It was a quiet night at Alder’s bar. Such times were nice, but after the third consecutive night, he found himself bored. Most of the people that came weren’t the chatty kind — apparently, a group of his regulars were on a camping trip together. Alder had politely declined the invitation, explaining that he had to work his bar, but really, he just didn’t like the outside all that much.
He was browsing through social media when he saw an old pic of a good friend of his — Mercer. Well, friend might not be the right word, but it was close enough. He pondered for a couple of minutes before deciding to call him and invite him over to the bar.
“Sure, why not? Got nothin’ better to do tonight, anyway. Drinks on the house?”
“You’re not fooling me with that again.” Alder sighed. “You’re just gonna empty my entire soda supply — again.”
Mercer laughed. “Alright, just cook up some wings for me, then. See ya in 20.”
Spicy chicken wings on a hot summer day? Just the thought of it made Alder sweat. In fact, halfways through cooking them (read: putting frozen chicken wings in the oven) he just threw his shirt away. Even with air conditioning, it was way too damn hot.
20 minutes or some later, a tiger arrived at the bar, wearing an open, sleeveless hoodie and a pair of black leather pants. He barged in like he owned the place, and the first thing he did was demand where his hot spicy chicken wings were at.
“I’ve got them right here! And a glass of water — don’t want you dehydrating.” Alder served the tiger his chicken and went right back behind the counter, next to the air conditioner.
“Thanks dude.” Mercer gnawed on a chicken wing. “And not just for the wings, mind you.” It was no wonder that he was already staring down the shirtless panther.
“No, thank you for coming over. All my regulars are away from town, so the place has been empty the last few days. The heat certainly doesn’t help either.” Indeed, even next to the air conditioning, Alder was glistening with sweat. A gorgeous sight — as long as no food health inspectors came in.
“Hey, I ain’t sayin’ no to free food. ‘sides, my shift got cancelled today. Might as well chill here!” Mercer continued gnawing chicken wing after chicken wing until the plate was emptied. “Mind if I give you a hand back there?”
“Of course—” Before Alder could finish his sentence, the tiger had sprung over the counter. He helped the panther pretend to be busy, cleaning and sorting stuff and such, but he seemingly just distracted Alder instead.
“…” Sniff sniff… “Did you…forget to shower last night, Mercer?”
“Nah, must be the wings gettin’ me hot.” As if on queue, he raised his arms and exposed his armpits while pretending to yawn. “Problem with that?”
Alder was stunned for a moment. “Uh— it’s kinda unhygienic to be working the bar without a shirt—”
“Says Mister Shirtless over there. Sure you don’t just want a whiff? Not like we’ve got much of a crowd today.”
Alder stared longingly at the tiger. It was a fact that he crushed on the guy, but on a hot day like this, even steamy armpits weren’t enough to allure him. And yet he was given no choice as Mercer stuffed his armpit right in the panther’s face.
“Oh, get on with it. We’re, what, almost 600 words in? Don’t think I didn’t notice you retweetin’ my armpit pics earlier, pit slut.”
“Mmmphgh… Damn it, so that’s why you ordered wings…” Alder’s voice was muffled by Mercer’s armpit — though he was also making no attempts to get away from it, and in fact breathing and huffing as though he liked it. (Spoiler: He does)
“Ain’t no such thing as too spicy for me.” The tiger grinned as he began grinding his pit in the panther’s face. “Cat got your tongue? Might as well put it to good use and start lickin’.”
It didn’t take much convincing for Alder to start slobbering over Mercer’s pits. The only reason he hadn’t begun sooner was because he’d forgotten to, really. All the while, a couple of customers had begun to notice the show happening at the bar and were glancing over at the two.
“Shame we don’t got a bigger audience. Always fun remindin’ your regulars how addicted you are to me. Wonder how many come by just to watch you get played with.”
Alder was quiet except for his slobbering and huffing. Mercer had long learned how to tell from subtle queues how the panther was doing — such as whether he had a stiffy in his pants. That one meant he was enjoying it (spoiler: he almost always has one around Mercer.)
“Whoever installed your air conditioning might’ve scammed the shit out of you.” Even with the spicy wings, the tiger found the bar way too hot. “If you’re done slobberin’ all over my pits, get down there and take off my boots.”
Without hesitation, the panther slithered down and untied the laces on the boots. Mercer sighed in relief, feeling fresh air (even if only mildly cold) through his toes. Too bad the wooden floor meant he’d probably get splinters. Unless…
Mercer lifted his foot and preessed Alder down to the floor. “Yeah, think I’ll have you be my foot rug for the night.” The panther clearly knew what was up, considering he spread himself out as well as possible, with his erection standing like a flagpole. Before long, the tiger placed his feet on Alder’s face and groin, toying with the latter to watch him squirm.
“Alright footfag, gonna tend bar for you for a while. Hope you’re comfy down there.”