WHORROR FREAK

Living with a werewolf was a lot like having a dog — not always, not with every wolf, but definitely with this one specifically. Maybe it was because Justin wasn’t bitten; he was born a wolf but oddly socialized. He swore he used to be a normal member of his pack, well-behaved and obedient, but now Justin was . . . well, he was still obedient, at least.

Losing a pack was a traumatic experience. Chris was merely a human, not a werewolf, but he knew that much. He’d heard stories, seen the effects; rather than become some hollowed-out shell howling at shadows in hopes of hearing a familiar echo, though, Justin seemed to have grown outwards in search of meaning. The face he turned toward the world without the shape his pack provided him to fill was vibrant and colorful.

Shortly after moving in with Chris, an odd string of events that Chris could never relay to someone else in a way that made sense, Justin had asked if Chris could teach him how to do his makeup. “I never got to learn,” Justin explained, looking sheepish — a peculiar expression and demeanor for such a large, bulky frame.

So Chris sat Justin down in fits and bursts: the first time was the longest, Chris doing Justin’s entire face in makeup with input and feedback from the supernatural as they went. Justin had stared for a long minute and then grinned, a slightly unsettling sight with the lipstick stretched too far past his lips, but it had been so endearing. And kind of hot.

Within a few weeks, Justin was doing his own makeup pretty regularly — most of the looks bizarre, far from natural. Some days he couldn’t be bothered, of course, but he seemed to be in a better mood while he was done up in pale foundation. He didn’t go out in it, but that was because he didn’t go out at first. He wouldn’t talk about it, always finding something else, anything else to interject with when Chris tried to ease an explanation from him, but it was obviously something that haunted him.

Chris was haunted too, so he didn’t press the issue. If Justin didn’t demand that Chris bare his own ghosts, Chris wouldn’t demand a recounting of skeletons. He’d let the cobwebs settle if that was what Justin needed. 

“We should go out,” Chris said one day, offhanded and casual. They were cooking, Ricky due to come over soon — he had an odd banter with Justin but always somehow ended up perched on his knee, so Chris assumed they liked each other.

Justin glanced over at Chris and blinked at him like the words were impossible to translate into something that made sense. “Go out?” he echoed, and there was that curious little tilt of his head, a puppy dog angle that said Justin wasn’t entirely opposed to it, just confused.

A pause as Chris nudged at Justin’s shoulder with his own, a gentle herding out of the way so Chris had access to the pan. It was always convenient that he could angle his body a certain way, move in closer, and Justin would mindlessly drift in whatever direction Chris wanted. “Yeah, we could go get ice cream. You always eat all of the pints I bring home.” It was more amusing than anything, because no human could feasibly put away entire tubs of ice cream in an hour the way that Justin could.

Oh, that seemed to get Justin’s interest in full. He perked up, and Chris could almost imagine a tail lifting, wagging without reserve, the same way Justin’s wolf would swing their own when they saw Chris in the woods on a full moon — the only time Justin left the house, though that never felt like a proper trip, given it was from the front door to Chris’s car, then from Chris’s car to the woods near his place. 

“Yeah, that sounds good. I’d be up for it,” Justin agreed with a sort of levity that struck Chris as odd. He had expected resistance disguised as an absentminded detour, not an easy sort of acquiescence; that being said, he certainly wasn’t complaining. Ricky had a stubborn streak wide enough to satisfy any yearning Chris might have had for a brat.

Chris took Justin out for ice cream the next day. Justin was quiet the walk there, the time they sat at the booth, and the traipse back home. The door shut and then Justin made a face, shaking out his arms. “I forgot how many things smelled,” he commented, which struck Chris as odd. His house smelled too, but he could have been misunderstanding. 

“Did something stink?” he asked, toeing off his shoes and watching Justin pause mid-step as he scrambled to get his own off.

Justin shook his head, stopped, then snorted. “I mean, some guy reeked of Axe body spray. That sucked. But there were so many scents that I didn’t know. I guess I knew them, I could tell you what they were, they just weren’t familiar.” The attempt at the explanation was interrupted mid-sentence at one point, briefly, by Justin flopping on the couch.

Chris made a vague noise of understanding: Justin hadn’t left the house much since Chris had brought the shifted and wounded wolf home. In fact, as far as he knew, Justin had only ventured outside of the four walls to shift in the nearby woods once a full moon. 

“Was it okay otherwise? Besides the smells?” Chris asked, emphasizing the last word in the same manner Justin had. He was pleased that it made Justin snort, always enjoying when he could make the large man laugh — it was such a full sound, teeming with amusement and often joy. It contrasted sharply with the manner in which Justin would shut down, how he’d rarely but markedly withdraw into shadows cast by something Chris couldn’t see.

A slow, almost leisurely nod from Justin before his head rolled back to rest against the couch. “Yeah, it was okay. The ice cream was banger.” He gave a lopsided grin, then patted the cushion next to him. “I do have a weird favor to ask,” he added, as if most of his requests weren’t odd.

Curiosity was what pushed Chris to oblige without an immediate inquiry, settling much less emphatically than Justin. Though similar in height, Justin was thicker, but the disparity in size still didn’t quite seem to account for the difference in the manner of their movements. Chris often imagined how Justin might have moved and carried himself when hunting: a contrasting litheness that allowed him to move with subtlety and care, no longer stomping about and seeming to ensure his own safety through heft alone.

Before Chris could ask, Justin was hauling him in by the shoulder and nosing his way into Chris’s hair. It earned a brief, surprised tensing from Chris, but then he relaxed into it, trusting Justin to remain affectionate despite how bizarre and unexpected such a gesture was. “The new smells have me feeling weird. Figured something familiar might help.” He burrowed further into Chris’s strands and inhaled deeply enough for even human ears to catch the sound.

Chris laughed. “You could have asked,” he remarked, though he notably did not pull away or protest. In fact, a hand landed on Justin’s thigh, perhaps a bit higher on the thick, muscled limb than strictly necessary. He allowed Justin the chance to breathe in his scent uninhibited, tilting his head in bemused compliance when the werewolf nosed lower. A tucking in of his face against the crook of Chris’s jaw, and Justin seemed to settle there, content.

“I can hear your heartbeat,” Justin announced, breaking the silence that had settled, softly accented by sniffling and the rustling of clothes as they both shifted around to find comfortable positions. “You have a werewolf right at your throat . . .” He moved then, lips barely brushing against Chris’s neck, over the ink-adorned skin. “. . . and you sound calm. Relaxed. Like we’re watching a dumb reality show together.” Chris was certain Justin heard the momentary jar in rhythm when teeth grazed flesh, though it certainly wasn’t a fear response.

Chris illustrated the effect it had on him by tipping his head and baring his throat further. Perhaps there might have been a risk there, had the wolf been anyone but Justin. Five months couldn’t reasonably justify such a deep-rooted trust, but something about the manner in which Justin unfailingly gazed at Chris had settled any reservations only weeks into having his bizarre new housemate. 

There was a remarkably tinted fondness for Justin, something Chris had hesitated to act on for the ambiguity of its nature. It was a peculiar sort of affection: there was undoubtedly a carnal sort of desire, twisted and hot, but Justin felt more akin to a pet at times than a partner. Perhaps it was cruel and unkind, but Chris was unable to shape it into something more appropriate.

Chris’s words were soft, and he felt Justin press a faintly-stubbled cheek to the column of his throat as if in search of the vibrations that shook his vocal cords. “I know you won’t hurt me.” The statement came with an unwavering, solid sort of assurance, and he punctuated the confidence by carding fingers through Justin’s hair but allowing him to continue mouthing at his neck.

One of Justin’s hands — a big, occasionally clumsy paw of a thing, all thick fingers and calloused palm — moved to Chris’s chest and slid down slowly. He kneaded at the hint of softness of Chris’s lower stomach, above the fabric of his shirt but still remarkably hot upon contact. For all of the remarks Justin offered about feeling cold, the chill that seemed to haunt him despite the reasonable temperature Chris kept his house at, every instance of physical contact had involved surprise at how warm Justin was.

“Yeah?” Justin rumbled, and there was a heat to his words now as well. He gave Chris’s skin firm kisses, a series of them down the length of offered flesh. “You think you’ve got the feral wolf tamed?” Chris found himself moaning softly at the feeling of a tongue dragging up, never one for restraining or concealing his own pleasure.

Chris laughed softly, though the amusement wavered a bit when it left his slightly-parted lips. “Feral, sure. Tamed?” He made a thoughtful noise, turning over the notion in his head. “Not quite yet, but I think it’d be fun to get you there,” he mused, giving Justin’s hair a sharp, short tug — meant to sting, not to dislodge him from his attentive, languid lavishing.

The way they settled into it felt easy and natural, even though they’d spent the past months merely dancing around the static between them. Justin’s gaze tended to linger for longer than Chris’s did, and there had been a sort of amusement sparked by it that led to Chris seeing how long it would take for Justin to break. After all, with how insistent Justin’s attention was, Chris was curious when that desire would boil over.

Justin’s hand moved to settle on Chris’s throat, and Chris started to turn toward the werewolf, but Justin was already there — he kissed Chris a little lopsided, growling low in his throat despite how he almost missed Chris’s mouth. He pulled back just enough for Chris to properly face him and proceeded to devour him, all lips and tongue and more than a little teeth. He leaned his whole body into it, the hand not settled on Chris’s neck shoving up under his shirt to paw at bare skin.

Chris found Justin’s appetite sparked his own. There was something about how eagerly Justin took — taking, not asking, not waiting for a wordless agreement, just surging forward and tasting — that made it easy to give in. Despite that, there was no question as to who was in charge; just to prove his point to himself, Chris broke the kiss and exhaled, “Stop.” It was barely audible to his own ears, but there was no doubt Justin caught the word.

The response was instant — Justin pulled back, panting softly, and stared at Chris with a hooded, starved gaze. For how his fingers twitched against Chris’s stomach, he didn’t move, just waited. Chris could feel the need buzzing beneath Justin’s skin, but that didn’t manifest externally in impatience or frustration. Despite the fact that Chris hadn’t tamed Justin yet, the werewolf still heeled beautifully.

“I am not fucking you on the couch,” Chris announced, and that statement did earn a whine — one that quieted the second Chris’s eyebrows rose. “We’re going to my bed.” Despite the fact Justin still had a light but steady grip on his throat, Chris’s voice was unwavering.

There was no hesitation on Justin’s part. He jumped up and tugged Chris with him by both hands in a gesture so innocently eager that Chris laughed. As Justin herded him like a lost sheep into his bedroom, Chris glanced back and smirked. He would have so much fun taking this hulking wolf apart until Justin howled on command, and there was no doubt Justin would come back for seconds.

Despite that lust, tinged at the edges in something almost mean in nature, there was also fondness in Chris’s chest. It swelled as Justin abandoned Chris to dive into Chris’s bed, burying his face in Chris’s blankets to blatantly inhale his scent. Justin continued to nose around and sniff as Chris flicked on the light, only lifting his head and blinking with a faintly puzzled expression when Chris cleared his throat.

“Oh,” Justin uttered, sitting up. “We were gonna fuck.” He sounded like he had genuinely forgotten, had derailed thoroughly once given the opportunity to bury himself in Chris’s scent, and Chris wondered if it could truly be blamed on the heavy-handed Axe scent from before. Certainly Justin had lingered close before, had lifted his nose slightly in a gesture Chris had no problem deciphering, but it had never been this full-bodied and enthusiastic.

Maybe Justin had harbored greater feelings than Chris had caught hints of.

Chris tilted his head with a challenge to his words. “Would you rather roll around in the sheets? I can go do something else.” As if Chris would be content with leaving this where it was, unresolved and burning in his own gut. As if Chris wasn’t determined to have Justin in every way possible, to sate the part of himself that had lingered on thoughts of how the werewolf’s cock would feel fucking him open.

Justin snorted. “Yeah, sure. Go fold towels. I’ll just jerk off in your bed.” As if to convey he was joking, he moved forward — clumsy despite his supernatural nature, something Chris found endlessly amusing — and grabbed at Chris’s sides. A far from gentle tug on Chris’s hips had Chris falling into the bed, laughing again. Justin didn’t hesitate, hands all but yanking at Chris’s clothes. “I need you naked,” he insisted.

Part of Chris wanted to chastise Justin for his demand, but Chris couldn’t deny he also needed them both stripped bare. He wanted his fingers and teeth on the parts of Justin he’d yet to see, desired mapping out those places that made Justin squirm or moan. There was an urge to press at the vulnerable bits, to get this wolf on his back and helpless, just to prove he could. 

It didn’t take much. The undressing part of the endeavor was clumsy and stuttered for how earnest Justin was, the way his hands fumbled and their limbs bumped into each other. Eventually, Chris pushed Justin’s chest until the werewolf laid on his back. “Stay,” he ordered. Since Justin was already naked, somehow, all he had to do was stand and finish peeling off his own clothes.

Once Chris stripped, he sat on Justin’s thighs and grinned down at him. It felt like a feral expression, something tilted and toothy, and it matched how he dragged his nails down Justin’s chest. He watched the werewolf’s back arch up into the touch, drinking in the low, rattling groan that emanated from Justin’s bared throat. The lines were bright red and vivid but faded almost instantly, and Chris frowned to himself.

“Do you always heal that fast?” Chris inquired, repeating the motion and watching the same process occur. When Justin nodded, he leaned down to dig his teeth into the strong line of Justin’s shoulder — a hard, deep bite that came without warning. It would have drawn blood if Justin had been human, but now it earned Chris another throaty sound and nails scrabbling at his own hips. He pulled back, caught the shadowed remnants that faded a moment later. 

Justin shrugged in odd contrast to his sharp, ragged breaths. “It takes a lot to mark me up. I don’t think anyone’s left something that lasted.” He was clearly lying: there was a scar on his right shoulder, close to the curve where it met his neck, raised tissue in the shape of teeth. Part of Chris wanted to press the issue, and he even brushed his fingers over what had obviously been a bite, but then Justin bristled and he decided to set it aside.

Chris found it far more enticing — and far easier — to introduce himself to Justin’s dick. It was certainly appropriate for the size of the werewolf himself: long and thick, a hefty weight in his hand as he wrapped his fingers around it and gave a few experimental pumps. “You know, I don’t usually choke on dicks,” he mused aloud, absentmindedly, ignoring the way Justin whined in the back of his throat and pressed up into his touch, “but I think you’d make a mess of me with this one.”

A soft, trembling breath left Justin. “Thanks? I think?” he managed. “Or please? Fuck, Chris.” The twist of Chris’s hand just below the crown had Justin shuddering, eyes scrunched shut against the pleasure Chris could feel thrumming through Justin’s body. His free hand wandered and groped, scratched and clawed despite the futility to it: there was something about the little bit of give above hard, firm muscle that made Chris faintly delirious.

But what a waste it’d be, really, to have such a large cock in his hand and not get fucked stupid by it. Chris released Justin’s dick and stood, laughing openly at how Justin whined and immediately sat up to chase him. He shoved at Justin’s broad chest, hard enough to make his point but nowhere near firmly enough to actually move him, and tried to give a stern look that was completely undermined by how funny he found the predictability of it all. “Stay,” he repeated.

Chris took his time getting the condom he’d forgotten earlier. He toyed with it for a moment, glanced back over his shoulder at Justin (who hadn’t actually laid back down but had at least stayed where he was on the bed), and held up the shiny foil packaging. “Do you want to use this?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer. At least he could say he checked.

The answer was an emphatic shake of Justin’s head. “No. Jesus. You’ll smell like me if we don’t,” he replied instantly, groaning low in his chest at the very thought of it. He took a breath and shakily added, “Unless you want to.” It clearly killed him, the very thought of conceding that satisfaction, but it was so endearing that Justin pushed through anyways.

A soft snort was the only answer Chris gave. He dropped the condom back in the drawer, shoved it (mostly) shut, and made his way back to the bed. “Catch.” He tossed Justin the bottle of lube and watched him — somehow, potentially impossibly, given what Chris knew about werewolves — fumble it for a solid five seconds before snagging it.

“I didn’t know werewolves could be clumsy,” Chris mused, shoving at Justin to get him to move. He supposed it wouldn’t have been surprising if Justin was an exception, given how peculiar the man was in general. He stole a kiss that turned into five or six of them and ended up on all fours, then lowered to his elbows to present himself properly.

Justin laughed even as his free hand pawed at Chris’s ass, big fingers squeezing and kneading with a firm enough grip to make Chris shudder. “I’m fucking huge, Chris. Werewolf or not, I was born to be a big idiot who falls over all the time,” he argued, and he kept talking so casually that Chris actually jolted a bit when he felt Justin’s exhale against his hole.

There was a dusting of stubble on Justin’s cheeks and jaw, and Chris felt it prickle against his own skin as Justin buried his face and lapped at Chris’s hole — tongue thick and hot, dragging repeatedly and making a mess far faster than should have been possible. Chris’s breath left him in a sharp exhale when Justin pulled back, but any protest was forgotten when all Justin did was spit and then dive back in.

As much as Chris wanted to indulge in Justin eating him out like a starving wolf tasting tender, raw meat for the first time in months, he also knew that he wanted more. “I want your cock,” Chris managed, and it was meant to be a demand. The attempt at instruction came out far too shaky, though, and sounded a bit like a plea as Justin’s tongue pressed against his rim. “I want your knot.” 

That earned a response. Justin pulled away again, thumb replacing his mouth. It slid inside Chris easily, and Justin left it hooked inside him as he spoke. “Knots are actually an urban legend,” he informed Chris, the bed dipping and creaking as Justin shifted his weight around and sidled up closer.

Chris groaned and dropped his head. “Are you shitting me? It’s not—” Maybe it was greedy of him, to be faced with a cock the size of Justin’s and an undoubtedly earnest fuck ahead of him but still want for more, but Chris had always fantasized about it: some half-feral wolf taking him from behind, popping a knot and breeding him despite how futile it was to pump Chris full.

“Oh my god,” Justin interrupted, laughing so hard that it seemed to bounce off the walls. “You’re really that upset? You’re so fucking weird, Chris. People have been disgusted by my knot before, and here you are, whining about not getting it. I’m fucking with you, dude. I am absolutely going to knot you,” he promised, words punctuated by the click of the lube bottle.

It was hard to properly gripe at Justin when he was suddenly pressing two thick fingers inside him. Chris keened and fisted the sheets, bared his teeth in a wordless snarl at how good the burn felt. “I’m a — fuck — a monsterfucker, Justin. You should be able to tell that about me.” He licked his lips between heavy, shaking pants, angling his hips to better present himself.

Justin’s voice was deeper now, a hint of rumble to the words. “I mean, I guess that’s obvious. Sure as shit know how horny you are.” He worked his fingers haphazardly, pressing them knuckles deep and then withdrawing them just as quickly. There seemed to be more interest in stretching Chris out than taking him apart, but Chris’s own impatience left him uncomplaining. 

“I can hear you, you know,” Justin continued. “When you’re getting off in your bedroom. I hear your vibe, or the sound your dildo makes as you fuck yourself. You use so much lube, dude, I bet you make a mess. It sounds sloppy. And then there was that time you and Rick hooked up in the bathroom, like I wasn’t gonna hear you over the TV. It sounded like you gave some stellar fucking head. I’m gonna need you to blow me next time, actually.” All of it was said in one steady stream of words, no indication of filter.

It was almost humbling how difficult Chris found it to compose a coherent sentence. Justin certainly wasn’t helping his efforts, a third finger slipping in when Chris opened his mouth to reply. A hiss, even as Chris pressed back into the thrust of the digits, and then he managed, “I did it on purpose.” Chris wasn’t an idiot, and he’d been far too enticed by the thought of provoking Justin. It was merely a marvel that it had taken this long despite his best efforts.

Another laugh, this one far more akin to a bark than a bellow. “Of course you did,” Justin muttered, as if he truly hadn’t realized the intention behind such vocal mischief on Chris’s part. “Well, you’re getting your way now. Gonna fill you up so fucking full.” In an almost tragic sort of irony, Justin slipped his fingers out and left Chris empty and wanting, clenching around nothing and biting back a pathetic whimper.

Chris wasn’t going to grovel for the pet he was teaching to beg.

Justin muttered to himself, something about goth guys and cute asses and dimples (where was Justin seeing a dimple?), and grasped at Chris’s hip. He squeezed tight enough to draw a low moan from Chris, and then the head of his cock was teasing at Chris’s entrance and prompting a much louder and far more enthusiastic sound from Chris.

There was no need to encourage Justin, to demand more: Justin merely snagged Chris’s other hip in hand as the crown of his dick slipped past Chris’s rim, and then he was fucking forward in one smooth, aggressive thrust. It was so sharp and sudden and forceful that Chris gave some wordless exclamation; he very nearly fell on his face, and he took a moment to catch his breath when Justin went utterly still.

“Did I hurt you?” Justin asked, concern audible in his voice. He had even stopped his incessant, mindless kneading at Chris’s waist, every part of him taut with nerves.

Chris tried to laugh, but the sound that came out was far too breathless and thready. It sounded more like a wheeze, which certainly wasn’t comforting, but then he shook his head. “No, you didn’t hurt me. Just startled me. Most guys work up to pounding me into the mattress,” he said, glancing back over his tattooed shoulder and flashing Justin a grin.

Whatever Justin saw in Chris’s gaze seemed to settle his nerves and offered enough reassurance for Justin to grin back, wide and lopsided and with a hint of tongue poking out. He always looked like a dog convinced he was about to be given tummy rubs when he grinned like that, as if his treat was secured. “It’s a werewolf thing.” His tone made it impossible to tell if he was full of shit (again) or speaking factually — not that Chris found any genuine interest in the answer.

He simply let himself go loose and lax, bracing himself a bit better for the harsh rhythm Justin set. Sounds spilled from his lips freely, mingling in the air with the throaty snarls and soft growls that Justin uttered openly. Chris swore he heard the snap of teeth next to his ear as Justin draped himself over Chris’s back, hands moving to the mattress on either side to brace himself.

Justin nosed against Chris’s neck again, seemingly oblivious to the sweat that had strands of hair sticking to flushed skin. He inhaled and then rumbled with blatant pleasure, hips stuttering and then finally adjusting their angle — Chris shuddered violently when he hit his prostate, Justin’s name leaving his lips shakily.

“Justin, Justin, Justin,” Chris panted, encouragement he offered freely. He couldn’t reach to get a hand on his cock despite how he leaked and throbbed; he needed to plant his hands to not be shoved up against the headboard, and he wondered if Justin would have it in him to finish Chris while they waited for his knot to recede.

But then Chris felt that swell start, the faint catch at his rim, and his eyes rolled back in his head the first time Justin’s rhythm faltered with the effort it took to keep fucking him with long, deep thrusts. “Gonna fuckin’ fill you up,” Justin snarled as the knot caught and stuck, leaving him to just rut up into Chris frantically. It was a wet, desperate affair, and Chris was startled to find it enough to tip him over the edge.

Justin’s knot was so much bigger than he’d expected. It swelled to the point Chris ached, and it was that faint twinge of pain that made him spill. He clenched down around Justin, groaning loudly, and tried to rock back as best he could to encourage Justin to keep moving. The pleasure that thrummed in Chris’s gut seemed to pulse with Justin’s cock as the werewolf came; his seed was even hotter than the skin pressed flush to his back, the breath against his ear, and Chris’s vision blurred.

By the time Chris could breathe past the sensation of being filled so completely, Justin had collapsed on top of him — pinning him to the bed, flat on his stomach, the weight on Chris’s back solid and hefty enough to make breaths challenging to draw in. A few complaints and gentle elbows later, and Justin twisted them onto their sides.

Chris knew that knotting was an intimate affair. Aside from the act itself, the swelling took time to come down; they would be locked together for a notable amount of time, inevitable and not undesired, but he hadn’t quite envisioned it playing out like this. Rather than Justin dozing off against his shoulder or them exchanging soft, murmured check-ins like he’d expected, Justin was seemingly wide awake and intent on sniffing Chris until they could separate.

“I promise my scent’s not going to change,” Chris laughed breathlessly, closing his eyes. Despite the sounds in his ear and the way Justin occasionally flicked his tongue over Chris’s skin, he was comfortable. He sank back against Justin’s chest and allowed his limbs to relax. “You can’t actually breed me.” The reminder felt unnecessary, but he still uttered it, primarily to tease.

The noise Justin made suggested that it wasn’t an appreciated remark. “You’re gonna smell like me for a while,” he argued. “Any other wolf’s gonna know I fucked you.” He pressed a grin into Chris’s shoulder then, fingers tracing idle, meaningless shapes against the skin of Chris’s stomach. 

That raised a question, one that Chris had to examine and evaluate for a moment before vocalizing. “Do you want this to mean something other than us fucking?” he asked, each word followed neatly by the next. It was a calculated inquiry but a risk nonetheless — the last thing he wanted was for awkwardness to chill the room as they remained pressed flush for the next ten minutes.

Justin made a vague, noncommittal sound and gnawed on Chris’s shoulder. There wasn’t nearly enough pressure behind his teeth to break skin, and it seemed to be a mindless, idle gesture. “Want people to know we’re pack,” he muttered, as if the words left a bitter taste on his tongue. It was an odd sort of response — Justin hadn’t been required to offer honesty. He could have always avoided answering, or he could have given some half-truth or obscure, meaningless response that said nothing at all.

More than that, the notion of pack settled funny in Chris’s chest. It wasn’t a lack of desire for connection, but Justin had just skirted the concept so completely and insistently that Chris hadn’t anticipated it being an option for them, unconventional as it was to begin with. “We’re pack?” he echoed, rather than pursue any other line of thought.

Chris felt a soft hum against his back as Justin’s grip tightened, pulling him flush against his chest. “We’re pack,” Justin affirmed, as if that settled the entire debate.

Perhaps Chris should have protested. Such a declaration was heavy and important, meaningful in a way a human could never truly comprehend; certainly it warranted a discussion, not just a fuck and a decision on a hormone-drunk werewolf’s part. But it also felt right, and it settled onto Chris’s shoulders with a weight more comforting than drowning. “Am I the alpha?” he murmured, setting aside practical concerns for another time.

Justin snorted softly as he rocked his hips a little, earning himself a slap on the side. “Of course you are.”