Halloween Drabble: Salty & Sweet (werewolf x gender neutral reader)
A sudden question leads to a bit of flirtation.
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“Can werewolves have chocolate?” The question came so suddenly as you munch on your own chocolate bar, you not only startle yourself, but the companion you’d been sharing the quiet with. They turn their almost-glowing brown-gold eyes to you.
Kellum sits at the picnic table with you, except he’s chosen to sit atop the table while you sit on the bench. Before your question, he sat hunched over his phone, elbows on his knees as the light flickered over his partially-morphed face. Now, as he stares at you, you realize you’ve rarely seen him in this phase of shifting.
Fur has begun sprouting along the sides of his face, his ears shifted from simply pointed to furry and tapered. The fur is the same shade as his hair, with interspersed flecks of grey. A ‘silver fox’ that was in all reality a wolf, you mused once. His nose has darkened and flattened, taking on the appearance of a snoot than a nose. His lips are the same dark shade and, a little shamefully, you wonder if their texture is somehow different.
When you first saw his outfit - a plaid button-up over a white tank-top and worn blue jeans - you had teased him about being a timberwolf lumberjack. Now, you’re regretting the joke, realizing how the plaid and tee-shirt highlights his muscular-chubby dad-bod, and how the rolled-up sleeves bring your attention to his forearms. Which are also partially morphed, the tan skin fading to a grey-black-brown fur with elongated fingers tipped in dangerous looking claws.
The two of you are taking a break from your shift at the haunted house, run by his college-aged kid and their friends. Gerard, Kellum’s son, actually asked for your help with the haunted endeavor ages ago and, without thinking, you agreed.
You hadn’t realized Kellum would also be helping out. In retrospect, you really should have expected it. The poor guy was having hardcore “empty nester” syndrome with Gerard off living it up at college. You’d born witness to it on a number of occasions, since you were his next door neighbor. Of course, Kellum volunteered to act in a haunted house and spend time with his son.
Embarrassed, you glance at his ear - locking your gaze to the glow-in-the-dark gauge there - to avoid eye contact. “I mean, dogs can’t. Not sure about wolves, but I imagine they can’t either. So can werewolves?”
In an effort to stave off further embarrassment and babbling, you shrug and break off another piece of your chocolate bar, shoving it in your mouth.
“I don’t know,” Kellum finally answers, a thoughtful timbre to his tone.
You rack your brain for any memory of him having chocolate in your presence, but come up empty. “How do you not know?”
It seems damn near impossible for the man to have gone his whole life without eating chocolate. But he shrugs again, before leaning over to pocket his phone in his jeans. You think you sense the slightest grin on his lips. Suspicion crawls over your skin, but you ignore it, telling yourself it’s the chill in the air.
“Should we test it out?” He asks, and you catch the sight of his tail flicking back and forth on the table.
At first, you’re not sure. What if it really makes him sick? Or agitates his system? Weren’t chocolate allergies often deadly?
But Kellum isn’t a spontaneous risky sort. He was a single father for fifteen years, for cripes’ sakes. He wouldn’t put his life in danger over testing a silly hypothesis. Likely, even if he did suffer adverse reactions, it’d be minimal, right?
He waits patiently as you mentally struggle, amusement curling at his lips. Eventually, you settle on a decision. Kellum is a grown-ass man, capable of saying no and understanding risks. And if anything really bad happens, you have your phone at the ready. “Okay, but let’s go small, just in cas-”
Your words are swallowed up by Kellum’s mouth, pressed suddenly to your lips. He moved so fast, your heart barely had time to beat between your words and the kiss. Heat claws up your face and you jerk, only to realize a clawed hand cradles the back of your head. His free hand grasps your shoulder, claws pricking into the fabric of your shirt. You gasp against his lips, which only seems to make the corners of his lips curve upward.
Then his tongue, thick and wet, slips into your mouth. Without thinking, you part your lips a little wider, angling your head as the kiss deepens. He is everywhere in your mouth. Tasting your tongue and your teeth, encouraging your own tentative exploration of his maw and teeth.
Your eyes flutter shut, the woodsy scent of Kellum’s cologne enveloping you as he leans closer. His body heat sinks into you, warming the chillier parts of you and stoking a warmth deep inside you. Your hands slip to his upper arms, grasping the fabric bunched at his elbow.
As quickly as it began, the kiss ends. Kellum pulls away, leaving you frazzled and - honestly - feeling a bit sloppy. You brush the back of your hand against your lower lip, swiping away any wayward drool, as you level a glare at the man.
Kellum ignores your irritated look, smacking his chops and humming in consideration. “No, I don’t think I-”
Suddenly, his eyes fly wide, a choked sound leaving his throat as his body stiffens. Even a slight tremor flickers through his body. Your eyes fly wide, terror gripping at your chest as you watch him list forward, toppling completely over before his back hits the ground.
“Kellum!” You shriek, trembling hands shooting for your phone. You stumble down from the picnic table, trying to find any sign - foaming at the mouth or gurgling - as further symptoms. In your head, you’re already rehearsing what you’re going to say as you dial the emergency services.
You freeze as Kellum’s eyes crack open, a wolfish smile tilting his lips. Embarrassed and angry, heat rises in your cheeks just as you realize his tail is wagging, thumping against the ground.
“Oh no, I must be allergic,” he chuckles sarcastically, propping himself up on his elbows. His furry brows raise, a devilish expression crossing his features. “You might have to give me mouth-to-mouth.”
You only barely resisted the urge to thump Kellum on the chest before standing. Fueled by rage and mortification, you’re already stumbling backward. With an accusatory finger, you jab it in Kellum’s direction. “That is not funny!”
Turning your back on him, you begin charging back toward the haunted house, trying to ignore how fast your heart is throbbing in your chest. It feels like your cheeks are going to burn off, with how hot the flush across your cheeks feels. Your brain tries to make sense of why Kellum pulled such a stunt. But wasn’t that what Halloween was about? It wasn’t simply about treats, but also the tricks.
As angry as you are, you can’t help being a little amused. And that just makes you angrier.
Behind you, you hear Kellum getting to their feet and laughing as he tails after you, “Aw, why so salty?”
Something in Kellum’s tone makes you freeze. That particular resonance when a dad is about to lay on a dad joke. A realization prickles through your thoughts. Turning around to face him, you narrow your eyes and point a finger in his face again. “You better not say what I think you’re going to say.”
His toothy grin only widens at your words, showing off his sharp canines. In that instant, your stomach drops, but the heat at your center churns wildly.
“Lucky for you,” Kellum’s eyes positively glow as he scoops you up in his arms, holding you against his warm chest. The fact he just picked you up leaves you a little dumbfounded. Instinct kicks in as your brain fritzes out and you struggle and squirm. As he teasingly growls, the echoes vibrating through his chest, you freeze. “I like my treats salty and sweet.”
