by Kit Fortier
“Whatever house we get,” Jake grumbled into his hands, “we’re gonna soundproof the shit out of it.”
“I know, baby. We could get a swing in there, too!” Fox chuckled.
“Guys, I’m eighteen? A swing set won’t be necessary,” Ben said.
Dad groaned into his hands, and Fox outright laughed.
Recognition crept into Ben’s head. “Ugh, guys! That’s gross!”
Dad turned in his seat, giving Ben a good look at his father’s face as his old man tried to be serious.
Fox chuckled. “I should have said ‘sling’. That might have been less confusing.”
“See, son, when two people love each other—”
“Dad. No. Oh god, no. Please stop. I at least want to see my first day in college before I die of parent-inflicted lethal embarrassment.”
Jake grinned. “Is this what it feels like to have the shoe on the other foot for a change?” Fox chuckled at Ben, who punched the back of Jake’s seat lightly with a grin.
Fox pulled into the parking structure, finding a spot easily inside. Ben hopped out, stretching his back.
“Sorry about the seating,” Fox said.
“I’m good,” Ben said. “I just put my feet up across the back. I had to do that with the Samuelses. It’s why they bought a van.”
“Aw, buddy,” Jake said sympathetically.
You guys go ahead—I’ll catch up. My backpack is stashed close to the head of the bed,” Ben offered.
“Alright. We’ll hang out in the lobby after we check-in. Meet us there,” Jake replied. He slipped his backpack over one shoulder, holding it in place with one hand and took Fox’s hand in the other. Fox handed him his keys.
“Lock up the tailgate when you’re done, alright? We don’t want to lose your stuff in Vegas,” Dad said with a grin.
“Will do! See you in a sec, guys,” Ben said, watching them go. He turned around and got to work shifting his boxes around until he found his backpack.
As he pulled away, a shiver crawled up his spine. He pulled back quickly, slamming the tailgate shut.
There was nothing in the garage, but cars as far as Ben could see. No people to be found. But then he heard it.
A growl.
It was a deeper sound than it should have been, and a louder noise than what Ben thought to be natural. He readied himself in a low-but-limber cat stance, hands open, eyes and ears attuned to his environment.
It appeared several yards in front of him. It was a hulking creature. It approached as a man, but with the head of a wolf, claws on long, thick curled fingers—walking on enlarged haunches. The legs were the size of an obscenely large man’s legs, but formed like a wolf, with large paws for feet, clawed as its hands were. It was covered with fur in concentrated places; its back, the head, its chest, the outer edges of its arms, its legs. There were even patches of fur on the backs of its large, menacing hands. The wolf-creature turned its head at Ben, eyes glittering black rimmed by an eerie yellow.
It was bleeding badly and breathing raggedly, heavily.
Ben didn’t relax his stance, but he watched attentively. The beast came down to its hands, limping towards Ben before whimpering and falling over. Less than a moment passed before the sounds of the snapping of bones and the squelching of flesh unnerved him.
A young man lay at Ben’s feet, wheezing. At that moment, the man still on his feet realized there was no threat as he scrambled to investigate.
“Hey, hey—stay with me now,” Ben whispered. He was afraid speaking too loud might scare the man to death. For having been a hulking creature, the man within was far slighter. Not weak, by a long shot, but definitely pale from his injuries. Ben lifted the man’s arm and found a puncture wound on his side beneath the ridges of his ribs. It looked infected with something metallic spider-webbing through the flesh around it. It was less than two days ago when he saw something similar in his dad when he had been hit by a poisoned dart.
Ben closed his eyes. He thought of the moment his father lay at his feet, poison creeping outward from its injection point eroding at his father’s flesh. He thought of that, comparing what he saw to the wolf-man’s injury. Were it in his power, he wished he could draw out whatever literally got under the man’s skin—as he would have done for his father, if only he knew how.
What he saw when he opened his eyes, he saw something silvery leak out from the injury then onto the concrete. Whatever it was had poured through rivets in the concrete and flowed away. The younger man’s breathing started to normalize as the gaping wound began to knit. Ben stored the moment away as a series of questions that desperately needed answers.
Ben waited a few moments as the young man got to his hands, sitting up. What Ben saw took his breath away.
The man on the ground had the most vivid, golden-yellow eyes. His hair was a scrubby, short, dirty blond mess, framing his high cheekbones and scruffy jawline. A large, gnarled scar marred his upper arm below the shoulder. It looked like a bite wound healed over.
He was also naked as the day he was born.
Ben scrambled to the truck. He opened the tailgate and rifled through his boxes until he found a pair of shorts and a tee shirt. He came back to the man on the floor and handed him the clothes.
“Here,” he said. “Go ahead, take ‘em. You need these more than I do,” Ben said, looking away to give the man whatever privacy he could get in a parking garage. The clothes left his grip gently and he heard the sounds of someone dressing.
“Th-thank you.”
Ben turned around. The wolf-man was about as tall as Mr. S, and about as well-toned.
“Are you okay?”
The man’s eyes went wide for a moment, then turned on his heel, running off into the rainy Vegas night barefoot.
Ben frowned.
*** Jake
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know, papa bear. I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”
“If he’s not here in five minutes, I’m gonna check on him.”
“Of course.”
“Hey Dad,” Ben said.
Jake stopped pacing as a flood of relief struck upon setting eyes on his son.
“Did you pack your backpack first or something? You were gone a while,” Jake said.
“Or something,” Ben said. “Can we go to our rooms? I need to tell you something.”
That tone, the phrase, everything about that moment worried Jake. He nodded, and Fox got to his feet.
A bellman appeared as soon as Fox stood up, offering to take everyone’s bag. Each man politely declined. A concierge approached, inviting the men to follow him to their suite.
A few minutes later, Fox put a hundred dollar bill in the concierge’s hand and closed the door behind him. Jake took his hand, placing his other hand at the center of Ben’s back. “Let’s go, son.”
They walked into the spacious common room area with a view of the rainy night over the fountain. Fox turned on the lights in the room, dimming them about halfway, casting an even, calming, golden glow over the room. Jake and Fox sat on a comfortable love seat. Ben took a seat on a comfortable armchair catty-corner to the newlyweds.
“Go ahead, Ben,” Jake said.
Ben recounted the moments between Jake and Fox leaving to him joining them minutes later. He talked about a wolf-creature that turned into a man. How the scruffy young man had a wound that was infected with a silvery substance. Ben mentioned thinking one thing, and that thing happening before his eyes. He talked about the wound closing up. How he gave the young man clothes. How the man got dressed then took off into the night.
“Was that… Was that a werewolf?” Ben asked.
“Lycan,” Jake clarified. “And yes.”
Ben blinked.
“There are a lot of things to talk about, son. I guess we can say that you saved that guy’s life. Silver causes altered beasts to seize up. They can’t heal around wounds made with silver if it’s in their bloodstream. It prevents them from entering places if the
y’re protected by circles or even lines of silver.
“The Samuelses, for example—I cast a circle around their house. They’re pretty much safe against altered beasts and magical assaults. But this guy…” Jake drew a long breath. “I don’t know how he found you, but you sensed him because of the influence of the Aether.”
“Aether?” Ben asked.
“There are two major forces at play in the world,” Fox added. “There’s the spark, and then there’s the Aether. Everyone has a spark, some more than others,” he said, indicating himself, Jake, and Ben. “But there are those who have pulled the Aether into themselves in exchange for the ability to perform magic.”
“Isn’t that what we do?” Ben asked, confusion on his face.
“Alchemy and magic are defined by where their power comes from,” Fox said. Jake took his hand, watching his man explain what was explained to him not too long ago. “Alchemy is about tapping the spark to transmute or transfigure objects from their original shape to a different one, or vice versa. The power is connected to the earth, or in your dad’s and my case, certain aspects of it. We tap directly into the elements—Carbon, Oxygen, Hydrogen, Sodium, Silver, all of that—and manipulate it to our will. Aether is illusion, all temporary. They can last a long time but disappear once the mage either loses focus or dies.”
Jake smiled to himself at the amount of knowledge his new husband held on to from the time he’d told Fox the same info just weeks ago. “The Aether comes from a place beyond the scope of human imagination. I don’t mean that lightly. Whatever lies beyond the Pale is not within our ability to comprehend,” Jake shook his hands. He let go of a deep breath. “There are more mages than alchemists,” Jake continued. “Most mages don’t have dark aspirations, but those that do—they’ve been driven crazy by the Aether’s influence.”
Ben put his hands together and pressed them against his mouth, clearly in thought. “So, what did I do to the were—the Lycan?”
Jake answered quickly. “You drew out the silver.”
“Was that alchemy?”
“It sure was,” Jake replied. Fox nodded. “From the sound of it, I think that guy was changed by another. That bite wound on his shoulder that you described... That would have healed over if he had been a human injected with the lycanthropy potion. Or if he was born a lycanthrope.”
Ben stood up and walked over to the window, looking out on Vegas at night.
“He wasn’t after me to attack me,” Ben said. It wasn’t a question.
“No,” Jake replied. “I think he sensed you might be able to help him. We wouldn’t know for sure unless we asked.”
“Think he might come after me?”
Jake hesitated. Fox got up and crossed to the kitchen area, bringing three bottles of water back. He handed one to Jake over his shoulder and handed one to Ben where he stood.
“There’s always a chance,” Fox said. “But they have just as much to lose, if not more, from exposing themselves.”
“Meaning?”
"Our worlds aren't dissimilar, son," Jake chimed in. "There are more normal people in the world than there are alchemists, mages, even altered beasts. If the average person learns about us, in this day and age..." Jake huffed. "I'm sure I don't have to tell you how many people hate what they don't understand."
Ben nodded slowly. "So what do we do?"
“While we’re here, we don’t go anywhere without one another. If we do, it needs to be a public place with people around,” Jake said. “We don’t leave each other’s sight for a moment.”
“Baby,” Fox walked behind Jake, sliding his arms around his man’s neck, kissing him on the back of the head. “As long as he’s out in broad daylight with other people around, I’m sure we could let him take in the sights without us.”
“Fox, I can’t—”
“Hey,” Fox interrupted. His voice was soft. “Look at Ben, big guy.”
Jake did. Ben had his arms folded, leaning against a window frame, looking at the busy, frantic lights outside. His posture practically screamed that this situation, in teenager terms, sucked.
Jake shook his head. “Hey, buddy.”
“Yeah, Dad,” Ben replied with a gruff monotone.
“You’ve got Fox’s phone number, right?”
His son nodded, still looking out the window.
“We’ll figure out safety stuff later. But as long as you can call us, I’m not going to stop you from going out and about.”
Ben’s quaint smile made Jake’s heart flip.
*** Fox
“Damn this is fucked up,” Jake said, the sound of the bedroom door closing behind him.
Fox couldn’t help but agree, but there were more pressing issues. For now, they were safe, in one of the most expensive hotel rooms in a luxury casino. Security was more than enough for now. But now, Fox had more pressing matters. Getting his husband to relax was at the top of his list.
“Papa bear,” Fox said, pulling his shirt over his head. “We’re going to go clothes shopping tomorrow. I mean, we can do hiking chic all day, but in new clothes that don’t reek. Hoo. Gotta send this to the laundry stat.” He heard Jake chuckling behind him, followed by the sound of clothes hitting the floor. Then rough hands slid over his chest, and the familiar feel of Jake’s pelt against his back sent shivers rippling back to front. “Hey there,” he said playfully.
Jake growled in his ear. “I’ve been waiting for this.”
Fox leaned his head back, tilting it to the side, giving Jake complete access to his neck. Jake slid his hands down Fox’s torso, slipping under his pants. The feel of Jake’s warm lips on his neck sent a ripple of lust from where Jake kissed him to his groin where the big guy’s fingertips traced over his rapidly heating skin.
Fox stifled a groan as Jake’s hands stroked over his length beneath his pants.
“I’m happy you’re mine, baby.”
“I’m happy I’m yours,” Fox said. “Now shut up and fuck me.”
He was only waiting for permission. Jake practically ripped the buttons off of Fox’s fly, pulling his pants down. He turned Fox around and picked him up, holding Fox from his ass while Fox clung to his neck.
Fox watched the bedroom turn into the spacious bathroom. Then they were inside of a roomy, glass shower stall. Jake nuzzled Fox’s neck as he turned the water on hot.
As the shower poured over them, Jake chewed on Fox’s neck. Fox rewarded Jake with the sounds he loved. Fox groaned as Jake pressed him against the tile, his eyes rolling back when his big bear of a man chewed on his earlobe.
Jake spun Fox around to face the water. “Bend over,” Jake growled. Fox obeyed and was treated to the electric feel of warm, strong tongue lapping at the skin of his back, his lower back, and finally, to his back door. He could have cried at the pleasure of that firm, determined tongue invading him. Instead, he pleaded, softly begging. For what, he couldn’t say. He just wanted more.
Then more came. Jake’s breath brushed across Fox’s his ear. “Mine,” he heard.
Then felt.
The long slide into Fox made his head spin. He pressed his face into the tile as his man pressed into him. Then thick arms wrapped around his chest, his lower torso, holding him up. Fox arched his lower back, sticking his rear out and into Jake’s thrusts. Jake was passionate, and hardly tender. Fox’s breathing got interrupted by his man pounding into him with desperate force.
There was gasping. There were groans, whimpers, and begging for more, harder. Fox sighed take it please I’m yours so good don’t stop. Jake growled mine yes love you can’t stop mine mine mine.
And then there was release. Fox groaned as his climax spilled onto the floor, flung about as Jake’s thrusting became erratic. Then a warm burst filled Fox, and he panted as he tried desperately to reach Jake’s mouth over his shoulder.
“I’m yours, papa bear,” Fox sighed, the feel of Jake still inside him. Jake’s grip around him tightened.
“Mine, baby…”
“And y
ou’re mine,” Fox breathed.
Jake pressed into him again, whispering, “Yours.”
2. In Bocca Al Lupo
*** Ben
With a few deep breaths after his nightly stretching routine, Ben peeled off his shirt. He sat on the bed in his boxer briefs. The young man took in the view once more. His heart hammered at the idea of a place at least ten times bigger than the town he had grown up in.
His thoughts drifted back to the wolf—the man who came to him in the garage. To Ben, he didn’t want to think of the guy as a mindless animal. Rather, he saw a scared human being with an affliction he likely couldn’t control.
But he didn’t know if that was the case either. The only thing he knew is that the guy needed help, and he got it.
What was driving him crazy couldn’t have been the man’s face. Could it? He couldn’t tell how old he was because of the dark under his eyes—likely from the stress of the injury he’d endured. But what Ben saw had him wishing he’d had more time. Those lips. The cut of his trim, lithe, athletic figure. The shaggy, dirty blond hair. The light dusting of that same dirty blond at the center of his chest, over his arms and legs, and of course over the man’s crotch. He certainly wasn’t a slouch down there, either.
Ben shook his head. Useless sexual fantasies had no place in his head. He imagined what his Dad and Fox had done when they went their separate ways. That had him shivering with mild lust and shuddering with shame. The former was because Fox had really pushed a lot of buttons in his head. The latter was because that was territory he wouldn’t cross into.
He took another centering breath. It just wasn’t working.
Ben strode over to his backpack, pulling out his laptop and a pill bottle. He unscrewed the cap on the pill bottle, knocking back a single tab dry and closing the bottle up again. Trazodone, he remembered, to treat his depression and to help with sleep.
He hadn’t been depressed as often lately, but every now and then, he needed the help getting to sleep. Like tonight.
Reaching back into the bag to retrieve the laptop's cables, Ben pulled out the book that he inadvertently brought with him from the truck. It was a leather-bound journal, thick with both loose and fastened pages. The book was about the size of his laptop, just shy of the computer’s edges by an inch or so. The pages were a strange material—if Ben tried it, the pages felt like they wouldn’t tear—not easily, at any rate. It was as though the paper was made far different than anything he’d seen. Even the linen pages of old books from the Colonial era seemed to fit. But he was no professional. A few weekends binge watching the History Channel taught him a lot about the history of the creation of books and the origins of paper. Wikipedia and curiosity did the rest.