For well over a month now, Cyrus had acting as the best host he could possibly to Ace, a young werewolf still honing his abilities and finding his way in life. It all began with a misunderstanding back at his local diner (which wasn't so local, since Cyrus practically lived in the middle of nowhere, in the wilderness, in a mansion he'd build with his own two hands); a group of bikers had come along to cause some chaos. He had found Ace cowered near a dumpster, behind the back of the diner, with over a dozen roughened, hairy men surrounding him. No doubt to do something nefarious to him. He was just about to leave after gathering his groceries, when he fell witness to the leather-clad group of men surrounding the figure on the ground. Thinking the worst, he stepped in, his height and overall stature easily thwarting any of the strangers he was seeing. After clonking two heads together and causing the bikers to fall unconscious immediately and fall to the ground. He made easy work of the rest with a flick of his hand, a telekinetic push that launched them to nearby structures to knock them unconscious.
Since then, it took some work to warm Ace up to him; he promised him some food and a bed for the night, no doubt he needed it. A nice shower, fresh pair of clothes. Weeks later, he was in the en-suite of his bedroom with a pair of scissors and a comb, to give Ace a cleaner look: easier to maintain and keep-up with.
The two had developed a deep friendship during the time they had spent together. One that blossomed out of late-night chatter that went deep into the night, often times sharing snacks and a blanket to keep each other warm during this cold Autumn snap they were experiencing. Deep conversations where the two would share stories, their inner-most desires and fantasies, their interests and their fears. It wasn't until a week ago that Cyrus planted a kiss upon the shifters lips. Out of nowhere. The two were always standing so close to one another, it just seemed right. He had been washing dishes and Ace was beside him, drying them, when he secured him into a sweet, deep kiss. When he withdrew, he was glad to see Ace wasn't entirely repulsed by it, but it was beautifully reciprocated when a hand latched onto the back of his head to lure Cyrus down to reconnect their lips.
Today, Cyrus was dressed in a pair of beige-colored jogging pants that left absolutely nothing to the imagination, a white t-shirt, followed with the color-matching hooded jumper. It was warm and snug and fit him well, despite his looming musculature of brawn and might. A pair of size 14 trainers were shoved on and he was out the door, with his Ford Bronco keys, his wallet and his mobile, and his new close friend, which as soon as he sat in the passenger seat, he laid a kind kiss to his lips before buckling in and setting off, to a location unbeknownst to Aeson.
The scenery before them was of Autumn; orange wet leaves, a drizzle of rain, grey skies. It was fortunate the interior of his vehicle was warm. Cyrus drove on for a couple of hours, the numb drawl of old Southern music bringing him to let out a soft yawn. It was then he looked to his right and saw Ace asleep. The day was getting darker, and within half another half hour, Cyrus had found a mildly occupied campsite, with camper vans and RVs stationed here and there. It was a miracle Cyrus had this truck; he parked up close to the river-bank and begun to draw the back seats down. Thick blankets and comforters were pulled out of a storage box, followed by a couple of pillows. He had done this many times, so setting up their makeshift bed for the night wouldn't take him long. As soon as he had finished, he walked around to the passenger side and unfastened Ace's seatbelt. Before he could even flutter awake, Cyrus tucked his arms beneath him, hauling him out of the seat with efficiency and care so as to not bring him any discomfort or injury. Ace weighed like a feather to him, no doubt a perk to his enhanced strength. Bridal-style and scooped up in his arms, he lead him towards the rear door that had been set ajar. Cyrus climbed up and settled him in, making quick and easy work of removing his footwear, then proceeding to return to close all of the doors and joining him. Both shoes were tossed onto the ground of the front seats.
As he nuzzled down into the thick and crispy comforter, a soft pitter patter of rain had began. It was no later than ten-thirty at night when his body naturally folded around the smaller frame beside him, arms and legs swooping in to wrap him in a safe, warm cocoon. The two were facing one another, it was Cyrus' preference since otherwise, he wouldn't sleep with his natural flaccid bulge perched against the man. Since they weren't equal in height, this seemed like the safer option. The warlock folded in the blankets and comforters in around them. As he laid there, awaiting sleep, he could hear the sound system of an RV blasting some horror flick, the rain, the soft breathing of his friend currently coiled in his arms, the soft howling of wind. This was as close as they had ever gotten to being physical with one another. He felt Ace tuck into the crook of his neck, so he guided him closer, a hand curling beneath his sweatshirt to lay flat across his lower back. It's a short while until his thumb begins to circle one of the Venus dimples there. It's a comfort thing for him. It lulled him into a slight slumber, but his hand continued to venture at its own accord. Within a couple of minutes, his hand slipped beneath both underwear and sweatpants that Ace wore. He cupped and applied a light squeeze to one cheek, giving it a tender caress for what felt like an hour. Thunder in the distant tore him from his sleep, but he noticed Ace continued to sleep. It took him a while to realise where his hand was resting. Slowly, with a gingerly touch, his middle finger swept between the thick set of cheeks, nudging in along that smooth flesh ever gently, careful as to not bring the man some shock. The pad of his digit rolls across it once. Just to test the waters. He feels Aeson squirm in his embrace. His hand departs, just briefly. It rises up to his face, where he releases a thick wad of spit onto his fingers. Cyrus remembers he has some lubricant in his rucksack, but right now, in the moment, hot saliva will do the trick.
His hand returns, the side of his palm keeping a buttock deliberately aloft, giving him a small area to work his fingers along that puckered, little hole. Ace feels so petite, so fragile. Cyrus is aware of their immediate difference in size, but right now, all he can focus on is enjoying the slick texture of both his middle and ring finger continuously petting over the tender and sweet flesh. He pets it like a beloved pet. Still, while he's awake, he's aware Ace might react negatively towards this, so he ensures his movements are unhurried, but intentional. But, given the light moans and whimpers he began to hear close to his ear, he's hopeful. Perhaps Ace won't wake up alarmed and attempt to knock him out.
