by Alex Kidwell
When they were released, Victor was stopped no less than five times by students. Some of them wanted to know when he’d be back—they apparently liked his teaching style, which Victor found very strange, as most did not. Some, it seemed, appreciated the fact that he was blunt and to the point, and didn’t tolerate students sleeping or texting.
He returned to find Randall surrounded by books piled on the floor, various papers spread out around him. His office had been transformed into chaos, but if Victor had learned anything about Randall, he knew it would be an extremely organized chaos, one that could be cleaned up in a matter of minutes.
“You look like you’re having fun,” Victor greeted, carefully stepping over some books.
With a soft grunt as his only response, Randall frowned down at the page he was reading, lips moving as he silently worked through whatever language it was in. A quick glance showed that he’d found one of Victor’s Sumerian texts. Difficult to get through, especially since, as far as he knew, Randall didn’t speak it. But there was a translation guide open by Randall’s elbow, and a page full of notes in his messy, cramped writing.
“I can’t figure out the context of this verb,” Randall finally sighed, sitting back. He’d pushed his glasses up on top of his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s saying that the snake people were either worshipped or cooked, and I’d say that changes the ending quite a bit.” But he smiled up at Victor, leaning back in the chair. “Yes. I am having a great deal of fun. Your office is a bit like my idea of a dream vacation.”
“It’s one of those verbs that depends heavily on context, unfortunately,” Victor replied. He got himself over another pile of books to crouch down beside Randall. He pointed at the text that Randall was looking at, a few lines farther down. “See here? It lists ingredients.”
“Ah.” Randall wrinkled his nose. “So I’m guessing this is not a story with a happy conclusion.” He turned, kissing Victor lightly in hello. “Fascinating, even if it is quite brutal. They apparently, from what I can gather here, thought that by, er, eating medusas, they’d gain all the souls the medusas had taken. Worship probably would have been less messy and just as effective.”
“Exactly,” Victor agreed. “And, on the bright side, should you ever want to cook me, you now have a very nice soup recipe.”
“I have other ways of eating you that are far more pleasant,” Randall returned with a huge grin, obviously proud of his innuendo. Another quick kiss and Randall stood, stretching, having loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves while he worked. “Should I gather up what I think we should take? I believe we can make it in one trip.”
Victor eyed the fairly impressive collection Randall had pulled from his shelves. “I think you might be a bit overconfident in my upper body strength. Here, give me a second. I’ll enlist a minion.”
He took two steps to the door again and stuck his head out of it. The student he asked for help was one of the best in his classes. She was currently working as a research assistant for one of the other professors and seemed all too happy to take a break from the offices. Between the three of them, they managed to get all the books out to the car, where the student farewelled Victor with a hug after making him promise he would be back for the next semester.
Victor handed the small pile of older books to Randall for him to keep on his lap as they drove—the last thing Victor wanted was to turn a sudden corner and have a pile of near irreplaceable books fall over and get damaged.
As they drove back, Victor kept watching Randall out of the corner of his eye. He had looked so at home at the college that it pained Victor to know Randall was denying himself the opportunity. He understood Randall’s reasons, but he just had to ask. Just once more.
“Do you remember how staying at my place wasn’t the only thing I offered, before we left?” he said, keeping his tone neutral. He didn’t want to be too pushy in this. “I can pull the necessary strings to get you back into college as a very late enrollee, if that’s something you’d be interested in.”
Letting out a slow breath, Randall absently rubbed his hands together, staring out the window. “Victor,” he started before simply shaking his head. “You know I can’t.”
Victor knew he had to be very delicate about this conversation. Unfortunately, he wasn’t good at delicate. Nonetheless, he’d try, for Randall’s sake. “Not going to college won’t make Anthony get any better,” he said, wincing as he said it. It was true, though, however indelicate it might be to point out that fact. “Denying yourself a future will not make Anthony improve, just as allowing yourself to go back to school won’t somehow make him worse.”
He could see Randall’s jaw tightening, his profile difficult to read. “I know that,” Randall finally admitted. “It just seems… wrong. It’s a long drive from our house here, and that would be hours and hours I wouldn’t be with him. I can’t just go on like nothing is wrong, Victor.”
“I know.” Victor couldn’t argue with that. He understood Randall wanted to spend every moment with Anthony he could, and to tell him otherwise would be nothing short of heartless. “I don’t want to seem pushy, but if you all stayed at my place, things that like would no longer be an issue.”
“A week is very different than an indefinite stay,” Randall pointed out after several long moments of silence. “And as much as I would love to just say yes and move in, it’s not that simple. Our cabin is the only place we’ve ever lived. We built it ourselves. Our parents lived and died on that land.” Randall turned, studying Victor, obviously searching for the right words. “And what we have, what we’ve started, it means too much to me to ruin it by rushing. You say you want us there now, but you’ve not even had time to get sick of us. I’d rather go slow and have a lifetime to get to that point than to push it because of a few good dates.”
In response, Victor reached over the seats and took Randall’s hand. He wished it were a very simple matter of them just moving in, but everything Randall said was true. There were other factors in play here, ones that were big decisions.
However much he wanted to help Randall, he couldn’t force that help on him. And he certainly couldn’t get annoyed when Randall refused.
Instead, Victor nodded. “I understand.” He gently squeezed Randall’s hand. “I just want you to know that the offer is not on a time limit. If in five years you decide that’s what you want, I will still gladly accept.”
Randall pulled Victor’s hand up and kissed his knuckles. “Do you think we’ll still be together in five years, then?” he asked, tone light but something achingly sweet in his expression. Something so very hopeful.
“If we’re not, I’ll be very cranky,” Victor replied.
“Well, then.” Randall breathed out a quick laugh. “Anything to avoid that.”
Victor’s hand remained in Randall’s for the remainder of the drive. Upon arriving back home, they had to enlist Edwin’s help in bringing the books into the house—and Victor very carefully took responsibility for the older books himself. As soon as Edwin had dumped the textbooks onto the desk, he was gone again as quickly as if he’d just vanished into thin air.
He and Randall spent the rest of the day neck deep in research, only surfacing for cups of tea or water, or to stretch their legs. Over time, though, Victor started to notice that Randall’s concentration was slipping. As time went by, he would, more and more, have to pause to put the book down to look out the window where Anthony and Edwin were working in the garden. They seemed jittery too, Edwin dropping his rake to chase a rabbit across the lawn, human form merging into wolf and then back again in shifts so quick they seemed almost unreal.
When Randall seemed completely incapable of focusing, Victor offered to cut their work day short—but as Randall got more restless with the proximity of the full moon, he also got more stubborn, so Victor was treated to a frown and a passionate insistence that Randall could continue reading. And Randall certainly did seem to try.
An hour before it g
ot dark, the wolves corralled themselves into the kitchen for dinner, which was a rather more growl-filled affair than usual. On one occasion, Randall really did growl seriously at Edwin for attempting to steal something off Victor’s plate, a protective note to the rumble that just made Victor smile. Victor spent the rest of the dinner with Randall practically forcibly dividing him from Anthony and Edwin. He clearly didn’t think Anthony and Edwin were threats as such; he just seemed to be feeling possessive.
When Anthony and Edwin abandoned the dinner table to go outside, Randall lingered. Victor glanced at him as he finished the rest of his meal—he knew Randall often held off on the change, simply because he didn’t want to be ruled by his instincts.
“What’s your plan for the night?” Victor asked. He cast a look at the table and silently despaired. Wolves were apparently rather messy when they got jittery.
“Well.” Randall turned toward him, even the simple motion so much more graceful now, a predatory stalk in the way he walked across the room to Victor. “I was thinking about how hard I could fuck you over the back of the couch.” A slow smile eased across Randall’s lips. “Which is less a plan than an impulse, really.”
There was very little in the world that could make Victor speechless for even a few seconds. That, apparently, was something that could. “Oh? Well, never let it be said that I would have you deny your impulses.”
With a growl, Randall moved, grasping Victor by the hips and all but tossing him toward the couch. Victor caught himself and kept his balance, one hand braced on the back of it. He looked at Randall over his shoulder, twisting his lips into a half smirk. He would admit to looking forward to their first full moon, though the anticipation of it had mostly slipped his mind in all the chaos of moving the Lewises in and having them stay. Even though he’d come to terms with David’s memories and the echo of self-destructiveness, it didn’t change the fact that Randall—when he was closer to his wolfish nature—was very attractive.
Randall stalked forward, stripping off clothes as he went. He carelessly tossed his sweater aside, kicking off his trousers, so much of his usual reticent nature now brushed aside in the brashness the moon seemed to give wolves. Randall confident under normal circumstances was one thing; this was a voracious need that Randall seemed unable to deny. For freedom, yes, for the ground under his feet, the wind at his back. But also for more carnal things—food, company, him. As Randall approached him, grasping Victor’s shirt and easily ripping it open, bowing his head to suck biting kisses along his chest, Victor wondered if this was how all wolves treated their mates on such occasions. They should probably invest in soundproofing if that were the case.
Mates. It was a word that sounded so much more intimate to Victor than mere “husbands.” If asked, he couldn’t say why, only that the connotation of the word seemed more meaningful. He didn’t know if he and Randall would ever get to that point, but he sincerely hoped they did.
Far from the hesitation of their first night, they fit together so much easier now, like they had been reaching out for each other their whole lives. Randall’s fingers were deft on Victor’s pants, slipping into his pockets to find the condom and the lube Victor had been carrying around in awareness of the full moon since they’d gotten home. He felt more than heard Randall laugh, teeth catching against Victor’s throat.
“Someone’s prepared,” Randall murmured. He pushed Victor’s shirt back over his shoulders, sending one of the half-torn-off buttons flying, too anxious to get to as much skin as he could. He paused, taking a slow breath, as if realizing what he was doing. “Do you want me to stop?” he asked, concern underneath the obvious want in his voice. “I’ve never… been like this with anyone on a moon. We’re getting closer. I don’t know what I’ll be like.”
“Don’t you dare stop,” Victor insisted. “And don’t worry about it. You were perfectly considerate in the garage.” Randall was already naked, which unfortunately meant that he didn’t have the pleasure of attempting to do his own clothes ripping—it did mean that he had the benefit of not wasting time doing it, though.
They came together in a clash of a kiss. Randall let go at the permission, his eyes shining yellow again. His touch was hard but not rough, firmly grasping Victor’s sides as they kissed. Victor’s pants were shoved off, kicked aside carelessly, and Randall lifted him up to sit on the back edge of the couch, keeping Victor steady with an arm around his waist.
Randall slicked his fingers with lube, hand shaking a little with the force of his want, with the little muffled growls he was burying against Victor’s skin. Jerking Victor forward so he was all but laid out on the back of the couch, Randall eased one finger inside of Victor, letting out a groaned, “God, you feel so good.” Victor breathed in sharply and tried to remind himself that moving too eagerly against Randall would result in falling off completely.
Leaning over him, Randall bit sharply at Victor’s shoulder, sucking hard at the skin, and added another finger. His movements were quick, hard, thrusting into Victor with an urgency that was mirrored in the tenseness of Randall’s shoulders, the frantic breaths against Victor’s skin. When Randall’s teeth closed on Victor’s scar, it was with a rumbling growl, a possessive sound that shook Randall’s whole body. “Mine,” he muttered, biting harder, sucking away the sting, pulling back only to go in again, worrying at Victor’s flushed skin as if he could claim the scar completely. “Mine.”
Victor was only dimly aware that he was leaving clawed scrapes over Randall’s back with his fingernails, his own version, perhaps, of the bite. He shifted, hooking an arm more firmly around Randall’s shoulders for better balance as Randall withdrew his hand. Randall pressed inside him, and their simultaneous groans vibrated through Victor’s chest.
Randall didn’t go for a gradual buildup, a slow and steady increase in pace. He simply wrapped his arm around Victor and thrust into him fully, pulling back almost completely before rocking back into Victor, hard and fast, groans and growls alike pulled from his throat. They moved together at a frantic pace, until Victor was sure that the couch had become barely involved at all, and surely Randall must be lifting most of his weight himself. He twisted his head to bite at Randall’s throat, sinking his teeth deeper than he’d ever done before, pleasure jolting through him at the resulting growl Randall gave and the way he moved harder in reaction.
It was desperate and primal, no thought spared for comfort, only raw need. Victor knew both of them would be covered with scrapes and bruises, and the thought only excited him further. Once upon a time he might have been already deciding to wear turtlenecks for the next week—now he liked the idea of proudly showing them off.
When he came, the force of it making him shake, he bit Randall’s throat again, still moving with him as they both sought Randall’s pleasure. Victor turned his head to catch Randall in a kiss that involved more teeth than usual, the clash leaving their lips bruised. “Mine,” Randall was saying again, voice almost lost in rough moans. “Mine.”
“Yours,” Victor promised lowly, his words stuttering at the force of their movements.
That seemed to be what Randall was waiting for. With one last hard snap forward, buried as deeply in Victor as he could be, Randall came. He pressed his face into Victor’s neck, he half howled in a guttural sound of release, and then, finally, he sagged down to the floor, taking Victor with him, both of them tangled up completely in each other.
Heaving breaths, they sprawled together, Victor still half on Randall’s lap. He could see the darkening skin on Randall’s neck from his bite, could feel the ache on his own from Randall’s teeth. And Randall, eyes half shut, had his head tipped back, grinning at absolutely nothing. Or rather, at everything all at once.
“God, that was good,” Randall murmured, running his hands up and down Victor’s back absently. “You okay?”
“Absolutely,” Victor replied, stretching his arms out from where they were still hooked around Randall’s shoulders. He felt more satisfied than he cou
ld remember feeling in recent memory. The ache was perfect; everything that Randall had said was perfect. He leaned in and gently kissed one of the forming bruises on Randall’s throat.
From outside there came the faint sound of a car door slamming shut and then a voice that Victor had not expected—Jed. He frowned, hearing Redford’s voice a second later, then Anthony’s.
“Apparently Jed and Redford have shown up to spend the full moon with you,” he said, though he supposed Randall would have heard it much more clearly. Victor kissed the bruise again, reluctant to let Randall leave. He was warm and comfortable on Randall’s lap. He didn’t want to move.
“I smell them,” Randall said, voice low, a rough tug to each of his words. He was busy sucking the bruises he’d left behind, laving the skin with his tongue. “Redford’s excited to run.” He seemed much less concerned with the prospect of moving very far from this spot, turning them over, Victor sprawled out on the floor, Randall hitching Victor’s legs around his hips. “I’m excited for this.”
Victor had to take a moment to contemplate exactly how lucky he was. He didn’t take too long, though, because he was much more interested in grasping Randall’s hips in encouragement. “That makes two of us, then.”
Two rounds later—once on the floor, Randall pinning Victor’s hands above his head and fucking him so hard that they’d wound up six feet away from where they’d started, and the second time with Victor pressed against the wall, Randall behind him, and probably a whole line of bruises down his back from Randall’s eager bites—they finally stumbled out into the yard. Jed was sprawled out with Redford in the grass, an already shifted Edwin happily chasing a stick that Jed kept throwing for him. Randall was holding Victor’s hand, jeans slung low on his hips, shirtless. It was pointless to get fully dressed, he’d explained, since he was just going to be taking them all off again.