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TDTTRTHERETURN: Ryan 'comes out' to Mike as a drinker; later on, as they have breakfast at the Inne, Ryan gets drunk after five beers, and starts making trouble to Mike in a sort of homophobic way, which upsets Mike profusely. Seriously pissed off to the point of going Feral, Mike then storms out of the bar. He is five steps out the door when Ryan charges out of the bar after him, perhaps to assault him. He takes four steps towards him, before Mike flashes into DemonWolf, spins around, and slams him with a fiery right hook, knocking the other werewolf unconscious, flashing back to Anthro as Ryan hits the ground. Mike then kneels down before Ryan, checking his pulse before giving him CPR. After Ryan is awake, Mike brings him into a kiss, then turns his right hand into DemonWolf's hand, and slaps Ryan hard across the face, leaving burn marks and singed fur as he gets up, points at and tells Ryan "We need to talk." Mike then proceeds to get in his car, and drifts out of the parking lot, doing a rolling burnout down the road due to the eight cylinder boxer. Mike goes onto the highway, reaching speeds of up to 230MPH, slowing down to around 150MPH, before pulling what is known as a 'suicide drift', himself calling it 'arab style', where the car is swung wildly to nearly parallel to its direction of travel, similar to fishtailing, but controlled. One bump or pothole, and the vehicle would flip and roll, killing the occupants via extreme inertia. Mike attempts the otherwise impossible, dangerous stunt for a couple miles before regaining his sanity and ending the drift. He drives a bit safer, heading towards WolfWerx, pulling a gymkhana drift around the entire building, then a tight-quarters donut around Zeke, who is out in the open, smoking one of Bane's cigars, ending in a zigzagged drift back onto the highway, homewards-bound. Zeke is stunned at what had just happened, the cigar falling out of his mouth, the burning end snuffed out as it hit the gravel.

Scene 1A(Deleted Scene)--------------------------------------- TDTTRTHERETURN: Mike comes home to find Ryan laying on the couch, still passed-out drunk, a half-empty bottle alongside a couple empty bottles of booze on the coffee table. Mike grabs one of the empties and slams it down hard on the edge of the hardwood table, shattering the bottle up to the neck, the sudden crashing sound waking the older Lycan instantly. Ryan scrambles to sit up, then sees the broken bottle on the table, trailing his eyes up to the hand that still held the unbroken neck, finally making eye contact with his furious mate.

"We were going to have a talk?" Mike sternly tells him.

Scene 1B---------------------------------------- TDTTRTHERETURN: Mike gets home (his place, not Ryan's), before Ryan, goes into his bedroom closet, and changes into a leather dom outfit: Combat boots, leather cop hat and chest harness, a leather armband and thong under denim jeans, all colored black, like his current mood towards Ryan. Checking his lycanthropic form in the mirror, everything fit perfectly. Well, maybe the harness felt a bit more snug than he thought, but it worked. He even donned a pair of shades, of small rectangular frame, and gunmetal mirrored tint.

Mike was never a smoker, though he looked like one, yet no tobacco had ever touched his lips. But that was all about to change on that night, as he pulled out a fine hand-crafted mild cigar from a shoebox he had stashed in his closet and headed towards the living room. The front door was unlocked for when Ryan returned.

Mike was also never a drinker, unlike Ryan, but he decided to let himself try one. They had just gotten out of Hell, why not celebrate, he thought, as he grabbed a beer from the six-pack in the icebox.

He sat down, legs spread, arms draped over the back of the couch. Mike had prepared the cigar beforehand and tasted it, his tongue darting out to lick the freshly-cut end. The taste was strong, dry, with a tinge of bitterness, akin to the musk of an unwashed armpit, a scent he had a slight affection towards.

The scent itself reminded him of cannabis, overshadowed by rosemary, cinnamon, lavender, and oddly enough, peppermint, with a strong, cool menthol note to tie everything together.

Menthol... he thought, as in the vapo-rub he used to pleasure himself with, the substance that numbed his tailhole, and gave a nice, intense warming sensation to his privates whenever he used it. Oh, how he loved the feeling it gave him, huffing the stuff to boost his pleasure level before releasing all over himself... good times...

Mike inserted the cigar between his jaws and bit down lightly, letting the taste settle in his mouth before he finally whipped out his Zippo and let the tip of the flame lick the other end, rolling it around, a few puffs here and there to help ignite it.

The scent, the taste, was stronger than he'd imagined it would be like, as he took a slow, cautious draw from the cigar. It tasted peppery and meaty like beef jerky, spicy with a little bit of burn like cinnamon, the warmth of the smoke making the inside of his mouth tingle. Retro-haling, the smell was woody, like hickory, leathery, like a few of his old jackets and vests he'd collected over the years, his closet smelled of nothing but leather. That scent was most prominent in the smoke that was coming out of his nostrils to collect back into his mouth to savor once more.

It was such an amazing experience, that his cock was drooling precum by the quart, filling his leather thong, squishing out every now and then to soak the crotch of his jeans.

Removing the cigar from his mouth, he slowly blew out the smoke that had danced around his taste buds, before turning his attention to the open beer in his other hand. He brought it to his nose, the pungent scent hitting his nostrils instantly. It smelled bubbly, carbonated, reminding him of grapefruit, lemon, pineapple and orange, all in one golden liquid concoction that would soon pass his lips, and flow right down to his gullet.

He first rolled his tongue and stuck it into the bottle, tipping it slightly, to let its contents make contact with his tongue. It was sweet and bitter at the same time, a bit of a sour, but pleasant aftertaste as he removed his tongue from the bottle. Not bad, he thinks to himself as he takes a small sip. The taste was strong enough to keep him from chugging it down, yet sweet enough to want more of it. But he chugged away anyway, forcing it down his gullet, taking big, loud gulps, an amazingly powerful rush flooding him with a warm, fuzzy feeling inside. He wanted more, but he sternly told himself 'no', and stopped himself from guzzling the whole bottle.

As he sets the now half-empty bottle down, Ryan stumbles in the door, still drunk, no less, an unwanted side effect of being a werewolf, and collapsed on his face.

"Well, well. Look who's back!" Mike says in a rough, gritty voice, a bit of a slur coming to his words, a sign that the one beer was taking effect rather quickly, unbeknownst to himself. "I think we was gunna have a talk about yer drinkin' problem."

"M-Mike... i-i-i'm s-sorry..." Ryan stutters, crawling towards the couch.

"Oh, yer gunna be sorry..." Mike tells him with a dark laugh, slowly blowing his cigar smoke into the Lycans' face.

"Now, listen.. carefully.. I won't say this twice..." Mike starts, removing his cigar, "You've been a very bad boy today. First off, I never seen you with a beer in yer hand. What gives?"

"Uh, I--"

"Ut-tut-tut! Not another word until I say so, got it?"

Ryan slowly nods 'yes'.

"Good." Mike continues, placing the cigar back in his mouth. "Now, secondly, why, when you're stupid drunk, did you throw those homophobic comments at me? Have you gone straight on me? Don't answer that."

"Way I see is, yew been good tuh me evah since we met. Then, the un-tunk-uh-ble happens, an' we both went tuh hell!" Mike berates Ryan, who was still on his hands and knees, and could only watch and listen in silence.

"Granted, we made it through, but, in the end, what do we get out of it? A few horror-stories, maybe. Then again, look at us! We're living proof that we went through hell an' back! And fer what?"

Ryan looked up with a sad, desperate, longing stare in his eyes.

"Love, Ryan." Mike tells him, removing the cigar, blowing the smoke out of the left side of his mouth, away from them. " It was our love for each other that kept us going. It gave us the will to live, the instincts to survive, the drive to keep fighting. Now, it's my love for you that's gonna set you straight!"

Mike replaces his cigar and picks up his open, half-empty beer bottle by the mouth with two fingers, swinging it back and forth in a pendulum-like motion.

Ryan's eyes instantly locked on to the bottle, following its motion. Apparently, werewolves can be easily hypnotised, Mike noted. Drunk ones, especially.

After a few minutes of hypnotising Ryan with the beer bottle, he dared a pass at suggesting he swear off booze for good, lest he get hit in the back of his head with it.

"All right, boy... Here's what I want you to do..." Mike started, "I want you to never drink beer, for the rest of your life. Should this rule be broken, your punishment will be swift and painful. Alcoholic drinks are forbidden. Shall I catch you with any alcoholic drink in your hand, I shall personally punish you in any way that I see fit. Do you understand this? Speak!"

Ryan lets out a happy bark, indicating that he did understand... though it was in dog language.

"Speak in the humans' tongue!" Mike harshly demanded, getting Ryan to fold his ears back in submission.

"YES, SIR!" Ryan then barked back, prompting Mike to lean forward, pressing his nose into Ryan's, passing a small puff of smoke out of his nose, into Ryan's.

"Yes, sir, what?" he asks, smoke pouring from his mouth.

"Yes, Sir, I understand completely, Sir. I won't ever touch another beer for as long as I live, Sir... If-sniff-If I break my word on this, you can punish me however you want, Sir!"

"Much better." Mike replies. "Now, the instant this bottle shatters, your mind will be released from my grasp, and you will be out of the trance that you are in now."

Mike then holds the beer bottle over the edge of the table, firmly by the neck. "From this moment on, thou shalt not drink of alcoholic drinks!"

SFX: glass shattering.

As soon as the bottle broke upon the table, Ryan was released from his hypnotised state, still foggy in the head from all the drinking he'd done at the Inne.

Still alert from the sound of breaking glass, his eyes clumsily look at the debris on the hardwood floor, following the drips of liquid up to the coffee table, finally following the drops of blood up to Mike's hand, that was holding the neck of the bottle hard enough to crush it in his grip, slicing his hand deeply when it broke.

"Oh, my god, Mike, you're bleeding!" Ryan gasped, shocked out of his drunken daze.

"Really?" Mike asked in a calm tone, completely oblivious to the profuse bleeding from his hand. He releases the remains of the bottle-neck, covered in bright red blood, and takes a glimpse of his own hand.

"Oh, fuck. How did I not notice that? Oh, wait, maybe 'cuz I'm, like, a little buzzed still from that one beer, or something. Like that one video I saw one time... some idiot shoved a jar up his fart-hole an' it broke... He just sat there an', like, picked all that glass outta his-"

"Asshole, you're bleeding! Crap! Um, okay, here, let's go into the bathroom and clean that out. Werewolves heal fast, but that's gonna be stuck in there, too!" Ryan said, throwing Mike's heavy form over his shoulder and hauling ass towards the bathroom.

"Whadja cawl me?!"

SFX: door slamming shut.

============

In the bathroom, Ryan held his lover's hand under the running faucet, rinsing off all the blood on it.

"There we go..." Ryan said, finding a bottle in the medicine cabinet. It was a solution that hindered a werewolfs' naturally-enhanced healing capabilities for a short while, and slowed down the healing process.

"I'm sorry, but this is going to hurt like hell, so just bite down on this and you'll be fine." Ryan warned the other Lycan, holding a four-by-four block of wood for him to gnaw on while he picked out all the glass from his hand. "You'll thank me later, after this."

Dousing a cotton ball with the solution, Ryan dabbed it on the bloodied paw. Mike growled and roared in fury as his fangs sunk deeply into the piece of wood at the extreme pain he was now going through.

Once Mike's wounds were fully saturated with the liquid, Ryan went to work, putting on a pair of magnifying glasses before picking out all of the larger shards first, working his way down in size, with Mike's tail thrashing about, growling and yelping every time a shard was pulled out.

It took an excruciating hour and a half to be sure that all the glass was pulled out, all down to tiny grains. If any glass were still in there when the wound closed up, it would make for a very uncomfortable situation.

(Growls) "RRRRRUUUHHHHH! AARRRRGGGHHHH! HEEEEEE-AAAHHHH!!" Mike screamed, snarled and yipped, using his other hand in a fist to pound the floor, as Ryan poured peroxide onto his hand, making sure it bubbled out all the microscopic pieces he couldn't see to take out.

"You're doing good, Mike. You're doing great! Just a few more seconds." Ryan told Mike, who was almost going limp from the sustained pain he was receiving. This was probably worse than Hell, he thought to himself. All those demons and monsters he'd fought, he'd been scratched, bitten, impaled, burned, crushed... but none of that could compare to this.

As Ryan washed out the cuts once more, they started to close up, a sign that whatever he used was wearing off. "There we go. Better?" he asked, a weak smile forming on his muzzle.

Outside... SFX: Thunderclap. (Exterior, wide shot, facing house) (camera shakes, indicating something violent happened in the house)

Inside, we see Ryan laying in a twitching, jumbled heap on the floor, with Mike cracking his knuckles.

"Yeah... better." Mike replied in a dark tone as he went back to the living room to finish off his stogie.

A few minutes later, Ryan finally got up off the cold tiled floor, in pursuit of his mate. He casually strode into the room and gently sat himself on the couch. Mike was asleep, sitting with his hands behind his head, and his legs spread out. His hat was pulled over his face, and his chest harness gave a light creak every now and then as he breathed in. The cigar he was puffing on earlier was left in the ashtray to extinguish itself.

'Wow...' Ryan thought, 'He looks so hot like that...'

As Ryan stared at the sleeping Lycan, he then wondered why he couldn't remember anything from when he came home, up to when he saw Mike's hand, covered in blood from the bottle shattering in his hand.

Wait a minute, that bottle, he thought, suddenly seeing Mike swinging that bottle back and forth in his mind.

He looked at the coffee table. Some light scratches, a small dent in the wood where the bottle made contact. Looking at the floor, a good-sized ring where the liquid pooled up, along with some blood stains- much like on the table.

Ryan picked up the remote control for the entertainment center, examining it, noting the controls for the stereo. Slowly getting up, he lightly walked over to the TV.

"Alright, since I'm bored, and he's out, I may as well do something..." he muttered under his breath as he got on his knees in front of the entertainment centre. "Hmm... 'Kay, turn this on... turn this down.." he said, messing with the controls on the TV and receiver.

As the media center booted up, he wondered if Dan was going to go to his house, to find nobody's there. He dismissed the thought, remembering he told the others where he would be after he regained consciousness earlier that morning.

Ryan rose to his feet and went back to sitting on the couch, remote in hand.

'No Internet Connection. Online content will not be available until a connection to the Internet is established. Continue?' the screen said.

"Uuuu-key. Good enough." he said, clicking the 'yes' button.

'Please wait, configuring media center library for offline mode...'

'Prolly been awhile since this thing was started last... ah, there we go.' he thought as the screen changed to a user interface.

"Okay, let's listen to a little music." Ryan said, navigating to the music library.

'Please wait, scanning for media...'

'Eh? How many songs does he have on here?' he thought to himself. It took a good half-hour before it was done, enough time for Ryan to get a pizza going and come back.

'145 albums found. Sort by... *Artist *Album *Genre *Mood *Song (May take awhile to sort, not recommended for larger libraries)'

Ryan almost choked on a slice upon seeing the results. A hundred forty-five albums? Mike must have been very lonely before he and the others came along, to have collected that many CDs.

...That, or he was a digital pack-rat.

'Man, there's so many to choose from... gotta be at least ten grands' worth of songs in here...'

Ryan let out a silent huff as he went through the library. It took him, at most, twenty minutes to go through the list.

'Hmmmmmmm....' he thought, letting out a silent yawn. "Okay, then. Ah, I guess I'll just... Take a little nap, then." he finally said, clicking off the entertainment center.

Setting the remote back on the table, he looked again at Mike, feeling empty inside at the moment. They were always close to each other from the start, but the Canine Underworld took its' toll on them, bringing them even closer, then pulling them apart, then back together.

After all they had gone through, they had finally found peace, back on Earth where they belonged. Yet it felt like the magic was gone, their love all but faded, their bond slowly withering away.

Those thoughts were at the forefront of Ryan's mind, as he curled up next to Mike, placing his head on, and wrapping an arm across, Mike's broad chest, and closed his eyes.