Camwolf

by J. L. Merrow

  “Not ’til four. Why?”

  “You’ll see.”

  He remained irritatingly secretive all through lunch. Then he took her arm and led her out of college and into town. Tiff balked when they reached the expensive salon on Mill Road. “Jools, I can’t afford this place!”

  “You don’t have to. I’ll pay. Think of it as a late birthday present.”

  Tiff felt awkward. She hated being reminded he had so much more money than she did. “Julian, my birthday was in March. You didn’t even know me then.”

  Julian shrugged. It wasn’t fair, Tiff thought. How could the way someone shrugged make your heart hurt for wanting them?

  “But if I had known you, I would have bought you a present. Come on—let’s see if I can sweet-talk them into fitting you in.”

  Forty-five minutes later, Tiff had to admit that sometimes, you got what you paid for. Or, in this case, what your best friend paid for. She couldn’t stop looking in the mirror. With her hair like this, she looked almost…pretty.

  Julian’s satisfied face appeared in the mirror next to hers, and suddenly she was back to being plain old Tiff, a stone overweight and with a name that didn’t suit her. “There. Isn’t that better?”

  She couldn’t not smile back in the face of his obvious pleasure. It wasn’t his fault he was so bloody gorgeous.

  As they left the overheated salon and were hit with the chilly East Anglian breeze, Tiff shivered.

  “Here, take my jacket,” Julian said at once, gracefully shrugging out of it and presenting it to her like he’d been reading some 1920s etiquette manual.

  “Don’t be daft, I’ll get it all hairy.”

  Jools just shrugged again. “It’ll brush off.”

  Tiff didn’t resist as he slipped the soft, expensive leather around her shoulders. It was warm with the heat of his body and carried his scent—almost, but not quite, like getting a hug. Feeling her smile grow brittle, Tiff straightened her shoulders. “Come on, we’d better get back to college. I need to get my stuff together for Dr. Sewell’s supervision.”

  Nick looked impatiently out of his window. It was only just four, but he was fed up with students arriving late for supervisions. And he knew damn well Tiffany bloody Meadows was in college; he’d seen her walking in with Julian not half an hour ago, thick as thieves.

  He started at the knock on the door, and let Kate in. She was followed thirty seconds later by Tiffany, who looked somehow different, but Nick couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

  “Oh! I like your hair!” Kate sounded equally shocked and admiring as she turned to Tiffany.

  Tiffany blushed. “Thanks,” she mumbled. “It was all Jools’ idea, really.”

  So that was what they’d been up to. Her hair was cut into a sort of bob that Nick vaguely recognised as fashionable, and he was fairly sure the colour was different. Now he really looked at her, it actually made quite a difference to her face. She was wearing Julian’s leather jacket too, Nick realised with a stab of annoyance.

  “When you young ladies have quite finished with the mutual admiration society, might I remind you that this is supposed to be a supervision?” he told them sharply.

  He wasn’t sure, but he thought Tiffany tsked under her breath as she sat down dutifully.

  God, Dr. Sewell had been in a right mood during the supervision. As she walked back along Main Court, Tiff drew Julian’s jacket more tightly around her, as if it could ward off the evil eye of the jealous boyfriend. Stupid sod.

  It was still an hour to Hall, and Tiff was nearly out of coffee, so she decided to pop into the shops rather than waste the hour trying to study while she was still pissed off about Dr. Sewell. Remembering to take her lamps, she grabbed her bike from the underground bike sheds and set off across town.

  By the time she got back, it was nearly six and already almost dark. It always seemed so creepy at this time of day, just after the clocks had gone back—dark when it shouldn’t be, as if there was a storm coming. And Tiff had the weirdest feeling she was being watched as she locked her bike in the bike sheds and turned to go back to her room. She was weighed down by shopping bags in both hands—because by the time you’d gone all the way to Sainsbury’s, you were never going to come out with just coffee, were you?—and it made her feel more vulnerable somehow, as if there was a bloody big target painted on her back and she had no hands free to defend herself.

  She jumped at the sound of a low growl. There, in the shadows at the far end of the shed. Was there something moving? Putting both bags into her left hand—the floor here was damp and disgusting and probably covered in rat poo, no way was she putting her food down on that—Tiff pulled her bike lamp out of her pocket and switched it on. The beam didn’t really reach far enough, but Tiff thought she saw something…there! Over in the corner—God, what was that? Huge, amber eyes…

  “Bloody hell, Sab! You didn’t!” Tiff jumped a mile as a gaggle of braying third-years burst into the sheds. “I just can’t believe you did that! And in front of Jonathan! What did he—?” They fell abruptly silent on realising they weren’t alone, then burst out laughing as they pushed past Tiff to park their bikes.

  The next time she looked, there was nothing there. Tiff shivered. Maybe she was imagining things?

  Or maybe she’d been right about the rat poo. With an odd feeling of disgust, Tiff followed the third-years back into college.

  The wolf growled again, this time under his breath. This was not the one. Not his Own, although it wore his scent. The wolf would have liked to have ended it just for that, but, despite the cloaking darkness, there were too many people around.

  But there would not always be.

  Chapter Ten

  Nick wasn’t quite sure what to say when Julian knocked on his door the following evening. Things between them had been a little…strained when they’d parted on arriving back at college after their night together. And then there had been all that business with Tiffany.

  “Come in,” he greeted Julian, falling back on social formulae. “You weren’t thinking of, well, going for a run, were you?” The words were so innocuous. As if he were merely suggesting Julian might want to go jogging with him. Not desperately trying to hold himself back from taking him somewhere secluded, by force, if necessary, and debauching him once again, making damn sure the boy knew who he belonged to.

  Julian gave him a curious look and smiled guilelessly. “I just wanted to spend some time with you as human.”

  The innocent words hit Nick like a kick in the gut. And again there was that curious German phrasing. Once more Nick felt there were rules to this encounter that Julian wasn’t bothering to tell him. He couldn’t decide whether to kick the boy out or slam him up against the wall. “Drink?” he asked abruptly.

  “Please.”

  Halfway to the kettle, Nick changed his mind mid-stride and grabbed a bottle of Merlot. Uncorking it swiftly (he refused to buy screw-tops as a matter of principle) he poured the wine rebelliously into a couple of coffee mugs and handed one to Julian.

  There was a strange half-smile on the boy’s face as he took the mug and raised it to his lips, muttering, “Your health,” en route.

  Zum bloody wohl, Nick thought sourly, taking a hefty swallow. “Are you sleeping with Tiffany Meadows?” he demanded.

  He thought for a moment Julian was about to drop his wine. The boy started violently and seemed to hunch into himself. “No,” he whispered.

  Nick felt like the biggest bastard in the history of bastardy. “Sorry. You…spend a lot of time with her, that’s all.”

  Julian looked up, eyes wide. “You believe me?”

  “Shouldn’t I?”

  “Of course!”

  The tension lessened, a little. “I’m sorry,” Nick said again. “I…” I know I don’t own you, he’d meant to say, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to say the words.

  Startling him slightly, in one graceful movement Julian put his mug on the floor and knelt before Nick. “For m
e there is no one except you,” he said softly, laying his head on Nick’s knees.

  Nick froze. Julian’s throat was visible, its pale, perfect skin gleaming. If he didn’t move…

  Julian moved. Raising himself, but still on his knees, he looked at Nick from under his lashes. Shyly. Submissively. “I belong to you,” he said simply.

  It wasn’t a matter of conscious thought. Thought of any kind didn’t enter into it. Nick simply became aware that Julian was stretched out on the floor beneath him, and Nick’s teeth were in his neck again. Julian shuddered as Nick bit down. “Please,” he whispered, and the last shred of self-control was gone. Nick tore savagely at the boy’s clothes, scarcely allowing Julian’s more nimble fingers to assist. Garments were pulled off without regard for their seams or even for their owner.

  When the slender form was finally revealed, Nick grasped Julian’s cock tightly enough to cause the boy to cry out. “Mine,” he growled.

  Julian’s only reply was to bare his bloodied throat once more.

  Nick almost hit him.

  Thrusting himself back from the boy, he tried to control his ragged breathing. Julian stared at him, shocked. “You don’t want…?”

  “I want,” Nick assured him grimly. He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply, then opened them once more. “Never do that again. Never offer yourself to me, like a lamb to the bloody slaughter.” I might just take you up on it.

  Understanding seemed to flood into those clear blue eyes. Julian visibly struggled with himself for a moment. “I won’t,” he said finally. He sat up, then scrambled to his knees once more. His cock, Nick couldn’t help but notice, was still pointing skyward. Nick didn’t back away as Julian moved towards him. Didn’t do a thing to stop the boy, as he reached up to undo Nick’s trousers.

  Certainly didn’t utter any complaint as Julian eased his aching cock out of the confining clothes and guided it into his mouth.

  Nick groaned harshly at the first touch of those teasing, pouting lips. It took all he had not to grab the boy by the hair and fuck that mouth violently, savagely erasing the memory of him doing this to another man. He held on to Julian’s shoulders instead, dimly aware he must be bruising the boy. Blood seemed to rush in his ears, and his vision faded…and then Julian pulled off. Nick groaned again and blinked to clear his eyes. Julian was still on his knees, but now he faced away from Nick. God, he was fingering his own arse, his weight braced on his other arm.

  It was quite clear what he wanted.

  Nick didn’t make him wait. Dropping to his knees, he pulled Julian’s hand out of the way. His hole, barely stretched, seemed to mock Nick for his hesitation, but instead of thrusting straight in, Nick bent and licked along the length of Julian’s crack.

  Julian’s sobbing moan seemed incongruous, too great a reaction. “Please,” he whispered once more.

  Nick’s fingers tightened upon the slender hips, but nevertheless he bent his head once more. He had to tighten his grasp still further as Julian bucked with every swipe of the tongue. The scent of him… God, Nick would never forget that scent. He’d be able to pick it out in a crowd of thousands, that he was sure of. The smell of Julian, the feel of him, drove Nick wild. Straightening, he lined himself up with Julian’s saliva-slick hole and pushed in.

  Julian’s cries became more high-pitched, and he pressed his hips back against Nick’s groin, demanding that Nick go farther, take him more deeply. Nick thought he heard another “please”, but he couldn’t have sworn to it. His whole attention was focused on his cock and on the boy he was making his own. The scars on Julian’s back meant nothing now; it was Nick he’d remember. He slammed into the boy again and again, the force of his thrusts jolting Julian forward on the rug.

  It couldn’t last. Nick’s balls tightened and, as he sank his teeth into Julian’s shoulder, his climax rushed upon him with unstoppable force. He had just enough presence of mind not to roar his triumph to the world as he felt Julian’s thin frame shudder beneath him, caught in his own completion.

  Chest heaving, Nick collapsed half on top of Julian, rolling to one side so as not to crush him. They should probably have used the bed, he thought, but the rug was soft enough not to make it worth moving. Chilly, though. Reaching up, he dragged the throw from the sofa down over them and curled himself around Julian’s slender figure.

  They lay there for a long time, neither sleeping nor fully awake.

  Finally, Julian spoke, his voice hesitant. “I was surprised, you know.”

  “Mmm?” Nick murmured. God, he felt good. Warm, languid, relaxed, Nick felt like he was floating in golden syrup. Mmm, maybe he and Julian could try something with that some time.

  “That you didn’t have anyone.”

  Oh. Some of the warmth seemed to seep away. “I—no. I haven’t for a while.” He sighed. “I tried seeing someone when I lived in Nottingham, the year after—after Carl, and it didn’t end well.”

  “You didn’t turn him.” Julian sounded confident of that.

  “No, but…damn it!” Nick sighed again and rolled over onto his stomach, staring at the fireplace. “I found that towards the full moon, I became…possessive.”

  “What happened?” Julian asked, his tone neutral. Nick felt a soft hand stroking his back.

  “I—Julian, you must understand that I would never lift a hand to you,” Nick demanded, rolling over again to face his young lover. Cool blue eyes met his own calmly.

  “You hit him?”

  More than once, actually, but Nick couldn’t bring himself to tell Julian that. “Yes. Matthew—that was his name—he was, well, chatting with another man. I accused him of flirting and things got out of hand.”

  He’d beaten Matthew to the ground, in point of fact. A miracle he hadn’t caused any serious injury. He’d been damn lucky Matthew had listened to his guilt-stricken, pleading apologies the next day and refused to press charges.

  All it had cost him was his boyfriend, most of his friends and any hope of ever finding love. Until now.

  Or was he just fooling himself? Did whatever it was he had with Julian bear any relation to love? In some ways it seemed more like a marriage of convenience, with Julian trading sexual favours for what he perceived as Nick’s protection of him. God, that was fucked up.

  Nick knew he should end it—but damn it, it wasn’t like Julian would take a vow of celibacy if Nick dumped him. From what he’d seen and heard, quite the opposite, in fact. Surely if anyone was going to be fucking the boy it might just as well be him?

  Nick sighed. “You should probably be going.”

  The boy nodded and rose. As he collected his clothes, Nick watched the slender, scarred form with an odd feeling of regret.

  Julian turned when he reached the door. “Tomorrow evening,” he began.

  “You’d like to go out?” Nick finished for him. “I mean, for a run?”

  Julian smiled. “Yes. I’d like that very much.”

  Around eleven o’clock, just as she was thinking of having an early night, Julian walked into Tiff’s room without knocking as per bloody usual.

  “Some of us have essays to write, you know,” she muttered, not looking up from her notes.

  She heard the flump as Julian threw himself down on her bed. “I could probably put in a good word for you with your supervisor, you know,” he suggested, his tone teasing.

  “Yeah, right,” she said sarcastically. “The more you ask him to go easy on me, the more he’s likely to fail me out of spite. He hates me now, or hadn’t you noticed?”

  There was a pause. Tiff underlined a couple of key points in her notes.

  “He doesn’t hate you. He has no reason to.”

  Sometimes, men were so bloody clueless. Tiff threw down her pen. “Tell him that, then. Maybe he’ll lay off the sarcasm in supervisions.”

  “It’s not his fault,” Julian said. He was silent for a moment. Tiff ripped off the last sheet of notes from her pad and filed it with a snap of the ring binder. “Maybe you sh
ould start seeing someone?”

  Like it was so bloody easy. “Like you said before, there isn’t anyone I fancy. And besides, everyone thinks I’m going out with you. I’d have thought you’d want to keep it that way—or are you and Dr. Sewell planning to go public?”

  Silence.

  “Jools?” Tiff asked, turning round. Julian was sitting on her bed, all sort of curled up into a ball. “What’s wrong?”

  “You think we should do that? Tell people what we are?”

  Tiff frowned, confused. “You’re not making sense. Everyone knows you’ve had boyfriends, and I don’t s’pose Dr. Sewell turns up to LGBT meetings in disguise.”

  “Doch.”

  “What?”

  Julian ran a hand through his hair. “English. It doesn’t have a word for it.” He sounded like he was talking to himself. “He is in disguise. He is always in disguise. I too.”

  Tiff got up from her chair. “You’re being really weird.” She stopped halfway to the bed, wanting to sit and give him a bloody good cuddle, but getting the crazy impression that if she got any closer, he’d bolt. “Is there something wrong?”

  He didn’t answer—and she couldn’t have said what it was, but just something about the way he was all huddled in on himself sent a splinter of ice into her heart. “He’s not hurting you, is he?” she asked, her chest tight.

  Her breathing eased as Julian looked up with a ghost of a smile on his lips. “No,” he said, sounding almost surprised. His eyes were wide and didn’t look away from her. “Would you turn the light out?”

  “Er, why?”

  “I want to show you something. But I don’t want—” He broke off. “Please?”

  “Well, all right. But this had better not be some stupid joke.” Tiff went to the door and flicked the switch. For a moment the room seemed absolutely black, but gradually her eyes adjusted and shapes became more visible in the faint light that came in through the thin cotton curtains.