<<< PREV | FIRST | NEXT >>>

So this part is entirely SFW, but it will get more explicit in part 3, which will be coming soon.

TL;DR for part 1:
Whilst working on an industrial site, I (a strong young wolf-lion hybrid who likes implications of, and references to, his beastly nature) started to receive unexpected praise from my boss (a relatively young wolf called "Tommy" Wilczy). I think I am beginning to develop feelings for him, and he has just asked me out to dinner.

This part is pretty long, but I hope you like it.

By the way, I've written this in British English just because it's what I'm most familiar with, so if there's anything that you're not familiar with, please let me know in the comments. Some things might not be entirely internationally comprehensible.

---

I was adjusting my tie in the mirror as my intercom buzzed. I picked up the receiver and told him I’d be right out. With one last quick check of my appearance, I made sure that I had my wallet, keys and phone, and left. I descended the concrete staircase at the front of the old apartment block, his polished black executive car in view through the front door.

“Good evening,” he greeted me, leaning over to the open passenger window from the driver’s seat.

“Evenin’,” I replied as I opened the door, sitting in the comfortable leather seat.

The tinted window rolled up as he pulled out, the engine purring smoothly.

“Didn’t expect you to live somewhere like that,” remarked Tommy, a hint of worry on his voice.

“Why not?” I asked rhetorically. “The area’s good enough. View’s not too bad. And the rent’s affordable, considering it’s not just a studio.”

“I guess,” he replied. “Must really be saving your money for someone special, eh?”

“Hah. No, I’m single.”

“Helping your family?”

There was a brief silence before I replied, “No. No family or anything.”

“Oh. I apologise,” he said sincerely. “Are you in debt?” he asked, sounding concerned.

“No!” I reassured him. “I just don’t really see the point in spending money on myself, as such. I have enough. I’d rather save the rest. Never know when it might come in useful.”

“I respect that,” he said, briefly glancing across. As if to lighten the mood, he joked, “hoping to buy me out some day, then?”

“Nah,” I started. “Then how are you meant to pay me?”

By this point, we had driven the short stretch into the city and were pulling up outside an exclusive-looking Italian restaurant. I mean, the kind of place with a bouncer and a valet service.

“We goin’ here?” I enquired, surprised, as he pulled the keys out of the ignition.

“Of course!” he scoffed, stepping out and handing his keys to the eager valet as I opened my door and planted my hard-soled shoes on the smooth pavement.

I followed to the entrance where the large, rugged-faced, tuxedo-clad walrus stood with his trunk-like arms folded over his burly chest. Upon seeing my superior, he nodded and lifted the red rope to allow us in.

“Good evening, sir,” he warmly greeted Tommy. “Sir,” he acknowledged me.

“Evenin’,” I replied, being led to the front desk.

The large restaurant was filled with the sound of ambient classical piano music, originating from a well-lacquered grand piano being played my an experienced lynx on a small raised stage at the far end of the room. The sounds of quiet chatter and cutlery on porcelain added more life to the scene. Glistening crystals hung from epic chandeliers, their slightly dimmed bulbs complimenting the modern interior with its minimalist colour palette and simple, high-quality furnishings. The waiters and waitresses all wore modest black tuxedos and cocktail dresses, moving elegantly around the tables of well-dressed rich furs.

At the front desk stood a thin billy goat, his half-crescent spectacles resting low on his nose.

“Good evening, Mr Wilczy!” he practically sang in his surprising but smooth baritone. “And good evening to you, too, sir! Please follow me, gentlemen,” he beckoned, leading us the a table on the far left. It wasn’t too far from the kitchen, so an appetising aroma hung over us.

In all honesty, I was expecting a table full of corporate-types discussing the profit margins of the last quarter… or some nonsensical jargon like that. The very thought made me feel uncomfortable and out of place in my own skin. But much to my surprise, it was empty; just a table for two.

The mild-mannered goat walked around the table and pulled out the seats, gesturing us to sit – which we did. Face-to-face with my boss, who was beginning to feel ever less like a boss and more like a date, I began to question the entire “business” spiel he gave. I had noticed, after all, that he was wearing a subtle but tempting cologne, with a delicious woody musk, and his immaculate suit highlighted his masculine build.

“Alfonso, get us a bottle of dry red. From the cellar, not the kitchen – I’m thinking the ‘84 Cabernet Sauvignon on the top of my rack,” instructed Tommy.

“Certainly, sir. Please do look over the menu in the meantime – I hear the seafood is rather popular tonight, and I can assure you that it’s as fresh as ever,” responded the goat in his friendly manner. With that, he disappeared into an inconspicuous door near the kitchen.

“Sounds expensive,” I couldn’t help remarking.

“Don’t have to pay for it if it’s already mine!” chuckled the charming canine. “My brother owns the restaurant, sure; but he doesn’t use the wine cellar, so it’s all just my stuff down there. I’m not really anything of a wine snob or a connoisseur, I’m just taking advantage of the opportunity.”

“Well, you sound like you come from a successful background. You run a huge industrial site, your brother owns a restaurant… let me guess, you’ve got a wife who’s a company director and self-employed kids!” I joked, very much in the hopes that he might just tell me about his family and mitigate my suspicions that he had feelings for me – and tame my thoughts about ripping his shirt open.

Unfortunately, he held up his left hand to show his bare ring finger, and stated, “‘Wife and kids’ isn’t really my kind of thing.” I was really hoping he’d just let me believe he might have been taken.

Alfonso emerged from the wine cellar carrying a slightly aged-looking bottle and delicately removed the cork. He allowed it to breathe for a second and sniffed at it, remarking, “A fine choice, sir.”

He poured some slowly into each glass and set the bottle down on the table. I gathered that we were supposed to try it at this point, and after watching Tommy swill the glass a little before taking a small slurp, I imitated. Normally, I wouldn’t like dry red, but this was something special. It had a whole depth of flavour that made up for its dryness, and I could hardly turn down such a special bottle. It really did seem like he was trying to impress me.

“Wow,” began Tommy, “I’m glad I let it age that long.”

“Certainly,” agreed Alfonso, despite not having tried any. “Are you ready to order starters?”

“Of course!” cheered Tommy eagerly. “I’ll have the Bruschetta.”

“Bruschetta,” repeated Alfonso as he wrote on his small notepad. He then looked to me with a slightly raised eyebrow, and asked, “sir?”

I barely glanced at the menu, and without much thought, ordered the caprese.

“Insalata caprese, the perfect palate cleanser,” remarked Alfoso as he jotted down my order. He departed with a friendly smile and a nod of the head.

I began to relax a little after the starters arrived and I had a little to drink. We chatted over our remnants of untouched garnish – and unsurprisingly, the conversation was not particularly business-oriented. I learned early on that he didn’t have much of a family; like me, he had lost his mother early and had a strained relationship with his father as a result – who died around a year before mine. Unlike me, however, he still knew his brother and got on well with him.

The talk of family dissipated as Alfonso returned to take our main orders. To my surprise, Tommy had been eagerly looking over the pizzas and ordered pizza alla napoletana. Alfonso’s previous comments about seafood must have had some influence. As for my order, I was quite content with pasta, and ordered the cannelloni.

The surprisingly short wait was, again, filled with relaxed chatter. I found out that although successful, Tommy, born Tomasz Wilczy, was not overly proud of his family name or his routes, even feeling that he had been given an unfairly privileged start in life. He had no interest in the company, but didn’t know what else to do. All he wanted was to retire to a quite life with a partner. He did eventually reveal that he identified as gay, and it took a long time to fully establish his own identity thanks to his father’s influence. I certainly related, feeling a strong sense of empathy, although I did not want to externalise this too much. He did seem to take comfort in what little I did reveal about myself.

The food was amazing. Truly, I’d say it was to die for. Every morsel was so mouthwatering, and I was undoubtedly impressed by the fact that my meal was presented to me in a sizzling hot cast iron baking pot fresh from the oven, carefully carried on a small wooden board. Tommy’s pizza smelt divine; I even ended up trying some, and the taste certainly did not disappoint. Well, when I say that I tried it, I mean he fed me a piece from his fork… and I fed him some of mine.

I guess I couldn't deny it any longer. My boss had invited me on a date; and I was enjoying it.