by J L Aarne
“Have you ever seen the St. Ignatius mission?” Vanessa asked him while she was chopping tomatoes.
Sam was spreading garlic butter on French bread and sprinkling it with cheese. He looked up at her question. “No, why?”
“Because it’s really amazing. In this little town way out in nowhere on an Indian reservation, they’ve got this big church painted like that church in Rome.”
“The Sistine Chapel?”
“Right. A janitor or something did all the art. The whole thing. I don’t even like church, and I think it’s pretty. But it’s the art, so whatever. I’ll take you there sometime. You know, when we run away.”
Sam smiled and went on buttering bread. Vanessa was only half joking, but it had become a strange sort of game they played. A game of make-believe. The property was fenced, and the gate opened with a keycard and a number, which every member of the pack had except for Sam. He wasn’t allowed off the property unless escorted by a higher ranking pack member, a beta or the alpha himself. Except for when the gatherings had been hosted in Silverside or Bozeman, Sam hadn’t been anywhere in almost seven years. But it was nice sometimes to imagine it and pretend.
“Okay, we’ll go to St. Ignatius,” Sam said. He finished with the loaf of bread, wrapped it in foil and set it aside. “But then I think I want to go to Paradise.”
Vanessa laughed. “Montana?”
“Uh, yeah. Obviously.”
“Why? Paradise, Montana is like six short streets, twenty houses, two churches and a post office. They used to have a bar, but it burned down. They used to have a café, but it closed. They had a VFW or something and I think it burned down, too, now that I think about it. I think I read that somewhere or someone told me.”
“Oh. Okay.” Sam shrugged. “I just liked the name. I mean, Paradise. It seems like it would have to be nice. Why’d they call it that?”
“I dunno. Optimism?”
Vanessa had been the pack’s omega before Sam and she still did not rank very high beside other wolves her age because she had been born human and turned. It wasn’t forbidden to bite a human, but it was strongly discouraged and the werewolves who were created by such dabbling were often outcasts, left to fend for themselves and wander, confused and alone and in constant danger of discovery, or in rare cases, termination by pack wolves. Vanessa would never rise within the pack and she still suffered bad treatment from those above her occasionally, so Sam didn’t really know why she stayed. She could leave and no one would try to force her to stay or bring her back.
He found himself standing there holding a butter knife while he watched her scrape the unevenly diced tomato into the pot of sauce, and it was on the tip of his tongue to ask her, Why don’t you leave? Why don’t you get away and go to all the places you talk about?
Sometimes he thought perhaps Vanessa stayed for him, but he didn’t want to believe that, and he wouldn’t ask her. He didn’t need that on his conscience if by some improbable chance it was her reason.
Vanessa noticed him watching her and she smiled uncertainly. She brushed some of her black hair back behind her ear, smearing the shell of her ear with tomato juice as she did. “What?”
“Nothing,” Sam said. He wrapped the last loaf of bread with tinfoil and began putting them into the oven to toast.
“You know, me and Bran got drunk this one time and talked about breaking into the cathedral,” Vanessa said. “We were fucking hammered, so I’m surprised I even remember it at all. Anyway, we had this dumb idea we were gonna get married. No priest or nothing, just us. Just by ourselves, standing there in the dark with all the angels and things looking at us, watching it, and he’d say ‘I do’ and I’d say ‘I do’ and we’d be married. But then we finished that bottle of tequila and passed out instead. Damn, I miss that guy.”
Vanessa’s ex-boyfriend, Branson, was the one who had gotten her into this whole mess when he’d bitten and turned her, but Sam could still understand where she was coming from. He loved Owen like that, too. They’d almost been married once, but that had been a long time ago. Forever, it sometimes felt like, when it didn’t feel like something he’d only made up inside his head.
“I’m sorry, Vanessa,” Sam said.
Vanessa waved it away dismissively. “Shit, if it wasn’t for that asshole, I wouldn’t have ever set foot on this place, so I should probably want to go spit on his grave. Just like… hock back a big green snotty one right on his headstone. Except I don’t think he’s got one of those. Probably they put him in some potter’s field. I know there wasn’t a funeral.”
She was undoubtedly right. Branson Parks hadn’t been worth much to anyone when he was alive, so no one was likely to give a damn about him after he’d been shot in the back of the head in a gas station parking lot. His ashes had been mingled with the ashes of thousands of unwanted and unmissed people in some field and Vanessa was left behind.
It was selfish of him, but Sam was glad. He hadn’t ever met Branson, but he owed him one if he ever saw him beyond the veil.
They finished dinner and Vanessa waited with him while everyone else ate in the kitchen. She didn’t have to do that, and Sam had told her not to more than once, but she did it anyway. He told her that if she placed herself beside him in public so often by choice, they would start to see her as his equal, not their own. She said she didn’t give a damn and that she wouldn’t want to be their equals in any case.
When the rest of the pack finished eating, Sam and Vanessa were left to clean up the kitchen and eat whatever was left. There was plenty leftover though because Sam had gotten really good at math when it came to food and he always made sure there were leftovers. He’d gone hungry a lot in the first days, sometimes because he hadn’t had a clue about cooking, but more often because he didn’t make enough there wasn’t an abundance of leftovers. Owen had snuck food to him, but never very much or it would have been noticed and that was never enough.
It was getting late by the time they finished cleaning up the kitchen. Mostly everyone who lived in the big house had retreated to their private rooms, but as usual, a few young men and women lounged in the living room watching TV. Sam looked in as he passed by, but he was exhausted and on his way to bed. He never tried to stick around and socialize with others anyway, especially not in groups.
Before he could go on his way, one of the young men on the sofa turned his head and noticed him. A sly smile spread across his face and he lifted a hand to gesture Sam over. Sam thought about pretending not to see it, but before he could get away, the guy called to him, “Sam! Hey, come here.”
“Ah, fuck,” Vanessa muttered beside him.
“Yeah, probably,” Sam said with a resigned sigh.
“Great. I’m not sticking around for this. I’m sorry, but I can’t,” she said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Vanessa left and Sam tried to mentally prepare himself.
“Sam!”
The young guy’s name was Caleb Saroya. He was a born wolf, but he was new to the Hellgate pack. He’d left a smaller one back in Idaho the year before. Sam hadn’t had a lot of encounters with him, but he’d noticed Caleb watching him the way a lot of them did. This had been a long time coming and Sam was only surprised it had taken him so long to quit being shy about it.
Caleb crooked his finger at him, and Sam entered the living room and crossed to the sofa. A couple of the others sitting around on the floor and in chairs glanced up, but most lost interest when they saw him and went back to watching the movie. It was some kind of cheesy horror film, but they were enjoying it.
Sam stopped beside the arm of the sofa. “Yes?”
Caleb grinned and sat back, eyeing him. “Get naked.” Sam hesitated and Caleb sat up again with a warning snarl. “Now. Don’t make me say it again.”
Sam took his clothes off. Caleb watched him undress and a few others lost interest in the TV long enough to watch, too. Sam had scars and the limp, and he wasn’t as fit as he’d once been, but he wasn’t hard on the eyes eit
her and he knew it. Not all omegas were attractive people. In fact, most weren’t. Being pretty to look at had nothing to do with being weak and submissive. Sam got a lot more sexual attention than some of them ever received and he’d considered more than a few times the possibility of doing something about that. He could cut up his face or burn it and it would hurt, but only for a little while, and maybe all the rest would stop.
He didn’t really know why he didn’t do it.
When his clothes were on the floor and he stood there naked, Caleb pointed to the floor in front of him, silently commanding him to stand there. Sam went and stood before him and waited.
Caleb unzipped his fly, pulled his cock out and made an inviting, sweeping gesture down at his lap. “Get to it.”
Someone behind Sam whistled. Someone else laughed.
Sam looked down into Caleb’s lap with complete and utter disinterest. He wasn’t even hard. His cock lay there like a little dead fish.
Sam went to his knees without a word and took it in his hand. He squeezed it and gently tugged and it began to harden with desire inside the ring of his fingers. Caleb’s breath became deeper and he relaxed back, watching Sam through half closed eyes.
“That’s good, Sam. That’s it,” he murmured. “Make me real happy now, put it in your mouth.”
He did and Sam was great at giving head. He knew that just like he knew he was attractive, just like he knew half the reason he’d been called over to Caleb was so Caleb could feel like a king in front of his friends, just like he knew any minute now on the television little miss scream queen was going to run up the stairs instead of going out the wide-open front door. Experience. He applied his tongue and his substantial oral talents to Caleb’s member with the hope that he could make him come quickly and a blowjob was all that would demanded of him.
Caleb moaned and let his head fall back on the headrest of the sofa. He flexed his hips into the suction of Sam’s mouth, but he didn’t thrust. He let Sam do the work. Most of Caleb’s friends had stopped watching the TV and were watching them instead. It hadn’t been a very good movie anyway, but even with the casual attitude toward sex that wolves had, they were young and hormonal and Sam sucking their friend’s cock was a lot more interesting.
Caleb abruptly sat up and Sam thought that was his signal to stop, but Caleb looked down at him and smiled. “Keep going,” he said. He pulled his shirt off and tossed it aside then put his hand on Sam’s head.
Sam waited for Caleb to thrust, expected any moment to feel the head of his cock bump the back of his throat and he’d gag. He knew he would. He almost always did.
He didn’t thrust. After another minute of watching his cock slide in and out between Sam’s lips, Caleb pushed him back and made him stop. Then he grabbed Sam, shoved him down on the sofa on his elbows and thrust into him from behind. Sam cried out, surprised more by the suddenness of the penetration than by the act itself. He hadn’t been ready and with no prep at all it hurt, but then Caleb spit on his fingers and pulled out again to rub it over his cock. He put two fingers in Sam’s ass and worked them around, opening him up. He spread them and Sam bit his bottom lip against a moan that wasn’t all pain. When Caleb thrust back inside him, it was easier. The sofa squeaked in protest, the soundtrack from the horror movie became background to the slapping sound of flesh against flesh, of Caleb moaning, of Sam moaning, of the onlookers catcalls and words of encouragement.
It was truly amazing how many men Sam had been with, even men who liked other men, did not know much about the prostate, but Caleb knew exactly what he was doing and he wanted to hear proof of it from Sam. Someone somewhere had taught him well and he had Sam’s body alight with pleasure in minutes. He moaned and cried out and he rocked back into Caleb’s thrusts wanting more and he wasn’t faking it. Sometimes he liked it even when it was sex he didn’t necessarily want, but it was rare. He wanted to turn it off, but he couldn’t. He wanted to hate it, but he didn’t. He panted and moaned and worked his ass back against Caleb’s hips as he thrust in again and again, the angle perfect, stroking his cock over Sam’s prostate until he was mad with pleasure and so close to orgasm he was ready to beg.
The front door opened, and Owen walked into the house. He saw them all around the TV, looked at Sam with Caleb fucking him on the sofa, and he didn’t even break stride as he passed through the room. His eyes locked with Sam’s and Sam thought frantically, No, please, no, as pleasure built in the pit of his stomach, so intense it was almost intolerable. No, please don’t see me like this.
He didn’t say it aloud. Instead, he looked away and reached back to run his hand up Caleb’s side as he felt him slow, and gasped, “Don’t stop.”
Caleb laughed softly and picked up his pace again. He nuzzled into the side of Sam’s neck, his breath warm and tickling along the back of his ear and down Sam’s shoulder. “You like this shit, don’t you?” he muttered. He sounded surprised. “Goddamn.”
He got Sam to lift up a little and prop himself on the armrest of the sofa. Then he slowed his thrusts, but only so he could grind his hips against Sam’s ass on the in-stroke and rub against his prostate until Sam was crying out and begging, “Please, please…”
Owen still watched them, but he had gone into the kitchen and watched it through the pass-through above the counter. He had a bottle of beer in one hand and a cigarette pinched between the thumb and finger of the other and he watched it the way he might have watched something only of passing interest on the TV. His face was blank of all expression and Sam wanted to hide his face, but he didn’t.
It wasn’t the first time Owen had seen it, and it would not be the last.
Sam came first with a cry that broke in his throat, pleasure streaking through him to the tips of his fingers, which he clenched in the material of the sofa. There were a few feeble cheers from those looking on and Caleb made a cheerful hooting sound of triumph as he picked up his pace again, riding Sam hard and fast to the finish.
Sam moaned and slumped onto the sofa when Caleb pulled out of him and stood to refasten his pants. He didn’t hurry to cover himself or even think about moving to go wash up. He was fairly certain that he wasn’t finished. It had started with Caleb and likely only been an idle desire at first, but there were at least six other people sitting around who had watched, half of them men, and they were all young and horny and Sam was a sure thing.
“Fuck yeah, go ahead. Don’t let me stop you,” Caleb was saying to someone.
Sam felt the couch sag beneath the weight of a body behind him and a hand touched his back. He made a low whining sound of protest in his throat, but he started to push himself up.
Then Owen was there. Sam looked up and Owen was standing above him, and a tense silence fell over the young wolves. Owen reached down, caught the back of Sam’s neck in a hard grip and pulled him up from the sofa. Sam hurried to obey the silent command because his pinching fingers hurt, and then he was being shoved ahead of Owen out of the living room. No one complained about it; they didn’t dare.
Once in the hallway, Sam turned his head to look over his shoulder. “Owen—”
“Shut up,” Owen snapped. “Not here.”
“But—”
They arrived at Owen’s door and he reached around Sam to open it then pushed him through it. He walked in and slammed the door behind him. Then he stood there with his back to it and stared at Sam.
Sam was still shaking in the aftermath of intense orgasm, but he tried to hide it. He clasped his hands together and stared down at his twitching fingers, willing them to be still. “I’m sorry you saw that,” he finally said, not meeting Owen’s eyes.
Owen grunted and paced away from the door. His quarters were more of an apartment than just a bedroom as other wolves who lived in the house had. They were standing in his living room entryway, and Owen left him standing there as he walked by him into the living room.
“Owen, what—?”
“Come with me,” Owen called back to him.
S
am hurried to follow and Owen led him through the apartment to his bedroom. Sam could feel sweat drying on him and come still slick on the back of his thighs, and he did not want to have sex with Owen with the smell of another still on him, but he feared that was exactly what Owen meant to do with him. Sam stopped just inside the doorway and looked around.
“Owen, don’t do this,” he said.
Owen had pulled his shirt off over his head and thrown it onto a chair. He looked around at Sam’s words and raised an eyebrow. “What exactly do you think I’m doing?” he asked.
“I’m sorry you saw that,” Sam said again, pleading with him. “I just… But it happens. You know it happens. You’ve seen it. I can’t—”
Owen held up a hand. “Stop. I know, yeah. I know exactly what happens, I can’t even count the number of people who aren’t me that have fucked you either where I can see it or where I can hear it in the past six or seven years. So, I know. You think I’m mad about that?”
“It would make sense if you were,” Sam said.
“I know. I wish I could be mad about that,” Owen said.
“Then what… You’re pissed off. I know you are,” Sam said. “If not about that, then why?”
Owen walked over to him and took Sam’s chin in his hand to force him to pick his head up meet his gaze. “You liked it. You wanted it. I saw it on your face before you ever opened your mouth and asked for it. I would have to be a different kind of man than I am to not be pissed off about that, Sam.”
“You would rather I hate it and suffer every time,” Sam said.
It wasn’t a question, but Owen answered it anyway. “Yes. I don’t care if that makes me an asshole. I would rather you hate it and suffer every time because I do.”
“I didn’t want to like it,” Sam said. He stepped closer to Owen and put a hand on his arm. “I wanted to hate it. I did. But I just… Sometimes it’s not up to me. Most of the time it isn’t. I don’t want anyone but you. I’ve never wanted anyone but you. But this is… who we are.”