Chapter Seven.

It took Liam a few moments to change but Brendon waited, and as soon as he saw clarity return to ice blue eyes, bounded off into the woods.

The trees here were tall and spindling, the tangled brush thorned and thick, and the air was crisp, a cold shock with every breath. Brendon fell into the motions of his other form, appreciating the solid thump of paws hitting packed earth, and the whistle of wind in his ears. He sensed Liam close behind and put on a sudden burst of speed. He was fast.

The tiny creatures before him scattered, and birds rushed from the trees. Brendon felt triumph surge in his chest--this was his, all of it, and then he was felled in a rough tackle.

Brendon kicked, and rolled, and jumped to his feet. The fur down his scruff rose, and adrenalin cut through him. He bared his teeth. The gray wolf danced away, and offered a series of high yips. Brendon watched it drop down on its front legs and raise its rump high in the air. The dark, bushy tail twitched from side to side.

Brendon fell still as he watched, the rigidness easing out of him. He breathed that scent again, the one that now was fast familiar, and dropped the arch from his spine. He took off.

They ran and stopped and played, and chased one another in circles. They butted heads and tried to pin each other, and finally, when their lungs burned and legs wobbled, stopped. Brendon scratched the dirt and cleared dead leaves, and dropped onto his side. He felt calm near the big gray wolf now, and felt no bother when jaws closed playful at the back of his neck. He twitched a single ear, and let his tail thump once against the ground.

A nose pushed into his face, breath blasting hot against his snout, and at last, solid weight came down. Brendon felt the swell of breath in the chest pressed to his back, and the steady, thumping heart. He drifted, and came back as the sun set.

He ached in places, felt the clean emptiness of exhaustion. He catalogued these pains and recognized next that the day’s sharp autumn chill had turned sinister. His front was cold, but his back remained warm.

A hand came down over his chest and slid lower. Lips nudged his ear. Brendon closed his eyes, and reached back. His fingers grasped a head of short, soft hair. He lingered in the after-haze of the change, knowing but not, and not wanting to know. He opened his eyes to slits, and found a heavy gaze staring down.

“You smell good, too,” he said, at last, and Liam closed their mouths together.

For one distended moment, Brendon just let it happen. It had been some time for him, since he’d allowed someone to come even physically close. Liam somehow urged his mouth open, and tasted him. Brendon pushed back, bit at a full bottom lip, an felt Liam’s surprise. They paused, stared at one another, and Brendon rolled onto his back.

Liam covered him, heavy and warm, pushing his face into Brendon’s neck and biting, kissing. He murmured things senseless against Brendon’s skin, things Brendon did not understand. He stared up at the sky where skinny black branches stood against it like cracks, and closed his hands over Liam’s shoulders. He felt muscles roll under hard flesh, felt solid bone, felt the dips and curves and long, flat planes.

When Liam moved down, Brendon missed the heat and press of his chest. He followed Liam with his eyes and touch, and buried his fingers in dark hair that was black now, with sunlight a memory on the horizon. He watched, unable to look away as Liam took him with his mouth. He stared, taking in the shadows beneath Liam’s eyes, the way he licked and stroked.

When Brendon was close, Liam pulled back to use his hand. Brendon wanted to beg him to stop, or hurry, but bit his lip and came with a short cry. Liam stretched out beside him for a deep kiss, his wrist working fast. Brendon felt warmth splatter his thigh, and a heaviness settle in his chest. Liam dragged his hand down Brendon’s ribs, his belly, fingered the mess there and moved up again.

Brendon came back down. The cracks in the sky moved and he recalled they were only branches. He sat up, ignoring the mess that dripped down, and climbed to his feet.

“’s cold,” he muttered, and picked his way toward the truck. It was not far. He thought suddenly of his bike, and wished he’d brought it along. He wanted to be alone.

Twigs and dry leaves crunched at his back, and he ignored them. Liam’s voice:

“Brendon.”

He ignored it.

“Brendon.”

A hand closed around his arm, and Brendon jerked away. Kept moving. Their clothes sat in the truck’s bed. He cleaned the mess on his belly and thigh with the corner of a thick blanket, picked out his own clothing from the pile, and pulled them on. When he poked his head through the neck of his shirt, he found Liam standing some feet away, his expression tight.

“The hell, Brendon?”

“You should get dressed.”

“You going to tell me you didn’t want that, now?

Brendon shrugged.

“Brendon--Jesus!” Liam bunched his fists in his hair. “You’re the most--you’re so--damn you.”

“It’s getting late,” Brendon cut in, and gave Liam a pointed stare. “We should be going anyway.”

“Really,” said Liam, flatly. He continued to stare at Brendon, still naked.

“Really,” Brendon insisted, and paused to take in the sight of Liam’s well-formed chest, his neck, his face. He looked away. “I’m hungry,” he added.

Liam dropped his arms to his sides and, at last, snatched his jeans from the truck bed. “Hungry,” he repeated, like he were testing the word. He found his shirt and shook it out.

“Yeah,” Brendon said. “You know, I want to eat. Put things in my mouth--um.” He shut up then, face burning.

Liam bent his head as if to check his fly, but Brendon did not miss the fast grin. He scowled, and rounded the vehicle.

Inside, the truck was quiet. Its keys hung from the ignition, waiting, and Liam sat comfortably in the driver’s seat while Brendon gripped his thighs and stared pointedly out the window.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have done that,” he said, at last. Silence followed, and he looked over.

Liam watched him, and Brendon tried to get a read. Liam’s face was carefully blank, at the halfway point between laughter and rage. Brendon felt a tickle of apprehension, and tried quickly to explain.

“I just mean without a--thing. You know.” He made a sharp gesture. “Condom. Or whatever.” He glanced over, gauging. “I mean, right?”

Liam sat back in his seat and said with a sigh, “Yes, that’s right.” He stared down at his hands, curled loosely in his lap. “Anything I should know about?”

“No,” Brendon said, instantly. “I mean--no. I don’t think so.” He fell quiet though his mind continued to buzz, alive and jumping with thought. He always used protection. Usually. It had been a while. He fed those desires infrequently. Probably, usually, maybe, he thought, and fear licked his gut.

When a hand found his chest he jumped, and stared down at it. Liam. He felt suddenly weak inside, and exposed.

“I liked that,” Liam said. “What we did. Did you?”

Brendon looked up. His mouth was dry, and he could not think.

“Brendon?”

The warm pressure over Brendon’s chest remained, and he grew acutely aware of his own hands lying cold in his lap. Of course he’d liked it. The press of their chests, Liam’s mouth on his, the teeth that scraped his jaw. Soft hair between his fingers and blind, relentless heat.

A lump formed in Brendon’s throat. He felt he could hardly breathe around it, let alone speak. This was not the usual guilt, he thought, though parts of it were familiar. When he looked at Liam he remembered the other man. He could not help it, and it confused him. This was different, he was beginning to realize that--but how?

The clear blue of Liam’s eyes was lost to the evening. Instead, his gaze was dark; colorless, unyielding. He searched Brendon’s face, and Brendon felt like an animal. The thought to change, to never be human again, struck him once more. He imagined throwing open the door and bounding out of the truck. Changing. Losing himself in the woods. How long would he survive? Would the others come looking?

Liam’s brow abruptly smoothed, and the flat line of his mouth softened. “Brendon,” he chided, and slid his hand upward. Cool fingers found the back of Brendon’s neck, and a thumb rubbed circles at his jaw.

Brendon could smell him again, like he had the night before when Liam sat on his bed and told him to rest. Now Liam only stared with his night dark eyes, a trace of something unnamable arresting his face. Unable to bear the scrutiny, Brendon looked quickly away.

The seconds passed, and finally he drew breath. Brendon said, “I don’t--” and his throat closed up. The thumb rubbed him still, and Brendon stared wildly at Liam, who was so, so calm. He tried again, rushing to get everything out. “I don’t understand this,” he said, raggedly, and realized that was the full truth of it. He did not understand any of this, why it was happening, or how. “What is this? You smell so good and I can’t stop thinking about it. I don’t even--you just--I’m not supposed--fuck, Liam, fuck--”

No, it was not the usual guilt. It was resentment that burned him like fever; a corner of his mind that whispered no don’t even as he lifted his hips, even as he covered Liam’s hand on his thigh with his own. He was hard--again, he was hard--and Liam sucked at his tongue, and moaned deep like he was hurt. It was a delicious sound, a secret sound, one that echoed in Brendon’s mind. He wanted more.

The heel of Liam’s palm found his groin, and Brendon hissed through his teeth at the touch. He reached hastily between them, groping for the fly of Liam’s jeans. He found a thick bulge, and squeezed it through the fabric.

Liam’s breath stuttered and caught with a ragged groan. He found Brendon’s wrist and gripped it tightly, forcing his hand into a rough, grinding rhythm. Brendon allowed it, complacent in his shock.

He’d felt Liam’s dick before in the woods, felt it pressed tight to his belly, but never like this. Never bulging against his palm, straining hot beneath his touch. It felt huge encased in denim, heavy and thick with blood. That whisper of no was not so insistent now, and all Brendon could think was that he wanted. He wanted obscene things, for Liam to fuck his mouth, to fold him double and pound him raw. Brendon felt keenly then the nothing inside of him, the hole that needed filling. It was a desperate sensation, driving and shameless but its promise so sweet, and he thought it better here than with a stranger, surely? Better than driving into the city and finding someone; breathing the scent of someone else, someone wrong.

He could not do that. He’d already savored the taste of Liam, felt his strength, breathed his breaths. Brendon felt he would crawl for Liam or beg him now. He wanted Liam to use him, and he wanted to spend his own frustrations on Liam’s body, to force him into this same numbing disconnect that he now felt. Brendon wanted to hurt Liam, and for Liam to hurt him.

The hand at the back of Brendon’s neck squeezed, and Liam took his mouth again, forcing his tongue deep inside. It was a rough, punishing kiss, but with it Brendon felt the terrible burn inside him ease. He fumbled blindly for Liam’s fly and his careful, knowing fingers grew suddenly thick and useless. Brendon wanted. He wanted so badly that he could not acknowledge anything beyond it. He was an animal, he realized, having urges, placating them. Living basely on his instinct.

“Wait,” Liam begged, “Wait--Brendon.”

They’d met halfway on the bench seat, twisted to face each other. Brendon hid his face in Liam’s neck, tasting salt on his lips and breathing that scent. It both tempered and stoked him. He realized belatedly that he’d pushed his hand under Liam’s shirt, was smoothing his palm across hot flesh. Back and forth, calluses catching a nipple every other pass.

He thought dimly then that Liam was not like the other man, that they would never have touched like this. It had often been hard between them, rough, but never driven with this intensity. Never. Brendon sat quiet and caught his breath, panting as his thoughts finally settled in the stillness. He wondered why they had stopped, wondered if it would be stupid of him to ask.

Liam dropped a hand between his own legs, and Brendon peeked down to watch. Liam squeezed himself, and released a long, shaky sigh. His lips brushed Brendon’s forehead and he said hoarsely, “My hotel is closer.”

They rode silently together. Brendon spent the trip thinking over the day he’d had, thinking briefly of his father but feeling nothing for it. His future was uncertain, his livelihood threatened, and he was here, with the enemy. He was an animal, as the old man said.