MUGSY

Night fell over Toontown, very few establishments still open: bars, And like any team that is celebrating their stellar success in finding one of the machines pieces in Garden View, the cup brothers, the B-brothers and their new acquaintances Shelly and Pebbles were drowning their regrets and bad decisions in their poison of choice. The bar had a huge cloud of smoke roaming around the main longue, chocking the poor singer that burst her pipes on the makeshift stage as she sung about some good for nothing lackey she was with in the past year.  

Cuphead came to the table with a slight wobble in his step as he placed down two more bottles of ageless vodka. “Djrimk it up, buttercupz!” He slurred trying (and failing misserably) to do so, slumping over the chair like some idiot that barely learned how to walk. At that, his brother snorted audibly, starting to blabber a song with bendy, two very apohonic idiots that were though having fun while drunk.   “Have you ever her sofa funny river man-” “reeferms mannn!” 

It was their very first moment they could wind down and get silly with one another, actually celebrate a small win in the war that finding the machine pieces was gonna be. Shelly ordered some more crispy chicken tenders for both herself and her trusty Pebble to munch at while she tried to fit yet another Prosecco-Sprite combo down her throat. Another glass and then another in, Boris tried to stop her from getting alcohol poisoning, as he already knew that tying to make bendy break up with the beer bottle and singing badly together with his buddy Mugman was going to be harder than when he tried to rip him apart from the bakery down town and those salted pretzels… the damned pretzels. 

Who doesn’t love a steaming fresh soft pastries that are so good they med like honey on your tongue and make your soul tingle with that sweet thump only a lover might be able to evoke once again. 

“Loosen up, puppercut. Yer such a bore-” Cuphead shouted, showing a big glass of whatever alcoholic beverage there was. “Drink up before I mooch you drun-” he hiccuped, the straw in his head bobbing slightly “drunk” he giggled and slumped slightly on the table.  

Boris sighed heavily once more, his tail wagging slightly as he picked up the glass and downed it in one go. He was a very simple man with very simple needs. You are. To make him happy with a pint of beer and some soggy, overly salty french fries. Nothing was going to make him feel better after a rough day more than a fresh batch of fries with ketchup as he was more drunk than a vineyard worker on a Saturday. “Fine, fine… just don’t moan when I tell you I told you so when all of you ask the toilet for its pipe in marriage.” 

And so, the only thing breathing that was not drunk at that table was the fucking dog- and no, not Boris. He’s a wolf, please do not get him confused with the small and hyperactive Pebble. A small yip here and a small yip there were the only things keeping Shelly and Mugman sober enough t remember to feed the dog- and feed the dog they did. Let’s just say weaned to change his name to Boulder if the gang will have many more nights like this. 

The buzz of the bar was slowly dying down as the night went on and fellas left the small space that reeked like Tuesday takeout dinner and very bad decisions made into the bathroom of said bar. Bad decisions such as the ones Cuphead and Boris were making right now. After the unfortunate situation that Boris got nauseaus from drinking so much on an empty stomach and it ended up in him heaving all he drank into the closest plant pot. And Cuphead, I all his gentlemanliness, decided to help the poor puppet to the bathroom to get some water on his snout and wash the stale taste on the tongue. 

Nothing wrong till here, right? Wrong: there is something wrong alright when two drunk men end up making out in the bathroom like teens from a sappy early 1920’s romcom. “It must be illegal to be this fine, doggy.why are you alive?” 

“Because my mama gave birth to me.” Boris chuckled, still drunk out of his brain, with a craving deep writhing him that just couldn’t get put out with only a few kisses. “Com’ere pretty boy~” he cooed pulling Cuphead flush against himself and smashing his muzzle to his mouth in a desperate attempt to latch onto him as closely as possible. All teeth and tongue, the collector tried to get the upped he and back from the mutt pushing his tongue in the other’s mouth, only to be denied with a rather painful bite that drew out small droplets of blood – warm and slightly bitter from days of barely sleeping and escaping stress. Cuphead quickly pulled his head to the side, burying his face in his partner’s shoulder. 

“You don’t play fair, pooch…”   “I never said I play nice.” 

Boris started panting slightly, the gnawing hunger barely kept under a thin blanket of self restraint, fangs already bared, tail not only moving left and right like normal – it was calculated, to precise, too controlled. He wanted to give the collector the impression he was all safe and sound. But let’s be honest: no one is when Boris gets hungry. 

He pushed the cup-headed man to the nearest stall wall, holding him in place as he started to press his claws in his hips; not hard enough to pierce the porcelain skin, but enough to send the right message, ‘I am here. You are mine.’ Teeth coming down on Boris’s neck made him yelp, but not pull away. This was mutual, this was them both having the same drive to get the upper hand. Another whimper ripped out of the mutts throat before he managed to wiggle away some room and get away from those Peary whites threatening him. “Hah, so you have. A bit to ya too. How absolutely nice of you, honey” 

They kissed again, Cuphead feeling very, very excited about the fact he scored such a literal babe. And from what? Doing the bare minimum while both drunk? Amazing; he would’ve done it long before. If he knew Boris was this much of a simple man to woo, he would’ve done it long before, skipping the playing ‘cool and cold guy that’s a literal psycho’. After all, he wanted to feel his fur on his porcelain since day one when he got punched square in the face. So, his hands began to trail down before his brain could actually make a decision “I want you, pooch. I want you so fucking bad it hurts…” 

“Then let me help you get rid of the pain” 

And with that, Boris knelt down before Cuphead. Like clockwork the door to the bathroom opened and then closed just as fast, a poor sucker deciding he will not learn how to shack up in the back with. Wolf and a Collector. “How much do you think he saw?” Cuphead asked, reality finally kicking him in the shin and realizing how fucked up it was. Boris let out a softul, not really caring if anyone saw them right now; his mind and hands were too occupied undoing his man’s belt that just didn’t want to be opened at the moment. “Awe, pupper. Come on-” growing impatient himself, Cuphead finally worked it out for him. 

“Ain’t ya a doll~” 

“Shut up before I change my mind-“ that was all the wolf had to hear to yank down his pants and quickly fist his aching bonner, earning a low curse from the other. He gave him a few teasingly slow pumps, taking in the sight of his very drunk partner. He slowly, slowly gave him few teasing licks, tasting the slightly sour precum. Slightly sweet with just a dash of lemon to it; whatever it was, made Boris’ mind go foggy with need, his own pants becoming horribly uncomfortable at the moment.  

Cuphead reached down and gently placed a hand at the back of the wolf’s head, lightly guiding his he’d to take him in finally. But Boris refused and pulled away slightly. “You do realize I have a mouth full’a fangs right?” The collector chuckled, and sighed, leaning his own head to the wall, handle bumping on he plaster. “Lick it up, pup~” Boris was anything but a coward, Boris was anything but a hungry wolf who cannot keep his own instincts in check. Boris is- very much hungry. He growled loudly and dipped down, nipping quite roughly at cuphead’s left thigh. “Believe me… I can barely keep myself together right now you punk.” 

Oh that nip was dangerous, because he accidentally drew out a small sliver of blood. Once that sweet, sweet hemoglobin-irony scent it his nostrils, the wolf turned bad wolf in seconds. He licked, rough, slow on the small mark before yanking Cuphead sow by the hips. The other man gasped slightly as he found himself on the floor. “Hand and knees, buttercup.” That was no request, that was no question, that was a mother fucking order. And if Cuphead learned anything from living with an ex-military man, you never disobey a direct order. Not even a couple moments after rolling himself on his stomach, the collector felt Boris’ clawed paws roughly yank him back, those damned shiny talons threatening to crack his very much sensitive porcelain. 

The wolf quickly mounted him, and to be honest no one knows when he lost his own pants in the floor, but he did, throbbing member o so dangerously close to Cupheads hole, as his hand were keeping him spread. “Yer a sight for sore eyes, you know that?~” he grumbled with what little restraint he still had before pushing his hips forward. 

“Y-you fucking animal!”  “Yeah? Tell me something I don’t know.” 

Truth be told, rawdogin was one thing, going rawdoging on the floor of a pub, no paly no nothing was downright vile. Even for a horny blood sucking wolf like Boris. “Oh for the love of-” he slammed his hips forward, finally getting in- oh but not just getting in, almost bottoming out from the fucking first thrust. Cuphead moaned audiably, not really caring if someone was at the door r if patrons heard them from the main saloon “p-pup- huff oh celestial, fuck me!”  

Boris was a simple man wit simple needs: salty and overly greasy french fries, a small pouch of blood stolen from the local hospital and a beer once in a while were all what he needed. Until now… now, all he wanted was just to make sure Cuphead knew he owned him now. No other fucking man or woman will ever look at him again, he’ll make sure of it. Boris leaned in and bit down hard on Cuphead’s side of the neck while setting up a fast soppy pace. He punctured his skin, tasting more of that sweet metallic blood of his. The poor cup couldn’t really do much other than blabber breathless, moany nonesense, gripping at the floor tiles. 

“Oh my fuh-ahh! Easy! P-please p-please I can’t go form-much-ahh!” 

Did Boris slow down? Heck no. He finally got the cup’o’his dreams and he was so not going to let go of him. Having had his momentarily fill of blood though, he eventually let go of his neck, licking the deep would vigorously, as he continued to fuck into him with relentless abandon. He was chasing his sky high, not carrying about anything in the world than hearing those beautiful screams of his partner. “fucking hells, imma- mph-” 

He slowly ushedforward, forcing the slightly big knot past Cuphead’s poor hole, finally coming inside. The collector wasn’t in a different position ether, muffling his voice in his crossed forearms, his load not so discretely painting his lower stomach and the tiles underneath him. Both men panted like cray, trying to come down from their highs, both the alcohol and smell of sex clouding their minds and not allowing them to get a better grip on reality.