Mar’Kub’s Tavern was far, far from what any sane person would consider a fine, well-kept establishment. The bar was a hole; a bottomless pit for violent reprobates and sorrowful outcasts to come and wash away their money and sorrows in pints of watered-down alcohol and cheap tobacco. The interior of the bar was almost comically grimey. Every stool and chair sat with an obvious tilt, most of which was due to all of them being as old as the bar itself. Every mug and glass was faded and speckled, coated in a thick layer of film from the constant use and the lack of cleaning. Smoke poured out of every crack and crevice as the miraid of patrons puffed away to their heart’s content, leaving the air thick with a toxic fog of cigar and cigarette smoke. The entire place stunk of man, with the hot, humid interior mingling with the unkempt bar goers to create an almost noxious reek of sweaty, funky stink.
On this particular night, the bar was alive with the sound of cheers and hollars, along with the occasional grunt and whimper. It was well known amongst the patrons that every Friday was punch-night. Punch-night was a barbaric, mindless sport, if you could even call it that. The game was simply played by selecting two hulking individuals, and having the duo take turns landing blows to the other one’s stomach. The first one to admit defeat, or pass out, was the loser while the last man standing was obviously the victor. The sport had left more than a few men on their knees, clinging to reality or draped over tables with a noticeable lack of consciousness.
Tonight was a particularly joyous occasion, as Garzub had decided to take part in the festivities. The orc was known to enjoy the sport, and usually won every time he took part, but the past few weeks he’d been noticeably absent due to an injury he’d sustained during a fierce battle. Now that the orc was back, all that remained from the fight was a noticeable scar across his shoulder, and an even more unbearable attitude.
The orc stood at a respectable six foot, weighing in at around two hundred and fifty pounds. He was absolutely covered in muscle, leaving no inch of his body unmaintained. His light green skin could barely contain the rippling, bundle of iron-hard muscle underneath, making his entire body seem rock-hard and impenetrable. Men joked at the fact that a blade was even able to enter his steely flesh, but the myriad of scars and cuts coating his flesh left nothing to the imagination when it came to his experience in combat. The orc much favored using his hands when it came to fighting, though that didn’t hinder his deadliness in the slightest. He was still known to crack the spine or the neck of an assailant if the mood struck him, which made most men approach him with a groveling, ass-kissing demeanor.
Garzub’s contender for the night was a large, imposing minotaur. The beast stood a good two-feet above the orc, and nearly doubled his weight. Though his size was monstrous, he lacked nothing in muscle, especially thick around his rippling biceps. The fighter gave a solid, thrusting punch to Garzub’s tightened belly, making the orc recoil only slightly before giving a hearty laugh. Spectators laughed and cheered as Garzub stood seemingly unaffected by the powerful blow, simply laughing the pain away and giving his gut a few nice slaps to show the audience that he’d bellied the punch like a champ, made even more impressive by how long the two had been going at it.  “Don’t worry fellas, I might actually feel the next punch!” he roared, issuing another round of laughs from the crowd.
The minotaur blushed slightly, giving a loud snort and a huff. “Very funny, green-skin, that was only a warm-up.” He put his hands to his side, leaving his stomach exposed for Garzub to strike. The orc continued working the crowd, flexing his stomach for everyone before turning quickly, landing a blow on the minotaur’s stomach with no warning. He could feel his fist digging through the bovine’s yielding flesh, finding his soft, squishy interior quaking around his knuckles. His hand retreated, only to be replaced by the minotaur’s own as he fell to his knees, sucking air through his teeth as he hissed and moaned.
“Now THAT’S a real punch!” A short rat from the crowd exclaimed. The rat in question was a scrawny, stalky little whelp named Beetle. The timid little thing had taken to following Garzub around as a sort of entourage, making sure to fulfil every little request the orc had while simultaneously kissing his ass and shouting his praise at every occasion. His cheer had ignited the crowd, leaving everyone screaming and hollering at the top of their lungs as the poor, bested minotaur finally got back to his feet. The onlookers waited with baited breath, waiting for the minotaur’s response. With his pride thoroughly shattered, the beast let out one final snort, ducking his head and dashing past the crowd before he could even hear the cacophony of laughter. “GARZUB WINS! GARZUB WINS! GARZUB WINS AGAIN!” Beetle yelled, running to the orc’s side so he could attempt to lift his arm up above his head. Without thinking, Garzub did just that, flinging Beetle to the side while the entire bar roared his praises.
“A beer for Garzub on me!”
“No way in hell, I’m getting him a beer!”
“Two beers for Garzub, on my tab!”
“Hey, back off! I’m getting him a beer!”
The crowd bickered and agrued amongst themselves, all desperate to show their love and adoration for the victorious orc. Finally Garzub silenced them. “Fellas, please...all of you can buy me a beer!”
The entire crowd erupted anew, rushing to the counter to buy Garzub a pint. Well, all except a single patron, who was currently nursing his own beer out at the corner of the bar table, looking very upset by the constant hooting and hollering of the massive crowd.
The wolf took another swig from his glass, cringing at the watery, acrid taste that sat on his tongue. His name was Gunn. He was a huge specimen, standing at a staggering seven feet tall and weighing in at an impressive three hundred pounds, most of which was muscle. His entire body was coated in ebony-black fur, with a pair of piercing eyes and ivory teeth that stood in stark contrast to his midnight fur. Much of the wolf’s staggering size and strength could be chalked up to his profession of choice. He was a construction worker, spending most days hauling huge pieces of lumber and stones from one place to another, sawing through boards and placing stones. His paws were callused and leathery. He looked up from his glass for a second, sighing at the growing crowd as he did his best to ignore them.
Gunn possessed quite a specific trait, that being that he was completely and unabashedly gay, despite trying to keep it a secret and being none too successful at it. Now, the village he lived in had no laws against homosexuality or anything, but the practice was still quite taboo. Most people either looked down upon it or simply believed it to be odd or bizarre. It wasn’t so much in the way people talked about him, but in the way they didn’t. It was a feeling, walking into a room that suddenly fell silent, hushed whispers as he walked down the streets or into the markets, the odd giggle or smirk as he eyed a possible mate. Of course there was no shortage of assholes who were quite vocal about their displeasure, but it was a rather rare occurrence. Gunn’s size made most people hold their tongue, and the few people who dared make a comment usually fell silent once he gave them his trademark glare. Despite his imposing size, Gunn wasn’t much of a fighter, if one at all. He’d had no formal training in fisticuffs, and most of his strategy simply relied on being stronger than the unfortunate fool who crossed his path.
Garzub gulped down his brew, slamming the glass upon the table and letting out an audible belch. Even after five beers he had only just barely begun to feel the effects of the alcohol, making him grumble in frustration. An orc’s natural state was in varying stages of intoxication, damnit! “Another beer! And make it the good stuff, enough of this piss-water!” he shouted, banging his fist on the table.”
“Yeah, enough of the cheap stuff! It’s an insult to be serving Gar this trash!” Beetle added, giving Garzub’s shoulder a pat.
“What did I tell you about calling me Gar?” Garzub growled, pushing Beetle off his shoulder, “And stop touching me!”
“Y-Yeah, s-sorry Garzub, w-won’t happen again!” Beetle stuttered, shuffling around in his seat anxiously as the bartender came back with two new pints for the pair. Beetle reached out to grab his mug, but he was quickly intercepted by Garzub, who plucked both glasses off the table and proceeded to guzzle them both down at the same time. After polishing off both glasses, Garzub looked up over the crowd, spying Gunn out of the corner of his eye.
The memory of the orc’s only encounter with the wolf came rushing back to him like a tidal wave. Garzub knew him. It had been a rather slow day at the tavern. The regular festivities had ended rather quickly as only a couple poor patrons had decided to challenge Gar, leaving the rest of the night to be filled with even more drinking and partying. Gunn had also partook in the festivities, getting himself nice and sloshed before attempting to “make a move” on the inebriated orc. His first instinct was to talk to Garzub, but as he approached the smaller orc, the sight of his rippling muscles and toned pecs got the better of him. His first move was to reach his hand back and grope the orc’s muscular butt, making Gar jump out of his seat with a surprised gasp. He quickly turned, ready to clock whoever was foolish enough to make such an advance on him, only to discover how large and imposing his mysterious onlooker was.
“H-Hi there, I *hic*...I couldn’t help but notice you sitting there, all by your lonesome, and me sitting here, with an empty pint and a hardon that could break diamond.” Gunn sputtered, spraying a mixture of beer and spittle across Gar’s chest. “I’ll tell you what, green-man, you and I go back to my place and have a little tussle. Winner gets to top. Whatdyasay?”
“I say,” Garzub rose from his seat, taking a full tankard of beer in his hand and splashing it in Gunn’s face, instantly sobering the wolf up as he recoiled from the stinging liquid, “You ever try touching me again, faggot, and you’re a dead man.” Garzub sneered, waving to the bartender to pour him another drink to replace the one he’d wasted. Gunn left the bar soon afterwards, trying to preserve as much of his pride as possible and hoping that no one else had seen his pitiful advances.
“Beetle!” Gar shouted, hoisting the rat up by his scruff and pointing his head in Gunn’s direction. “That’s the queer I was telling you about! The one who tried makin’ a move on me.”
“Oh yeah, I see him boss! You wanna pummel him? Maybe I could have a go at him!”
“You? HA! He’d leave you as a bloody stain on the floorboards! Let me handle this, just get us a crowd would you?”
Beetle did as he was told, ushering the rest of the patrons around Garzub as the orc made his way to the corner of the bar table, finally standing right behind Gunn as he polished off yet another drink. “Ahem.” Gar piped up, catching Gunn’s attention as he rose from his cup and turned to face the large orc.
“You lose something, mate?” Gunn grumbled, motioning for the bartender to grab him another drink as Garzub stepped even closer, leaning in over the larger wolf’s back.
“Must be usual for you, having another male this close.” he chuckled, making both Beetle and the rest of the patrons laugh as well. “You remember me, aye? I don’t think you’d be able to forget.”
“Yes I remember you...although judging by your stink I can’t imagine what I was thinking.” Gunn fanned the air in front of his snout, making the bar patrons gasp.
“Hey, you don’t talk to Gar like that! He’ll knock you into n-”
“Can it, Beetle.” Garzub shot back, making the rat fall silent. “I think it’s about time I repay you for that night, wouldn’t you agree?”
“What do you have in mind, whelp?” Gunn questioned, nursing his brand new pint.
“Gut-punching. First to fall loses, easy as that. I suppose I could always pummel you into a bloody hole in the ground, but I think we should do this the proper way.
Gunn chuckled. Of course he’d never really had any proper training in combat, but his size and strength almost guaranteed his victory. He swished his beer around in his mug, “My gut’s seen far, far worse than you, green-skin.” he taunted, finishing his beer and slamming the glass down with just enough restraint to not break it. “I’d be just as happy to sit here and continue drinking, but if you’re set on humiliating yourself in front of all your brain-dead followers, then be my guest.” Gunn rose from his seat, feeling the beer swishing around in his distended gut. Of course having a full stomach was the worst possible state of being for a round of gut-punching, but Gunn didn’t worry too much. He’d probably take a knock or two before bringing Garzub to his knees, he was sure of it.
The crowd backed off, giving the two plenty of space to start their brawl. Gunn gave both his arms a good stretch, bringing either limb up past his chin and pressing it inward with the other arm until he felt that the muscle was fully loosened. “You sure you don’t wanna call this off? I’d hate break your winning streak.”
“I’d hate to break your spine in half, you soft-bellied faggot. Be grateful I’m not driving your skull into the dirt.” Garzub shot back, his teeth peeled back into a growl.
“Yeah, be lucky he ain’t killing you...I mean, be lucky he isn’t uh...be lucky h-” Beetle tried to think of something clever to add, but nothing came to mind. A quick glare from Gar shut him up rather quickly.
“Alright fag, you know the rules I take it?” Garzub fished a coin out of his trousers, flipping it into the air. “Call it.”
“Heads.”
“You’re probably more accustomed to giving head instead of calling it.” Gar cackled, issuing another round of laughter from the audience and making Gunn’s cheeks burn red. The coin bounced a couple times on the floorboards, but ended up landing tails-side up. “Don’t matter anyway, I get to go first.”
“You’re right, it isn’t gonna matter. Whatever you hit me with, it’ll be double for you.” Gunn taunted, giving his gut a gentle smack, cringing at the feeling of all the alcohol sloshing about inside of it.
Gunn wasn’t quite sure if he should tighten his stomach or let it loosen, but as Garzub sank a killer uppercut into his gut with no warm up or fanfare, Gunn wasn’t given much of a choice but to let the entire fist sink deep into his belly. The alcohol in his stomach sloshed and squeezed around Gar’s hand like a big furry water balloon. Garzub forced his hand deeper, pushing Gunn over the edge as he let loose a humiliating “YOWLLLLLLL!” His cheeks puffed up and his tongue poked through his pursed lips, blowing air out like a whoopie cushion. It felt like a century before Gar finally brought his hand back, taking all of Gunn’s structural fortitude with it. The wolf crumpled to the floor, resting on his hands and knees as the crowd roared in excitement.
“ONE PUNCH! HE WENT DOWN IN ONE PUNCH!”
“WHAT A WEAKLING!”
“GARZUB REALLY IS THE STRONGEST WARRIOR EVER!”
“What a soft-bellied faggot!” Beetle called out over the crowd, making them all chant the same. “SOFT-BELLIED FAGGOT! SOFT-BELLIED FAGGOT! SOFT-BELLIED FAGGOT!” Garzub simply stood at Gunn’s side, taking great pleasure in seeing his former suitor writhing in pain. He kneeled down by Gunn’s side, taking hold of the wolf’s ear and whispering into it. “Remember this.” was all he said. He rose to his feet, giving his hands a single clap as he addressed the bar. “Alright lads, I’m spent! I think I’ll call it a night and head home, unless the soft-bellied faggot has anything else to say?” he kneeled down again, giving Gunn a rough pat on the back. “Well bitch?”
Gunn groaned, wrath burning in his eyes. “G-Go fuck yours-URRRKKK!” Before he could even finish, a swill of beer and bile came pouring out past his lips, landing on the floor of the bar with a sickening splat. The amount of alcohol he’d imbibed, mixed with the massive hit to his gut was more than enough to make him puke. The entire crowd laughed and applauded Gunn’s disgusting, humiliating display; all except the barkeeper, who knew he’d be the one cleaning up that mess. “Alright alright, everyone get out of here, you all have had enough fun for one night!” the bartender called, shooing everyone out through the door except for Gunn. “And you,” he looked back to the prone wolf, tossing a dirty bar rag onto his muzzle. “Either wipe up that puke or lick it up. If it’s there when I get back, you ain’t drinking here again. You understand, you soft-bellied faggot?” he taunted, right before disappearing through to the back room.

“Gah, this place is dead.” groaned Garzub, looking over the tavern with a supreme sense of boredom. A few weeks had passed since the faithful night with Garzub and Gunn, and on this particular night Gar found himself particularly parched. The entire place was almost completely empty, save for an older lion talking to the barkeep and a husky boar who seemed all too happy to do nothing but chug his beer and stare off into oblivion. “I know it’s a weekday but come on, you’d think this place would be a little more lively.”
“Yeah, especially with you being here and all. I told a couple guys you’d be in the mood for a few drinks, but everyone just whined about ‘having to work’ or ‘being tired’. Pftt, cowards.” Beetle replied, holding his nose as he took a swig of his own pint. The small rat was none too accustomed to the taste of alcohol, but he didn’t want to show any sign of weakness, especially in front of his idol.
“YOU!”
Across the tavern came a frightening call. Everyone turned in their chairs to spot Gunn, standing in the doorway wearing nothing but his soaking-wet fur. Garzub considered for a moment if it was raining outside, but from the obscured view behind Gunn it seemed to be a fairly nice evening outside.
“Why are you dripping wet, boy? Some queer fetish I don’t know about.”
“No you idiot, I just came from the bath house!” Gunn advanced towards Garzub. “I was going about my usual ritual when a couple of the other bathgoers saw me. They said something about my stomach and being a faggot, then told me to get lost.”
“And you just bent over and took that? You really are a fag!” Beetle taunted, making Garzub chuckle. “What does this have to do with Garzub, bitch?”
“Because of him, everyone in town thinks they can fuck around with me. I can’t go ten feet without hearing about my stomach or how much I love...ah never mind.” Gunn shook his head, sending splatter of water all across the bar, much to the bartender’s dismay. “I’m here to set things straight!”
“For once in your life, you care about things being straight?” Garzub interupted, laughing at his own joke. “Well go ahead, let’s hear it.”
“There’s not much to hear. I’m straight, end of story. You tell all your little buddies and that little ass-licker beside you that, got it?”
“Hey! You don’t talk to Garzub OR me like that, you understand, tail-raiser?” Beetle shouted, only to hide behind Gar once Gunn made an advance towards them.
“Say that again you little shit! I dare you!”
“Enough, both of you.” Garzub interjected, raising a single hand to stop the duo from their bickering. “So, you came here to tell us all you’re straight? That doesn’t sound much like something a straight man would do.”
“I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you idiots! I’m perfectly fine just going about my business, but when my sexuality comes into question I have to quash any rumors.”
“Rumors you say?” Garzub chuckled. The orc was concocting a rather devilish idea, one that he was sure would settle once and for all whether or not Gunn was as much the lady killer that he said he was. Garzub was quite comfortable with his sexuality, something that was a must when you spent most of your weekends trading blows with huge, muscle-bound men. There was no question in his mind that he sought the company of women, so when he leaned back in his chair, giving his abs a quick pat, he knew he had nothing to worry about. “So you’re telling me you don’t see anything you like?”
“N-No! Of course I don’t!” Gunn replied quickly, averting his eyes. Despite his best efforts, he found his vision drifting back to Gar’s sculpted pecs. The muscle over his stomach was taught as a drawn bow, with just a light dusting of hair although not enough to obscure his incredible physique. Garzub shifted slightly, making his muscles tense underneath his green skin. Gunn could feel his body reacting before he had any time to halt it. Beads of sweat added to his already damp fur as a familiar heat began to pulse through his body, most of which began shooting straight to his uncovered crotch.
“You’ve been eyeing me for quite a while, whelp. Something tells me you’re not being honest with yourself.”
“I-I’m just staring at that gut on you is all.”
“HA! I’d be offended if I wasn’t fully aware what you’re trying to do.”
“And what might that be?”
Garzub motioned to Gunn’s crotch, “Delaying the inevitable.” he spoke.
Gunn followed Garzub’s gaze, looking down past his belly to see that his cock had emerged from the fuzzy confines of his sheath, and was currently bouncing gently against his stomach; a tiny bead of pre resting precariously on the tip of his massive red rocket. “Looks like those rumors just might be true.” Garzub smirked, downing the rest of his glass while the other patrons looked on in disgust and awe. The boar gagged, averting his eyes instantly and calling to the bartender to throw the wolf out, while both the bartender and the lion wrinkled their noses in disgust.
“EWW! Look, he really is a soft-bellied faggot!” Beetle called out, pointing at Gunn’s erection and jostling Gar’s shoulder. “See? See? You were right, Gar! I mean, of course you were right, you’re always right, but still, you’re right!”
Garzub said nothing, at least not at first, aside from the massive grin plastered over his mug. He leaned forward in his chair, taking his time getting out of it before standing casually to his feet. “Sorry faggot, looks like there’s no hiding it anymore.”
“SHUT UP, GREEN-SKIN!” Gunn shouted, slamming a fist on the bar table in anger.