We are wolf and fire and shades of sunset. I have watched the sky bleed out over your hands and kissed your sorry cheeks and the downward slope that rounds off your mouth and four hours from the end you swung your legs out of bed and found your shirt— when they ask me what became of the first person I got bold enough to love I’ll draw them rising crescent moons and empty cloudy beaches; talk about distant galaxies and looming constellations. An entire universe inside your eyes and I was not equipped to be even its smallest star. –– e.h.
It is both beautiful and sad, the way that he follows her. If she took her shoes off and walked over a bed of hot coals barefoot, she is sure that he would follow. Without question, without reason. It is why she chose him. It is why she loves him. He is on his knee swearing fealty to her like she is a queen, and he a soldier. She feels the heavy weight of the invisible sword in her hand. She has nothing to offer him. No title, no land. Her own commitment to both him and the pack is all she has, it is what has kept her alive this long, what has kept her coming back to two legs instead of staying on four. She would lay her life down for her pack, and Leon would lay his life down for her. The realization of that, this moment between them, thick with the sort of devotion that does not yet have a name, that can only be shared between an Alpha and her Second, brings Will to her own knees. She does not rule over this land; they are partners. Her fingers weave into his curls, and her forehead falls against his. She stays there a moment, silent, her eyes closed. They could kiss. She could lean forward and press her lips against his. He is right there. But she doesn’t. She opens her eyes and pulls away, taking his hand instead. She holds it with both of hers, meeting his eyes earnestly. Her own are shining, on the precipice of tears. “It’s heavy, Leon. It’s so heavy,” she admits despite herself, her voice breaking underneath the weight of it all. She has to warn him. He needs to know what he is taking on. She cannot carry the pack on her worn shoulders by herself any longer, but she cannot subject someone to the same fate without explaining that it is impossible to hold. That she is broken and bruised. It is why she chose Leon; because his loyalty to her first, and pack second, is what will keep her alive.
He presses his forehead to hers, feeling the rigidity of her bone structure, the sharpness of her features, the coldness of her hands against his scalp. Leon inhales deeply, the scent of her filling his nostrils and making him dizzy with wanting her. It’s so heavy. He speaks before he thinks, as always. “Then you carry it, and I’ll carry you.” The words feel foolish even as they leave his mouth, and embarrassment flushes his cheeks red hot with shame, which is typical. She is always, in some way, tied to shame within him. The shame of wanting her stains every moment between them. He cannot stop, though he tries, because in truth, he does not want to stop. The alcohol is gone; cigarettes and wanting Will are all he has left to fill the hungry longing emptiness in his chest, in his stomach. He is sick with wanting her. He raises his hands to hers in his hair, wrapping his around hers hesitantly. They are so cold in his, like winter and the wolf have burrowed themselves so deep in her bones that she’ll never be warm again. His, in contrast, burn around hers as if with fever, like his body would set itself ablaze to burn the wolf away. If they were different people...he swallows around a sudden lump against her throat. “If I could take you away from this,” Leon says, again, without thinking, without realizing the implication, “I would do it. I would take you somewhere where the sun shines all year long and you’d never be cold again and the hardest decision you had to make was what you wanted to eat for breakfast.” Quickly, as though his slow moving brain will stop his hands once it realizes what they’ve done, he pulls one of her hands out of his hair and presses her knuckles to his mouth, lips closed, chaste. “I know I can’t. So let me carry you instead. Please.”
@willofoak said:▼ five times my muse has caught yours getting off, and the one time they help out.
imagine being loved by me.
001. He’s a simple man; he knows this. Leon would be the first person to admit that he’s a simple man with simple desires, simple wants, simple needs. There’s very little to him that is complicated. The desire for Will, perhaps, blurs the line between simple and complex. Most often, it is constant –– a soft, echoing, desperate throb, like the dull aching heartbeat of a wound when you apply pressure to it. Other times, it hits him like lightning, when he least expects it. Like now, in this moment, just after getting out of the shower and undoing the towel around his waist. He can hear her voice in the hallway, low and coaxing, more vibrations than sound. Something about it sends a crashing curve of desire through his spine, pooling somewhere below his navel. It’s shameful. It’s embarrassing. He hates the response his body has to her, hates that this beautiful, powerful, absolute force of a woman believes in him enough to make him want to be better, believes that he’s ten times the man he actually is. And here he is, at full attention just from the sound of her voice in the hallway outside of his room. Swearing lowly under his breath in the half forgotten tongue of his forefathers, Leon pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to will himself out of an erection. He hears Will laugh, low and lingering, and his brittle self control breaks.
In his mind’s eye, she opens the door and shuts it soundly behind her. Her shirt is too big on her, falling off over one shoulder. The exposed skin is smooth, pale, and just begging to have his teeth sunk into it. She smiles at him, slow and knowing, and bats his hand away from his length. The movement is lazy. Familiar. Like they’ve done this a thousand times. Her own hand, smaller than his, smoother, closes over him. He groans, lets his head tip back for a moment. She moves her hand, slowly, gliding along the length of him, feeling him hot and hard and heavy in her hand. Leon’s head rolls forward, to sink his teeth into that exposed shoulder, to sooth the sting with his tongue. She gasps, and he grins against her skin. She smells clean and earthy, like eucalyptus and pine, with something warm and feminine lurking behind it. He can’t place it, but it reminds him of the pan dulce his mother used to make when he was a child. She grips him a bit more tightly, and then sinks to her knees. Her mouth is warm and wet and welcoming, and he groans, his hands fisting in her hair before he can stop himself. He guides her, and she lets him, swallowing around him until he hits the back of her throat, and his groan is louder this time. His hands tighten in her hair.
That’s when the door opens, for real this time, and Leon has barely enough time to look up from where he’s leaning in front of his dresser, both hands white knuckled – one around the edge of the dresser, the other around his cock – to see Will, wide eyed and blinking rapidly. She gasps, one hand coming up to cover her eyes after a beat, and apologizes quickly before shutting the door just as fast. The shame rises within him like bile. It is still not enough to stop him from coaxing himself to completion.
002. He’s drunk –– there’s no other way to put it. The room is spinning around where he lays silent in bed, his pants discarded somewhere, forgotten. Leon tugs roughly at his shirt, feeling flushed and heated, needing more air. Buttons pop, scatter, and he lets his hand fall back onto the mattress. He’s still thinking of her. He’s always thinking of her. The scent of her hair, the chill of her hands, the sway of her hips. Especially the sway of her hips. He’d started drinking early tonight, and she’d joined him for the last leg of his endeavor, stealing the bottle from him and putting her lips around it in a way that had made his mouth water. They’d played music, laughed and drank and talked and laughed and danced with each other. The vision of her, her hair loose and curling down her back, her tank top riding up on her waist and her flannel shirt hanging off her shoulders as she swayed her hips to the beat of the song...fuck, it was more intoxicating than the tequila. Leon’s teeth sinks into his lower lip, and his right hand crawls down his stomach, curling lazily around his rapidly hardening length.
He can feel his desire like a living thing in his chest, spilling out of his heart to send blood rushing from his brain down between his legs. His fist tightens, his grip almost painful. Like some sort of sick attrition for the sin of wanting his alpha. (Not contrition – never contrition. He may be ashamed of this, but he’s not sorry for it.) His hips rise slightly, thrusting into his fist, his hand moving slowly, squeezing and sliding. He groans, eyes closing for a moment, thinking of her again, imagining her astride him, head flung back, breasts heaving, sweat sliding down between them and dripping into her navel. His hips buck harder, faster, his hand moving quicker, pausing only to collect the wetness weeping from the head of his cock to lubricate his movements. He imagines her, wet and hot and tight around him, her hips rocking and her hand between her own legs, seeking her own pleasure, circling. He groans again, bucking into his hand, faster, faster, faster, until he’s nearly cresting the hill, his climax roaring in his ears like a wave out of the ocean.
He doesn’t hear the door open. He’s too busy spilling his desire from between his fist, hot and sticky. It’s not until he opens his eyes to reach for the box of tissues by his bed that he sees her, still drunk, her eyes half lidded, pupils dilated. Leon’s mouth falls open a bit, about to apologize, when Will seems to snap out of it, flush bright red, and slam the door shut. He cleans himself off, sheepish. They do not talk about it over breakfast the next morning.
003. She’s on top of him, hands planted on his chest, pushing him into the mattress, refusing to let him up. Her hips are moving slowly, rhythmically, like the melody of a Spanish guitar. Leon’s fingers tighten around her hips, fingers digging hard into flesh, pushing and pulling, forcing her to speed up her movements. His head tips back into his pillow, exposing the long column of his throat, and she bites at where his neck meets his shoulder, dragging her tongue over the bite mark and then higher, higher, to his earlobe. She bites again, teeth scraping the sensitive flesh, and he shudders, back arching. Almost in retaliation, Leon slips one hand off her hip to press his thumb blindly between her legs, seeking, searching, until he finds the hard little spot that makes her moan into his ear. She goes boneless, and his other hand drapes across her back to turn them over until he’s on top of her. He continues to press mercilessly light circles against her clit, making her back arch and her hips buck against him. His free hand reaches down behind her knee, bends and lifts until her ankle is rested on his shoulder, and he thrusts again, deeper now, bottoming out inside of her.
Leon moans so loudly it startles him awake. He’s hard as a rock, straining painfully against his boxer briefs, and he slams a fist against the mattress, cursing himself. A thin sheen of sweat coats his whole body, and the room is unbearably hot. Still cursing, he flings the sheet off of himself, one hand sliding into his hair to pull slightly in frustration and need, his right hand finding his length. The relief he feels as soon as he touches his bare skin is acute, and he gasps despite himself.
The door bursts open at that exact moment. Will is silhouetted in the faint light of the hallway, hair wild, half dressed. “Are you alright?” She gasps. “I thought I heard a shou--” her voice dies off as her eyes adjust to the darkness, seeing him, seeing what he’s doing. Her eyes can’t seem to move back to his, too focused on his hand, on the grip he has on his cock, even now.
“Will, I-” he starts, and she snaps out of it, apologizes quickly and softly, and shuts the door with a snap. Flushed, ashamed, Leon rolls out of bed and turns on the shower. His relief comes as cold water beats down on his shoulders and the scene from his dream plays over and over again in his head.
004. Leon can’t remember her name. He feels bad about it. Not as bad as he should, not by a long shot, but still, he does feel bad. Still, despite that shame and guilt, he presses his hand into her shoulder, bending her down further over the mostly repaired car, using his grip on her shoulder as leverage to slam into her harder and harder. She’s moaning, back arched, head tipped back, and she feels good, so good around him, hot and tight and slick. It’s what he needed, but it’s still not quite enough. One of his feet slips forwards a bit, finding the inside of her ankle, and flicks to the side, kicking her feet apart wider. She stumbles forward farther, and his grip shifts from her shoulder to her hair, wrapping the long blonde waves around his fist once, twice. He tugs, and she cries out, clenching around him. He almost blacks out at the sensation, groaning in the back of his throat. The sound turns into a growl, and he reaches around the front of them to seek out her clit with his fingers. She’s still got her clothing on –– he hadn’t even bothered to pull off her underwear in his desperate need; just shoved them to the side and pushed inside of her. It makes maneuvering tricky, but he manages, finding that spot. Her orgasm is almost instant, a hot rush of wetness and a series of spasms that leaves him lightheaded and thrusting into her with all the grace of a bull in a china shop. He’s lost all sense of rhythm, all sense of romance, of sensuality. Leon bites down on her shoulder, tasting the cotton of her shirt, hearing her moan again, and growls into the fabric as he slides his fingers against the slick wetness of her, trying to make her come again before he loses all control.
She does. She’s louder this time, and he tugs his hand out from under her skirt to slap it over her parted lips as she keens. Somehow, she manages to move her mouth against him until his fingers are in her mouth, her tongue wrapping around them, and he growls long and low in the back of his throat, tugging roughly on her hair. Leon pulls out, slowly, making sure she feels every inch of his absence, before spinning her around and shoving her unceremoniously to her knees. She doesn’t seem to mind; on the contrary, she opens her mouth, tongue lolling out, eyes wide and expectant up at him. The picture makes him swear under his breath as he rapidly jerks himself off, breathing heavily. The woman leans forward just enough to rest the head of his cock on her tongue, and he spills himself into her mouth immediately. Dimly, he registers a car door slamming shut, an engine roaring, but it’s not until he finishes almost a full minute later and he stumbles back from this blonde and her wet mouth that he sees Will’s truck disappearing down the road, the wheels shooting gravel from the speed. There’s a fresh new scratch along one side from where she scraped up against the wall during her rapid turn. He hadn’t even heard the metal shriek.
The woman gets up, wiping the corner of her mouth with her thumb, popping the digit into her mouth and pouting at him, but Leon’s mood has gone dark, and he tucks himself into his pants, pulling them back up and tugging up his zipper. He doesn’t even look at her. “You should go.”
005. In his defense, he thought he had the house to himself. He’d lit candles around his bathtub, and tossed a handful of flower petals into the bath water for good measure. He’d had a long week, his back was hurting, and he wanted to relax in the bath water, rub one out, and go to bed. He slides himself into the bath, groaning appreciatively at the sensation of the hot water surrounding him, and tips his head back to loll against the edge of the tub. It doesn’t take long until he’s fully relaxed, feeling boneless and weightless in the water. He lets himself drift, physically and mentally, reaching idly for a bar of soap as he does. Leon lathers it up, his head blissfully empty after a long day of puzzling out an engine’s inner problems. He’s halfway through working the suds into a washcloth when the smell hits him. Eucalyptus and pine needles, with something warm and sweet lurking at the edges. He still can’t place it. Almond? Vanilla? He groans to himself, frustrated at the way the smell races through his senses, seemingly traveling straight to the base of his cock. He’s already half hard just from smelling the soap she uses –– Jesus Christ, what’s wrong with me?
Almost defiantly, almost angrily, he scrubs his arms and chest nearly raw with his washcloth, his nostrils flaring at the smell of her enveloping his skin. He swipes at the back of his neck, fingers digging into sore muscles, and he moans at the sensation, feeling his muscles start to relax again, and smelling her all the while. It’s inevitable when his soapy palm finds his length, rock hard and weeping at the tip. He hisses through his teeth at the first contact, the relief so palpable it makes his hips twitch upwards involuntarily. The bath water sloshes around him, spilling a bit over the sides, but he pays it no mind. He’s too busy thinking about her, swimming around him in some secluded lake, the trees hugging close around them, providing coverage and secrecy as they drift with each other.
Her hands aren’t cold this time, but instead the same temperature as the sun warmed lake water, when they find his waist, pulling him close with surprising strength. The water makes them both weightless, and he crashes into her. They both start laughing, and she tips her head back to wet her hair. He smoothes the dark strands when she comes back up, tucking an errant wave behind her ear. Her hair is so soft between his fingers, as smooth and liquid as the water around them, and her smile is as dazzling as staring at the sun straight on. He leans down just as she leans up, her hands coming up to wrap around his neck, her mouth wet, her lips chapped. His fingers dig into her back, her hip, and his tongue slides between her teeth. She gasps ––
But that wasn’t in his head. Leon’s eyes fly open, locking with Will’s in the doorway. He wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all; he’s not sure if she can see under the suds of the water, but it doesn’t really matter. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s seen him in this position. Leon can’t even think of anything to say, except –– “I thought I locked the door.” Will blinks, shakes her head a little bit, and then seems to remember she’s not supposed to be staring. “Lock’s busted,” she explains, eyes trained pointedly at a spot above his head. “I was going to ask ––– it’s not important,” she corrects herself, turning to go. “Just...find me later.”
She leaves, and he sighs, sliding down the sides of the tub until his head is beneath the water and he can scream in frustration.
006. It’s late. Sometime past midnight, surely –– he’s not actually sure, didn’t bother to check the clock when he got out of the shower. He just knows it’s late, and he’s tired. The wolf is still lurking somewhere in his chest, trying to claw its way back out. The change felt harder than usual this time; the transition back to man felt more risky, like he might revert at any moment. He should be scared. He knows that he should be scared. Instead, he’s just tired –– exhausted from the energy exerted in the change, from the change itself, from looking around his room and feeling the human thoughts and feelings returning to him. They come back to him so slowly, though he’s never had the courage to ask anyone else in the pack if they have the same issues.
His hands don’t feel like his own when he runs them though his curls, and when he turns to look in the mirror, it’s like looking at himself through a fog. It takes a few minutes of study for him to take stock of the changes –– his beard is a few inches longer, his hair much the same. Slowly, like moving through soup, he finds his clippers, and sets to work.
Once his beard is a couple inches shorter, his neck shaved clean, he feels more like himself, more human. There’s nothing that can be done for his hair until the next day, when he asks Will to break out a pair of kitchen shears and get to work, but for now it’ll do. He towels it off, wiping the terrycloth across his face, breathing in the scent of soap. It helps, and by the time he finishes exhaling and drying off, he’s almost completely back to normal. He wraps the towel around his waist, low on his hips, and heads into his bedroom, rubbing along one eye, trying to stave off a headache. His thoughts drift to plans for the next day, knowing he’ll need to catch Will early before she heads out to check in on everyone. She was the last one to change back; she’s always the last one to change on both sides of winter, holding on to each of her selves with iron claws until she releases, always wanting to make sure no one else is left behind. He’d made sure to get everyone else safely back in the house, and then sat with her the whole time, patiently waiting for the fur to give way to skin. She’d needed a few minutes to herself, and he’d given them to her, though he’d hovered at the edge of the woods until she was ready to return, waiting with a change of clothes and a worried expression. She’d shrugged on the sweater as easily as she shrugged off his concern, and they hadn’t said a word, though she’d squeezed his hand when she took the shoes from him. And in the moment, it had been enough.
Now, though, as the man contains the wolf back into the pen it resides within inside of his chest, the memory of the sight of her, hair wild with twigs and leaves, body naked and glowing in the moonlight, elicits a different response in his body than concern. Blood and heat pool at the crux of his hips, just below his navel, and he feels his body rouse and respond to the memory of Will’s long and pale legs, marred only by thin claw marks on one thigh, stepping delicately around rocks and sharp twigs. He swallows around a suddenly very dry throat as he remembers her smooth midsection, her breasts full, nipples peaked against the cold. It is involuntary, the way his hand undoes the knot of the towel around his hips. Leon had meant to open his dresser, find a clean pair of underwear and a shirt, and fall into bed. Instead, he leans back against it, thinking of the messy knot of scarring along Will’s right shoulder. Thinking of how badly he wanted to press his mouth to it, to trace one of the longer ropes of scar tissue all the way to her collarbone. How he wanted to follow the length of bone to her throat, all the way up to her jawline.
He strokes himself lazily, unhurriedly, eyes closed, free hand digging into the edge of his dresser. He hates this. Shame is rising in his chest, hot and crushing. She’d been vulnerable in that moment, naked and wobbling on two legs instead of four, and here he was, picturing her like she was some sort of moon goddess he wanted to get on his knees before and worship with his lips and tongue and fingers and –––
His thumb passes over the head of his cock, and he growls low in the back of his throat, thinking of taking one of her scarred ankles and lifting it, draping one of her legs over his shoulder at the knee. He wants to press open mouthed kisses to the inside of her thigh, teeth scraping against sensitive skin. He wants to linger over her mound, hot breath teasing sensitive skin, until she grabs his hair and tugs insistently.
His mouth is watering at the thought of parting her with his tongue, the idea of the taste of her.
Leon tightens his grip on himself, and groans her name in spite of himself. He doesn’t expect her to answer –– but answer she does, voice soft, curious, maybe even a little amused as she says his name in response. It’s hard to tell in his shock as his eyes open and his head turns. At some point, she’d opened the door, stepped inside, and shut it behind her, all without him noticing. Her eyes are bright in the half light of his bedroom, her head barely tilted to one side, and he flushes bright red in shock, and in shame. His grip on himself relaxes, and his eyes cast about for the forgotten towel, wanting to cover up. “Jesus,” he hisses quickly, starting to turn away.
Her hand is cold against his bicep as she stops him, and he shivers, both from the sensation and from the longing that hits him with all the force of a freight train. “Will,” he starts, voice low, rough in the back of his throat as he turns his head back towards her. Words are still hard to form his mouth around. “Don’t–”
She leans up, free hand pulling his face down to hers, lips slanting over his, and the self control he didn’t even realize he was clinging to with iron resolve crumbles. His hands are rough and bruising as he grabs her, pulling her to him so tightly that he’s shocked he doesn’t knock the wind out of her in the process. He’s hard against her stomach, straining, and his hips rock involuntarily, the friction easing the pain of his hardness. She groans softly, and he tangles his fingers in her hair, tilting her head to grant him better access to her mouth. His fingers scrape against her scalp, and one of his fingernails catches against a small twig tangled into a knot. She hasn’t brushed it yet, he thinks dimly, and it makes him grin against her mouth. Will’s hands shift, sliding down his bare chest, nails scraping lightly through his chest hair, and he shudders against her, sliding his tongue between her lips. When one cool hand finds his hardness, he groans, bucking into her grip unthinkingly, hips rocking erratically.
He releases her waist with his left hand to get to work undoing her jeans, teeth biting against her lower lip, tugging it gently as he unbuttons the waistband. Her grip tightens on him and he hurriedly shoves her pants down her hips, breaking away from her mouth and kissing rapidly down the column of her throat. Leon sinks to his knees, tugging the offending garment down her hips, down her thighs, her calves, pressing his mouth below her navel as he does, tongue pressing against skin, teeth scraping. He doesn’t even pay attention to where he throws her pants behind him, just grabs her underwear and repeats the process. Her ankle’s in his hand moments later, and he grips it much the same way he’d been fantasizing about barely minutes before. He lifts her leg, guiding her to balance on her left foot, before resting her knee on his shoulder. She turns, leaning back against his dresser, trying to get her balance.
He’d wanted to drag this out, wanted to tease her, but his heart is pounding, blood roaring in his ears, and he needs her. Leon reaches up, grabbing the back of her left knee with one hand and pressing the other against her stomach to hold her against the dresser. Seconds later, both of her knees are braced over his shoulders and the base of her spine is pressed into the edge of his dresser, held in place with a heavy forearm pressed underneath her navel. When his tongue drags up her slit, they both moan. He presses his tongue against her with voracity, pushing harder on her midsection to hold her still as he licks against her clit, dipping his tongue inside her cunt to taste her fully. His middle finger follows his tongue a moment later, then his index finger, and he closes his mouth over her clit as his fingers thrust inside of her, wasting no time with slow strokes. His pace is punishing, merciless, knowing she can take it, knowing he’s waited for this for too long to take his time.
There will be moments for that later, he hopes. And if there aren’t, he wants to make the most of this moment now. He works his tongue and fingers against and inside of her until she’s shaking, her knuckles white against the edge of the dresser, one hand tangled in his hair to hold him against her, tugging roughly, painfully. He doesn’t mind –– on the contrary, it makes him harder, and after a few minutes, he removes his hand from her middle to reach between his legs and stroke himself. He moans against her cunt, and she cries out brokenly, the vibrations of his mouth sending her over. She floods against his fingers, but he doesn’t let up, thrusting his fingers into her, growling against her, until she comes again, releasing his hair to clap a hand over her mouth and stifle her sounds. He wants to try for a third, but she’s lifting her leg, pressing her heel into his shoulder and pushing, until he comes up for air and she slides off the dresser.
They don’t even make it onto the bed. One moment she’s on the dresser, the next they’re both on the floor, Leon on his back and Will astride him. She tugs her shirt off, tossing it mindlessly to the side, and he reaches up immediately, palming her breast, his callouses scraping over her nipple. His free hand reaches between them, holding himself up against her, teasing at her entrance to coat himself in her desire.
When she sinks down and he slides inside of her, he sees stars, constellations, solar flares. It is a thousand times better than he imagined, and he groans and growls and tightens his grip on her hip and on her breast. One of her hands braces itself on his stomach, the other joins his over her breast, interlacing their fingers, rubbing his calloused palm where she wants it as she rocks against him. He is helpless to do anything but obey her whims, following her movements with his hand, guiding her hips with his other, back bowing, heart aching. “Will,” he rasps, and she rocks harder, silencing him with sensations. He wants to flip them over; tries to, even, but she pins him back down with her knees and her hands, bouncing her hips until they’re both moaning and gasping in need. Her mouth closes over his, tongue sliding along his, tasting herself, and he works one hand free of her grasp to slip between them. When she moans, he holds his thumb there, working it up and down and circling, until her movements are erratic, her hips losing the rhythm, unable to find the beat. He plants his feet, thrusts up into her, over and over and over again until neither of them can manage it anymore.
She comes hard and fast around him, body shaking, mouth open and keening into his, and he follows soon after, trying desperately to hold her still as his body seems to break into a thousand pieces, all sensation hyper focused on the spot where their bodies are joined together. When he comes back down, gasping for breath, she’s collapsed on top of him, her head tucked against his shoulder, and he reaches up with a shaky hand to stroke her hair. Idly, he picks out a few leaves, his wrist feeling weak as he does. She doesn’t say anything; neither does he. They lay there like that, both gasping and breathing deeply, sweat making her slide against him slightly each time he exhales, for a long time. It feels like hours to him, but when he finally opens his mouth, the sun still hasn’t risen in the windows, so he knows it can only have been a few minutes.
“Will,” he groans, arms still wrapped around her. “I just showered.” He feels her laugh more than hears it, the vibrations of it echoing through his chest, pleasing him.
“When my legs start working again, we can take another,” she promises sleepily, and he grins, flushing on her use of we.
DATE: Winter, Early December (Pre-change.)
LOCATION: The Edge of Blackrock Forest
STATUS: OPEN
There’s a wolf on the hillside. Not one of theirs, he knows this, but a wolf all the same. He wonders who it is, who it was, if it was anyone at all, or if he’s just some idiot standing at the edge of the woods staring up at an animal. Sometimes a wolf is just a wolf. His right hand inches across his stomach unbidden to rest at his left side, right where a wolf sank its jaws into him so long ago. It itches, still, sometimes, when it gets cold. Not enough to be some sort of an omen, but still. It’s not itching now, but he scratches it anyway, idly and unconsciously. When will it happen? He asks himself, the thoughts barely forming in his brain, more feeling than conscious words. Will I know beforehand? Leon tries to think back to the year before, to the moment when he shed his human skin in favor of the wolf pelt, but the memory is fuzzy and vague and gray around the edges. He thinks Will would know how to tell when it’s coming on, but she’s not around for him to ask. His brain tries to put feelings to it, tries to rationalize it. Maybe it’ll be like a migraine coming on. Maybe I’ll see auras. Maybe I’ll taste copper in my mouth. He reaches into his jacket for a cigarette, thumbing one out of the battered pack and lighting it up without ever breaking eye contact with the wolf. After a deep inhale, he draws the cigarette from his mouth and exhales smoke. If the wolf were closer, he’d offer it a drag. The thought makes him smile, despite himself, and Leon shuffles his feet a bit, trying to create enough motion to warm his bones. Maybe if I keep moving long enough, I’ll never get cold again. What a childish, hopeful thought. The crunch of boots falls flat on his ears; too enraptured by this wolf that may or may not be a person, Leon doesn’t notice until the person behind him is close enough for him to feel their body heat. Startled, he jumps a bit, breaking eye contact with the wolf to glance behind him. “Son of a bitch tit shit fu---” he hisses, arms flailing slightly, nearly dropping his cigarette. He jams the thing back between his teeth grumpily. “Sorry, you-- you scared me,” he explains. “I was just---” He looks back to the hill. The wolf is, of course, gone. He has a built in excuse with the cigarette. He knows this. Still, his brain seizes the first thing he can think of. “...Pissing.” What the fuck is wrong with you?
It takes Leon longer than he’d like to respond; so much time passes he’s worried that Hutch will, perhaps, think he’s unable to string a sentence together. “I’m not lonely,” he blurts out, but it falls flat, sounding false even to his own ears. You’re lonely too. God, so lonely. So unbearably lonely. Leon couldn’t remember a single moment in his life when he wasn’t feeling lonely. Maybe when he was a child. Or maybe not even then. “I’m not lonely,” he repeats, trying for more conviction this time. Luckily, Frank chose that exact moment to jump up towards him, and Leon opened his arms for the tabby, catching him and holding him close against his chest. “I have Frank, see? I’m not lonely. I have Frank.” God, that sounded pathetic. He cast his eyes around the room, trying to find something else to say, trying not to meet Hutch’s eyes, trying not to let the other man see the sadness lurking there. “People are so loud, anyway.” What the hell was that supposed to mean, Leon?
Leon can’t help the snorting laugh that escapes him –– he feels guilty about it, sure, but he can’t help it. This girl’s...what, five foot three? Four? He feels the sudden urge to pull out a tape measurer and check. “I know how to fight,” Leon promises her, and means it. He’d been in far more than his fair share of bar fights in his day; had nearly beat a man to death outside of Albuquerque six years ago for trying to–– it didn’t matter. He could barely remember anymore. He slides his thumb down his opposite wrist, pushing the pad of his thumb into his palm, working the muscles loose. “And I try to make a habit of not hitting women,” he adds a moment later, and then pauses, realizing how patronizing that sounds, and hurries to walk it back. “Not that you’re not capable, mind you –– I’m sure you’re capable. Just. Personal rule. I don’t pick fights with people smaller than me, let’s put it that way.”
@willofoak said: Do not leave me, swear that you will never leave me.
“Never,” he swears, the word jumping to his tongue easily, too easily. He’d be embarrassed, if he had a single ounce of self respect left inside of him, but he can’t find it now. He’s on one knee, for god’s sake, staring up plaintively at Will like she is some divine figure, a queen knighting her loyal and faithful soldier. Is that what he is? Her soldier? He’s certainly loyal, certainly faithful. If she asked him to swear that he would cut his arm off, would he do it? He hates that he doesn’t know. The answer should be no. It is no...isn’t it? This kind of devotion can’t be healthy. But she gave him purpose. She put faith in him. And that is worth everything he is. Everything he will ever be. “I would never leave you, will never leave you,” Leon promises, one hand over his heart, the other draped at the elbow over his knee. These were the conditions. Get your shit together. Don’t lie to me, don’t ever lie to me. And do not leave me. Swear that you will never leave me. She doesn’t even have to dangle a reward in front of him, a promise, an end result. He wonders if she knows. She could demand these things of him and offer him nothing in return, and he would still swear. His eyes are soft, almost sad, as he watches her accept his fealty. He will never leave her. He knows this. No matter what she asks of him, what she requires, what she wants and what she does not, he will always be here.
❝ best drinks have self defining names. you order a manhattan, god knows what you’re gonna get, but you order a gin and tonic, a jack and coke, it’s not just a name. it’s a command. ❞
❝ how long you’ve been working here for ? ❞
❝ ooh, that’s bad luck. ❞
❝ don’t do it. ❞
❝ i was waiting for you. ❞
❝ why’d you help me ? ❞
❝ you’re really not very good at this; i saw you coming a mile off. ❞
❝ are you trying to recruit me ? ❞
❝ you could be a world class thief. ❞
❝ you look like you could get anything you want just by asking for it. ❞
❝ what d’ya say, huh ? ❞
❝ hang on a minute. i’m sorry. ❞
❝ i owe you one. i feel beholden. ❞
❝ let me buy you a drink. ❞
❝ let’s go somewhere. ❞
❝ so you are a thief. ❞
❝ the weak spot, see ––– all you need is one. and it’s usually people’s attention. ❞
❝ show me. ❞
❝ oh, god. ten years, and [ … ] has NEVER looked at me like that. ❞
❝ there’s a lesson in there somewhere. ❞
❝ my grandma always had cats. she said that they could see ghosts when we can’t, and warn you of thieves. ❞
❝ do you ever worry about what will happen if you keep stealing ? ❞
❝ do you believe in the afterlife ? ❞
❝ all i know is there’s more than i know. ❞
❝ yeah, i think that might sound wiser than it is. ❞
❝ when you die, you rot. it’s a fixed system. physics doesn’t take sundays off. ❞
❝ my parents believed in everything. father, son, holy ghost, spirit filled and full of the light of god. they taught me all of it, chapter and verse. ❞
❝ i went to bed every night in a world full of magic where anything was possible. ❞
❝ it’s like everything that made the world anything more than what it is is just –– stories. like snake oil. but worse, because snakes are real. ❞
❝ i wanted to get that magic back so bad, but one day i just accepted the fact that i couldn’t, because life is just not that interesting. ❞
❝ don’t look at me like that. ❞
❝ the fun is just getting started. ❞
❝ i could teach you to fight. ❞
❝ hey, you want coffee ? ❞
❝ are we pregnant ? ❞
❝ what i’m about to say may sound irrational to you, but i have all sorts of rational reasons for saying it, and doing it. ❞
❝ say it, and we’ll talk about whether or not you should do it. ❞
❝ are we … discussing this, or are you telling ? ❞
❝ there’s some wiggle room. ❞
❝ are you unhappy ? because i’m happy, okay, you make me happy. ❞
❝ yes, i see that you’re happy. from this side of it. the wrong side of it. and i think maybe i resent not being happy. not resent you, just … resent. ❞
❝ do you still love me ? ❞
❝ we are like a history book. we’re established fact. we don’t change. ❞
❝ i represent FAILURE to you ? ❞
❝ i can take it. if you’re on the other side. i can make it if you can. can you wait for me ? ❞
❝ just glad that i could be here to help you, you know ? ❞
❝ hey, don’t stay here alone tonight. ❞
❝ why did you say that ? ❞
❝ come on, [ … ] , say what you mean. ❞
❝ last night was a one time thing. you were there. and thank you, but we’re not doing this. we did this. and now it’s done. ❞
❝ you don’t love him. not the way he loves you. ❞
❝ is that all this was ? just fun ? ❞
❝ are you saying no ? ❞
❝ i lived my life, good and bad. definitely not light as a feather. ❞
❝ in life, you believed in nothing, so you will go to nothing. you will be done. ❞
❝ there is nowhere else for you to be. ❞
❝ tears have fallen for you. ❞
❝ do i get a say in this ? ❞
❝ death is not a debate. ❞
❝ how many do you think have come before you, all with promises and threats and offers of gold, glory, love ? who are you to misguide me from my duty ? ❞
❝ you are but a man, not even one i should remember. ❞
❝ i’m gonna come in now. i’m gonna come in now, okay ? ❞
❝ is this a haunting ? are you haunting me ? ❞
❝ does [ … ] know ? ❞
❝ i’m a vulgar woman. anger and grief have just really made me vulgar. ❞
❝ god, you know, i should thank you. it’s so much easier grieving someone when you’re glad they’re dead. ❞
❝ oh, fuck your feelings. ❞
❝ everybody has feelings, everybody cares about what they feel. i don’t care about what you feel. i care about what you think. what do you think about what you did ? ❞
❝ what was your big lie, [ … ] ? ❞
❝ i love [ … ] … loved [ … ]. love [ … ]. i love [ … ]. (s)he’s the light of my life. ❞
❝ you, i remember. ❞
❝ there is nothing i can do to lighten your heavy heart. ❞
❝ your heavy heart sank you like a stone, right back where you last left off. ❞
❝ was it love ? ❞
❝ love will always have you at a disadvantage. ❞
❝ many is the man who would take any version of his lost love rather than leave his love lost. ❞
❝ (s)he/they will say thank you to whichever god has sent you back to him/her/them. ❞
She gazed up at him, unamused as she slipped the 5 dollar bill wordlessly into her pocket. They both knew that it would get put into the pack’s piggy bank later, but for now they could pretend to engage in an actual bartering system. Will chuckled despite herself at his joke. It was easy to forget herself with Leon, too easy. She had many reasons for asking him to be her second, but that was one of the selfish ones. She inhaled the smoke, coughing as soon as it hit her lungs, yet relishing in the warmth of it. She sighed, glancing towards Addison’s makeshift grave before leaning forward and brushing fallen snow off of it. She couldn’t meet his eyes, couldn’t stand whatever she might find there. The grief was heavy on her chest, and the guilt heavier. She’d stopped looking for him, brushed off his disappearance as a wolf having turned for the last time. Her eyes welled, burning. “They identified the fingers,” she finally said, staring into the woods, trying to will the familiar set of eyes to appear. “They were Shawn’s.”
She tucked the bill in her pocket, and he slipped her laugh into his own, right along with the pack of cigarettes nestled over his heart. He took a long drag of his cigarette, fingers of his free hand flexing against the cold, despite the gloves he had on. His fingertips were chilled to the bone, and he cast another squinting, accusatory glance at the sky again. Wondering when it would happen. When the wolf would take him again. He wondered if Will knew, if she could sense it better than he could. He’d been trying to learn the signs, trying to understand it, but the howls were a language he was not yet fluent in. It was Will’s voice that snapped him back down to earth, and the waver in it. He snapped his head towards her, brows furrowed, and then inhaled so hard he choked on the smoke, lungs burning. “Shawn?” He asked, voice tight, coughs still escaping him. Leon swore under his breath, beat a fist against his chest and coughed a final time before leaning down and scooping up fresh snow to wash the ash from his mouth. “So there’s...still hope,” he started warily, eyes trained on Addison’s grave. “She might....Jesus, Shawn...” Leon trailed off, shaking his head. “What...what fingers were they?” He asked, suddenly, and then regretted it just as fast. “Not that it makes a difference, I mean, a finger’s a finger, it-” he stopped himself, took another drag of the cigarette. “What kinda sick fuck...”
When Will closed her eyes she could feel the wolf, could feel the claws digging into her abdomen, waiting, begging. If she wanted, if she gave into it, she could turn. But it wasn’t time, so instead she took a gulp of the black coffee in her mug and allowed the hot liquid to drown out the beast. She heard Leon as soon as he exited the house. She recognized the drag of his boots across gravel, the aggravated heavy steps of a man in an eternal battle with the snow. It made her smile, even now. When he looped his scarf around her she turned her head into the warmth of it, burying her face in the smell of him. She wanted to lean back into him, to find comfort in his arms, but she didn’t. She never did. She glanced up at him, her smile widening. “Five dollars and a cigarette,” she bartered, holding her hand out expectantly. Will didn’t really smoke outside of winter, and even rarely then. But something about this moment, and what she was about to tell him, called for it.
Dutifully, Leon plucked the five dollar bill from his hand and returned the rest of the assorted findings back to his pocket. “The cat treats didn’t sound tempting at all?” He asked, handing her the bill and rummaging around in a coat pocket up against his chest for the battered pack of cigarettes. “C’mon boss, I could throw them and you could catch them in your mouth,” Leon offered, grinning despite himself. He pulled a cigarette from the pack, offering it to her. Once it was between her fingers, just barely against her lips, he fished out his lighter. A heartbeat later and his free hand was cupped against the wind chill, shielding the cigarette, and his other hand was flicking the lighter on. Her features illuminated briefly, warm in the flame. The shadows her cheekbones cast were dizzying. She inhaled, puffed, and Leon let the flame disperse, trying not to let his eyes linger on her mouth. He had a very sudden and very stupid flare of jealousy towards the cigarette in her fingers and against her lips. Shuddering, trying to snap himself out of it, he pulled his own cigarette out and lit it before she could offer him a puff of hers. He thought putting his mouth over where hers had been might make him pass out. “That bad, eh?” He asked around the cigarette between his teeth, lighting and puffing as he spoke.
WHEN: Early Winter / Pre-December 18th
WHERE: Near the Blackrock Pack’s House
WHO: @willofoak
“i thought i’d find you out here,” leon said, his voice low, in an effort not to startle...well, not so much her as the weather. he cast an uneasy glance at the sky, part wary squint, part angry scowl. it looked like it might snow soon. or hail, if he was particularly unfortunate. and leon was not feeling particularly fortunate. not with that look on will’s face, not with that gunshot still ringing in his ears. after a moment, he glances down again, tearing his eyes from the gray sky and focusing them, instead, on the gray ground. snow had been scuffed with dirt until it was chaotic black and gray mess, shaped mostly by boot prints, except for one little pristine corner. the powder there was almost fresh, still not turned to ice, and something not quite a grave and not quite an altar resided amongst it. his hands flexed, itching to rest on her shoulder, itching to lift her off the ground, off the snow seeping through the knees of her jeans. it’s so cold. aren’t you so cold? instead, he unwound the absurdly long scarf from his neck and draped it over her shoulders, looping once, then again, and pulling the edge over the crown of her head. he pulled up the hood of his jacket once he was done, feeling it press down against his head and then bounce back up from his curls. he’d been meaning to ask will to cut it for him all week. now he wondered if he’d have the chance before... “penny for your thoughts?” he asked, breaking his own line of thought. he paused, then thrust his hands into his pockets, digging around for a moment before triumphantly removing a fist. he opened his fingers, and glanced down at his palm. “actually a...a nickel, a piece of pocket lint, three cat treats, and a five dollar bill for your thoughts?”
“i got a couple cigarettes left in here somewhere too, if you want one of those.”
“ [A friend of mine said to me]: you’ve been a guitar owner for twenty years, but you’ve been a musician for about 7 months." ––– Oscar Isaac on Inside Llewyn Davis
Coyote chewing on a cigarette, pack o' young boys going howlin' at the moon.
Hey darlin'! Sleeping on the blacktop.
Hey darlin'! Running through the trees honey.
Hey darlin'! Leaving for the next town less'n my sense catches up with me.
