by N. J. Lysk
“Please,” he said, voice high and thready, with all the rearranging, his cock had ended up against my thigh—it throbbed, hard and ready.
He’d requested something else, though. Something I could figure out, even if... “Do you have anything to prepare...?”
My twin swallowed; body gone still. “You could... If you touch me, I think...”
I opened my arms in response and he moved away and laid himself face down next to me.
“Zybyn,” I said at once. “Turn around and look at me.”
He did, shrugging a little but not arguing.
As long as he realised I knew more about this than he did and listened, I had no interest in discussing it either. The memories were heavy enough without talking about them. I took hold of his ankles and arranged him with his feet on the ground and his legs a little spread; he was hard and his balls were swollen, a good sign to go with his obvious nerves. I started with his knees, running the tips of my fingers all the way to the soft downy hair of his inner thighs until I found the trail of pubic hair at the juncture of his legs and followed it low enough to find the swell of his arse. He twitched under my teasing hands, and I inhaled the scent of his arousal like I could devour it. “Michuá...” he whined. “I— I’m—”
“No one’s ever let me do this,” I explained, knowing I was playing dirty. But it was true for him as well and he deserved it, the care I was taking, the love I was trying to put on his skin.
His eyes widened and he struggled to raise his head, making the image of his body spread for me all the more enticing.
“Tell me if it’s really too much,” I offered. “Say... Say ‘puma’ and I’ll...”
He fell backwards with a huff. “Fuck it, do your thing.” He placed his open palms on the bedcovers—no furs in sight—and exposed his neck, as vulnerable as he could be without any bindings. I had to close my eyes and breathe, the show of trust almost too much for my already tortured cock.
I dragged my tunic over my head—with five babies, one hardly wanted to be adding to the washing—and got Zybyn out of his, palming his arse until he lifted it. “Off, off, off!”
He remerged with his dark hair—longer now—mused and his eyes heavy with need, and leaned back on his elbows to watch me like I was a meal.
I grinned back at him, preening a little. My body had mostly returned to its former litheness and I could certainly appreciate the interest now. Not that he hadn’t looked at me the exact same way when I was almost ready to pop. I held his gaze as I braced myself on his knees and leaned to breathe over his groin, exhaling deeply over his wet cock, tongue flicking over the head and sometimes the sides until he was leaking steady and shaking so hard that I had to brace my knees to stay in place.
I gave him a moment, unsure, then quickly collected some of his precome, making him bite down a scream and throw his head back hard enough I could hear his bones crack—thank the Goddess we no longer needed to do this on hard rocky floors. “Shh...” I soothed, using my clean hand to pet him. “Gonna get you ready now.” The words made his muscles seize under my palm and I paused, waiting. “Zybyn?”
“Mmm?”
“We good?”
In response, he let his knees fall open even further, exposing the darker skin between his arse cheeks. I couldn’t see his hole, not with his balls hanging heavy over it, but as I shuffled back and separated the tender flesh of his arse, I almost expected to find it shiny with slick already. It wasn’t, but it fluttered as I exposed it to the air and Zybyn’s hips jerked up as he let out a deep guttural groan.
Maybe he wasn’t wet for me—maybe it wasn’t something his body did any more—but he certainly wanted me. I rubbed my wet fingers over the wrinkled skin, and he clenched around them, gasping under me like I’d done a lot more than put some slick on him.
My own body imitated him, sympathetically and then I realised... What Xander had realised in the river. I couldn’t...
Zybyn rolled a little to the side, enough he could get his right elbow under himself and raise his head, frowning but still looking pretty out of it. “What happened? You suddenly...”
“I...”
His knee knocked my arm. “Michuá,” he said reprovingly. “Out with it, look where we are, man!”
I gulped, then closed my eyes and explained as calmly as I could, “I’m wet.”
“I know—” he cut himself off like he’d taken a punch to the stomach. “Oh.” His voice sounded thin, like something that’d broken, but when I risked a look at his face, his lips were parted and he was visibly flushing. “Yes,” he told me. “Please.”
I didn’t quite understand why neither of us were thinking of that time in the river, or I was really, I just didn’t care. It was my pleasure and it wasn’t being forced out of me by an arbitrary order but softly begged through skin and word and look by the person I loved most in the world.
And I wanted to share it with him. And Zybyn obviously wanted it too.
I gave him a sharp nod, then raised myself on my knees so I could reach my own hole with the same fingers that had touched his, that had worshipped his cock and his body. My own body gave me what I desired, ecstasy at my own fingers that made me ache from the inside out. It took me a few moments to realise it was Zybyn whimpering and not me, as if he could feel my nerves lightening up as I curled my digits to get as much of my own wetness out of myself as possible.
When I finally took my hand away from myself to bring around to him, I found my brother had his hand clenched tightly around the base of his erection, red and wetter than I’d left it. His eyes were on me like I was the moon, and I was trapped in their depths, my own body forgotten as I drank in his—the long lines of his limbs, the unmistakable proof of his desire, and the gleam of sweat that marked his patience.
His patience. His love. He’d waited for me. Even after I’d ran away from the powerful connection between us, too young to understand no laws or customs could matter in the face of our devotion to each other.
Slowly, I brought my fingers back to the v of his legs, gently lifting his sack to reach his hole. Placing the tips there, wet with my own slick, sent a rush of heat through me, like a spark had been lit and Zybyn moved against me, pushing back and taking the two of my fingers inside the impossible blazing grip of his body. And he kept taking, my hand and his hips finding a rhythm until I was pushing three fingers in and out of him with ease and he was moaning brokenly, saying my name again and again like he couldn’t stop.
And I couldn’t either, except...
“Fuck me!” he spat out suddenly. “Michuá, do it, fuck me!”
I scrambled to get close enough and align my cock—slippery with my own impatience—with the warm space where my fingers still resided. Pulling them out made Zybyn grunt in displeasure, but the head of my dick against his entrance turned the sound into a gasp and then I was falling, right into him, my body finding its path like it’d been marked by the stars, like there could have been no other.
It was home, not a place but a person, and his body opened to me like I was a long-lost part of itself, his arms coming up to my waist to drag me close enough to kiss. Just for a moment because being inside him was too much on its own without adding more to it and, in truth, I was too overwhelmed with pleasure to do more than press wet kisses to his mouth—by turns open to beg for more or closed so he could shove against my thrusts with all the considerable power of his own body.
The universe began and ended in him, my soulmate, somehow cruelly torn from me at birth. But now we were finally reunited again, our bodies recreating a bridge that the world had attempted to sever out of some imagined righteousness. There could never be anything right about anything that came between Zybyn and I, if there was one thing that was absolutely true, it had to be that.
He dug his heels into my sides and I sped up my thrusts, almost not pulling out, just rutting into him as he clawed at my arms and tried to catch another kiss that he’d lose almost at once, too distracted panting f
or air and trying to get more of my cock into him. I don’t know what it was, but my brain eventually caught on to the fact that I wasn’t close enough for his own cock to get the stimulation it needed. I covered him with my body at once, trapping his erection between us and making him scream on my next thrust inside him—a little awkward due to the angle—also gave him my stomach to rub against.
I pulled out a little, and he waited for me to return to him before exploding, marking me with his seed as he sobbed out my name and turned his head to the side, eyes scrunched shut as if he couldn’t bear to see me. My mouth found the exposed column of his neck like the sun finds the horizon, it was just there and it was mine. My teeth sank into the skin and I tasted blood and that was the final line to cross for my body to finish as well, filling him with my seed even as his blood filled my mouth—a cycle at last complete.
MY BODY HAD COOLED down enough that I appreciated the warmth of his body wrapped over me, but I couldn’t relax. “Are you... mad?”
Zybyn gave me a flat look, then dropped his head back on my shoulder. “Go to sleep, Michuá, I’ll give you your own tattoo in the morning.”
I snorted. “Idiot, it’ll fade.”
“It won’t,” Zybyn said with certainty.
And maybe, just maybe, he was right, and the Goddess could tell when a mating was true—no matter what stories the world had made up to explain her will.
I closed my eyes, his calm sipping into me. I didn’t know why, but for the first time in my life, I felt at peace and I could believe things would turn out alright.
Author notes
Names inspired by the Muysca people of the Andes, just for a little variety since these guys are pumas who live in a mountainous habitat.
If you enjoyed Not to be Borne, check out His, Truly (twincest, sweet angst, HEA), Omega for the Pack (multiple partners, dubcon/noncon, mpreg, HEA) or His Brother’s Dowry (multiple partners, noncon, mpreg, no HEA).
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The Alpha Solution
Junen was thirsty enough that if he’d been given a bucket to piss, he’d have been thinking about drinking it. But the cell had a hole in the ground to serve as a toilet so even if he could have made himself do it to survive, the choice was out of his hands. A human could survive about three days without drinking, no one had said how long a werewolf could manage—was it less or more time that it would take him to grow so desperate he ripped his own arm open and drank his own blood?
His suspicions that he was being watched were confirmed when the alpha walked in not long after he slumped to the ground and let his eyes rest.
He looked as fresh as a daisy in a dress shirt and fucking slacks, like he was a businessman instead of a maniac.
“Coffee?” he offered. He held two steaming Styrofoam cup from Costa’s and the smell made Junen’s stomach clench, tongue rubbing against his own palate in an effort to wet it.
The drink could be drugged. It almost certainly was. But what did he have to lose? He was in a cage like an animal and no one knew to come for him here.
He stood, adjusting his stance at the last moment to pretend he hadn’t stumbled. The smirk on the other man’s lips said he’d noticed anyway. Fuck him, what did he expect after keeping him in such a cramped space for days with no food or water?
The bastard actually stepped forward and put his arm through the bars. Junen could have ripped his arm out, but the coffee would have spilled and then he’d have been stuck inside the cell, so thirsty he was thinking of drinking his own blood and with the only person he knew for certain knew his whereabouts too dead to get him out or reveal them to anyone.
He took the cup instead, startled to find out it was still hot. Was there really a Costa’s so close to his unexpected prison?
“I went for two sugars,” the other alpha told him, sipping at his own cup. “That’s how you like it, isn’t it?”
Junen gave him an incredulous look, because it fucking was and it was like the guy wanted to tick every single box in the being as creepy as possible questionnaire. He took a sip anyway, then another, keeping his gaze unfocused and trying to hide his relief. He made himself drink slowly and he couldn’t detect anything strange, but of course that wasn’t guarantee of anything.
“Did your father tell you why you’re not meant to patrol alone?” the alpha asked.
But he clearly knew the answer, if Junen had known this could happen, he’d have been more careful. His father had told them not to and he’d expected them to obey, and it wasn’t like Junen was excepted just because he would be the next alpha leader of his pack, but exactly for that reason, he’d volunteered to take on the most annoying of his age-mates as a partner.
And Lekle never shut up, so sue him, he’d wanted a little peace and quiet while he patrolled. He’d wanted to actually be able to listen for any danger; how was that a bad idea? Except it’d landed him here.
“Yeah,” the other alpha said with a nod. “I was thinking not, I’m sure you’re not really that dumb. But I guess he doesn’t think you’re ready to know this stuff yet, does he? How old are you? Twenty? Twenty-one?”
“I’m twenty-four,” Junen spat, glaring. He was a big guy and he’d been getting into places without getting carded since he’d presented alpha at sixteen and bulked up in a matter of weeks. He was not used to getting looked at like he was a science project, and he most certainly did not appreciate it. “And I don’t know what your deal with my father is, but you’re not helping your case by doing this. My dad hates drama.”
“Drama, huh?” The smirk he got in response said the notion was absolutely hilarious and Junen wasn’t even sure what he was getting laughed at about. His language? The guy was older, sure, but it wasn’t anything stereotypical and— “I think some things deserve to be spoken of with some ‘drama’,” he said pleasantly.
“What things?” Junen asked, giving in. There was being a tough guy and there was being an idiot; he wasn’t going to spend another week in the cell just to avoid asking the other alpha a question. It wasn’t a weakness not to understand why a random wolf had taken you and shoved you in a cage.
And even so, the smile he received made his blood freeze. “Well, surrender of your pack’s command, for one thing.”
“What?”
“I don’t like to spill blood unnecessarily, you see,” the stranger explained, for all the world like he was a teacher imparting a lesson. “Not when there’s so few of us left and with humans expanding at the insane rate only them and vermin can manage.” He sighed. “So I asked your father to agree to be my second, I even told him he could keep everything as it was except for the breeding,” he added, sounding truly puzzled.
“B—Breeding?” Junen repeated.
The alpha’s dark eyes found his. “Yes, Junen, making babies? This whole nonsense of letting everyone go on birth control and fuck around with heat cycles is damaging our ability to survive as a species.”
“You are crazy,” Junen blurted out, unthinking.
But the alpha didn’t take offense, simply heaving a sigh. “Which great innovator didn’t get told that?” he asked, although he didn’t seem to expect an answer. “In any case, your father refused. So I had to take matters into my own hands.”
Junen snorted, crossing his arms and facing off with the guy. If he thought his dad would be made to negotiate with a nutjob, he had another thing coming. “So you kidnapped me and you think he’ll agree to your plans to get me back?”
This got him a proper laugh, it didn’t even sound messed up, just a man’s deep rumble of amusement. It sent a chill down Junen’s spine; he was starting to wonder
if the guy wasn’t as much crazy as a bona fide psychopath. “I am not stupid, Junen, your father wouldn’t give up control of his pack to get you back. But he has sworn you in as his heir, so when you are my omega; he will have no choice but to name me instead.”
For a moment, Junen’s brain couldn’t seem to process the words. “Wh— Omega?” he choked out at last. “That’s... That’s impossible!”
“Not according to our forefathers,” his captor announced with a smirk. “See? This is what I’m talking about, these days you kids spend all your time fraternizing with humans, learning to ‘program’ and ‘network’,” these words were said like they referred to bodily functions of the lowest kind. “And you haven’t read the diaries of your people, you don’t know your history or even what your own body is capable of.”
“At least I know an alpha can’t become an omega!” he snapped, running out of patience with racist speech. It figured he got stuck with the racist kidnapper, like the guy wasn’t creepy enough.
The alpha kept on smiling. “All it takes for a werewolf to change orientations is his pack needing him to. And we really need you to.” This last he said with some pleasure, his own teeth extending in a threatening fashion.
Junen shook his head in silent denial, taking an involuntary step back, then reared forward and hit the bars, growling for all he was worth. “I will kill you if you so much as think of touching me!”
The arsehole smiled at him, as if pleased by his reaction. “I thought you’d see it that way,” he said with what sounded like sincere regret. “I guess we will just get on with things then.”
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