a weird new negotiation tactic we tried at the club the other night
by your internet friend
He hated club politics, the smoke filled rooms and claustrophobic negotiations of unseen power-plays and paradigms that left him cold out on dance floors still pulsing with four on the floor beats that now sounded as far away as the exploding leftover munitions from the war that the police force used to detonate on the beaches near his old loft through all hours of the night. They would, one-by-one, without fail, set off the leftmost bombs, then the rightmost ones, and they'd alternate the shaking of the walls of his house like the leaves beset by the flapping of hummingbird.
A hummingbird wasn't what he first thought of in the club that night - though it wouldn't have been an completely inaccurate comparison. The way the DJ was scatterbrained-switching between genres, moods, tempos, transitions mashed in a cacophony of shattered glass, sound effects of gunfire and police sirens and punctuated by the high howls of the other degenerates that made up the dance floor at Freedom. he didn't feel bad about calling his crew degenerates - there's a sort of specific type of clientele that goes out to go raving in the middle of the week with work still due on the desk tomorrow morning.
He didn't mind being considered a freak for that. But there was a lot he didn't care for or care about embedded between the turntables and past the queue line outside Freedom's grimy brick wall industrial entrance, overhead lights flickering precariously over bored bouncers. There was the drama about who was fucking who, who was booking who, who's records were being played and by who and when (he realized as he strolled in that the most recent reject at the door was seething at the bouncer that his most recent song was being played on the dancefloor at the very moment this doorman had told him to go verily kick rocks). On a good day it didn't matter, and on a night like this, it especially didn't.
He shuffled through the pulsing throngs on the dancefloor, declining unspoken invitations and half-hearted glances shot in his direction. Ordered a double gin and tonic. Slid through the chaos and embedded himself amuong the seated booths overlooking the dancefloor on a converted staircase and set of rafters above it all, shitty thrifted sofas and tables split up by wire-fence walls that barely blocked out who sat next to you or what they were keening about over a 4x4 beat mixed by an underpaid "DJ in residence" who's already thinking about ducking to the bathroom to do another key offered for free by the manager.
TK wasn't the client he was expecting to pull up to his booth, or really someone he was expecting at Freedom at all, even though it was one of his usual haunts and was liable to spend time holding court amongst its many patrons that didn't pay much attention to the behind-the-scenes of how they were getting their drugs in and around the district. Short, lithe and a little-hunchbacked, he had a sort of goblin-esque energy to the way he carried himself - always a mischievous smile, looking at you with his head slightly lowered and his eyes looking up at you as if you and him were in on some grand conspiratorial joke that both of you had just figured out the punchline to. he was a pain in the ass, but as far as pains in the asses went, he was tolerable, and like any good pain could be dealt with if threw enough painkillers in his direction. At the moment, the hyaenid looked at him as if he'd just stumbled upon a fifty dollar bill in the street. He'd seen that expression on TK before, and it rarely meant for anything good.
"Diallo, baby," TK crooned with a voice like an idling motor about to backfire. "I didn't know you were coming!" And then, already around the table and sitting next to him cross-legged across the sofa: "To be honest, I thought you died."
"I get that a lot recently," Diallo answered, not taking his hand or eyes off the gin & tonic on the table.
"Must not be new for felines, but shit. I saw the news clips of what happened in Hardrock. Extreme shit... It must've been crazy for you." TK was nursing a cocktail of his own, even though Diallo couldn't make out what exactly he had swirling in his cup. Whatever it was, it was potent - reeked in the air like ethanol from the gas pump.
Diallo shrugged, still not sure what TK was getting at. Hardrock had gone sideways for sure, but it wasn't his hit to begin with - and no one would hold it against him for getting out of that mess, even if it meant shooting his way out like he did. "It was a shitshow. But I've been through worse."
"Lot of people still sore about how it turned out," TK mused.
"That include you?"
"For once, actually, no." He shrugged. “Shit happens. I’m too professional to hold grudges — it fucks up business, and if it isn’t business or pleasure, I’m not interested.”
“Get to the point,” Diallo interjected.
“I’ve got a proposition, my friend.” TK reached a scarred-up hand over Diallo, enclosing his fingers around toe glass and gently lifted it right out of his grasp.
“Respectfully, I’m not here to be propositioned — and not by you, even if I was.”
A mock-wounded expression flashes over TK’s face. “What a shame! You always were my type. I guess I shouldn’t have assumed you were here to buy me a drink.” He knocked the G&T back in one quick motion and reclined back in the booth, looking Diallo over with the expression a butcher might right before selecting a piece of meat. “But it’s not me this time. I mean, if it was me, you’d know, and I’m pretty sure I’d have you on your knees before you could say otherw-“
Diallo had his grip around TK’s collar before he could choke out another word and yanked him upward over the table, hard. Ashtrays and glasses scatter as the tiger tightened his grasp around the hyena’s shirt, threatening to slide his hand up to his throat at any moment.
“I got a client,” TK grunted.
“The last client you gave me tried to put a bullet in my head. You’re lucky I haven’t returned the favor.”
“It’s a bodyguard job — for a human. No bullets involved. Well-paid. Room for long-term employment.”
“And you decided I was the best for the job,” Diallo doesn’t so much as ask him as flatly interrogate him.
“The client has specific requests — I figured you could fulfill them.” TK slowly extricated himself from Diallo’s grip (or more to the point, the tiger lets him free) and slides back against the booth seating. “And despite your… outburst just now, I know you’re a professional. Let’s make some money.”
The tiger-man relaxed, slightly, face still unreadable. “You said he has ‘specific requests’.”
“He’s got a private booth,” TK nodded. “You can meet him and decide for yourself.”
-
The human was younger than Diallo was expecting. He wasn’t expecting much, but most of the human employers he’d ever been forced to deal with had been old. Old men, old money, old ways of thinking (probably the reason why they wanted a beastman as muscle, but it kept Diallo paid, so he never really spoke up either way), old ways of doing things that often kept them in more trouble than they actually needed to be in.
This client being so young --- mid twenties at most — set off alarms in the tiger’s head, although he couldn’t pinpoint why. He didn’t look like much. Lanky build, shaggy hair, slightly overdressed for the venue. Thin lips pursed into a slight smile. Like he was constantly thinking of a really good but off-color joke and he was debating internally if he wanted to share it with you. Diallo wasn’t sure if he would be in on the joke either way.
“I’m glad to have finally met you,” the human said.
Diallo nodded. “I don’t think we’ve met before, Mr…”
“Unai. And you’re right, we haven’t.” The young man leaned back in the seat. “Your reputation precedes you a bit. Your friend TK says that you come highly recommended.”
“TK’s more of an acquaintance. I’m not sure what he told you.”
“Don’t worry, it wasn’t anything negative. He recommended you specifically based off of how you handled yourself at Hardrock.”
“Mr. Unai, I think TK’s maybe… stretching the truth a bit. I wasn’t at Hardrock. I’m just a bodyguard.”
“Please, you don’t have to call me Mister! I’m younger than you. You’re just a bodyguard. I’m just Unai.”
“Well, in that case, Unai, I should be honest with you,” Diallo said. “I’m not… how should I put this… actively looking for work right now.” Raised two outstretched, large hands, trying to come off as genial as possible despite the claws at the end of each finger. “ That isn’t to say I can’t take on assignments for the right price, but usually that’s with people I already know, or people with a good reason for seeking me out.”
“Yeah, I totally understand.” The human didn’t seem put off at all — even sounded a little apologetic. “You can consider this a consultation. It’s up to you if you’re interested in taking up my offer — I’m just asking you stick around to hear me out. Even if you walk, I’ll compensate you even for this little sit-down, it’s the least I can do. Can I offer you a drink?”
Out of seemingly nowhere, Unai slid a second, already full tumbler across the table to the feline. The booth wasn’t completely illuminated, but even from out of the shadows the glass looked as if it had been conjured out of thin air.
“Double gin and tonic, right?” The human asked.
Cautiously — unsure if the human had guessed his go-to order or had just bribed the bartender (or worse, TK) into learning it, Diallo raised the glass, squinted hard at the liquid inside before taking a swig. Looked like liquor on the rocks. Tasted about the same. It must actually have been from the bartender — he was the only one that skimped on the tonic and basically made every drink the equivalent of just drinking gin straight.
“Thank you. I’m listening.”
“I’m someone that knows a lot of people, basically. Without getting too much into it, that’s what I do. I find things, I find people, I’ve got a little rolodex in my head with all sorts of tantalizing information. A lot of people pay a lot for that. A lot of people, on the other hand, don’t exactly like the fact that I know certain things about them.”
“You’re an information broker.”
“Something like that.”
“And you want to hire me because you’ve received, what I assume, are credible threats to your wellbeing.”
“Very astute! Nobody too extreme, mind you. Nothing like that shootout at Hardrock.”
“I wasn’t at Hardrock.”
“Of course you weren’t. I wasn’t there, how should I know?” Unai made a face along the lines of ‘your secret is safe with me’, but that didn’t make Diallo feel any better.
“Why specifically did you seek me out, then?”
“I trust my network of referrals. You do good work, and I want someone good at their job. I’m sure you’ll probably need more information to go off of for the assignment, if you do agree to it.”
“Yes, that’s correct.” Diallo said.
“Before I do that, I’d like to make this q&a session work both ways… I have a question for you.”
“Shoot.”
Unai stared the big cat down across the table, eyes so black they were reflecting the drink underneath. “Do you like hurting people?”
It got quiet. The light fixture overhead was getting annoyingly bright.
Diallo stayed quiet. He wasn’t sure what the man was getting at, and his mouth had dried up since he finished that last drink.
“Kidding!” Unai blinked first, smile getting bigger, toothier. “I just really always wanted to ask that. It’s okay if you do. I think it’s really romantic to destroy something or someone you love. Actually, I think it’s hot.”
Diallo creased his brow. “Where are you going with this?”
Unai’s doesn’t move an inch. “Wherever you want to go. “
“Whatever you put in my drink,” Diallo said flatly, “Is not going to work.”
“It’s an aphrodisiac.” Unai said. “You might be uncomfortable for the next twenty or thirty minutes, but nothing’s going to happen to you.”
“Why would you spike the drink of the bodyguard you’re trying to hire?”
The human shrugged and raised two manicured fingers. “Well, one… Seeing you flustered is kind of funny. Second, I figured that I needed to make sure you could perform your job while… Distracted.”
“The deal is off,” Diallo said. The tiger got up to leave — Unai grabbed him by the wrist.
“I’d like you to reconsider,” the human said matter-of-factly, and then pulled the woozy tiger in close.
“I know a lot. I know about you — why else would I even try to hire you in the first place? And I know your… unusual tastes, Mr. Diallo.” Unai was intoxicatingly close, grabbing more of Diallo’s chest tuft than his actual shirt collar. “You could have left at any time. But you didn’t. Why is that?”
The tiger growled, but didn’t say anything. Up close, the human was an easy play — he could easily overpower Unai, and yet…
“You’re into me,” Unai said. “Just a little bit.”
He was hard. It might have been from the drink, but the lithe human straddling him in the booth added to things. Diallo exhaled deeply and cursed himself as Unai placed one well-groomed hand on his chest and slid the other down his abdomen, tracing the v-line towards his pelvis. He was built well for the job — but Diallo had never though much about how his body looked, and Unai giving it attention made him feel both aroused and uneasy. He felt Unai’s hands trace over furred, taut pectorals and down to his thighs, musculature barely hidden underneath the pants he chose tonight.
“Relax,” Unai said.
“I’m trying to,” Diallo answered — with all things considered, getting rubbed up and down by some human twink wasn’t what he was expecting, but it was tolerable, but the suddenness of it all had left him tense to the point where even Unai could feel it to the touch. “What does this have to do with the job?”
“Chemistry’s important.” Unai’s hands had gone back above the level again, unbuttoning Diallo’s shirt from the bottom up, revealing his chest and body entirely. He was well-built and taut, but fairly lithe as well - all fast-twitch muscle, none of it for show. Scarring up and down Diallo’s chest — remnants of past jobs both successful and bad — showed up even through the fur. Reminders of a dangerous life. It felt strange for Unai to look at them in this way — under his gaze, they suddenly made Diallo feel naked.
“You’re someone that’s been hurt just as much as you’ve hurt other people,” Unai continued. “I don’t mean that in some pretentious manner, either. Your scars are something.”
Diallo pushed back on Unai, grabbing the man by his wrists — Unai was athletic himself, but by human standards, and if DIallo wanted the tiger could likely overpower him easily — but for now, he held himself in repose. “They’re just scars.”
“I find them exciting. And representative.” Unai reached to caress one of the scars, first with one finger, then two, then the hand drifts downward again and Diallo feels his body tense up again. “All of them tell a story with the body.”
The tiger caught Unai’s wayward hand again. “My body’s a better storyteller than I am.”
“Tell me a story, then,” the broker said.
There was enough space in the booth to fully splay one’s legs apart, if you were clever or flexible enough to use the table as leverage. Diallo knew this and eased Unai backwards up against the wood grain, one clawed hand controlling his waist, the other controlling one of the human’s wrists, and the beast was over him.
With his free hand Unai grabbed at Diallo’s hips, pulling delicately at the belt-loops of his trousers. He breathed heavily, and the young man’s heartbeat was so strong that Diallo could feel it, the way it thudded intensely as the tiger disrobed himself, revealing his lower body, all statuesque muscle and fur.
Dark orange and amber fur mixing with black stripes mixing with the taut shapely legs of someone that had spent the majority of their life on their feet. Diallo’s endowment reached far beyond his sheath; Unai’s demented foreplay and tincture had left him erect, and his cock, shapely and red, pulsed desperately, waiting for action.
Unai’s hips buckled, trying to reorient himself against the furniture, butt his attempt mostly pressed him closer to Diallo. Up this close, every detail of the beastman was spectacular — the way his fur brushed up against his skin, the mixture of sweat, alcohol, and lust, it was intoxicating and addicting, and no sooner was he sliding his own pants down, desperately, to free himself. His erection slipped free of his underwear and brushed up against Diallo’s abdomen, drawing a sharp intake of breath from his partner, waiting.
They didn’t say anything - eye contact and shared exhales are good enough confirmation for the next stage. Unai buried his face into the crook of the tiger’s neck. Gently, Diallo began to press his length against the human’s, embracing both in his hand. They were both hard, slick with pre and sweat, and both of them knew it. Diallo reached first, stroking his and Unai’s together with the soft suede-like quality of his hands, fuzzy handwork leaving both of them squirming. The tiger exhaled hard as he felt the human grind against him. He’d talked a good game about desire, but in the back of the club it had all blended together. Under the strobe lighting Unai lowered himself, shuddering all the way down, pressing his face against the stripes in his abdomen and pelvis — breathing him in as much as he was trying to blow him. Wordlessly, he looked up at the tiger for permission, yearning, pleading.
Diallo granted it to him.