🧛 Lean's POV
Dragging a half-conscious, full-sized werewolf through the front door should qualify as a professional sport.
"Puppers, I swear-" grunt "-you weight more than my entire wardrobe!" I hiss, yanking his fury front legs through the doorway. He's limp, heavy, and emitting little drunk-dog whines every few seconds. It's like hauling a passed-out Saint Bernard who occasionally twitches and mutters about "bad bitches."
The door slams shut behind us with a kick (and maybe his tail got caught-oops, shhh
..never tell him that). The lights flicker like even they can't handle this level of nonsense.
He's sprawled half-in, half-out of the hallway rug-tail flopped, ears twitching, fur ruffled, the faintest smell of pine and alcohol swirling around him. His fur is so fluffy it's almost insulting. No one should look that soft yet a killing machine while unconscious.
I bend over, panting like I just ran a marathon. "You're lucky you're cute, you overgrown carpet."
He lets out a low, rumbling sound that's somewhere between a snore and a growl. His paw twitches, nearly knocking over the lamp.
I grab his muzzle gently. "Shhh, no breaking stuff, mister. You already broke my spine trying to carry you."
I manage to drag him fully inside and finally-finally-collapse onto the floor beside him. The living room feels absurdly quiet after the chaos of Ray's mansion. Only the tick of the wall clock, the soft hum of the heater, and the heavy sound of my wolf's breathing fill the air.
My limbs are jelly. My hair's a glittery disaster. My entire body aches.
But there's something about the sight of this big idiot sprawled out on the carpet, his chest rising and falling steady and slow, that makes me smile despite everything.
He shifts, rolling slightly onto his side-revealing that broad, ridiculously fuzzy belly.
I stare at it.
Then I stare at the couch.
Then back at the belly.
"Okay," I whisper. "Couch? Furry heater? Couch? Furry heater?"
The decision is obvious.
With a dramatic sigh, I flop down onto the wolf's stomach. It's warm. Like, heavenly warm. His fur sinks under my cheek like clouds dipped in vanilla and campfire smoke. His heartbeat thumps gently beneath me, steady and deep, like a drum calling me home.
"See?" I murmur, curling into his fur. "You're not just a menace... you're also my bed now."
He huffs in his sleep, one paw twitching over me protectively.
I smile. "Merry Christmas, wolfie."
"Who want some raspberries mutt??" I smirk and burrow my face into the fuzzy belly and starts to blow air making stupid farting noises, as he kicks his hind legs like some old motor getting system restart.
And for the first time that night, I stop fighting the exhaustion. My eyelids grow heavy, and I melt into that big, soft, living furnace-dreaming in the sound of his heartbeat and faint drunken whines.
"Slurp!"
What the!!
Dude just curled his four legs around me like a cacoon and this drunken bastard is licking my face half dreaming half whine! And he says he is not a doggy!!!!
"Thump! Thump! Sniff! Sniff!"
I swear the velocity with which he is Thumping his tail on the floor while clinging to be like a lost pup, and aggressively sniffing my sweaty glittery golden curls, I am gonna melt at this point!!
So I burry my face into the big furry happy belly, and blew more raspberries, he whines like a stream engine!
"this scary wolf is also just... my Dom"
Then suddenly I feel some change, I am no longer hugging a truck sized wolf, but a 6"7' naked man with sexy wolf ears and tail.
My Dude just transformed without a warning!
"Damn, Puppers-let go of me-"
Wait.
What is... poking my stomach?
My eyes shoot open. No. No, no, no WHAT THE FUCK!.
This guy. This drunk, giant wolf-man. Totally naked. Totally clinging to me like a starving octopus. His thighs are locked around my waist, his arms around my shoulders, his tail a metronome slapping the floor. His
wee-wee is full on hard like a sword on battle. And pressed against me.
His wee-wee wait the thing is a fucking cannon! Can this even get this big!!! Its poking my belly over my shirt!!!
OH DEVILS!
OH PRINCES OF HELL!
Heat crawls up my neck. My brain sputters like a short-circuited light bulb. My stomach is a popcorn machine. I want to bolt, but my limbs are mush. This is the first time I've ever seen him like this-bare, undone, drunk, vulnerable. And yet somehow even hotter, sweat slick on his skin, wolf ears still flicking, tail still wagging like some overgrown puppy who's forgotten he's a predator.
My face is buried in his chest, and I can smell him. Really smell him. That wild musky scent, pine and smoke and something darker. My fangs ache. My instincts scream: bite, drink, claim his wee... BLOOD! BLOOD!.
I try to wiggle out of his grip, but he only drags me tighter. My hips bump his; my jeans catch against the heat of him, and my breath stutters. I can feel his big junk just rubbing over my jeans, and his tail wagging and thumping aggressively.
Then he starts babbling, voice cracked and raw between whines and moans:
"Please... Lean... don't go... need you... don't hate me... I... love you... can't live without you anymore... please... I'll be a good...good boy..."
His words tumble out, shredded with hiccups and little howls, a drunken wolf-song of desperation. His tail thumps like a drum behind him. His breath is hot against my neck. While...While holding me, he moves against me in messy, needy rhythm - not knowing, not thinking, just lost in his own daze. Humping into me slowly hugging the life out of me. Even through the thick jeans I can feel his desperation and desire.
My bones tell me to give in, but I can't not while he is drunken, I can't just get intoxicated into the messy for which he will hate himself and maybe hate me too.
I freeze. My heart stutters. He just said love. He just-
Satan, what cosmic karma did I cash in to land here?
The thumping slows. The frantic wiggles, the desperate babbles, the wild warmth pressed against me... all of it melts into nothing. Puppers shudders once, twice... and then his body goes slack in my arms. He's dozing. Completely out.
I'm frozen for a moment, chest pressed to his, still feeling every pulse, every heartbeat, every exhausted sigh. My shirt and jeans are... ruined. Stained, sticky, reminders of what just happened.
I don't care. I can't care. I bury my face against his broad chest, inhale the musky warmth of him, the faint lingering scent of alcohol and pine, and I wrap my arms tighter around him.
"You're mine," I murmur softly, just to hear my own voice against his fur and skin. Then, quieter, almost a whisper meant only for him:
"I love you too... I don't know if you meant what you said, but... you don't have to love me back if you don't want to. Just... don't hate me. Don't push me away." I place a lazy kiss on his nose.
His tail twitches once, a tiny acknowledgment, before it drifts to rest. His big arms still cling around me, holding me close even in sleep.
I stay like that, his heart pounding, breathing mingling with his. The world outside doesn't exist. The lights, the chaos, the wine, the Christmas-everything fades to black except this: him, me, the warmth of our bodies pressed together, and the steady rhythm of his breathing beneath me.
And slowly, the exhaustion catches me too. I let my eyelids droop, letting myself drift into the same quiet, golden haze. Wrapped in him, tangled in fur and limbs, hearts still thumping in tandem...
Sleep takes us both, and the night holds us gently, perfectly, in its quiet embrace.
"Merry Christmas Stupid Horn-Wolf", I snuggle into him.