Slings and Arrows 8
The sun was high in the windows when Scott opened his eyes. This wasn’t his room; the bed was far bigger. He squirmed, trying to sit up and get his bearings.
“You’re awake.” A man’s arm wrapped around Scott’s naked torso.
“Monty!” Scott flipped over, not trusting this could be real. He needed to see Monty.
“Don’t sound so surprised. It takes more than that to kill me.”
“I though...I thought…”
“I’m here. Don’t torture yourself.” Monty kissed Scott’s forehead. “I’m here and well, and except for a little stiffness and a nasty line of stitches I’m as good as new.”
“But?”
“Werewolves heal fast, I faster than you because I understand and accept my physiology. I don’t fight it.”
“Sorry, sir,” Scott said with a rush of guilt. He had fought Monty every step of the way. Monty had wanted to be kind and gentle and Scott had forced him into harsh and unyielding.
“Pup, you didn’t grow up with this. Your difficulties are expected.”
“I wouldn’t listen. You tried to tell me.”
“Scott.” Monty ran his fingers through Scott’s hair. “In your place, I wouldn’t have listened either.”
“I made you hurt me.”
“Scott, no. I’m a werewolf; I’m not a man. I chose to use physical force to demonstrate my status. It is our way. I will punish you when I find it necessary. You do not have the right to punish yourself.”
“I was horrible to you.”
“Scott,” Monty growled, “Submit to me here.”
“You can’t just will it away with a few words. I fought you. I…”
“And you’re fighting me now.”
Scott froze. “Sorry. I’m an idiot. Now I’m babbling.”
“Scotty.” Monty pulled him close and kissed Scott’s lips. The kiss was long and demanding, and Scott felt his mouth open to Monty’s insistent probing, his resistance melting with each swipe of Monty’s tongue. “Better,” Monty said as he broke away. “Let yourself feel. When you talk, your rational side of your brain fights the submission. You are my omega; accept your place.”
Scott panted, wanting more of Monty everywhere.
“Get up. Do your morning business, and we’ll finish this.”
Scott looked at Monty, trying to discern the meaning. Was Monty only speaking of talking? He was half hard from the kiss.
“Scott, you’re in my bed. I’m not going to let you escape that easily.”
Scott knew he smiled, a shy grin of sexual excitement and submission. He wanted this; he was ready for it. “But you’re hurt.”
“I was shot in the shoulder, not the groin. And with your blood, I’m almost healed. It is you who we must watch today. You gave me everything last night. You should be very proud. Now follow my instructions. They were not a request.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Scott.” Monty blew air out of his nose in exasperation. “You play those computer games where there are magic elixirs; just accept that for an alpha and omega pair that the magic exist for real. I can’t explain it. It just is. Now obey or I’ll stripe your ass, not that I don’t think that will be a regular occurrence in this household. You seem to need your proper quota of bruises.”
“They’re not real. Last night was real.”
“Scott.” Monty landed a hard left handed swipe on Scott’s naked hip. “I do expect obedience in all things.”
Scott flinched at the sting and the sound of flesh against naked flesh. It hadn’t been hard; he’d felt hard yesterday, but it was more than gentle foreplay. Monty’s pupils were dilated in the bright light of the room, his breathe too fast.
“Yes, I need to mate with you. I can’t wait much longer,” Monty rasped out, his knuckles white as he grasped the blankets in tight fists. “I’m trying.”
Scott sucked in a sharp breath. His mind floated in a potent mix of fear, excitement, and unbridled sexuality.
“Go, pup.” Monty pushed Scott from the bed.
Scott stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. He’d thought he knew himself: human, loving son, gay man, normal guy. He splashed cold water onto his face. He scraped at the scab on his cheek from a thorn bush. He wasn’t anything that he’d believed himself to be. He still had the blue eyes, his mother’s blue eyes. He looked like the picture on his driver license. He looked like a man, but he wasn’t. He was going to walk back in the bedroom and mate with Monty. This wouldn’t be sex like Scott knew about, not even the semi-believable wild sex that was the staple of erotica. He was a werewolf. He was Monty’s omega. He belonged to Monty.
Scott threw his head back and let out a long and wailing howl, not a howl of a man, but the howl of the wolf. The sound echoed against the walls of the bathroom. Silently Scott opened the door and padded back into the bedroom.
Monty was on top of the bed, propped up on a small mountain of pillows. He was a beautiful man—no werewolf. His dark hair with the silver streak that was so prominent as a wolf cascaded in a lush coat to his shoulders. His abdominal muscles ridged and perfect rippled below the dark fur of his chest. Further down lay his treasures, heavy testicles and a prominent shaft already thick in its only partially erect state.
“Come.”
One word to be obeyed without question. Scott was the worshiper, the servant, the liege, the omega. His feet moved across the smooth wood floor, and he dropped to his knees beside the bed. He’d never knelt for a man before or at least not sober. He’d played the master and servant thing once, but they’d both been so drunk that it had dissolved into laughter and tangled and confused sex. Scott thought he’d actually ended up on top, but it hadn’t been important. They’d been fooling around.
Scott stared up at Monty. This wasn’t fooling around; Scott didn’t need to be told that. Monty’s hand reached out and caressed Scott’s hair, almost gentle as the fingers tangled in the short strands.
“Up.”
Scott scrambled for the bed. Monty was everywhere, his hands searing Scott, owning him with each touch and caress. Scott couldn’t think; all he could do was feel. He was on his back, his legs bent and open. Monty hadn’t spoken; his actions and his eyes were enough. Scott pulled his legs higher, feeling a shiver of fear or anticipation. Monty’s hand stroked Scott’s heaving chest, and those hot lips pressed against Scott’s again. Scott pressed against Monty’s hand. He wasn’t a completely inexperienced bottom. He was ready; Monty had three lubed fingers in him.
“No.”
Scott’s head shot up at the sharpness of the rebuke. He wasn’t just going to lie here all passively and take one for king and country or in this case alpha and pack.
“I’m a werewolf,” Monty said slowly as if each word was a struggle. “I could harm you easily. Let me do this. I want you to have pleasure and not just pain.” Monty kissed Scott’s chest, his tongue caressing the sensitive skin. “Keep your legs up for me, Pup.”
Monty shifted; his fingers were replaced with the slick head of his penis. He inched forward. Scott’s groan was muffled by a kiss that was all possessing, leaving him panting and slack jawed.
“Monty.”
“Shh. You’re my mate. I have canine blood.”
Monty’s body covered Scott. No where was Scott untouched. Scott pushed back against Monty, wanting more even as the pressure built inside. Time drifted forward as they lay together, a twisted pile of limbs on sweat soaked sheets. Monty shrank and withdrew, leaving an emptiness and an ache. His lips brushed against Scott’s neck, his tongue tracing the sensitive skin of an earlier bite.
“Oh, God!” Scott’s head lolled against the pillow.
“Hardly,” Monty teased, “but I’m not totally human. We must tie.”
“That’s why?”
“Yes.” Monty fingered Scott’s sweat dampened hair. “Biologically I’m different.”
“Would I?”
“With your mate. It only happens with your mate.”
“Will I..?”
Monty propped himself up on his elbow and traced his fingers down Scott’s face. “We are not human.” His fingers played gently on Scott’s cheek, tracing the wounds of many thorns and branches. “I will give you what I can, but some things I cannot. I am the alpha. It is our way.”
“I’m the bottom boy,” Scott spat, turning his head from Monty’s caress. “No equality here.”
“Scott.” Monty’s voice was pained. “Look at me. Please.”
Scott slowly brought his eyes to Monty’s face. Monty’s dark brows were knitted together, his brown eyes dark, unreadable except for a shadow of anguish. Scott stared, searching for a name for feelings he didn’t understand. He loved this man, this werewolf, this creature who was going to insist on Scott’s submissiveness at all times.
“Fuck!” It wasn’t a profound statement or even an intelligent statement. Scott dropped his head back on the pillow and shut his eyes. “I’m yours. Do as you please.”
The lips were mere touches on Scott’s forehead, on his cheeks, and on his lips. “I want to please you.”
Scott opened his eyes; Monty was too close, propped above him on sinewy arms, the hair on his chest brushing Scott’s nipples, each exhale mingling with Scott’s inhale. “I’m your mate.”
“Yes.” Monty’s eyes bore into Scott.
“I’ve never...I’ve never been a submissive, not for real.”
“Give it up to me.” Monty’s voice reverberated across Scott’s mind and body, even though the words words were spoken softly. “Let me have it.”
Scott licked his lips and his head fell back, exposing the underbelly of his throat and the great vessels that sustained life.Monty’s mouth was hot against Scott’s flesh and he whimpered as the teeth sank in, but he didn’t struggle; he didn’t push Monty away. Monty lifted his head and drew two fingers across the fresh bite. Blood, red and shiny, clung to his fingertips. Monty circled Scott’s lips with his fingers, painting fresh spots of blood on the lips already chaffed from kissing. Scott’s tongue darted out and he tasted the warm saltiness on his lips and on Monty’s fingers. He sucked the fingers into his mouth, bathing the fingers with his tongue; he caressed the hand that had beat him so easily yesterday.
“Good pup.”
Monty traced his own tongue around Scott’s lips as if searching for a missed speck of blood. Scott opened his mouth more, welcoming the tongue inside, allowing Monty unfettered access. Still deep inside Scott’s mouth, Monty took Scott’s index finger and pressed it to the fresh bite. Scott felt the warmth against his finger; he was still bleeding. Monty broke the kiss and drew the finger deep into his mouth, licking off the blood, before grasping both Scott’s wrists’ and trapping his hands over his head. Monty’s teeth were back on Scott’s neck gently at first and then harshly. Scott bucked against the bite, his chest heaving, an unbidden wetness dripping from the corners of his eyes. Monty lapped the trickle of blood. Scott drew his head further back, exposing more of his vulnerable neck. Monty smiled and licked the vulnerable flesh under Scott’s jaw. His hands, horribly hot, stoked Scott’s nipples and then pinched, sending a sharp spasm of pain through Scott’s chest.
Scott’s yip of pain was blocked by the sudden intrusion of Monty’s tongue into his mouth. He thrust upward against Monty, wanting more even as the twinges of pain had not faded. Scott’s legs fell apart. He lay unresisting with all exposed.
Monty’s hand lifted from Scott’s wrist and again he propped himself on both arms, his body both protecting and imprisoning Scott. Monty smiled, an expression that hardly moved the muscles of his face, but lit his eyes to a warm brown. “My mate.”
Scott nodded. His body betrayed him with its wanton vulnerability. He was Monty’s. He wanted to be Monty’s no matter how much his rational side fought it. This was his life, his destiny.
“Your mate. Your omega.”
Monty rolled onto his side and interlaced his fingers into Scott’s and pulled them both from the bed. They stood on the sheepskin rug, their toes buried in the soft food. Scott shivered at the coolness of the air despite the fire behind the wrought iron screen.
“You are my other half,” Monty said softly. “I can only do the best for my pack with you at my side. You must obey, but your obedience and your submission is beyond value. Your value is equal to mine, only different. Try to understand. Please.” Monty kissed Scott, an almost chaste touch to his lips.
Scott leaned into Monty, their foreheads brushing. “I’m trying.” Scott’s voice sounded faint and pleading to his own ears.
“I know,” Monty said after a long pause. “All I can ask is that you continue to try. Our path will not be an easy one. I want to love you, not torture you, and I want you to love me back. Am I asking the impossible?”
Scott squeezed Monty’s fingers tighter. His eyes moved up the naked man in front of him: powerful thighs, trim waste, dark hairs matted on a wide chest, a jagged line of purple sutures, brown and impossibly deep eyes. “No, Monty.” More words were impossible.
“Good.” The smile was fleeting, a flash behind the dark eyes. “My mate. My precious one.”
The End
