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It's finals tradition—you pass, you drink to your success; you fail, you drink even more to your failure. Tonight, despite his mother's pinched but genuinely concerned admonishment over the phone, Geoffrey Baltimore hasn't broken tradition.

His friends had gone hours before, just when Geoff was really feeling it, but now, finally, he bids farewell to Kevin or Kenneth, the bartender whose name has become just as slightly fuzzy as Geoff's swimming vision. With a clatter of greeting bells, he staggers out into the chilly night air.

Wobbling, he notices, Geoff steps almost gingerly onto the sidewalk. With a single misplaced Oxford, he stumbles forward and a pair of hands shoot out from some unknown distance ahead to right him, and they are followed by a deep, faintly husky voice that asks, “Whoa, buddy. Are you okay getting home?"

Both, however, are met with a shrug and Geoff assuring, “I'm fine, I'm fine," with a flash of what Geoff is certain is a charming and in no way lopsided smile.

He straightens up and walks—not staggers—past the vague figure of the Samaritan. He plods with a purpose down the mostly empty sidewalk, asphalt and concrete dark and slick from a brief rain shower earlier, hazy orange streetlamps glinting in reflections in puddles. It's only a minute before he finds himself at his parked sedan.

The keys to the sensible, white '08 Sonata jingle cheerily as Geoff fishes them from his pocket, but he finds that those keys no longer seem to fit into the keyhole in the sensible, white driver's-side door. Two tries, three, and finally he disengages the lock, opens it up, and closes it after him once he's dropped down into the seat.

He can't justify leaving his car here, or maybe he's just not trying hard enough; he doesn't have far to go, and he has confidence enough in his faculties that he figures he can get home in a manner approximating safely. Plus, his last exam is tomorrow afternoon, and if tomorrow's hangover is going to be as massive as he deserves, he doesn't want to waste potential recovery time on public transport.

The keys are turned in the ignition, and the engine grumbles to life, and the very instant it does, there's a near blinding flash of blue light and the hiccough of a siren from over his left shoulder. A groan escapes Geoff's mouth as he puts the engine back to sleep, and a soft thump sounds as he butts his forehead against the leather over the top of his steering wheel.

Without shifting his general position, Geoff rolls the automatic window down, then, pulls his wallet from his back pocket, which he tosses onto the dash board. He stretches his lanky torso across the cabin to fumble with the glove compartment, and in the next instant, he hears the shuffle of cop-shoe-leather on asphalt just outside. Intense torch light shines in through the open window darting hear, and there, checking the inside out.

“License and Registration?" asks a deep, faintly husky voice that questions a little more than Geoff thinks it ought to do.

“Just a sec, officer," he replies. Officer scoffs.

Geoff straightens up, clutching two stiff, previously untouched paper cards, digs into his wallet for his ID, then, proffers his papers—“Good evening, Officer... August, is it?"—and when he does so, he makes the mistake of turning his gaze upward. Officer August, such as it is, is broad-jawed, broad-necked, broad-chested. He's, uh, broad. His crisp uniform fits his muscled form in ways that make Geoff bite his lip, and the gray and rust-colored fur where the uniform doesn't cover lies close to his angles. His rugged, wolfish face and crooked, wolfish grin bob as he meets Geoff's gaze.

“Evening," Officer August offers, indulging, “Mister Baltimore?"

“Um, yeah—yes, Officer."

Besides the name he's just read from his ID, August will also learn that Geoff is human—obviously—is 176 cm in height—178 cm, actually, but the issuing clerk was a vindictive dick on sight—has green eyes and hair just barely blonde enough to count, and is a Scorpio.

As Wolf Cop scans through the registration card and proof of insurance, he wrinkles his nose and asks, “Celebrating finals, son?"

“Just a couple beers," Geoff lies and immediately regrets it, “With some friends."

One furry brow ridge rises as August eyes him past the documents. “A couple, huh?"

Geoff is made, he knows it, and he's probably going to have to scramble to explain the minimum call to his father that he knows is about to be made. He knows he's starting to look freaked, at least, by human standards, and he hopes some trans-species cultural barrier keeps August from picking up on it. It's unlikely, but Geoff hopes.

“Listen, son," the officer says, finally, handing back the ID and other cards. “I don't think driving is the safest thing you could do, right about now." He ducks down, forearm braced against the top of the window frame. “I just so happen to be off duty, so, I can give you a ride home and call it done, as long as you can assure me that you weren't planning on drinking and driving and that I won't find you like this again."

Relief immediately floods through Geoff, relief and something else, as August leans in closer, close enough that Geoff catches a whiff of something distinctly non-human.

“Sound good?" August asks more directly.

Geoff nods a bit more enthusiastically than strictly necessary, saying with as little slur as possible, “Yes, good, please, take me home." Of course, as soon as the words have left his mouth, he feels heat rising to his face.

Another wolfish grin creeps across August's muzzle, who chuckles, “Well, now. I just might, if you keep blushing like that," before pushing himself off Geoff's car and returning to his own Crown Vic. So much for trans-species cultural barriers. He calls over his shoulder, “Lock up, and hop in. I'll clear off the passenger seat."

Geoff sighs, tosses things into the glove compartment, snags his wallet, then, does just that, stepping out from the driver's seat, locking it down, and shoving the door closed. He looks upward and sees no stars, only the obscured forms of clouds above. On the sheepish walk to the passenger side of August's cruiser, he wonders idly if it's going to rain, again.

August pushes the passenger side door open with a beefy arm, beckoning to Geoff, who complies easily, sliding into the seat, careful not to knock the half-closed laptop over the console from its stand. A glance back reveals folders and papers hastily displaced to the back seat through the open shutter of the partition. The smell of leather is still rather present in the cab, though Geoff can certainly detect that same canid scent he found on August before, and it's much stronger, here. Not that Geoff is complaining.

Two doors shut, and two seat belts click into place securely. The Crown Victoria's engine is practically a whisper, compared to the car sounds Geoff is used to with his own vehicle, and as it rouses, a small thrill runs down the human's spine for perhaps more reasons than the imperceptible vibration. August shifts into drive and pulls out from behind the sensible, white '08 Sonata. Geoff ventures a glance over at August as he drives.

The wolf's physique is impressive, and as his passenger now appraises, his face was practically carved by some master sculptor. In short, he's hella good looking. Geoff doesn't exactly have a fetish for the non-human denizens of this world, but he certainly can't say he's repulsed by them, and this cop... Well. There are certainly not many greater specimens than he.

Maybe August notices his staring, maybe he's just curious, but he starts the small talk: “So, what do you study, kid?"

“Poli Sci," Geoff answers automatically, “And English. Double-major."

August gives a chuckle that seems to hide something deeper below it, but Geoff pays it no mind, instead small talking back: “How long have you been on the force?"

“Nineteen years. For a while, after high school, I worked as a bouncer around town before I decided to join up."

“You from around here?"

“Born and raised. You?"

“Originally from Richmond. Moved here for school, don't know if or when I'll leave."

“Oh, you're one of those Baltimores."

“Yeah."

They continue like this for quite some time, August navigating the city smoothly, albeit a bit further over the speed limit than Geoff would expect and perhaps a little terrifyingly, and by the time they come to an actual stop, Geoff has relaxed considerably, turned almost fully in his seat to face August, a drunken smile plastered to his face as they converse. It's not until August puts the black and white into park that Geoff realizes where he is: directly out front of his duplex.

“Wait," he says dumbly, “how did you know where you were going? I didn't even tell you where I live."

“License, kid," August counters with a subtle shake of his head. “Your address is on it, and I know this part of town pretty well. Lots of student housing, lots of drunken student brawls." Geoff is blushing, again, and August only seems to be amused by this.

“Well," the human says, softer, tentative, “Why not your place?" It's that third shot of Jameson that's speaking, here, or maybe the fourth; no way Geoff would otherwise have the balls to make a pass at the cop who caught him drunk behind the wheel. But then, it's out there, an offer, and yeah, he has that final, but fuck it, and August's default crooked grin hasn't faded, yet.

“Why not, indeed?" August echoes low. He chuckles, “You know, it's a felony to bribe a police officer," even as he puts the cruiser back into drive.

The drive to August's apartment is shorter than Geoff would have expected. The cruiser is parked at the base of one of a dozen or so structures, and the two bodies inside exit and make their way toward the building. Just inside, there's a hallway in various shades of brown, a few doors with numbers on them, some stairs, and a lift, toward the last of which August nudges Geoff. Once inside, the wolf—who, Geoff now realizes, pushed into the relative confines of the small box, is far taller than he realized—hits the button for the top floor.

As the doors close them in with some of the drab brownness that seeped into the lift from the foyer, the fifth scotch rears its head, and Geoff pushes close to August, reaching up with one hand to guide the wolf's jaw down so that he, rising to the tips of his toes, can capture his muzzle in an only slightly awkward interspecial kiss, which August responds to quite warmly, placing his own hands, big, powerful, on the shorter man's hips and pulling them closer to deepen the kiss.

The doors slide open with a ding, but as if performing some choreographed dance through a hall of beige and slightly darker beige, their making out continues until they've reached a door with the number 503 tacked to it. Some keys jangle, a lock turns, and somewhere just after Geoff's now-wandering hands have found purchase somewhere promising, the door swings in and he's swept into the dark apartment. He can't see where he's being taken, but August seems to know the way in the dark, so, it isn't much problem. They reach a bedroom, a soft lamp is switched on, and the only pause in their ministrations ceases.

In the warm lamplight, Geoff's skin seems to glow, to him, faintly, at first, but more so as he is pushed onto a bed and deft, intent hands begin undressing him. The feeling of those hands on his body, warm, firm, blunt nails occasionally scraping his skin, down his ribs, over his hips—they make something primal squirm inside of Geoff, and not seldom does he let out little moans at the pleasurable sensations. He knows he's been hard since at least the elevator, but he's unaware of quite how much until August has finally shucked his trousers off, and his modest erection strains violently against his pants. He chances a look up at August's face and finds a look somewhere between awe and ravening, there.

“You're beautiful," August murmurs, and something clenches in Geoff's throat.

The wolf's fingers curl under his waistband and begin to tug downward, but Geoff's hands stop them, which leads to a questioning cant of August's head to one side. Geoff merely smiles and sits up to kiss him, again, while he begins to unbutton the uniform and peel it from the massive shoulders upon which it is draped. One shirt, then, another, comes off, belt and shoes already taken care of, and with a little help, trousers follow the shirts into the soft shadows Geoff has thrown it all into.

“Beautiful," he breathes into the space between him and the large male.

Once they are both down to small clothes, August brings Geoff's groin to his, pressing the human's hardness against a considerably engorged organ of his own. Geoff hisses and rolls his hips to grinds against the lupine hard-on causing both to shudder. A human hand finds its way to a gray-furred shoulder and encourages its owner to turn, leaving August propped face-up on his elbows on the bed.

Geoff crawls down him until he's facing down the daunting tent between August's legs, but he strikes forward, grabbing it first in one hand, then, mouthing it through the fabric of the underwear. The moan that escapes the wolf, low and just a touch roughened up, could rattle rafters, and Geoff can feel the tremors of restraint in the tense, tautly-muscled thighs beneath his free hand. Geoff releases the member so long past burgeoning from its cotton prison, barely slick, pink-veined purple flesh exposed to the body-warmed air and puts his mouth to it, kissing the skin he knows is so much more sensitive that his own. Immediately, he feels a hand grasp his head, not forcing him, not pushing, but bidding him, showing him. A trail of similar kisses follow the first up, up to the plateau at the top and the rounded tip, where his tongue darts out to swipe across both, earning him another moan a spurt of clear, musky pre-ejaculate from the slit therein.

Looking upward, Geoff is treated to the sight of August, eyes lidded, chest heaving with deep breathing only just being kept even. With a grin, the human pulls the wolf's cock into his mouth, eyes locked on his face to gauge the reaction, and he isn't disappointed: the long muzzle, so composed, before, screws up into a grimace of pleasure, fangs bared almost dangerously, eyes shut tight, tall, lupine ears flattened. But it's only for a moment. Soon, again, it's smiling, warm, yellow eyes urging Geoff on. And on he goes.

“Gods be damned," August nothing short of growls out as Geoff begins to bob his head, “But your mouth is heaven." His hips begin to rock gently into the motion, fucking the human's mouth but cautiously, always cautiously. Geoff takes it as an invitation to control the pace, for which he is grateful, swinging lower as it becomes comfortable. When he feels the leaking tip of that wolf cock nudge the back of his throat, he's only a third of the way down its length, and his jaw is spread to its limit. And so, he lingers, at that level, sliding lips and tongue along that tract of wolf meat, while his hand works the rest lubricated by saliva and August's own slick.

Soon, August's control slips, and his breathing becomes labored and uneven, and the urge to do more than just wriggle helplessly beneath Geoff's cruel mouth becomes overwhelming, so, he pulls out of the boy's mouth, leaving him panting to match, uses a finger to tip his chin up to lock eyes with him, and gestures for him to move back up. Geoff straddles his thighs, which spread his own legs wider, and grins, cheeks flushed, lips shiny with sweat and spit and who knows, colored red, bruised, maybe. August kisses those lips, hard, his tongue slipping between them and meeting the human's to instigate a duel for control of the territory. All the while, his hands find Geoff's hips, again, one dipping into the shorts that now have a significant dark, damp spot across the front to pull him out and to grip him tightly. He jacks that cock slowly, and Geoff bucks into the hand, here and there, and he moans into August's mouth.

And when August's thumb ropes his own dick into the action, it becomes quite clear that neither will last much longer. They grind wildly into the wolf's grip, both leaking, neither breaking their lip-lock but to breathe, hot and frantic. Geoff is the first to back up, to fall out of the rhythm they've spontaneously formed. He jerks spasmodically and practically wails as orgasm takes him. Volley after volley of his cum shoots onto August's chest and belly, and the sight invokes a verse of pleased growling. The wolf, in turn, use his sticky hand to collect some of Geoff's emission and use it as lubrication to redouble his own attentions, jerks himself off into the human's ejaculate and, nearly howling, finally tosses himself off, adding to the mess already in the fur of his chest and belly. To Geoff, it seems like gallons gush out from August's prick, and it's fascinating, to watch as the pulsating flesh spits it out, as August hooks a finger around the underside of the gigantic knot at his root to simulate a tie, as his hips buck uncontrollably.

Once their orgasms wane, leaving both raw and lethargic, Geoff scoops up a bit of the mess that is the dampness all over August's torso and sucks it into his mouth, and the wolf responds by bringing their lips back together, licking into taste whomever, sharing the load. They stay like that for some time, kissing, hands roving bodies, pulling each other closer. But rational thought asserts itself, eventually; enough, at least, that August rolls Geoff onto the bed and disappears through a door Geoff hadn't noticed into what is ostensibly a bathroom, where water can be heard running, and then the sound of toweling off. At last, he emerges once more, damp washcloth in hand to dab at the collected tackiness across Geoff's chest hair, treasure trail, the whole shebang. Once this is done, the rag is dropped to the floor, forgotten until morning, while boy and beast curl together in an unspoken agreement for Geoff to stay for the night.

Geoff wakes to a comfortable warmth wrapped around him in an uncomfortable light flooding a strange room, and all with cotton mouth and a splitting headache. As his return to consciousness continues, flashes of memories of the previous come to mind, and the aches and the pleasure of those thoughts mingle. He tries to sit up, but the warmth grumbles in complaint at that idea. The furry, gray mass grafted onto his side swells and deflates slowly, steady. A hand finds what Geoff recognizes as a shoulder and rolls over whom he remembers is Officer August and a tiny terror flickers fleetingly through him.

The wolf blinks bleary eyes open up at him as he, too, wakes. Then, he merely smiles, says, “Hey," in that deep, faintly husky voice, and all unease is gone.

“Hey," Geoff replies, and this isn't weird, yet, and that's so great. “Where are my clothes?" He casts about for them, not immediately leaving bed.

“Do you have to go now?"

Geoff rises from the mattress, the bones of his feet cracking in the quiet of the room as they touch the ground. “Last final, today. Don't need to take, but don't need not to take it, you know?"

His only response is a grunt and the rustle of blankets being pulled over a head. Finally, he finds every article of clothing he's missing, both shoes, even, and takes them all into what is now very clearly a bathroom to relieve himself and dress.

He checks for his wallet, finds it, and crawls back on to the bed to rub the peak of what is now a lump of blankets. “Right. Gonna go, now."

Another grunt. Alright.

Geoff makes his way to the bedroom door, and opens it to be greeted by the sight of a tray stacked high with breakfast foods being carried by what appears to be a quite young lion, shorter even than Geoff himself. “Hello," the human says, eyes wide with surprise.

There's a squeak, then, the clatter of a tray and several dishes falling to the floor, and the—cub?—skitters away, all punctuated with the slam of a door. The lump on the bed finally rises and rumbles, “Don't worry about it, he'll be back to get that in a second. We just startled him."

Aaaaaaaand it's weird, now. Perfect.

Geoff laughs uncomfortably and excuses himself to the nearest exit. He flies down the stairs, dashes out the apartment doors, and as there's no possible way he'll have time to grab his car, go home, get changed, and head back, shoots directly for the nearest bus stop aimed at campus.