Wolf | Part Thirteen: bringing home friends
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Soap comes home to the cottage and he's not alone complete tags + cws
By the time Simon had dropped you off it was late, you were tired and you couldn't be bothered to search for your wolfy roommate. He had been out the door that morning and you hadn't seen tail or hair of him since. So it should not have shocked you when you heard the whinging early in the morning, early enough that the sky was still dark, the moon tucked behind the tree line.
You didn't bother dressing, shoving your cold feet into your slippers and shuffling through the dark cottage towards the kitchen door. You could make out Soap's furry head peaking up over the glass window. He was no doubt leaving behind marks from his claws, but no amount of scolding him had broken the habit. Sometimes he was so so smart, and other times it really felt like he was being purposely doglike.
In either case, at least the claw marks were on the outside of the cottage.
Had you gotten more sleep you likely wouldn't have blindly opened the back door, most of the time you peered out at Soap, usually to make sure he wasn't covered in dirt or otherwise unsuitable for being an indoor wolf, but this morning you were tired, in desperate need of both coffee and four more hours of sleep and so you merely unlatch the lock and pull open the door.
You were used to Soap's occasional exuberance by now, the way he would on occasion act as if he had not seen you in days when it had been at most twelve hours, twelve hours that he had been gone, not the other way around. So it doesn't surprise you that he is barreling into the kitchen in the gloom of early morning, letting in with him a frostiness that speaks to cold days to come.
Maybe you could convince him to cuddle in bed for a few more hours.
Daydreams of cuddling are quickly replaced by an acute sense of dread. You would think by this point you would be used to the peril that has come with letting Soap into the cottage or at least you would no longer be shocked by it. And maybe to a degree you are because you choose to let him stay over and over.
What you did not expect from this unspoken arrangement was for him to come home with a friend.
It's dark enough in the unlit kitchen that the other wolf appears black as it leaps in after Soap. The two tussle on the floor of the kitchen as if this is totally normal, as if your cottage is just an extension of the woods they have stumbled in from.
You press up against the wall, too far from the knife block to grab a weapon, praying to any god that will listen that Soap has some kind of loyalty to you, that he will protect you from this random other wolf the same way he protected you from that harmless delivery driver.
Although, the growls and yips of the scuffle sound far more playful than the growls directed at that driver, even in the dim morning light you can see that neither wolf is really snarling, neither has their hackles raised. It's more like puppies tussling but you are more than aware of how dangerous Soap is.
You don't have time to worry about what to do next because Soap manages to subdue the other wolf, his maw grasping firmly to the others neck demanding submission. The other wolf gives out the barest whisper of a whimper before Soap is leaping off and eagerly licking at the wolf's face.
You let out a strangled laugh, closer to hysterics than humor, but a laugh none the less that drags the attention of both wolves to you. In their fervor and excitement it seems they had not noticed you fully.
They can see you better than you can see them, you learned that in your research. Something about more rods and cones than humans, the rods picking up more light and cones more details, and then the eye shine. That creepy glowing look that makes them so much creepier when they appear like looming beasts as you struggle to see. Thirty minutes later and it would have been bright enough to make them out better.
Instead you grope at the wall behind you until your fingers snag on the light switch and you flick it on.
Soap scrambles away from the other wolf, nuzzling into your side with his head, his nose cold when it presses against the sliver of skin over the waistband of your sleep pants. You hiss at the touch, but do nothing to push him away as you take in the other wolf.
You can't know for sure from looking, but something makes you think its another male, his size so similar to Soap's if a bit leaner. Where Soap's coat is cut with grey, the other wolf is a deep mahogany, dark enough that its not a surprise he appeared black in the low light. The color is darker around his paws, along his snout and the tops of his ears. His eyes are a warm brown, lighter than his body, attentive as they track your movement.
"Hey, buddy," you say in that same voice you have used with Soap.
The wolf tilts its head to the side watching you in a way that has your heart racing, but has none of the predatory danger you expected.
John and Kyle hadn't seemed too surprised by Soap, maybe someone nearby was secretly keeping domesticated wolves? Maybe you were just naive to think they were domesticated, but as the other one approaches you — furry face impassive, tail low and swishing back and forth — you can't help but accept your fate.
The first step the other wolf takes is slow, as if he is the one approaching a wild animal, trying not to spook you. But you are more than spooked, even with the pressing of Soap against your side. Then with a burst of speed and power that is too fast for you to react to the wolf pounces.
You have just enough time to consider that maybe coming out here has done something to your sense of self-preservation, because despite the fear you had felt more than once since being here you continue to put yourself in risky situations over and over.
That thought is fleeting as the full force of the paws hit your chest, knocking you back solidly into the wall. Your breath seizes in your lungs, from the impact, from the shock, from the continued firm press of the paws against you.
One time you are going to think this is it, this is how I die and it was going to be the last time you think that, but not today.
The wolf's tongue is wet and warm and surprising.
You try not to squirm as he licks at your face, and your neck, then back to your face. You worry the wrong move will set him off, the same apprehension that plagued you when Soap first started staying with you.
When he finally loses interest and drops down to the floor you laugh nervously, watching the two batting their heads into each other. Its a move you remember seeing when you were looking at wolfdog rescues. One rescue had talked about how in the wild they would scent roll to bring information back to their packs or to hide their own scent.
In captivity though they would do it to their handlers, the people in the videos knelt down on the ground, the wolves pushing into them over and over. It was some kind of show of trust between them, something the wolves would do when they were comfortable with the handlers.
Was Soap comfortable with you?
Soap had not scented you like that, he had cuddled in close, keeping you warm on cold nights, keeping you company through long lonely days. But he hadn't rubbed up against you like this, not like you had seen in the videos. At the time you had watched them you hadn't even considered you would want that, or that you could be jealous of wolves just being wolves and scenting each other.
"So, how long is your guest staying with us?" you ask Soap, not expecting an answer.
They do stop scenting each other, Soap looking up at you the way you have grown used to since he appeared in that clearing. Maybe you wouldn't be dying this morning.
You fed the wolves eggs and scraps from Simon before taking refuge in your room. The other wolf had growled as he ate, the sound so similar to Soap with the delivery driver that it had you chugging down your coffee before scurrying off to your room. Now you were freshly showered and staring at the pile of laundry that you needed to stop ignoring.
Instead of tackling that particular issue you grab the jumper you had worn to Simon's the night before and decide you can't ignore your problems any longer.
The wolves are curled up on the worn rug in the living room, their chest rising and falling in time, eyes closed. In the morning light you could see more of the others coat, the warm mahogany undertones, the dark tips of his ears.
Does he have a sweet tooth like Soap?
Does he have a stupid name like Soap? Maybe something like loofa?
You smile to yourself as you build a fire in the empty hearth. The wolves don't seem to mind the noise, the most you get from them is the twitch of an ear. The fire roars to life, the warmth bleeding into your skin as you stay close to the hearth, your knees pressing against the cold floor, the discomfort not outweighing the warm glow.
You should text Simon, thank him again for dinner. You wonder if he will ask to see you again and if you should say yes. You aren't sure you want to date, it hadn't been top of mind when you made the move out here and before moving it had been months since your last disastrous date. What would you even have to offer in a relationship?
Even though you know you need to do laundry, the sofa is calling your name and when you finally drag yourself off the floor its to hunker down on the sofa.
"Maybe I should ask him out this time," you say to yourself, the sound of your voice rousing the two snoozing wolves.
Soap leaps to his feet, sniffing dramatically first in the air and then the floor around the two of them. His tail is wagging, ears swiveling as he noses along the floor until he comes to a stop at the sofa, blue eyes wide as they look up at you.
The other wolf lifts his head and blink slowly before dropping it back down on the floor.
"Smell something you like?" you ask Soap.
He doesn't answer, instead he launches himself up onto the couch. For the second time today you lose your breath beneath the paws of a wolf.
"Oi, fuck, Soap you're too heavy!"
You try to push the wolf off of you, squirming as he digs his nose into the collar of the jumper, over your chest, into your armpits which somehow feels the most invasive. He drops onto his side, wiggling his body and rubbing the side of his face against you.
This was not what you had imagined this morning when you had pictured being scent marked by your wolfy roommate. He's pinning you to the sofa and there is not much you can do but accept it.
When he does simmer down he is pressing in close to your side between you and the back of the sofa, on his back so that his feet are up in the air, head flopped over so that he is tucked beneath your chin. You decide to accept your fate.
You have just enough room to pull your phone out from beneath you and using your left hand you open to your text app and send Simon a simple thank you before you can talk yourself out of it.
The phone rings not a moment later.
"Hello?"
"You busy?" Simon asks, just a brusque over the phone as he was in person.
"No, just taking it easy this morning. You?"
"Workin', got an order t'fill."
Soap shifts, pressing his head closer to your phone. On the floor the other wolf's ears perk up.
"Oh, I hope I didn't keep you up too late."
Your right arm is falling asleep beneath Soap and the left is starting to cramp from the angle you have the phone. You tap in to speakerphone and drop it down on your chest.
"Don't worry yer pretty little 'ead about it, wanted you 'ere last night."
You don't have a chance to linger on the butterflies in your stomach, or the way that from any other man that line would have given you the ick, because Soap gives a happy yip right into your ear, renewing his wiggling. He knocks the phone off, its falls to the floor with a clatter. You quickly follow it, Soap finally pressing enough of his body weight into you that slipping off the sofa is the only escape.
"Get off," you cry, shoving at the wolf who follows you onto the floor, rolling around like the two of you are play fighting.
You can hear Simon's voice, calling your name and asking if you are alright. Finally you are able to push the wolf off, scrambling to grab the phone when he makes a lunge for it.
"Hey, hi, sorry, my—" you trail off, scooting away from Soap and holding him back with your foot against his chest, his tail wagging hard enough to shake his whole body. "Dog, was acting up."
Simon laughs, "you free t'night?"
"Tonight?"
You were free, you were always free. That was pathetic right? If you say yes will he think you're pathetic?
"I am."
"Wanna do dinner again? I can come over and meet your dog."
You frown. You don't have an issue having him over, you have more than enough food in your fridge, plenty of fresh meat that you were certain he was undercharging you for, and it wasn't like the cottage wasn't clean. You had another theory that even though he hasn't said anything, Simon knows about Soap. Why else was he giving you the scraps? If you were right then he knows that you are feeding the wolf.
Or, him and John were gossips and talking about you.
Did John know about the date?
Was it even a date? Was it a date if he came over to the cottage tonight?
And more importantly, why did you care if John knew?
"Okay, yeah, you can come over. Just tell me when to expect you."
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