Thanksgiving Prep
Eric
Eric woke up to a gentle rocking. It was almost soothing, like being on a boat in open water.
Except his dick was hard, there was something sticky sliding between his thighs, and a firm hand was on his hip, holding him still against the steady motion.
Wolfe.
It was Wolfe’s hand on Eric’s hip, Wolfe’s cock between Eric’s thighs, Wolfe’s rocking that had woken Eric in the first place.
Eric curled his lips into a sleepy grin, knowing Wolfe wouldn’t be able to see it, the way Eric was lying on his side, Wolfe’s body a solid warmth at his back.
They’d talked about this—Wolfe’s right to use Eric even when he wasn’t awake to fully experience it—although they hadn’t had much opportunity to pursue it, with how little they both needed sleep.
He’d barely moved, but of course Wolfe seemed to know he was awake anyway.
“You make the most delicious noises when I open you up in your sleep, pet,” he murmured. “Did you know?”
His hand trailed from Eric’s hip to brush over his cock.
Eric was fully hard already. Which begged the question, how long had Wolfe been toying with him while he slept?
Eric cleared his throat. “How would I know—?”
“Hush,” Wolfe reprimanded, never mind that he’d been the one to ask the question. “No more talking. I’m occupied.”
He withdrew his cock from Eric’s thighs—Eric’s lubed thighs, he realized—and then the blunt head was prodding at Eric’s entrance. He was still loose and relaxed from sleep and whatever prep Wolfe had already done, and Wolfe slid into him easily with a satisfied grunt.
Oh, that was nice.
Eric pressed back into him with a groan.
Wolfe gave an approving purr, sliding Eric’s leg forward to get at a deeper angle.
“You’ve been in your head, Eric darling,” he crooned, pulling out and pressing in again, until his hips were flush against Eric’s ass.
“Thinking of other people, other creatures. I want you here with me. No talking. No thinking. Be my perfect cock sleeve only.”
Eric should have known this was coming. There was the dog they were still fostering, for one.
Eric had no doubt been giving Rex too much attention.
Normally he found a balance between them (not that he would ever tell Wolfe his formula: one pat for Rex, two pats for Wolfe), but he’d been busy lately fussing about holiday preparations and he’d dropped the ball on keeping things equal.
“It’s—” Eric groaned as Wolfe’s hand slid up to circle his throat, his thumb pressing lightly against Eric’s jugular. “It’s a lot of—of pressure, is all.”
“What did I say?” Wolfe squeezed his admonishment. “Hush, pet. I’m occupied.”
Wolfe usually loved hearing anything and everything Eric had to say, but he was clearly feeling some kind of way right now.
Crazy, possessive bastard.
Wolfe rolled them, pressing Eric onto his stomach, his hands caging Eric’s on the bed, and started fucking into him harshly.
Fuck. Eric was going to come untouched tonight, wasn’t he?
After whatever Wolfe had been doing to him in his sleep, Eric’s cock was weeping already on the sheets, sliding against them torturously with each of Wolfe’s long, slow glides, and it was going to take embarrassingly little to get him there.
He gave in. He let himself be boneless, let himself be used. Call him codependent, but it was a sort of heaven, to be needed like this. For Wolfe to be so desperate for Eric’s time and attention that even the few hours they slept had become unacceptable.
“That’s it, darling,” Wolfe purred. “My perfect mate.”
He picked up the pace, his thrusts becoming shorter, and faster. “You’ll come now, Eric,” he ordered, and bit into Eric’s neck.
And of course that did it—the sharp slide of Wolfe’s teeth in time with his cock punching against Eric’s prostate.
The orgasm still seemed to come out of nowhere—a burst of heat from Eric’s spine all the way down to his toes—and Eric let out a garbled groan, his muscles trembling and his inner walls fluttering.
Wolfe growled, biting deeper into Eric’s neck, and then he was filling Eric up as he swallowed his blood. Claiming him from the inside out.
Afterward, Eric lay limp while Wolfe fussed, cleaning him with a warm, wet towel and arranging them so Wolfe was on his back, Eric tucked into his chest.
Eric sighed happily as Wolfe began stroking his hair.
But apparently the time for talking had come.
“Why did you volunteer our home for Thanksgiving if it stresses you so?”
Right. Thanksgiving. Danny and Roman were doing some kitchen renovations that were running late, even with all the extra money and growling Roman was throwing at the problem, so Eric had volunteered his and Wolfe’s home instead.
Wolfe hadn’t minded at the time—it was only one day, and he’d already known he had to share Eric with the others for it—but now that it was coming closer and Eric was all in his head about it…
Well, Wolfe clearly didn’t like so much of Eric’s attention elsewhere.
Eric pressed his head into Wolfe’s hand, encouraging more pets. “I want to contribute,” he told him. “To the den.”
Wolfe let out a sigh. “You still worry you don’t belong.”
Damn. Trust Wolfe not to pull his punches.
“That’s not totally true,” Eric hedged.
He knew he had real friendships here. But sometimes he had to wonder: what did he really contribute?
In every other couple, there was at least one of the mates who gave a little special something to the den.
Danny was their heart—that was clear enough.
Soren gave them all his brand of fierce, protective loyalty.
Jay rallied them together with his trips and gatherings, and overall would give anything and everything to make those around him happy.
Jamie lightened the mood, and smoothed over everyone’s rivalries with his humor.
Colin and the twins…well, they did their own thing.
But Colin had ties with Jay and Jamie that went beyond anything Eric had held with the others when he’d been turned.
He didn’t know how to say all that. “I just want to make it nice for everyone,” he said instead.
Wolfe tugged gently at his hair, until Eric was looking up at him.
“The Tucson faction is remaining where they are to spend the day with their human families. It will be the people you see every day. Danny and Roman. Soren and Gabe. Johann and Alexei. They are your…friends.” He said the word with distaste.
“They will already be pleased simply to be there.”
“But I want to do more than just offer up our kitchen.” Eric frowned down at Wolfe’s chest. “I need to contribute.”
He was turning into a broken record. But he couldn’t help it. It was the age-old need. To be good. To be liked. Which was stupid. What was he trying to achieve—perfection? Wolfe was the only person in the world who would possibly think Eric was perfect.
But Wolfe didn’t tell Eric he was stupid. He didn’t even tell him he was perfect, this time.
“I have selected a variety of very old, very prestigious wines,” he began, his free hand sliding up and down Eric’s spine now.
“That will keep Roman happy. And while my initial instinct was to pay for some appropriately upscale catering, I’ve allowed that Roman would prefer to cook, and so he shall.
Danny is already grateful that you have provided your home when he was unable. That’s one couple accounted for.”
“Wolfe…” Eric tried to raise his head, but Wolfe pressed him back down against his chest with a firm hand.
“I have demanded formal attire for the evening, which will please Soren, as he gets to dress himself and his mate in their sartorial best. I have allowed for your precious man cave to be used by Gabe to watch his American sports, in small amounts. That’s another couple settled.
I have asked Johann to bring the pies, so he will be able to experiment with baking to his heart’s content.
Alexei will be pleased that Johann is pleased, obviously.
Also, I have selected some extremely malty brown beer for Alexei’s consumption.
His favorite. You all seem to forget he has his own preferences, muted though they may be by his overblown affection for his mate. ”
“Oh my God.” Now Eric did press up onto an elbow, ignoring Wolfe’s efforts to tuck him back against him. He needed to look him in the face. He let out a shocked laugh. “You…you know them all so well.”
Wolfe’s lips curled into a self-satisfied smirk. “Just because I don’t care doesn’t mean I’m not capable of paying attention.”
Eric let out a yelp as Wolfe moved quick as a snake, flipping him onto his back. He held Eric there by his shoulders, his eyes gleaming red in the dim light.
Oh God, was Wolfe hard again?
Of course he was.
“And now, my dear Eric,” Wolfe crooned, sliding his cock into Eric’s already well-used hole with ease, “you will return to me.” He pressed his thumb against Eric’s lower lip.
“Your party is taken care of. You are taken care of.” He leaned down, replacing his thumb with his teeth, nipping at Eric’s mouth. “But I still demand my due.”
Well, all right, then.
Eric wrapped his legs around Wolfe’s hips, arching his back to urge him into motion.
He let his mind go blissfully blank, taking everything Wolfe had to give him. There was only this now. Them, together.
No one else.
Wolfe
Wolfe lay next to a slumbering Eric.
His mate was on his stomach, his head pillowed on his folded arms, which allowed Wolfe to admire his puffy, abused hole. It was already healing back to its original state, of course. When it did, perhaps Wolfe would finally close his eyes.
He believed he could do it now. His mate had been tended to, their bond revitalized by their physical connection.
It was a lesson Wolfe was learning, albeit reluctantly. That Eric simply had to…fret sometimes. He’d been right when he’d once told Wolfe he couldn’t be happy every hour of every day, much to Wolfe’s dismay.
It wasn’t natural to be continuously content, and even Wolfe had to occasionally concede to human nature.
And frankly, Wolfe would rather have his pet fretting over pleasing their fellow den members, rather than over something that could really hurt him, like attempting to please his terrible blood family.
So Wolfe would continue to allow this hosting of the ridiculous Thanksgiving dinner, and the added stress it was briefly bringing to their lives.
And in turn, his mate would be grateful, which Wolfe would leverage into more time buried inside Eric, or wrapped around him, or both.
Perhaps he would convince Eric to allow Danny to watch over their fostered mutt for a weekend so Wolfe could take him away somewhere.
Somewhere where there were no other den members.
Or animals. Or anything else to distract his mate.
Where the only things to look forward to were high-end room service and Wolfe’s touch, his care.
Wolfe grinned into the darkness. If Eric could hear his thoughts, he’d call Wolfe codependent and desperate and psychotic.
But he’d say it all with a fond smile, and he’d kiss Wolfe for it afterward.
Wolfe shut his eyes with a pleased sigh, throwing an arm and a leg over his sleeping mate, dragging Eric’s limp form against his own.
Eric would allow Wolfe’s own personal brand of fretting. Because he was perfect. Because he was Wolfe’s.