The lights went out. It really was just what Erin needed right now. He huddled by the side of the car that held everything he owned in the world. Being in it, surrounded by bags of clothes and plastic boxes, had just been too much. His whole life had gone up in smoke in just one afternoon. The storm pattering away at the side of the parking garage was a bitter insult, rolling in too late to do any good. 

	He runs his clawed finger along the ground, feeling the crack that ran between him and the whiskey he had been drinking. The clink that informed him he’d found it was accompanied by a the scrape of cardboard against wood. A cardboard heart had been left beside it, a gift that had been rejected as soon as he said he’d needed a place to stay along with the rest of him. So, he sat there in her parking garage, nowhere else to go in this god-forsaken town.

	The bottle clinks again, this time against his narrow beak. He’s not even so deep into it that the burn doesn’t make him grimace but the world still feels a million miles away in the dark. It pools and sloshes around his tongue before he tilts his head back to swallow it all in one thick gulp. The burn slides down his throat to unsettle an already weak stomach further. The subtly sweet scent of the cheap whiskey doesn’t help. It could take it’s time in settling down. He had nowhere to be at the moment and no way to call for help. His phone had been in the house.

	“Hey, you alright dude?” The scuffing steps of sneakers passing over old sand and salt signal the sources approach. 

	Erin turns to search and is greeted by a pair of glowing dots, deep orange rimmed in a brighter shade. Some people were blessed with eyes like their feral counterparts had. So was Erin. He was nightblind. “Yeah, just…” he can hardly bare to say it. “No. I’m stranded here.”

	“Oh yeah, the doors are fucked. All the locks on this place are electric.” Whoever was speaking had a voice dark and smokey. It was clearly, thickly masculine, deep enough that it reverberated through the dark garage. 

	“Yeah,” says Erin, feeling somehow smaller than he already felt thanks to the sound. He couldn’t even leave if he tried. “I can’t see shit in the dark.”

	The eyes arrive with a careless bounce to them, all Erin could see in the darkness. He’s turned for just a second to take another quick drink from his bottle. He wanted to be either steeled or un-steeled, but how he was feeling now wasn’t something ready for interaction. When he turns back, the eyes are close enough that he could reach out and touch them. 

	“There’s not much to see right now. You missing a date?”

	“No,” his voice drops with the word. Erin reaches out to grab the chocolates and holds it up for the glowing eyes. “You want ‘em?”

	There’s only a slight tug as it’s spirited from his hands. The rough sound of cardboard on cardboard is joined by the crinkling of wax paper only a few feet away. An unmistakeable scent of chocolate mixes with the rainwater smell that flooded in with the clammy feeling on his feathers. And the eyes were off him, looking downward.

	“It’s full,” the voice says.

	“Yeah.” Another clink, another drink. He’d intended the big bottle for his stay.

	A plasticky crinkle follows, and the eyes drift sideways through the air, sometimes disappearing. His car bounces behind his back with a gentle creak as they settle down next to him. Erin can even hear the gentle suction of the lips as he sucks on one of the candies. A fuzzy leg pushes against his scaly one for just a second to get everything in place. And an arm comes down to gently jostle his own which serves to make his whole body shake. Whoever this was had an imposing warmth about them, hand large against his feathered arm.

	“Do you mind if I sit here?”

	“By all means,” the avian says, not sure whoever this was even knew what it meant to be in the dark. He sets the bottle down to grab at the heavy paw and finds lifting it made all the harder by the booze in his system. Picking it up, he notes the thick fur covering the back of it, his own thumb feeling how it thins around the meaty fingers. But what the rest of his fingers touch draws the attention of his other hand. There was something startlingly interesting in the soft flesh of the palm. The smooth, rounded bumps gave a little as he pushed into them. He could feel how they squished as he drunkenly rubbed over the hand. “Heh, toebeans.”

	“Stop, those are ticklish,” the deep voice says with a heavy but soft laugh. 

	“Sorry,” says the bird. Something in them had lightened his mood enough that when he reaches for his bottle again, it’s to pass it to the other man. The chocolates slide over the ground again before the bottle is lifted from his hands. 

	“You smoke?’ The words are followed by the little tink of sharp claws grabbing the bottle.

	“No,” he said and tapped his claw against his beak. It didn’t fuck with his speech any, but suction was all but impossible. A hollow thunk comes with each tap and exits into the great unknown. “But I mean, what the hell, it’s a party now. Maybe my beak can grow lips to celebrate.”

	“I might have an idea. Just give me a sec.”

	Shuffling jostles him as his new drinking buddy reaches for something. What the hell, it’s not like tonight could get any worse for him. Something to quiet his nerves might be just the thing. “That’s weed, right? If it’s meth or anything-”

	“It’s weed. Good shit too. I was about to smoke my boy out when he calls me to tell me he didn’t want to drive in the storm. So, I was going to see him.”

	“His loss.”

	Whatever this guy was doing in the dark, it was mostly silent work. They’re content to pass the bottle back and forth and let it rest next to Erin’s scaly leg when not in use. Every little motion slides it along the rough cement they rest on. The little noises of the other guy eating the chocolate are all he really needs to distract him. It was better than going back into those dark, burning thoughts. He leans a little into him, the alcohol making the soft fur of the other man a delight against his bear shoulder.

	“Okay, there. Sorry, picking seeds out is delicate work.”

	“I’ll take your word for it. So, is there a trick to this?”

	“Man, just keep your beak a little parted and suck in as best you can,” the stranger says. “Just a little parted.”

	Erin holds up his fingers just a far enough apart that each one can feel the heat coming off the other. The booze makes it a little harder to track, but he manages.

	“Yeah, like that.”

	The lighter is little help in the dark of the garage. It’s little corona of light barely illuminated the deep black fingers next to it. What did show was the bright orange eyes and how they honed in on the small flame. It shone through the decorated pipe, blobs of blue barely visible in the glass. But he heard something sucking in on the other end. A few stray sparks shoot down it, disappearing into nothing fairly quickly.

	He goes to speak, but as it does he hears the voice say, “Open up and suck.”

	Compliance was rewarded immediately with the feeling of lips pushing against his barely-parted beaks. Smoke floods his mouth and he’s quick to try to pull it into his lungs. A heavy paw comes down on his shoulder, encouraging him to stay in place. He can feel himself failing as, instead, his tongue darts out to lick along the lips of this other man. Erin was already a little far gone, but returning the feeling of the lips pressing on his beak was somehow of paramount importance. Underneath the heavy, acrid flavor he can taste the chocolates he’d given the man and the liquor they’d shared. Still, their breath pushes the smoke down into his lungs. He holds it only to keep trying to tonguewrestle the thick body pressing against his.

	And neither pulls away from it. Not until the avian starts coughing, lungs hungry for air after trying to pull it out of the dank smoke. The bigger body backs off, thumping against the side of his car and leaving the bird to recover. It’s a blessedly short time that he’s coughing. His head is lighter than it had been in ages, tension smoothing out as he rubs his cheek into the soft fur next to him. He brings an arm up under the side of his car to toy with the fluffy tail of his new friend.

	“Thanks. You could’ve warned me, asshole,” says Erin, laughing a little as he does. He didn’t even really care that it was a male. It might as well be.

	“You should’ve seen your face,” he responds. Those soft pawpads had come to rest on his leg, both of them. One rubbed it’s way on the knee, but the other stroked up and down his inner-thigh. The gentle tug of a claw on his pants makes his leg twitch ever so slighty.

	“I wish I could see yours,” Erin says. “Or feel it.”

	“Well, maybe you can feel it while I show you a good time. From the inside,” says the baritone with a slight smokey rasp. “You seemed a little down.”

	“Didn’t you just blow me already?” the bird asks. He laughs at the mild joke and runs his hand up the lower back of the man. Under his shirt, Erin feels a tougher version of the fur that covered his sides. It’s thicker, rubbing into his fingers as he scratches the other man’s back. It briefly flashes in his head that the orange circles didn’t have a name, how they barely spoke a word so far. It didn’t sound that bad though here in the dark. His head swam with the possibilities of what sort of creature they might be. “But, I mean, you brought the weed. Who am I to turn down a free blowjob?”

	“You can pay me back in kind.” 

	The quick exchange was all it took for the very forward man to take his hand off Erin’s thigh and remind him just why it was called a zipper. The smooth silk of the boxers he wore fails to fend off the grasping hand. Thick fingers pull open the flap with ease and soon his flaccid member is exposed to the humid air of the parking garage. 

	“Hey, stand up, hot stuff.”

	Working with the man had paid off so far. The warm hands back off with the rest of the fuzzy frame when Erin starts to move. It’s a half-wiggle that meant the soot-covered vehicle was leaving even more of a mark on him. His legs push pebbles into the ground while he rises to standing. When he’s able to refocus from his fervent motions, the eyes are looking up at him.

	The feeling of the big, strong hands gripping at his sides is strange, the power in them made all the more startling by the little claws that push ever-so-slightly through his feathers. The hot breath on his humanoid member starts the process of waking it up from it’s booze infused coma. “Not bad,” say the eyes as the fall into thin slits to stare at his naked cock. One of the hands slides along his pants to grasp the base of his member. It rubs up and down the lowest few inches casually, bringing blood and feeling to the member. And the eyes close themselves for a tongue, ever so slightly rough to run over the tip. 

	This was definitely some sort of cat.

	“Fuck, that feels good,” Erin says. He brings a hand from his car over to the where he guessed the face would be. The fur on the side is as thick as the back had been, and again he caresses it. The feline’s head leans into it, but the tongue never breaks pace with the hand that slides languidly over his penis. Every few rubs brings a scintillating lick over the glans or a quick dive into the foreskin that slid easily around it. The slow work of bringing that meat to life pays off as the pleasurable motions force it into being stiffer and stiffer in his hand.

	Once it’s mostly hard, though, the cat stops holding back. He takes the head into his mouth first, suckling the tip in a way that sends a tingle all the way from the tip to the back of the avian’s balls. He leans in after that, over half the member disappearing in with a slurp that sends a shiver up Erin’s spine. The suckling noises continue as he starts to bob his head on one side, pulling it in deeper with his other hand. His tongue swirls against the sensitive tip, every little motion taking up all the bird’s perception as he pulls back, only for it to push him into the roof of his mouth when he dives down. The feelings of the hand sliding over the lower half, loose spit lubricating against those smooth pads squeezing down on him. Erin’s hips involuntarily thrust as the pleasure of it all mixes with the light smoke that now seemed to make up his brain. Barely thinking, he relaxes into his car while a hand that digs ever so slightly into his side holds him where he is. 

	The cat flicks it’s tongue over the tip, lapping up the bird’s copious precum each time it licks. The gentle sch-sch-sch of it’s sucking fills the bird’s ears. He breathes deeply, the base of his dick seeming to thrum with the pleasure of the hand. His own panting breaths aren’t lost on him, merely forgotten to how the feline twists his head when he dives and the mind-numbing pulse of the steady motion on his cock. There was no doubt in the bird’s mind that whoever this was, they’d done it before.  Even the hand that was keeping him in place gets in on it. It moves to push up his shirt, thick hand catching the thinner feathers of his stomach and pushing them up alongside it. There’s a gentle grip when it reaches his sternum, but it relents as it pulls down to rub over his stomach, expanding the pleasure ever so slightly into his booze-heated belly.

	“Yeah, babe, you’re mouth is fucking amazing,” Erin says, unsure where the words came from, but knowing they’re truth. His head swims in the mixed pleasures that wrack his body. It was easy to forget his troubles in the taste of smoke in his mouth and the feel of the tongue as it worked it’s way down his hard cock. He let’s his head drift further into it, forgetting any thought in preparation for what was about to happen, “I’m gonna fuckin’ cum.”

	The words bring a new realm to the pleasure, the feline attacking with twice the fury he had before. The obscene sound of the lips smacking as they accidentally pull off only to schlorp around them when they return to sucking the now-copious precum from it. It pushes deeper even while the cheeks press in on either side, squeezing with the hungry suction. He even likes how the cat’s whole body sways with the motions, pressing against his legs to meet his own thrusting hips. Avian claws grip the sides of the vehicle to hold Erin fast to the place. A little screech pulls his concentration as one digs into the paintjob. That doesn’t last long as an intense orgasm starts. His legs shake at the sensation of cum shooting into the feline’s mouth. His tongue doesn’t stop it’s assault, sending shocking waves of pleasure through his whole pelvis. Every little pulse is matched by a dive from the cat or a pulling of the claw that stretches out the moment, a warm pool of pleasure bursting forth as every muscle in his body tightens and instantly relaxes.

	He falls back onto his car, his lifeline. The glass is hot where he leans into it, a leftover grace from where his body had rubbed it. Still drunk and only a little stoned, he barely has the energy to push his tongue back when the feline rises, it’s eyes suddenly inches from his own. The lips push against his beak again and willingly he parts it. He knows the taste now on the cat’s lips, slightly salty and thick. The cat pushes it into his welcoming mouth and their tongues dance over one another’s, head light in the afterglow.

	His next words were simple, “Pay you back in kind.”

	“Lights have to come on, eventually. You can stay at my place tonight.”