to be upheld.

He hunched on the stool and, like Rai had been doing before, he propped himself on the bar to wait. Eyes forward, he reached for anything within grabbing distance to toy with and pulled back an empty shot glass. He ran a finger around the rim, wondering whose lips had been there. So many lips. Too many for the shot glass to recall, too many faces running together.

"Here you go, Coy." Glass clacked against the bar. Nomac eyed the drink hungrily, eyed the bartender more so. He slid the empty shot glass toward the lion who smirked and pocketed it. "An Old Fashioned, just how you like it," he said. He pulled out a rag and started wiping the bar down although it was still spotless. "I'm going to have to get more cherry brandy because of you." He paused and bunched his paw around the rag, winking. "And whiskey."

"Please do," Nomac said, still blushing. He slipped a five dollar bill onto the counter and Rai took it, and then he pulled the drink close to himself. The garnet-red liquid shimmered from the glass, the ice clinking pleasantly together like crystals. Rai had impaled a cherry on a cocktail sword and stuck it in. The coyote pulled it out and sucked the fruit into his mouth. He flicked the tiny weapon's point playfully toward the lion. "Or else, monsieur."

Rai chuckled, his thick tail swaying lazily behind him as he moved away toward another customer who'd appeared. "Or else your night won't be complete."

Nomac feigned a smile. "Yeah." He flipped the tiny sword's point toward himself, toward his heart, and fiddled with it. "If only it was that simple."

Stab. The coyote faked a grunt of pain, sticking his tongue out elegantly like a corpse from some cop drama. He rolled his eyes and sat the cocktail sword on the bar. The plastic blade had snapped. He stared at the little weapon then sipped his drink. It was sweet and bitter and burning and refreshing; it cooled his temper and warmed his stomach.

It was the usual. It was the norm. It eased the pain a little.

He sat down the glass and slipped his hood off. He ran his fingers through his brown hair to straighten it out, rubbed his ears that ached a tad from being pinned down. He cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders just because, and then he drank some more. He saw his reflection in the bar top again and didn't mind this one so much.

Definitely more coyote than cougar. He had that sweet, puppy-dog muzzle; kind of pointed, but not too sharp. He did have to admit that his cheeks were a little gaunt, but they weren't sunken in; they were just square and sharp like he was always clenching his jaw, like James Bond but much less debonair. His green eyes were sharp, too. Most of his facial features were sharp. Except for his ears. Those were round; round and dimpled and pierced. Girls thought they were cute. Guys liked to nibble on them. He'd gotten a haircut recently, too. His roommate said it looked great, but he always said shit like that to Nomac. In reality it was an average cut and he was an average guy--maybe handsome, alluring and fascinating to the extent of a loaded pistol glistening atop a dresser. Guys said he was sexy, but he'd been lied to before.

He smirked at his reflection then saw that his Old Fashioned was mysteriously drained. The empty glass was depressing; the red liquid puddled at the bottom and in the dips of ice cubes. His ears flicked to the squeak of leather as someone sat on a stool close to him. They smelled like Listerine and lavender fabric softener with a hint of spiciness. Cedar shavings or something. He wanted another drink. He tapped the bar with his empty glass and Rai, two steps ahead of the coyote, strode over with another Old Fashioned already made. Nomac went to pull another five from his pocket, but...

"That one's on me."

Nomac cocked an eyebrow, a smile flicking reflexively across his muzzle.

That was quick.