The private billiards room looked even better than Kev remembered. The new furniture had arrived, plush leather sofas and a low coffee table creating a cozy seating area near the fireplace. The floors, once worn and scuffed, now gleamed with a fresh coat of varnish. The entire room exuded an air of luxury and relaxation, a perfect escape from the club's frenetic energy.
Fang surveyed the space with a satisfied nod. "This is good," he remarked, his voice a low rumble. He settled into one of the armchairs by the fireplace, a contented sigh escaping his lips.
"Would you like to play a round?" Kev asked, gesturing towards the pool table.
Fang glanced at the green felt, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face. "Maybe later," he replied, his gaze returning to the crackling fire. "I'm still a bit... tense from the past few days."
Kev chuckled, understanding the wolfman's need for a moment of quiet. He racked the balls and began practicing his shots, the rhythmic click-clack echoing through the room. After a while, Fang stirred from his contemplative silence by the fireplace.
"Would you like another drink, Kev?" he inquired, his voice a low rumble that cut through the quiet room.
Kev looked up, a smile spreading across his face. "That would be nice," he replied, setting his cue down on the table.
Fang rose from his chair, a hint of mischief in his eyes. "Don't go anywhere," he said, a playful grin tugging at his lips.
He strode towards the door, locking it securely behind him before disappearing into the hallway. Kev, momentarily puzzled by the gesture, shrugged it off. Perhaps Fang was just being cautious, ensuring their privacy in this secluded corner of the mansion.
He returned to his game, the rhythmic movements of his body and the satisfying sound of the balls colliding providing a welcome distraction from his lingering anxieties.
Kev heard a soft knock on the door and, with a smile, went to open it for Fang. The wolfman entered, carrying a tray laden with two drinks and a plate of appetizers.
"Let's enjoy these outside," Fang suggested, nodding towards the French doors that led to the private patio.
Kev's eyes lit up. "That sounds lovely," he replied, stepping aside to let Fang pass.
They settled onto the patio furniture, the cool night air a welcome contrast to the warmth of the billiards room. Kev lit a cigarette, savoring the familiar ritual as he gazed out at the moonlit garden.
"Cindy did a good job with this room," Fang remarked, his voice a low rumble.
"Actually, it was Max who oversaw the renovations," Kev corrected him, taking a drag from his cigarette.
Fang raised an eyebrow, a puzzled expression on his face. "Max?" he echoed. "Who's Max?"
"Max is Cindy's daytime manager," Kev explained, taking a sip of his drink. "Her second-in-command, I guess you could say."
Fang nodded slowly, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. "I haven't had the pleasure of meeting him yet," he admitted. "He works the day shift, so I'm usually... indisposed."
Kev chuckled softly. "Yeah, you're usually asleep while he's here."
Fang took a sip of his drink, a contemplative look in his eyes. "Cindy wouldn't choose a slouch to be her daytime manager," he mused, his voice a low rumble. "I'm sure Max is a hard worker."
"He seems to be," Kev agreed. "I haven't had any issues with the daytime crew so far. Everyone's been very respectful and helpful."
Fang's expression hardened slightly. "Let me know if that changes, Kev," he said, his voice firm. "I'll be sure to rectify the situation."
"Your people are great, Fang," Kev reassured him, a warm smile on his face. "No need to worry."
Fang's tail wagged gently in response, a subtle sign of his pleasure. "I run a tight ship, Kev," he said, his voice filled with pride. "Everyone knows their place, and they do their jobs well."
He stood up, his gaze drawn to the moonlit woods beyond the patio. A moment of silence passed as he seemed lost in thought, the gentle breeze rustling his fur.
Kev, having finished his cigarette, extinguished it in the ashtray and headed back inside. The pool table beckoned him, its green felt a familiar comfort in this strange new world. He grabbed a cue and began practicing his shots, the rhythmic click-clack of the balls a soothing soundtrack to his thoughts.
Fang eventually joined him, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Mind if I try my hand at darts?" he asked, gesturing towards the board on the far wall.
Kev chuckled. "Be my guest," he replied, stepping aside to give Fang room.
Fang picked up a handful of darts, his large paw dwarfing the slender projectiles. He took aim, his brow furrowed in concentration, and threw the first dart with a powerful flick of his wrist. The dart sailed through the air, embedding itself deep into the wall beside the board.
Fang growled in frustration, his ears flattening against his head. He tried again, and again, each dart missing the target by a wide margin. Finally, with a resigned sigh, he tossed the remaining darts onto the table and slumped back into one of the armchairs.
"Maybe darts aren't my forte," he grumbled, a sheepish grin playing on his lips.
Kev chuckled, carefully extracting the darts from the wall, leaving a spattering of small holes in their wake. "You're throwing too hard, Fang," he observed, a playful lilt in his voice. "You need to be more gentle, more precise."
He stepped back, mimicking Fang's earlier stance, and took aim at the dartboard. With a flick of his wrist, he released the first dart. It landed with a satisfying thud, though not in the bullseye. He threw the remaining darts, their placement a random scattering across the board. One, however, found its mark, landing squarely in the center.
Kev beamed, a triumphant grin spreading across his face. He turned to Fang, his eyes sparkling with a playful challenge. "Beginner's luck," he declared, his voice filled with mock arrogance.
Kev, still grinning, plucked the darts from the board and offered them back to Fang. "Your turn," he said, a playful challenge in his eyes.
Fang hesitated, a flicker of reluctance crossing his face. He wasn't keen on repeating his earlier embarrassing display. But Kev's encouraging smile and the unspoken challenge in his eyes were hard to resist.
With a resigned sigh, Fang took the darts and stepped up to the line. He drew his arm back, his muscles coiled with power, ready to unleash another errant throw.
But before he could release the dart, Kev's hand reached out, resting on his forearm. "Gentle," Kev whispered, his voice a soft reminder.
Fang's muscles relaxed slightly, his gaze meeting Kev's. He took a deep breath, focusing on the target, and released the dart with a controlled flick of his wrist.
The dart landed on the edge of the board, a soft thunk echoing through the room. It was far from the bullseye, but it was a marked improvement from Fang's previous attempts.
"Good," Kev encouraged, a genuine smile on his face.
Fang, however, grumbled, "I missed again." His competitive spirit was clearly wounded, his pride stung by his lack of skill.
"It takes practice, Fang," Kev reminded him gently. "You're not going to be great at something if you don't put in the time and effort."
Fang scoffed, a playful growl rumbling in his chest. "Games aren't fun if you have to think too much," he retorted, his frustration evident.
Kev laughed, a light, carefree sound that filled the room. "If you think too much about darts, Fang," he teased, "I wouldn't suggest playing chess anytime soon."
Kev, enjoying Fang's playful frustration, coaxed him into throwing a few more darts. Though many still found their mark on the wall, Fang's aim gradually improved, his throws becoming more controlled and deliberate. Soon, most of the darts were landing on the board.
Fang, a hint of satisfaction in his eyes, finally set the remaining darts down. "Alright, Kev," he said, his voice a low rumble, "I think it's time we head back to the bar. Horns should be waiting for us."
Kev carefully locked the door to his private haven, a sense of satisfaction settling over him. He'd already made this room his own, a sanctuary within the bustling world of the club. Turning to Fang, he offered a warm smile. "Ready?"
Fang nodded, his hand instinctively reaching for Kev's. Together, they stepped back into the labyrinthine corridors of the mansion, their footsteps echoing in the dimly lit hallways. As they progressed towards the bar, the atmosphere shifted. The quiet anticipation of the early evening had given way to a vibrant energy, the mansion now teeming with patrons eager to embrace the night's allure.
Fang, in his element, navigated the crowd with ease, his imposing presence parting the sea of bodies as they moved. Beastmen and beastwomen of all shapes and sizes, their laughter and chatter creating a symphony of sound, instinctively made way for the large wolf, their eyes filled with a mixture of respect and curiosity. Kev, following closely beside, marveled at the effortless authority Fang commanded, a stark contrast to the playful, almost vulnerable man he'd shared intimate moments with in front of the dart board.
As they approached the VIP table, Kev offered a friendly wave to Skippy and Twitch, who stood guard with their usual stoic expressions. The two bouncers nodded in acknowledgement, a subtle hint of amusement in their eyes.
Fang and Kev settled into their familiar seats, the plush cushions a welcome respite from the bustling energy of the club. Horns, already perched on the edge of the booth, greeted them with a mischievous grin.
"Well, well, well," he drawled, taking a long drag from his joint. "Look who finally decided to join us. Where have you two been hiding?"
His gaze shifted to Kev, a playful glint in his eyes. "Did you two take a little nap again?" he teased, his voice a low rumble.
Fang's ears flattened against his head, a subtle sign of his displeasure. "Horns," he growled, his voice a warning rumble, "what's the status with the mafia auditors? Have they arrived yet?"
"Nothing yet, boss," Horns replied, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "But we're keeping a close eye on the entrance. They won't slip past us." He paused, his curiosity piqued. "So, where were you two?"
Kev glanced at Fang, a playful smile tugging at his lips. "We were checking out the billiards room," he answered.
Horns's eyes widened in surprise. "That's right!" he exclaimed, slapping his forehead with a massive hand. "With everything going on, I completely forgot about that." He turned to Fang, his voice filled with admiration. "Max did a great job."
Fang nodded, a pleased smile spreading across his face. "Max… yes," he mused. " Make sure to let Cindy know he did a good job. I'll make sure he's rewarded."
"Oh, yeah, Max is great," Horns chimed in. "He's been keeping things running smoothly during the day for a while now. I'll let them know," Horns assured Fang, taking another drag from his joint.
Kev, leaned forward. "So, what's the entertainment tonight, Horns?" he asked. "Anything special planned for the auditors?"
Horns grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "We have something good lined up," he replied, "but we'll cancel it if we have to. Wouldn't want to scare off our potential new clients. We still are playing things by ear."
"What is it?" Kev pressed, his interest growing.
Fang chuckled, a low rumble that vibrated through the booth. "We were going to have Rex demonstrate his... skills in the fighting pit," he explained. "A little showcase of our security team's prowess."
Kev pictured Rex's muscular physique and the predatory gleam in his eyes. "Who would even want to fight him?" he asked, a hint of disbelief in his voice. "He's a beast."
Horns laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that echoed through the booth. "There's a never-ending supply of hopefuls in this city, Kev," he explained. "Young bucks looking to make a name for themselves, prove their strength, earn a bit of glory... or just a quick payday."
He took a long drag from his joint, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "They see Rex as the ultimate challenge," he continued. "If they can beat him, their reputation skyrockets. It's a risky gamble, but the potential reward is too tempting for some to resist."
Fang's expression turned somber. "I'd rather Rex didn't fight," he admitted, his voice a low rumble. "It gets... messy."
Kev's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Messy?"
Horns, sensing Kev's unease, quickly interjected. "Things are looking good for the rotating schedule to start tomorrow," he announced, his voice a cheerful distraction. "Most of the managers are on board, and even Reepia seems to have come around."
He winked at Kev. "Looks like your idea is going to become a reality, kid."
Kev asked, "Did you have any trouble hiring new workers to cover the shifts?"
Horns shook his head, a confident grin spreading across his face. "Not at all, Kev," he replied. "There are always plenty of willing applicants in this city. Finding qualified people wasn't an issue."
As the evening progressed, the club filled with the intoxicating rhythm of music and the lively chatter of patrons. Kev, nestled comfortably beside Fang, sipped his drink and listened half-heartedly as Horns and Fang discussed the intricacies of the club's operations. Their conversation, a blend of numbers, employee concerns, and upcoming events, washed over him like a familiar background hum.
Kev's attention was drawn to the dance floor, where a captivating spectacle unfolded. Beastmen and beastwomen, their forms a mesmerizing blend of grace and power, moved in perfect synchronicity with the music. He marveled at their fluid movements, their bodies telling stories of passion and desire, a language he was slowly beginning to understand.
Leaning into Fang, Kev sought solace in the wolfman's warmth and strength. Fang, ever attentive, responded by draping an arm over Kev's shoulders, pulling him closer. The familiar scent of sandalwood and citrus filled Kev's senses, a comforting reminder of their growing intimacy.
Around midnight, as the club throbbed with energy and the dance floor pulsed with a vibrant life of its own, Skippy, the imposing kangaroo bouncer, approached the VIP table. He cleared his throat respectfully, a hint of unease in his voice.
"Excuse me, boss," he began, his gaze shifting between Fang and Kev, "someone is here and says they would like to talk with you."
Fang's brow furrowed, a low growl rumbling in his chest. "Is it the mafia VIPs?" he asked, his voice laced with a hint of anticipation.
Skippy shook his head. "I don't know, sir," he replied. "It's a woman. Says her name is Ophelia."
A sly grin spread across Fang's face, replacing the momentary tension. "Send her over," he said, his voice filled with amusement.
Skippy nodded and retreated, disappearing into the crowd. Moments later, Ophelia emerged from the throng, her elegant figure gliding through the sea of bodies with a grace that belied the club's chaotic energy.
"Ms. Ophelia," Fang greeted with a charming smile, "welcome to my small establishment."
The puffin woman gracefully accepted the invitation, settling into the plush booth with an air of refined elegance. Her presence, a stark contrast to the club's primal energy, commanded attention.
"And this is Horns, my trusted manager," Fang continued, gesturing towards the mooseman seated beside him.
"Charmed," Ophelia replied with a polite nod, her eyes twinkling with amusement. She retrieved a cigarette from a jeweled case, its delicate design hinting at the treasures within her shop.
Horns, ever the gentleman, leaned forward and offered her a light.
As Ophelia inhaled, a cloud of fragrant smoke curled around her face, softening her features. "And where is your little red birdy tonight, Ms. Ophelia?" Fang inquired, a playful lilt in his voice.
A knowing smile played on Ophelia's lips. "Jasper was... enticed by some of your private rooms," she purred, her voice a melodic trill. "He's exploring the, shall we say, unique experiences your club has to offer."
Fang's grip tightened on Kev's shoulder. "Doesn't that bother you?" he growled.
Ophelia's gaze flicked between Fang and Kev, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Jasper is a work colleague, Mr. Fang," she replied, her tone carefully neutral. "I wouldn't call him my... what did you say? Personal assistant." She delicately tapped her cigarette against the ashtray, a cloud of smoke curling upwards.
Fang's expression remained unreadable. "Well then," he said, his voice regaining its usual smoothness, "what inspired your visit tonight, Ms. Ophelia?"
Ophelia's smile widened, her eyes sparkling with a mischievous glint. "You, darling," she purred, her voice a soft melody. "I actually had no real interest in visiting tonight, but after meeting you at the auction last night, I was... intrigued."
She leaned forward, her gaze intense. "Your presence during the auction was palpable, Mr. Fang. A force to be reckoned with."
Fang chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated through the booth. "A good first impression, I suppose," he replied, his tone laced with a hint of pride.
Ophelia took a long drag from her cigarette, exhaling a cloud of smoke that momentarily obscured her face. "When no one dared to bid against you for that piano..." she said, her voice trailing off. "Pure drama."
Fang's grin widened. "You could have put up a bid," he challenged, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
"And ruin the moment?" Ophelia scoffed, a playful lilt in her voice. "What do you take me for, Mr. Fang?"
"I take you for a shrewd businesswoman, Ms. Ophelia," Fang replied, his voice a low rumble.
Ophelia stubbed out her cigarette, her gaze shifting between Horns and Kev. "Are we free to discuss… business here?" she inquired, a hint of caution in her voice.
"Of course," Fang assured her, his tone confident. "There's no bad place in this club, Ms. Ophelia. No need to worry about prying eyes or ears."
"There were whispers that the enforcers were here the other night," Ophelia remarked, her voice probing.
Fang's growl echoed through the booth, a primal sound that sent a shiver down Kev's spine. "They were sent away empty-handed," he retorted, his eyes flashing with a dangerous glint.
Ophelia's gaze remained fixed on Fang, a flicker of concern in her eyes.
"Have you taken any extra precautions?" Ophelia inquired, her voice laced with a subtle concern.
Fang's eyes narrowed, his posture tensing slightly. "We're always prepared for any... contingencies," he replied, his tone guarded.
Kev, sensing the underlying tension, interjected, "Our guard from last night, Talon, the eagleman, has recently been brought on board."
A flicker of surprise crossed Ophelia's face. "Oh?" she echoed, her eyebrows arching slightly. "It's good to know you're willing to hire non-mammals, Mr. Fang."
Fang shrugged, his expression nonchalant. "Such things don't matter to me, Ms. Ophelia," he retorted. "This is a meritocracy. Skills and loyalty are what count, not species."
Ophelia nodded slowly, a thoughtful expression on her face. "If only the whole world could be so... aspirational," she mused, her voice tinged with a hint of wistfulness. She paused, her gaze sweeping across the bustling barroom. "This club is a great place for business meetings," she observed, her tone shifting to a more practical matter. "What are the rates for a private party or a conference room?"
Fang's smile returned, a touch of warmth in his eyes. "Horns can go over the details with you, Ms. Ophelia," he said, rising from his seat. "I'll be right back." He extended a hand to Kev, helping him up from the booth. "It's getting late, my dear," he whispered in Kev's ear, a hint of possessiveness in his voice.
Kev, understanding the unspoken message, followed Fang without protest. He didn't want to create a scene in front of a potential client, even if Ophelia's words had piqued his curiosity.
As they ascended the stairs, leaving the vibrant energy of the club behind, Kev couldn't contain his curiosity any longer. "Fang," he asked softly, "what did Ophelia mean about you not hiring non-mammals?"
Fang's brow furrowed in frustration. "I have no idea," he replied, his voice a low rumble. "I hire anyone with the skills and the loyalty to contribute to the club's success. Species has never been a factor."
They reached Kev's apartment, and Kev paused, turning to face Fang. "Would you like to come in for a bit?" he offered, a hopeful glint in his eyes. "Maybe a glass of water before you head back down?"
Fang hesitated for a moment, his gaze lingering on Kev's face. The temptation to accept was strong, but duty called. He shook his head, a resigned smile playing on his lips. "I shouldn't keep the lady waiting," he said, his voice a gentle rumble.
He leaned down and captured Kev's lips in a tender kiss, his warmth and scent enveloping the human. "Good night, Kev," he whispered against his lips. "Make sure to lock the door."
With a final, lingering look, Fang turned and headed back downstairs, leaving Kev standing in the doorway, his heart fluttering with a mix of longing and anticipation.
Kev closed the door behind him, a contented sigh escaping his lips. He knew Fang had responsibilities, that the club needed his attention. But the promise of their shared future… the stolen moments of intimacy… and here he was alone, again.
Kev glanced at his silver watch, its hands pointing to one in the morning.
With a contented sigh, Kev turned off the lights and climbed into bed. The soft sheets and the faintest lingering scent of Fang's cologne on the pillow beside him offered a comforting reminder of the wolfman's presence, even in his absence. As sleep claimed him, Kev's dreams were filled with images of dart boards and pianos.