The Line of the Hunt
Warning: The following story contains sex between two males.
The Line of the Hunt
by gwydion78
You people have no idea just how good you have it.
I'm not saying being like this is a complete write-off, there are obvious advantages to this condition. I can spend three hours at an all-you-can-eat buffet and not gain a single pound. I've got a cut musculature, the kind you see on the cover of men's fitness magazines and I barely exercise. My eyes are a shade of blue you usually have to drop about five hundred dollars on a set of contacts for. My hair is smooth, silky, soft, and a perfect sandy blonde, and all I have to do to it is run my fingers through it and go. And if I didn't care about drawing more than a little attention to myself I could probably do two hundred meters in about twenty seconds.
But wait! There's more!
I also have to eat about eight pounds of near-raw meat a day, when I work up a sweat I downright stink thanks to a lovely set of glands I've picked up, I can't remember most of my life from before ten years ago, I'll never be able to be around anything silver again, at any given time there are at least two people who would love to see my dead or in a cage, and three days out of the month I am not all that much fun to be around.
I also can't have sex with, well, anybody, because odds are that, being a guy, I'll rather enjoy having sex, and as a result the guy I'm with will suddenly find a three hundred pound half-man half-cheetah where I used to be and he probably won't survive the encounter, seeing as humans aren't really built for mating bites. Nor does a guy's skin just bounce right back when you dig in your claws to get good traction while you're pounding away at him.
After something like that happens, the question isn't really whether or not he's going to call you back the next day.
So the whole reason I'm sitting here in a club, surrounded by hot guys? I collect pick-up lines. It's weird, I know, but when you've got a self-control problem, you're supposed to take up a hobby. At least that's what the books tell me. It's also best for me to test my self-control out in the field rather than cloistering myself in my apartment.
Besides, just because I'm not supposed to have sex doesn't mean that I can't drink.
I'm at the bar, watching various men and women in come-get-me attire buy each other drinks and fumble for words or just flat-out neck or head off to the dance floor to commence foreplay. I'm having a decent night so far, listening in on the conversations, and of course, the lines.
I'm trying to determine after years of therapy and lots of testing whether or not I'm allergic to sex.
Hey, that's a nice set of legs. What time do they open?
Are you from Tennessee? Because you're the only ten I see!
I've got a notebook full of much more forward ones at home, and all of them are just about as successful as you would imagine. Except for the satyrs, of course. Those guys could read a phone book and get laid. Still though, they'll usually say something first, even if it's just a witty little pair of words when they start groping you. They don't just put their face to your neck and start sniffing you.
But then the guy who's currently sniffing my neck isn't a satyr.
One moment I'm turning on the barstool to get a refill on my bourbon, the next I'm feeling a warm set of lips brushing my nape, the quick touch of a tongue, and I won't deny it feels good. Really good. It's been a while since someone did that, and already I'm wriggling a bit on the stool as my pants just got a bit tighter. I can feel the cat inside me rousing, stretching, and when I inhale through my nose I'm greeted with the pungent mixture of the club.
Granted, it's not really that bad. Sure, I smell the sweat, the piss, the various other bodily fluids, the booze, the drugs that are smoked, shot, and snorted, and the distinct scent of practically everyone in the club, but it's kind of like the way regular humans hear, you know? I mean, you can walk into a crowd where everyone's talking and still let everything fade into some nebulous background noise while you focus on one conversation, right? It's the same with the nose for me.
And by God this guy smells good. It's not like he's wearing the right cologne, or an expensive deodorant that'll make him smell like a tropical waterfall in the middle of a glacial storm or something, it's just...
"You smell good too. Let's go fuck." I pull back away from him, he look around my age, mid-twenties, about my height, just under six feet, but his hair is a deep black, his eyes a shining green. His skin is deeply tanned, and he's covered in a tight fitting blue t-shirt and jeans. Athletic musculature, his movements have an easy fluid grace. The cat really really really wants to take him up on that offer.
"I... I don't even know you." And no matter how pretty and well-built you are I'll probably tear you to shreds by the time we're done. I probably don't sound all that convincing, and I can feel those not-too-subtle glands of mine wanting to let damn near everyone in the club know exactly what my body wants. I need to get out of here, go home, and probably jerk off for the next six to seven hours.
He nods once, and traces a finger along the front of my rather loose-fitting shirt (easy to drive off a date if they think you're hiding a paunch) finding the firm muscle underneath. "All right. I can accept that." His hand then drops to my groin and starts massaging the bulge there. "My name's Lou. I like comic books and peanut butter and listening to live recordings of Lynyrd Skynyrd. Now let's go fuck."
You should know just how difficult it is for a guy to think coherently when his dick is being groped. We've got thousands of years of evolution and instinct pounding away in our brains telling us to mate and continue the species and do it right now because we could all be dead tomorrow so we'd better fuck as much as we can today. Now mix in some animal lust, bake it in a club full of horny people, and ice it with the fact that I haven't gotten any in twenty-two months, three weeks, and six days.
Now put yourself in my place and ask yourself if you could honestly say no to that. Especially when he has a scent that just...
I need to get out of here, I need to use the speed that my condition has blessed me with and dash like Hell for the door and not stop until I'm taking an ice bath in my apartment with all of the doors locked.
I've been good though, haven't I? I've been careful. The last guy didn't die, he didn't even turn, just got the living shit scared out of him when he looked down and saw that the ass he was pounding suddenly had spots. Sure, the cat didn't much like submitting to a human but at least it was sex.
And this guy, Lou, the peanut-butter snarfing Skynyrd fan is already practically jerking me off in the middle of a club. The bartenders are probably going to tell us to take it to the men's room in a minute. I need to get moving, but so far the only part of me that's complying is my hips.
I'm sweating now, my head feeling like a fireball encased in wood. I can feel my teeth starting to lengthen, sharpen, my fingers are aching as my nails harden and extend. Oh fuck, not here. Please not here. Don't let me change here.
"Let's go somewhere private, yeah?" I can only nod in reply. The cat isn't in the mood to be a good boy tonight. I feel him take my hand and pull me off the stool, and I follow him almost drunkenly through the crowd to the entrance. When we exit the air is crisp and it fires my senses. I can smell the city, the taste of autumn on the wind, the people standing in line to get into the club and...
God, I need to mate. What the Hell possessed me to deny myself for so long? So what if I break somebody in the interim, right? The whole damn City's full of easy prey and this guy smells too damned good to just...
Damn it! No!
Apparently we've crossed Tolon Avenue while I've been wavering on whether or not I'll be screwing this guy, and we've entered Tolon Park. I can smell runners, rabbits, squirrels, leavings from revolting slobbish canines, and a very aroused male in front of me.
Please don't take me off the trail. Let's stay where there's light, where someone could see, I need to know that at any moment we could be discovered. Don't let me think for a moment that I'm safe. I may not know you all that well, Lou, but I don't want to hurt you.
When he pulls me off the trail there aren't any words, just his scent and the muffled grunts and near-growls that come from me as I start tearing off my clothes, my body having put on a bit more weight, maybe twenty more pounds of pure muscle since we left the club. My body hair's a bit thicker, and there's a good chance that it'll be fur by the time we finish. My shirt is in tatters on the grass now, and I'm making quick work of my jeans which are getting too tight for me to take off the regular way even if I had the presence of mind to do so. I don't know why I should worry about clothes anyway, I can just grow what I need to stay warm and cool and protected from the elements whenever I want. Clothes are only good for blending in with prey, anyway, and why should I bother with that? I'm a hunter. I'm a predator. I'm...
I'm not as strong as him.
I feel my back pressed against the trunk of a tree, the bark scratching into my skin as his mouth greets mine with abandon, a blend of muffled moans and grunts issuing from my mouth to his and vice versa as we kiss, as his hands explore my body, his fingernails sharp and dragging over me leaving light trails of reddened skin, my own emerging claws nearly breaking into his hips, but I keep from drawing blood. I can feel his arousal now, crossing my own, the firm towers of flesh slapping against each other in a dual for dominance.
He may be bigger than me, but I want it more. I push him to the ground, onto his back, my feet pushing their claws through the now useless shoes to gain traction in the earth and keep my weight on him. His scent intensifies at this maneuver, an attempt to force my submission, but I resist, lifting one of his legs to find the way into him, and my finger enters hard and fast.
And just like that, his scent changes dramatically, slightly more submissive, but much less human stink and more... feline. I watch him grow under me, gaining muscle, his body hair thickening, claws popping from his fingers, and low satisfied purr rumbling from his chest. He doesn't speak, but I can tell what he's saying from the subtle twitch of his whiskers, the narrowing of his eyes, the parting of his mouth.
Keep going.
If I hadn't denied myself for so long I would never have dreamed of doing this, but I pull out my probing finger and roughly flip him onto his stomach, growling low, my whiskers twitching impatiently as he gets the idea and presents himself to me, looking over his shoulder with hungry eyes. I can smell a panther. He's a panther. I'm going to mount a panther. He's clearly the superior hunter, I should submit to him.
Neither of us are fully shifted though, perhaps he holds himself back more. Regardless, I climb onto his back and make a few fumbling thrusts at him before I hit home and sink in with ease, my instincts already warring with each other, the urge to mate far stronger as my hips begin pistoning already. I need to come, to finish and run away before a bigger hunter comes along and kills me. I'm made myself vulnerable, I have to finish now. I have to...
But the bigger hunter can't kill me. He's under me. And he's male, he won't bear my cubs or eat them. So if he's not food, or a hunter, or a heated female... what is he?
I can feel my jaw lock around his neck as I feel my body spit white fire into him, letting him know his place, my claws holding him firmly in place as he nearly mewls, spilling himself onto the grass beneath us. I shouldn't deny myself like this. It always gets me so confused. I follow too many strange rules and forget how to hunt like mother taught me to and...
Mother... Father... Oh God... Oh God, please don't go, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, please don't go, it was my fault. Please come back, Mom.
Oh God, what did I just do?
I pull backward, seeing a well-tanned man underneath me, grinning at me from over his shoulder as his body seems to almost shrink before my eyes, losing muscle mass and body hair, or maybe the world is just shrinking, because I'm doing the same thing. He looks intact, at least, even though I see some definite teeth marks on his neck. Oh shit, he's bit.
I just ruined his life.
I have to get out of here, but unfortunately the cat decided I didn't need clothes for this little jaunt through the park.
"So... my turn now?" I gasp as he pulls himself off me and I get to my feet, unsteadily. Lou advances a step and I back off. "Not too often I meet a guy who wants to top me. Rarer still that I let him. And never once have I ever let anyone bite me. And I don't even know your name. I don't really need it, I know your scent now just as you know mine, but it's still proper to have it, right?" He steps toward me again and runs a calloused hand over my face. "But don't think that you won't get the same, we need to finish what you started after all."
"What I started?" I lean away from the hand. "You were all over me in the club. I'm really sorry if I gave you the wrong impression about me, but I should go."
"All right. You need time. I understand. Doesn't have to be tonight, it's a big thing, after all. Can I at least know your name though?"
"Jasper." Why did I tell him my real name? "Good night."
He says something but I'm already sprinting away, making the cat start to pay for the trouble he got me into. I've got to run home naked after all. Thank God I live close.
Still, I did hear what he said as I made my escape, and it sends a chill down my spine as my feet slap against the grass and the dirt running paths. It scares me because of the suddenness of it, and because part of me actually wanted to hear it.
"Good night, mate."
***
In case you haven't figured it out, I'm kind of well off. Decent education, real nice apartment in a co-op building that's a less than a minute's walk from Tolon Park, I could probably afford a damned nice car if I didn't prefer walking everywhere (cars have made me feel claustrophobic since I was a kid, but I can handle a bus or the train). My place is pretty nice, nineteenth floor, two bedroom with a master suite, one and a half bath, full kitchen, walk-in closets, not a bad place to grow up in. My parents died in my teens, don't really like talking about it.
My kitchen hasn't seen much use in the last decade, save the fridge and the butcher block. I'm thinking about just biting the bullet and getting one of those big freezers considering that all I eat anymore is raw meat and the occasional multi-vitamin to make sure I don't die of malnutrition.
Why yes, I am stalling. Why would I want to discuss what happened last night? At least what of it I remember.
Granted, I slept well for the first time in months and I wasn't dreaming about hunting. The cat was keeping in the background for a change. Usually when I wake up in the morning I need to jerk off or eat two raw steaks. I'm rather thankful that the cat hasn't tried to do both yet, I don't want to form those kind of psychological associations.
I haven't run my coffeemaker in three years, it's mostly there for show. Usually I just get a grande latte from the place down on Park Street on the mornings I need a pick-me-up.
So I'm obviously a little surprised and concerned when I smell... Is that hazelnut? And mocha? Out of instinct I inhale sharply through my nose and mouth, tasting the air as I'm smelling it, it's something the cat does but I'm not about to argue with...
Oh God, someone's in my kitchen. And they smell so good. If I didn't have morning wood before I'd certainly have it now. I head out to the kitchen after grabbing a robe from the closet, primarily because I don't want to confront an intruder wearing naught but an annoyed expression. The erection I have would probably send a mixed message, you know.
I also smell the toaster running, a cooked steak, orange juice (which, by the way, doesn't have all that great a scent when your sense of smell is heightened and your brain can't process it right; orange juice smells like floor cleanser and a toaster smells like your house is on fire). And then I smell peanut butter.
Aw damn it all.
Seriously, I wish I could be more pissed off than that. I really want to be. I want to storm in there and start screaming at him that he apparently broke into my house to have an early breakfast and sip international coffees, but I can't. You'd even think that the cat would have a bit of a problem with Lou hunting and dining in his own personal territory (Don't ask how he made it his territory, you really don't want to know. Sufficed to say I can't entertain people from work at home anymore.)
But some of the details of last night come rushing back into my mind, the most prominent being that I bit him. The cat had his good time and left me to deal with the mess. I'm responsible for this, though. I doubt the guy who bit me even bothered to make me coffee the next morning. I took his humanity away from him, the least I can do is let him have some Skippy.
"Good morning, Jasper." His tone is even, measured, like he took a class on speaking English even though he looks just as American as I do. The toaster pops and he retrieves a split English muffin, puts it on one of my saucers, and proceeds to slather it with peanut butter. My table has a plate set out for me with a lightly cooked steak on it, a cup of coffee on the side along with a glass of orange juice.
"How the Hell did you get in here? How do you even know where I live?"
He taps his nose once, as if that answers everything.
"You're going to have to give me more than that."
"I followed your scent to your building, then I stepped into the hallway of every floor and smelled the air there. This floor has the unmistakable scent of your mark. As for your door, you shouldn't leave your key on top of the door jamb, it's the first place many burglars look after checking under the doormat." He then takes a bite of his muffin and mmmms softly at the taste, and I can see his tongue working over the roof of his mouth. He's dressed just as casually this morning, just a different t-shirt (this one for an auto supply store somewhere in California) and jeans a darker shade of blue, his hair that perfect "slightly mussed" look.
"Listen, I'm sorry about what happened last night-"
"Why?" Lou honestly does look confused. "I sought you out, we both left together, we mated, neither of us resisted... Unless you're apologizing for not giving me my turn, of course. I won't accept an apology for that, we still need to finish eventually." His tone is far too conversational for someone who just told me I still need to let him fuck me in the ass before we're even. "I didn't know there were still cheetahs in the City, but I supposed that's what drew me to you in the beginning, your scent. You're quite exotic, you know."
Wait, what?
"Hold on a second here. How do you know I'm a cheetah? I mean, I only bit you last night, you shouldn't be..." He was looking at me incredulously now. "What?"
"You... You think I'm turned?" Lou actually laughs, the sound just as smooth and practiced-sounding as his English. "No, no, not at all. I'm pure. And of course I know you're a cheetah." He taps his nose again. "Even if I couldn't smell you it was rather apparent last night while we were mating." Lou then tilts his head at me. "Odd though, you don't smell turned, but you certainly act like a freshly bit cub. Your maker isn't mentoring you? And please, you should eat before it gets cold."
He motions to the unoccupied chair at the table, and my stomach wins out in the ensuing contest of wills. Stupid carnivorous diet.
"If you're talking about the guy who bit me, I don't really remember him, so no, I haven't really been mentored." I start on the steak, cutting through big bloody hunks and sating the hunger. So much for the cat giving me the morning off.
"How long have you been turned?"
I shrug once. "At least ten years."
"Ten years?" His voice is more shocked than surprised, with an edge of definite pity, as if I'd just revealed I'd been smacked around growing up. I wasn't, just so you know, from what I do remember about my parents, they were the grounding type. Lou sets down the half-eaten muffin, the peanut butter well-melted on it now, and then he looks me over, furrowing his brow. "I can only guess that your maker must have died? We felines tend to be rather protective of our cubs until they're ready to hunt on their own, though in this city we mostly teach the cubs to utilize local slaughterhouses. Have there been any..." I can tell he's trying to choose his next word carefully rather than just find it. "Incidents?"
Which is a nice way of asking, "So, eaten anyone lately?"
"Not that I can remember." Granted, I don't know if the cat could say the same. I've woken up with my face covered in blood before, but I was also surrounded by empty Styrofoam trays that once held filet mignon, so I gave the cat the benefit of the doubt. Thank God for small favors, huh? "And I don't think I need any mentoring, thanks, I've been doing alright on my own. And what do you mean that you're 'pure'?"
"My father is turned, my mother is pure, but both are were, therefore I am pure. It simply means that I have been were my whole life. I was born this way." There's no element of pride in his voice, or shame, it's just matter-of-fact to him. "It does allow me a finer control of my body, though." He holds up his hand, and black fur quickly sprouts and covers the skin there, his palm and fingers gaining soft looking pads, his nails sharpening before retracting backwards. The rest of him remains perfectly human, though, the fur on his hand, now paw, stopping right at the wrist.
I can't do that, by the way. With the cat it's an all or nothing affair, and I can't casually shift at my breakfast table. There needs to be a full moon, or I need to be rather... excited.
My cell phone decides to go off at that point, blaring away a low-bitrate recording of Journey's "Don't Stop Believing" (Don't judge me. I can eat you.), the ringtone I use for when I've got work. I'm a freelance consultant by trade, which pays well when I've got work, and apparently now I do. This call should not go to voice mail.
"Listen, it's great and all that you dropped by, but I have the classic male problem of no follow-through, so you should chalk me up as a one-night stand and move on. Considering that you don't have me to thank for your condition, I think we should cut our losses and save ourselves some headaches." I get up from the table, getting the cell phone which is still treating the kitchen to the soothing screams of Steve Perry. "So you can let yourself out, I need to take this, okay?"
I answer and turn my back away from him, walking out into the living room and pacing while I chat with a client about setting up an appointment. To clarify, I'm the asshole your boss brings in every now and then to "report on worker efficiency" and I make recommendations on who gets canned. A perk is that while I'm there I'll have the most well-kissed ass in the City.
They want me to come in this afternoon and go over a strategy for my next assessment of their employees, which pretty much means they want to tell me who I'm really looking at and who I'm just putting the fear of God into. So I've got time to shower and shave and look all presentable and corporate.
When I emerge from the bathroom satisfied that I'm clean (even to the cat's standards), I dress for the day in my office drone suit. For the tie, I go with the one emblazoned with the logo for the local football team, just to put the workers at ease with that "see? I'm one of you!" feel that most of them see right through. I'm more of a hockey fan, actually.
And God, I can still smell him. Speaking in a rational and practical sense, I don't want him around. I don't even know the guy. This is someone you thank for a lovely evening and then you go get yourself tested just to be safe. No matter how cute you might think he is, a one-night-stand isn't relationship material. And besides, "Well, he picked me up at a club and we fucked in the park" isn't much of an answer for "so how did you two meet?" Just because I can't have a meaningful relationship with a human being without killing them or ruining their life doesn't mean I should just jump into something with someone else with my condition.
Irrationally and impractically speaking? I'm pretty sure I could easily go through the rest of my life only knowing that wonderful and perfect scent. I don't know how to describe it, it's like it's layers of everything I like and never even knew I liked. It fires my loins and quickens my heart and makes the cat seems less distant and more...
I'm going to have to jerk off before work now. Preferably before I get so horny I pop my claws and shred my work pants. They match the jacket, after all.
The pants, not the claws.
So, delicately, I remove my slacks, boxers, and socks (as my feet tend to pop their claws as well when I'm doing this) and head into my bedroom, drinking in the scent of him. I'm already hard, my mind running through the splinters of memory that the cat had the night before, mostly pushing into Lou, the way his ass gripped me, took every inch of me, the way he moaned and purred and growled. My hand's a poor substitute, but I put the images in my brain on a loop as I lay down on my mattress, my nose filling with my own scent as well as I feel my body reacting to my manual ministrations. I grab a t-shirt off the floor to catch my seed when I'm about to finish, just to be safe, I don't want my come on my work shirt or staining my tie, as the scent of it is pretty strong even for a human nose.
I close my eyes, my breathing gaining the edge of a purr as I stroke myself. The scents of the room grow stronger as I feel the fur growing in, the pumping motions of my hand gaining more force as my muscles swell.
"Lift your legs."
I'm about to readily comply when I open my eyes and see Lou standing by my bed, without attire, his fur already growing in, his erection dark and insistent. He runs his hand along my thigh, his claws dragging along the skin, making me shiver.
"Lift your legs, Jasper." His tone is bit harder this time.
I shake my head.
"I won't bite you, Jasper, you aren't balanced yet, but you clearly need release, and playing with your paw like a cub will not sate you. I doubt you want to take this kind of non-fulfillment into the workplace."
How the Hell can he be so articulate when his own cat has such an obvious hold of him right now? And what the Hell does "balanced" mean? And who cares about work when I've got a throbbing erection and a hot naked guy stroking my thigh? We can mate and hunt and forget about these stupid petty human...
Maybe I do need a mentor.
Because he's not actually naked, now that I'm really looking. Apparently I was so caught up in my masturbatory fantasy I didn't notice that he was still in his t-shirt and jeans, and in his human form, and chose to see him instead as the sweat-sheened panther god I was pounding last night.
"You'll be needing another shirt and tie, now, you're already sweating. Now lift your legs." The next word is growled lowly. "Now."
The panther is bigger than me, and a better hunter, and it is only fair considering he let me mount him last night. Besides, sometimes it feels good to be the one taken from behind. It's like it can reach and satisfy an itch I can never reach, and the warmth at the end when they finish can feel good... I nod once to the panther, and lift my legs upward to rest on his shoulders, my hands reaching to my chest to tear off the fabric that's growing tighter as my strength grows.
I see the panther's still pale and furless hand stop me though, and carefully work the buttons of the shirt, opening it up, loosening the tie, his brow furrowed in concentration as I put out more of my scent. I don't care about some stupid human fabric. I want to be fucked. Now. My teeth are already sharp, and I growl softly, and nip at his hand as it starts to pull the tie away.
Ow! He's pinching my ear!
"Damn it! Stop that!" My voice is lower, huskier, and I can feel the cat sinking back below the surface. "What the Hell did you do that for?" I reach up and rub my ear, which has migrated up my head, furring over, more like the cat's ear. It's difficult to sound indignant though when I feet are comfortably resting on his shoulders and there's a definite bulge in his jeans.
"This is your first lesson. Like most who are turned, you believe that you are of two minds, two souls, two personalities... Regardless, you believe that there is you, the human, and then there is the side of you that comes out when you lose control of your passions, or when Mother Luna is full."
"That's all very well and good, Lou, can we get to the part where you're fucking me?"
Ow! I rub my ear again. Damn, he's fast!
"As I was saying, the truth of the matter, is that you are not. There isn't you and the cheetah, Jasper, there is only you. When you were turned, and changed for the first time, you and the cheetah became one. Normally, it only takes a month or so before a turned were reaches balance. A pure were, well, I have been this way since birth, there is no reason for me to think any other way about myself. I know I am not human, nor am I a panther, I am both and neither at the same time. For someone such as you though, who has been turned for so long without balance..." He strokes my head softly. "It will take longer."
"Is that why you keep pinching my ear?" Neither I nor the cat are fans of that. And yeah, sure, the cat and I are one, I'm really Tyler Durden and all that. Big difference between just telling someone that and actually knowing it though. And well, while both the cat and I want to get good and fucked by Lou, I just want to get it taken care of so I can go to work and the cat wants to rut all day and maybe do some hunting in the park.
"It worked on me. As insulting as this might sound, you need to be trained before you can reach balance, and some concepts will require a little bit of reinforcement. Would you rather be fed treats when you're a good cub?" And he's not smirking. He's actually serious.
"I'm not a cub." I really couldn't tell you if it was me or the cat saying that.
"Well, you're not human." He shrugs once, and I feel one of his fingers pushing into me. I grunt softly, try to steady my breathing, relax. "Not that that's a bad thing, or a good thing. Being were has its share of advantages, as does being human, as well as being a panther or a cheetah or a wolf or lion or any of the other creatures in the City." Yeah, yeah, that's great. Everyone's special, put in another finger or drop your pants, okay?
"Now, Jasper, how often do you change?" Another finger, and I can tell he's got a lot of experience doing this, or he just figured me out rather quickly. Like I said, the cat isn't all that big a fan of being the bottom, especially when it's his ass being taken, but damn if Lou doesn't know how to make him purr. And yes, that does mean I'm purring right now. Squirming a little too, because I want him to push a little deeper. I can feel his fingertips barely brushing my prostate, and understandably I'd like a little more than that.
"Deeper, please." It comes out as more of a growl, but his response is another pinch to my ear. "Damn it! Stop that!" Lou looks expectant, and even though I can't see, he's probably tapping his foot. "Fine! I change with the full moon and when I get excited like this. It tends to scare off guys so I haven't gotten laid in two years."
"Until me, of course. I have little problem with your changing while we mate." He looks toward the nightstand where my clock-radio is. "How long do you have until you need to leave?" It still amazes me that I'm naked, on my back, he's got his fingers in my ass and he definitely smells like an overly aroused panther, yet he still sounds as casual as someone asking what's up for Must See TV tonight.
"I'm not going in." There's a lot more growl in my voice than usual. By now I'm usually lost to the cat, but we're both equally frustrated about now, so maybe the cat doesn't see the point in taking over. Then again, I can already see spots in my body hair and my teeth are definitely too large for my mouth, so maybe the cat is preoccupied with other things. "Just... Just fuck me, okay? Stop teasing me like this!" I'm starting to squirm now, trying to get his fingers in a little deeper, I even think I mewl a bit, which is rather pathetic because I'm practically begging now if I'm doing that. Some big scary hunter I am, huh?
Ow!
"You didn't answer my question, Jasper. And why shouldn't I tease you? I am firmly in control of myself, and I'm rather enjoying watching you wriggle about on my fingers, begging for more. You seem to believe that right now, only I can give you satisfaction, and well..." He then uses his free hand undo the fly of his jeans, showing that he's not a big believer in underwear as his decently sized erection is revealed, standing at a forty-degree angle, the head a bit shiny with his pre-come. "As you can see I rather enjoy having this power over you." He drags his finger over the surface of my dick, from root to tip, agonizingly slow, tracing every vein he finds. "Now, how much time do you have?"
"Maybe an hour and a half, hour and forty-five."
"Jasper?"
I think I'm whimpering. "Yeah?"
"Look at yourself." I roll my eyes. I get it, he gets off on the power, he's the superior hunter, I'm just the lowly cheetah and he's getting his payback for last night. "No, Jasper, look at yourself. Look how far you've changed." I start to look downward, taking in the sight of my body. "Your fur has grown in, your ears have shifted, you've gained your strength, your claws..." He caresses my balls, then my shaft where the skin is slightly darker than normal. "Your virility. You are both man and cheetah, and yet you are neither." I'm quivering now, I need him now, so badly.
"I'm sorry I bit you. It wasn't my place." I think I can understand that now, how presumptuous it was, to assume that I could mount him first, take him first, but... his scent that night, he'd wanted it, hadn't he? My head is starting to hurt.
"I never told you no. I quite enjoyed it. It seems that part of you already wants to be with me. The rest, well... The rest we can handle as the humans do. Dates, shared meals, eventual co-habitation. Eventually we meet each other's parents." I'll have to admit that I'm a little curious how his parents got him to turn out the way that he did. I can't even remember how mine...
How...
Please... please, I'm sorry. I won't do that anymore. Just don't leave. Please don't leave. God, Mom, Dad, it wasn't me. It was him, the cat, I won't let him do it anymore if you won't leave.
"Get off me, please, I have to go." My voice is small, but normal, human, real. The cat is pushed down deep again. I've lost muscle mass, my skin is smooth save the regular body hair, no claws, no fangs. My nose even feels a little stuffed up. I feel him pulling his fingers out of me, and the relief is more mental than physical. I get off the bed and push past him, heading into the bathroom and locking the door. I hear a knock several seconds later.
"Jasper, what's wrong?"
"Just go away!" I'm already losing my erection. I don't really know what I was remembering, but I know self-loathing well enough that it certainly wasn't a happy time. When I look in the mirror my skin is a little paler, my eyes slightly reddened, face a bit wet. What, was I crying? "What the Hell did you do to me?"
"I did nothing, Jasper, you were reaching toward a balanced state and then suddenly you looked rather pained, and immediately shifted back to human. I suppose the more accurate question would be to ask what you did to yourself." His tone is calming, soothing. I don't really care though. I want him out. Now.
"Leave me alone, Lou. Please. Just go away and leave me alone." God, am I going to cry again? My throat already feels tight, raw, my eyes hot. What the Hell did I remember? "Just let me handle this my own way. I've dealt with being like this for ten years, I think I can keep going on without any of your help, all right?" I grip the sides of the sink, looking down, concentrating on the imperfections in the marble.
"If that is what you want, then yes, I will go." A few seconds go by, his voice didn't sound hurt, just... patient. "I'll leave my number on the kitchen table. If you need anything, any time at all, simply call and I will be there." Another pause. "Take care of yourself, Jasper. And your home, I rather like the scent here. Very warm, comforting."
I don't unlock the door until he leaves, and regardless I stay in the bathroom a bit longer to shower off all the sweat and cat-stink that's coated my skin. It takes a small act of bravery to go into the bedroom, but I keep my attention focused purely on the closets, replacing my suit with something a little higher in quality, primarily because even though my previous clothes are still perfectly wearable, they also will probably smell a little like him. I don't want that today.
His number is indeed on the kitchen table, with a Destry Bay area code, so he's probably just as well-off as I am, just closer to suburban, but I don't plan on calling him. I'll just go to work, maybe have the apartment steam-cleaned, never buy peanut butter or listen to Lynyrd Skynyrd again, and get back to a normal life. The cat as far as I'm concerned can kiss my non-furry ass.
Still, my apartment has a warm and comforting smell? What the Hell does that mean? How can you get temperature from a smell? My apartment smells like a cheetah, always has as far back as I can remember, which makes sense, because I've been "turned" as he calls it as far as I remember. I probably changed for my first time and stunk up the place and the smell's never really gone away. I never really noticed it because it's my scent, well, the cat's scent anyway, and it never bothered me.
So I'll steam-clean the place top to bottom, and when the full moon rolls around next weekend I'll just put myself in a storage locker with a cooler full of steaks and, I don't know... a really big ball of yarn or something. Maybe I could roll a joint of catnip, I still haven't figured that damned cat out.
I stop for coffee on my way to work, call a steam-cleaning service and offer to pay extra for a rush job. I want it done and taken care of before I get home. If it's not ready then I'll just stay at The Willow in a suite and have a few fourteen dollar cookies and tiny thirty-eight dollar bottles of rum. Maybe I'll pick up some new suits too, dress a bit better for work. Sure, it'll cost a bit, but that's what we humans do best, right? Consume, consume, consume.
Yeah, it'll all work out fine. I'll be okay. I don't need any help to balance or anything like that. He said there was nothing wrong with being human, that it had its advantages, so why not just go for those advantages exclusively? The cat didn't get me this job, I did. So I'm going to do it.
God, I could go for a steak.
***
The company that I'll be working for today is the customer service department of Victory Financial, a major banking firm that handles mortgages, insurance, stocks, and accounting. Every arm of the Victory family has its own customer service branch with its own center. My job is to listen in on calls, conduct personal interviews with employees, review recordings of past calls (See? Someone actually does listen to those "quality control" recordings. Quick tip? Someone's listening while you're on hold for half-an-hour as well, so be careful what you say.), and let the managers know who's performing up to snuff and who's not.
Like I said, there's always a few people that management really wants me to look at and find somehow incompetent, considering just how difficult it can be to fire someone in this state.
My visits are supposed to be a surprise, in order to catch workers in their natural working rhythm instead of a hyperactive state where they over-think everything out of fear for their jobs. But that's rarely a followed policy, I've found. That's why I'm being brought in for this "evaluation strategy planning meeting", really, so that everyone will see me come in and have a nice long chat with their boss. Helps to keep the prey on their toes.
Employees. I meant employees.
I'm sure I look bored, I'm almost positive, because I am bored. I'm sitting in a tiny little office only a bit larger than a cubicle with a view of a bunch of cubicles. The manager is a guy in his late thirties that looks mid-forties under the brutal fluorescent lights, wearing a suit about as nice as mine. He's got a sagging mid-section, could probably run the forty-yard dash if he really had to, but not all that impressively. Certainly not faster than me even if I weren't getting a little help from the cat. There's an almost-dead look in his eyes as he spouts off buzz words and corporate jargon about what the company would like me to do and why what I'll be doing is important. I think he thanks me somewhere in there too.
God, he's like a sheep at the head of an army of sheep that only got the job because he ate more.
I can already tell that I won't be giving good reviews if this is what these people have to look to for leadership. Thank God I'm not delivering my report to him, but to his superiors. Probably shouldn't mention to him aloud that he's on my list as well.
I don't say much to him, but considering that I don't feel like going home yet and dealing with that smell, or the steam-cleaners who are hopefully going to be taking care of the stench that's apparently there, I let him know I can start on preliminary evaluations right now. It's not like there's elaborate equipment involved in my job. I'm not giving polygraphs or anything.
I already have the list of names committed to memory, there's only four people I'm looking at really, the rest is so that they won't be singled out. Also, like I said, a nice little boost for my ego.
They say that dogs and bees can smell fear. I never really did all that much research on cheetahs so I don't know if they can smell if a gazelle is terrified of them, not that it would matter much anyway, considering fear isn't a factor in selection, speed is. Regardless, I can always tell that they're afraid of me here because their scent changes when they see me draw near or beckon them into the small conference room I've been given access to for the rest of the day.
I tell each of them that there's nothing to worry about, I'm just getting to know them is all, get a good sense of their personalities, but that I might drop by their station to listen in on some calls over the next couple of days, but even if I do, it's nothing to worry about. I pick randomly, for the most part. I am telling the truth. I have little forms and questionnaires and interview templates that work pretty well, I did go to college for this, after all.
And it's not working.
I feel off. I could just say it's because I'm doing this unprepared and off the cuff but to be honest there's not a lot of rehearsal required for this job, just the ability to think on your feet. I'm not the one being interrogated, after all. My stomach is bumbling around in my chest, my sinuses are getting rather clogged, everything kind of has a fuzzy sound to it in my ears, even my voice is a little more nasal instead of deeper and authoritative.
"Are you okay?" I called in a woman at first, she's at the top of the list, actually, for low productivity and a negative work attitude. The word the manager used was "bitch" but I'm not really getting that so far. Sure, she looks bored off her ass, but I'd probably be in the same position.
"Yeah, I'm sorry. I spaced a little bit there." Why can't I smell her? "What were you saying?"
"That I've been here four years and trained about a third of the new staff." Definitely annoyed, it's not like I'm deaf. Her arms are folded, leaning against the back of the chair, I know that that means something. Damn, I am off today.
"And you're wondering why you haven't seen any opportunities for advancement, yes?" Wait, that wasn't me...
"Yes, to be honest. Can I be off the record for a sec, here?" She sounds relieved now, and she's looking to my right. When I look there I see Lou seated there, dressed in a finely cut suit, sipping what smells like tea. And God he smells fantastic, not as strong as at the apartment or in the club, but, damn...
"Please do, Ms. Rannoch. We are merely here to listen to the concerns of the employees." I stare at Lou for a moment, and he looks every bit the consummate young professional. What I want to say is 'No, we sure as Hell aren't!', but I can feel something stirring inside me. I feel better, but a little... wrong.
"It's difficult to do this job, really, and it shouldn't be. This is customer service, for God's sake, you take the call, you discern the problem, you find a solution, you file the report if necessary. It's not rocket science. But a lot of the time I find my hands tied by office regulations that either make no sense or contradict each other. Sure they're always under review..." She makes air-quotes at that word. I hate when people do that, really. "And eventually calls are resolved, but the average time is increased by several minutes, time we could be taking other calls, cutting hold times, and ending up with less agitated customers." She looks at me, and then at Lou. "Is he all right? He looks kind of pale."
"He isn't deaf, Ms. Rannoch." Seriously, what the fuck? He followed me to work, he's sitting in on my meetings like he's my co-worker, and now people are talking to him like he's in charge? "And you can direct your concerns to me, as I'm the one making the recommendations here." That got her arms folded fast.
"Would you excuse us a moment, Ms. Rannoch?" Lou smiles to her, genially. "I believe we have the information we need. Thank you." She gets up, gives me a bit of a look, but returns the smile to him, and leaves the conference room. "I rather like her. Honest, strong-willed, team-player, definite leadership qualities. I would definitely say management material, wouldn't you?"
"I told you to stay the Hell away from me, Lou. This is way over the line." I really want to yell at him, but we're in a conference room surrounded by the people I'm supposed to be evaluating. Can't make a scene.
"To begin, you came to work unfulfilled. Your scent is also muddled, but even if my nose were cut off I could still see the manner of torment that you're putting yourself through. You're actually repressing yourself? It's not healthy. At all. And I don't mean in a social or mental sense. The harder you push yourself, the harder you'll push back when you finally let go. You say you haven't had any incidents. I am telling you honestly, if you keep this up, you will have one. I guarantee."
"I don't need your help." Am I growling? I look down at my hands, my fingernails are gone, and claws are pushing out of my still relatively human hands. Oh God, not here, not here, not here!
"Yes, you do. You simply don't want it. And as you can see right now, you're slipping. Please. Let me help you, Jasper." His tone is more soothing now, his scent intensifying, and yes, it's not helping matters. I want to fuck him right here on this conference table. It should be safe to, I'm surrounded by prey after all, it's not like they'll interrupt us. They'd probably be relieved, even, that the hunter is otherwise occupied.
No, I shouldn't do this. I shouldn't act this way... But why not? I am so sick of hiding amongst the prey. I'm tired of this. I'm tired of holding back and following so many stupid little rules when there's only one: I am a hunter, and I cull the weak.
And I'm hungry. I can smell so much slow, fat prey, none of which should have been allowed to survive this long, and fear, so much fear. I can see two from where I am, one the female who was just here. Yes, the tiny nests they made for themselves in this strange maze will offer little protection to them.
"Jasper."
Right, the panther. This isn't his territory, he has no more claim to this prey than I do, but I was here first. I can catch them before he can. But his scent. He wants to mate...
"Jasper, we need to leave, now."
And give my prey the chance to escape? I then feel a hand gripping my cock, and I purr in spite of myself. Perhaps I could mate first, work up an appetite...
The panther growls low, his eyes narrowed, fierce. Perhaps not. I feel... strange, though. His smell is... I push my muzzle to his neck, and drink deep of his scent. Why do my eyes feel hot? My throat feels tight. What is he doing to me?
Why am I crying?
"Jasper, we should go." I nod softly. I don't know what's happening to me anymore. I just want this to be over. I don't know who I am anymore, I'm tired of always swinging back and forth between me and the cat.
I'm led to the elevator, and it's not until the car goes into motion that I notice that my shirt is a tad ripped, the buttons popped off, the seams in my jacket loose, my pants barely holding together and my shoes a shredded mess. I shifted.
"Don't worry." Lou squeezes my shoulder gently, knowing what I'm thinking. "As far as they are concerned you and I had a rather impassioned argument about something. That's often how humans see us when we shift, as having an emotional outburst. You might have jeopardized your employment with the company, but there are more important things to worry about, I believe. I'm going to take you home, and then we're going to figure out how you shifted."
"Lou?" I glance at the descending numbers on the elevator's display. I don't want to look at him.
"Yes, Jasper?"
"Why do you keep coming back?"
He pushes my chin over to aim my sight at him, and then cocks his head to the right, showing his neck, and a definite scar there, teeth marks. My teeth marks.
"But you said you weren't turned."
He nods once. "Indeed I am not. But you bit my neck. And I let you. Do you remember what we were doing when you did it?" I nod as well, it's not all that difficult to figure out. "Do you know what that means for our kind, Jasper?" I shake my head once, even though, on some level, I think I do know. "You took me, Jasper. You claimed me as your mate. Your scent, the way you took me, that you bit me right as you came inside me."
I blink once. For part of me, yes, that makes absolutely perfect sense, but I'm still confused. "But... couldn't anyone do that then?"
Lou's turn to shake his head. "Do you honestly believe that I would let just anyone mount me, much less mate me? I am a predator, Jasper. Only the lions and tigers of the City could match my prowess in the hunt. While your kind may be quick, a cheetah would hardly be considered an ideal mate for a panther." He then strokes my hair. "But not every cheetah has a scent like yours. Much as I'm sure you'd never find another panther with a scent like mine, I'm sure. I never questioned once when you wanted to take me, Jasper. I simply knew. On some level, I'm sure that you knew as well."
"You mean the cat knew." My voice is smaller, probably because I'm smaller. I do want to go home now. But I don't know if I have the strength to turn him away again. And I don't know which side of me wants him to stay. "And I don't think we can go back to my place." He looks at me a second, an eyebrow arched, which I'm sure he practiced a bit as well, probably while watching Spock on Star Trek. "I'm having it steam-cleaned, get rid of the scent."
He looks shocked, honestly.
"Why in Mother Luna's name would you do such a thing? There was... so much love in that home. How could you have it scrubbed away?" I shake my head quickly.
"No, there wasn't. There was just the smell of a horny starving cheetah stinking up the place so everyone would know it was his den."
"Cheetahs."
"No, just me."
"No, Jasper. I could smell three cheetahs in that apartment. Granted, two of those scents were quite old, but they were good scents, comforting, a mated pair, definitely, and I could smell you, all the scents of your life. I didn't want to say anything because you were so adamant that you were turned and... Jasper? Are you all right?"
When the elevator door opens I run. He may be a panther, but he said it himself, we're a quick bunch of cats. I need to get home before the cleaners finish. Because it can't be true.
Please, Mom, Dad, don't let this be true.
***
When I get home there's a notice on my door from the cleaners.
A bill.
My apartment has never looked nicer, my furniture looks like I only bought it a week ago, and the air is thick with the smell of cleansers and rose oil. And I'm certain I'm about to be sick.
"Shouldn't matter anyway. I mean..." I sit down on the couch, which is still a little damp from the cleaning. "Even if he did smell other cheetahs in here, maybe they lived here before Mom and Dad moved in."
Little chance of that, this building was only rezoned as residential right before they moved in.
"They couldn't have been. That would mean that they bit me." Sure, I don't remember anything bad about them, but I do have a hazy memory before they got bit. Maybe I only wanted to remember them as human. Maybe their cats didn't care if I was their son.
"Or perhaps, more likely, you were born pure." I look back toward the doorway I forgot to close behind and find Lou there, not having stepped in yet.
"You can't have gotten here this fast."
"Then how do you explain me standing here?" He smiles weakly. "Right. You ran, and quite impressively. But I did have a distinct advantage, Jasper."
"That being?"
"I own a car." He looks at me expectantly. "I know I've come in on my own before but it doesn't seem right to forgo an invitation when you're like this." He sniffs the air once. "Truly a pity."
"I think I would remember having been a cheetah all my life, Lou." I look down at the carpet and sigh once. "Just come in. It seems I'll never be rid of you anyway."
A moment later he's sitting on the couch beside me, his hand on my shoulder. I don't push it away.
"Perhaps, perhaps not. Where are your parents?"
"Dead." I look over to him. "It was an accident." I took a deep breath, because the answer was there. "So they couldn't have been cheetahs, because they died in a car wreck. No silver."
Now I really was feeling sick. My head was hurting, my throat dry. Even now I could swear that I could still smell everything, just underneath the rose oil.
"Silver certainly makes it easier to kill us, but it's not the sole method. If the injuries are severe enough, it's possible. We're not immortal, thankfully."
"Why do you want them to be like you, Lou? Why do you want me to be like you? Are there really dozens of other guys you could have or I am pretty much the only cat in the city who'd fuck you in the ass?"
He's growling now, really growling. A predator's warning. His eyes are shifted, golden, his teeth slipping out of his mouth.
"Do you see anyone else here? Anyone else wanting to help you? Do you have any friends, any companions, family? Of course not, and I am beginning to see why. You ask me why I want your parents to have been were, but I believe the better question is why you don't want them to be? How much does it alter your life to have been born pure rather than having been turned?" He stands up, takes a step away, not looking at me.
"Because I hate him." I don't know how that came out.
"Who?" He turns toward me.
"The cat! Who else?" Where is this coming from? I can tell that Lou is probably asking the same thing. "He ruined my life, don't you understand? You think I can have friends? What if I lose it and the cat bites them? A boyfriend? Christ, the cat would probably kill him during sex. And my family? He killed them, okay? The fucking cat killed my parents!"
Oh my God, Mom, I'm so sorry. Dad, please believe me, it was his fault. He broke the...
He quirks a brow, confused. "You said they died in an accident."
"They did." I close my eyes, my head hurting more.
"Jasper, you're shifting." He's not admonishing me. I don't feel like I'm shifting, I'm certainly not turned on by anything here and it's the middle of the day, so there's no full moon. "Jasper, please, go on."
"It was the weekend." A Saturday. Mom had been on my case to finish my math homework. Where was it coming from? "We were supposed to go see a movie." Some action movie I'd had to lobby for weeks to get them to let me see. They only agreed on the condition I let them go along. "I was still getting the hang of..."
I stop dead.
"Of what, Jasper?" I open my eyes and Lou is kneeling before me, all the predatory instinct gone from his eyes, which are still feline. He's holding my hands in his.
"Shifting." The word tastes so odd in my mouth. The cat is oddly silent. "I had learned how to shift my muscles without changing my skin. I thought I could maybe go out for the track team, do well enough for a scholarship but not so good I'd get too well-known."
"Rather impressive." He leans forward, brushing his face against mine. It feels good, I don't fight it. He pulls back slowly. "Of course, it probably didn't work out all that well, am I correct?"
After a few seconds, I nod. "I ended up clumsy as Hell, my balance was all off. And I'd keep shifting the rest of the way. It was like tensing a muscle in the wrong way for too long. Just felt..."
"Better to shift all the way. More natural." I nodded. "Not to mention when fully shifted you'd have a tail to aid your balance." Lou rubbed his face against mine again, comforting me. "Keep going."
"I..." I close my eyes again, feeling the memory there. "We had a glass coffee table. And... I was trying to show off, do a back flip, I think, and..." Mom was warning me not to do it but I knew if I pulled it off she'd be proud of me. I was her mischievous little kitten, after all.
Oh God.
"You broke the table?" I nodded once. "Because you had put on about eighty pound of muscle and attempted to keep your balance, but found yourself unable." I nodded once.
It shattered, of course. "She was really mad. I was so afraid of when Dad would get home. All I could offer in defense was that I couldn't help it, I just wanted to prove I could do it. I was just being playful, you know? But Mom and Dad didn't go for it. So they made me stay home while they went out and... And that's when..."
I remembered getting the call. I just figured they were checking in on me, making sure I didn't sneak out to see the movie on my own since they were out for the night. Or maybe they'd have changed their minds, or maybe it was ...
"An hour after they left they were dead."
"It wasn't your fault, Jasper. If you'd not been grounded you probably would've shared their fate. Would you rather you'd died with-"
"It's his fault!" I grit my teeth, growling now. "They didn't go to the movie, they went to some restaurant in Destry Bay instead and got in the accident on the way there. If the cat hadn't fucked things up they never would've been on the freeway that night and they'd still be alive!"
But the cat is still quiet. My claws are out, teeth bared, I'm growling for him to back off, but it's not the cat. It's me.
"It wasn't your fault, Jasper."
Oh God, I'm so sorry, Mom. You have to believe me. It was the cat, not me. Please, don't go. I'll be good, I promise.
"It was his fault." I can smell him now, it doesn't fire my loins, he just smells good. Calming, comforting. "It has to be his fault."
"Because then it won't be yours. And you won't be responsible for your parents. You're not, Jasper. It was no one's fault. And it certainly wasn't yours." He's leaning in a bit closer, and I growl softly, but even I know it's not all that convincing. "Let me help you."
"Why?"
"Because you need the help. Because that's what our kind do for each other. Because I'm your mate, and it pains me to see you suffering. Because in time, I believe I could grow to have human feelings for you to compliment my instincts." He rubs his face against mine again, and I close my eyes, drinking in his scent.
"I don't deserve you, Lou."
He smiles a second. "I believe I'll be the judge of that."
"Lou?" I sniff a bit, but not to take in his scent. He runs a fingertip under my eyes, gathering a small bit of moisture. "I need your help." I bury my face in his chest, and just let go. I don't know if a cheetah can cry, show sorrow. But I'm not a cheetah. I'm not the cat, either. I'm not the man, nor a human. I'm both. And I'm neither.
But my tears are real, and so is the embrace of the one who holds me close to him.
***
Comparatively speaking, a co-op in Allora is in fact worth more than a townhouse in Destry Bay, if only for location. Destry Bay also isn't where I grew up. Lou understands.
It hasn't been an easy couple of months, that's a given. You don't really get over a repressed memory overnight, nor do you come to quick acceptance that you've been a were all your life either. It's good having Lou around. I'm not balanced just yet, but I can handle work now, have regular meals that aren't exclusively raw meat, and pursue an actual relationship with a guy.
I'll say this for any of you considering getting turned: relationships for us are hard work. Your body is telling you one thing while your brain is telling you a completely different thing. Imagine hating someone with a passion but having a gut need to fuck them three to five times a day a few times a year. Or being with someone for the rest of your life because you got a little too zealous during sex and bit them in the neck. That's mating for us: no proposal, no long engagement, no ugly bridesmaids dresses or too-short honeymoons. Just grunt, nip, and you're stuck with each other.
Unless of course you want to be with that person, and you've been doing it "as the humans do" with plenty of buildup. Maybe you've gone to share meals, view films, enjoy concerts, long walks together and talking, eventual co-habitation. And then...
"I want to present you to my family, Jasper."
It's just past midnight, and I have work in the morning, mostly checking up on Ms. Rannoch's team for the boys upstairs at Victory to make sure she's doing well in her new management job. I'm shifted much as he is because it's just more comfortable.
"Are you sure I'm ready for that?" I've never had a relationship last long enough to meet a guy's parents. "What are you going to tell them, anyway? 'Hi Mom and Dad, this is the guy who fucked me in the park a couple months ago, and we mated without telling you'? Besides, would they be okay with me being a cheetah? I mean, how do I know they didn't have some nice little pantheress all picked out for you?"
Lou only laughs. He's gotten better at it, laughing, since he moved in a month ago, considering I give him plenty of opportunities to practice. It's more natural now, warmer.
"Considering that my mother walked in on me with another boy when I was fourteen, I'm rather certain they haven't arranged anything. And yes, I might tell them something like that. Mother would certainly understand, being pure, and Father will accept it, considering how long he's been turned. As for your being a cheetah, considering we are both male, it's not like we can produce cubs anyway, so I doubt it will be an issue." I feel him nuzzle gently at my neck. Right now I'm rather thankful that neither of us see the point in sleepclothes.
"So tonight's the night then?" I turn to look at him, and his brow is arched. "Well, if I'm going to meet your parents, we should probably be fully mated, right?" I can already smell him getting aroused, and it's having the same effect on me. "So how do you want me, Lou?" I grin a bit. "Don't worry, it's not just because you want me to meet your parents. I've been thinking about this for a little while, and I think it's the right decision."
He leans closer to kiss me gently. "Finally reaching balance, then?"
I shrug once. "I don't know about that. Here's what I do know, though. In the last two months I've had to buy more peanut butter than I've ever bought in my life before you moved in. I know far more about the touring habits of Lynyrd Skynyrd than I think any person on Earth should know, and I still can't hold a candle to you."
"Those sound more like irritants."
I shake my head once. "Two months ago I definitely would've agreed with you, but when I come home from work now I hear music where there was just silence before. I look forward to breakfast in the morning so I can watch you lick the peanut butter off the roof of your mouth."
He smirks. "You like that?"
"It's fucking adorable. And the mail, I love when you get the mail." Again, he quirks a brow. "Because you keep it all bundled up until you get back here, and you go through it, and you furrow your brow and mouth out the words while you read off everything, and Thursdays, they're the best." I grin a bit. "Comic book day. The smile on your face when you see that thick brown envelope with your week's subscriptions. Best part of my Thursday."
Lou moves on the bed, straddling my waist now. "So it's not just my scent then?" I shake my head. "I must admit I've grown fond of your little habits as well, not to mention how hard you've worked. I'll admit I've never been a mentor to anyone, I mostly rely on what Mother taught me as she grew up pure as well." Lou takes a long deep breath through his nose, his mouth slightly open to taste the air as well. "The scent here is improving."
"Most would think a mated pair lives here." He nods once in reply. "I think I've made you wait long enough, Lou." His scent is intensifying now, dominant. "Will you take me as your mate?"
He doesn't respond, not with words. I start to lift my legs, but he pushes them back down on the bed, and reaches to the nightstand to retrieve the lubricant. It isn't his erection that ends up getting the slick coating though. This makes no sense, he smells as dominant as ever, but I can see him wriggling into position, moving forward, taking my dick in his hand and aiming it at the cleft of his ass.
"Lou, what-" His finger is on my mouth.
"I am taking you as my mate, Jasper."
"But... You're supposed to take me, not, well, take me." I receive a deep authoritative growl as a reply.
"Tell me, cheetah, which of us is in a position of power?" I don't get to answer. "Which of us is on top? Which of us controls how our mating shall be carried out?" Like I said, I don't get to answer, not with words anyway, considering those handy glands of mine are letting him know with my scent that I'm perfectly happy being on the bottom. He sniffs the air once, and smiles with a victorious air. "As I thought. I am a hunter, Jasper, a predator, and tonight, I make you mine, just as you made me yours." He grins, showing teeth. "I am simply a predator who much prefers feeling a male inside him rather than the other way around."
I can feel the tip of my meat kissing against his skin, the excess lubricant smearing about the entrance. I try to push with my hips upward, but he's started shifting already, the bed creaking as he adds on more muscle, increasing his weight and better pinning me to the mattress. He's right, he's in the position of power. Much as he allowed me to take him the night we first met, tonight I must allow him to take me, make me his.
I reach my hands forward to his groin, running my fingers along his length, looking up at him to meet his eyes, wait for his approval. Lou nods once, and I wrap both sets of fingers around his shaft as he starts to sink himself backward, his body opening up to claim me. My eyes flutter, as it's been two months since him and I did anything more than just stroke each other for simple relief. He's warm, just as I remember, and tight, and the urge to thrust at him is strong, but under control. He's on top, after all.
When he's halfway down my shaft I realize I've shifted, the scent of the room growing in intensity as my senses heighten. The pleasure fills me slowly in the form of a rolling heat, my speech transitioning to grunts, growls, sharp intakes of breath. My teeth are bared, my claws relaxed as I start pumping my hands on his cock, the motion of which elicited a low satisified growl form Lou.
There aren't any more words from him either, just stuttered grunts through gritted teeth as he sinks the final few inches, his ass meeting my thighs. A wide smile crosses his face, and he sits there, still, for a few seconds, only breaking his position with a gentle rocking after nearly a minute as he savors the feel of being filled with me. The rest is left to me, my hands working his penis over, my grip loosening as I increase my rhythm, and I watch his ears twitch as the sound of my stroking becomes audible.
What comes out of his mouth next is more growled than anything else, but I understand what the panther said: Faster. I readily comply, my fingers wet with his pre-come and sweat, his musk seeping into my skin just as mine did to his. Lou leans forward, and I lift my legs to keep myself inside as he sniffs along my neck, his mouth opening wide, it won't be long now.
Lou quickens the speed and urgency of his rocking, the smooth motion degenerating into rougher thrusts against my hands, which subsequently causes his ass to slide up and down my cock with equal speed and intensity.
And I'm completely aware right now. I'm fully shifted, drunk on his scent and being ridden like my dick's going to fall off and there's nothing from the cat. No strange urges, no gut need to do anything. I'm aware of my body, my instincts, my intelligence and emotions, all of it in a perfect...
Balance.
There's a flash of pain as his teeth dig into my collarbone, his ass clenching down hard on my dick as I feel my chest being splattered with his seed. He could bite down a little harder. He could kill me. Lou is stronger than I am, far stronger to him, so I submitted to him, offered my throat, and now, he'll protect me.
But I've taken his throat as well. He knows just as well that my strength rivals his. That he has submitted to me. That I protect him as well. There's no contradiction there, though, no conflict or competition between us. Why compete, when we can pool our strength? Why have one protect the other, when we can protect the both of us together? Why hunt alone, when we can share our den, share our warmth?
"Jasper... I..." The pain is already fading from the bite, and I lick his face clean. My shifted body is working to heal the wound, but the scar will remain, a mark similar to the one on his neck. In his eyes I see a great hunter, but also my protector who reads his comic books on Thursday afternoons with a running commentary. In his touch I feel the comfort of a strong male, but also tender neck rubs after a long day at work. "I believe that I..." He kisses me once. "I love you." He looks nervous a moment, odd for him. "Do you believe you could love me?"
"Could?" I kiss him once in return. "I already do, Lou." What follows is a long kiss, our tongues dancing against the other in our mouths, our eyes closed as we swim in our mutual passionate heat. Only after a minute or so of this do I pull back, rather reluctantly. "So... now what happens? What do we do now?"
Lou smirks, and squeezes his rump against me, my dick still buried inside him. "I'm sure we'll think of something."