Chapter Ten
O utside the cave, Arran grappled with madness. He stamped back and forth over the same thin strip of dirt, itching with the need to burn off his frustration. He needed to run—to race wildly against the wind, dodging trees, leaping rocks, like a wild animal. He needed to dive into the river and quench his blazing arousal. His cock was engorged, heavy between his legs, still thumping to the smell and feel of Weed underneath him.
Why did the prickly little wretch excite his body so much?
Arran forced himself to stop, to breathe deeply of the cold evening air. He was beyond disgusted with himself. Some base, animal part of him had decided it liked the shape and scent of Weed, and he’d given into it like a weak-willed pervert.
How long had it taken him to abuse his position over Weed? Barely a month.
He should take Weed to visit the Walker witch as soon as possible.
Arran’s anguish subsided a little as the gravity of this thought sunk in. They would have to gather supplies. Weed would need to be better equipped for the journey. It would be months before Arran would see his home again.
His shoulders sagged. So much for peace.
As if summoned by the sentiment, Weed’s voice announced his appearance. ‘What’s happening, wolfie? Need a hand with anything?’
Arran held in a groan. Weed was still licentiously ruffled, smelling of cum and satisfaction and wearing the smuggest of grins. It took Arran an extra second to register what else Weed was wearing—which was practically nothing. He’d discarded all his clothes except for the velvet frock coat. He wore it open, with his hands on his hips, brazenly displaying his nimble body and his spent cock, which nevertheless twitched as Arran’s gaze flicked to it.
‘Seems you’ve got a condition of your own there, wolfie,’ Weed snickered, staring below Arran’s waistband.
Arran growled in response. Whether out of lust or warning, he wasn’t sure himself. ‘I am sorry,’ he managed to bite out, even though the beast in him definitely was not. ‘I should not have—’
‘Used my cock like a hand-driven hammer drill?’ Weed cackled, twirling on the spot. ‘Made me come like a squealing piglet in a wolf’s jaws?’
Arran’s fists clenched so tightly he felt his claws drawing blood. Fuck, why did Weed have to push so hard? If only he knew how close Arran was to snapping—to throwing him down and breeding him like the over-sexed bitch he smelled like.
‘It was… a… misjudgement,’ Arran rumbled, grating out the words between his fangs.
Weed skipped closer. ‘But you liked it.’
‘That’s beside the—What are you doing?’ Arran’s attention tore from Weed to a woody creeper of honeysuckle that was curling around his arm.
‘I thought I’d repay the favour,’ Weed replied innocently.
‘No,’ Arran snarled, though his cock, if possible, got harder. ‘Stop tha—’
‘Ah, ah!’ Weed wagged a finger under his nose. ‘You can’t make it an order if you want to preserve my free will!’
Arran’s eyes widened. Weed was, technically, correct.
Staring into Weed’s cunning green eyes, he suddenly realised he might be in a lot of trouble.
‘Boundaries,’ he rasped, yanking the vine off his arm. ‘I respect yours. I ask you to respect mine.’
Weed nodded enthusiastically. ‘Boundaries, yep. You totally asked before grabbing my dick, right?’
Arran shut his eyes, desire and shame waging war behind them. ‘I am truly sor—’
He yelped as Weed ducked forward and ran a finger along the outline of his cock. ‘Sorry? I’m not.’
Arran grabbed Weed’s wrist, carefully moving it away. His breaths were loud, sounding every bit like an animal’s, betraying his eroding self-control. If he lost it… God, if he lost it, he’d stuff Weed so full of his cock that his kidneys would hit his throat and his hole would be left gaping for days.
Arran shuddered; his resolve almost shattered under the pressure of that thought alone.
Weed’s scent filled his nose. His slender cock had thickened again, glistening with sticky precum. Weed blinked slowly, long eyelashes making him doe-like as he peered up at Arran. ‘Won’t you order me to satisfy you, master? It’s clear as day you want some release of your own.’
Arran struggled to speak. His tail—his dumb, treacherous, honest tail—wagged like a lunatic. ‘What I may or may not want is none of your concern.’
Arran finally willed his feet to move, to take him away from Weed and this horribly seductive conversation, even if he could only put the walls of his cave between them. He forged past Weed, head fixed firmly forward so he wouldn’t be tempted to look back.
‘So just to be clear,’ Weed sing-songed behind him, ‘you don’t order me not to shag you?’
Arran huffed at this feeble parting shot. ‘Try at your own risk.’
A sudden well of silence made him double-take over his shoulder. Weed had gone awfully still, and was staring at him with an alarmingly gleeful spark in his eyes.
‘Do my ears deceive me?’ Weed asked. ‘Or did I just receive an exquisite command from my master?’
Arran’s mind raced over his last words. What could he have possibly said that could be construed as an instruction…?
Oh, no.
‘No,’ he spluttered, ‘I didn’t mean—’
‘Too late.’
Arran’s feet tipped from under him in a shower of damp earth. A thick tree root reared in the air then snaked about his middle. It yanked him against the ground while another root lunged for his face. Arran snapped at it with his jaws, baring teeth—instantly he realised his mistake. The root plunged across his open mouth, trapping it like a gag when his jaw reflexively snapped shut. In the next second it had coiled around his snout, firmly muzzling him.
Arran strained against it, snarling ferociously, but the distraction only gave an opening for more tendrils to wind around his body. They corkscrewed over his arms and legs, gradually spreading him wide open as he lay flat on the ground.
Arran panted heavily through his nose, staring up at the mottled pattern of twilight sky through the trees.
Weed’s head dipped into view. ‘Comfy?’
Fuck you , Arran endeavoured to snarl in response. The snarl itself came out muffled and throaty, and far more lustful than he’d intended.
Weed snickered. ‘I hope so. You’re gonna be there a while…’
He knelt between Arran’s spread legs, placing a hand on each thigh. Even through his jeans Arran was acutely aware of the heat from his palms. It spread up his thighs and pooled in his groin, igniting in his straining cock.
Weed traced a pattern down to Arran’s knees and back up again, then danced light fingers through the fur over his abdomen, pushing up his hoodie to reveal his chest. A shiver ran through Arran’s entire body.
‘Ooh, sensitive.’ Weed grinned, his fingers drifting lower. His eyes widened as they dropped to Arran’s crotch. He cleared his throat unsteadily. ‘Oh my. You’re a, uh, big boy, huh?’
Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck.
Arran’s hard breathing rose and fell in time with his thoughts. He was in so much trouble. Weed was in so much trouble.
Try at your own risk! Why the hell had he phrased it like that? It was barely an order, anyway. But Weed had warned him, hadn’t he, that he could employ a creative interpretation…
Arran wondered if Weed had any inkling how hard he was fighting against his bindings. The muscles in Arran’s arms felt like they might snap. His legs trembled from the exertion. The urge to seize hold of Weed and plough him into the earth was horribly, ferociously urgent, and a part of him was genuinely worried for Weed if he managed to get loose.
Weed’s palm grazed the shape of his cock through the fabric. Arran gave a deep, rumbling growl from the back of his throat. Get off my fucking cock.
The growl had the opposite of the desired effect. Weed flattened his hand over it and pressed down, shooting an intense thrill through Arran’s spine. His hips thrust impulsively into Weed’s palm, growl deepening in warning.
Weed licked his lips. A faint air of hesitance entered his voice. ‘Seems like you really want this, wolfie. What shall I do with you?’
He popped the button on Arran’s jeans. Then slowly pulled down the zipper, drawing more aching friction over Arran’s throbbing flesh. Pulling down the stiff denim, Weed gave an appreciative moan as Arran’s full length came into view. ‘No undies for you either, eh, wolfie? Only one layer between me and this monster. That’s hot, wolf boy.’
Don’t call me that.
Arran’s chest heaved, breaths coming faster and more ragged already.
He didn’t know what he’d do if Weed touched him. Actually touched him. Maybe he’d go feral, drown in wolfish instinct and never come back. Or maybe he’d just pass out, overwhelmed by the sensation alone.
Weed was staring at his cock. Unlike the rest of Arran’s body, it was smooth and hairless. The skin was a dark grey with a deeper, purplish tinge to his swollen cockhead, which tapered slightly to a curved point. The whole length was a good ten inches long, with a girth that widened towards the base, where his currently slack knot lay hidden in the thick veins under his flesh.
Arran craned his neck, trying and failing to see what Weed’s hands might be doing. One still rested on his left thigh. The other… the other…
…pressed flush against his burning cock.
Fuck.
Arran’s back arched, a desperate hiss managing to escape his clenched teeth. One plant tendril broke from around his wrist as he wrenched it—instantly replaced and yanked back by another. His teeth buried deep into the thick root inside his mouth.
‘You like that?’ Weed whispered. Slowly, he wrapped his fingers around the base of Arran’s cock. ‘How about this?’
The hiss turned into a muffled roar. Arran thrashed against his restraints. A few more roots snapped under his strength and his left arm tore free. He almost— almost —got his claws to Weed’s face.
‘That was close,’ Weed said mildly, watching a new coil of honeysuckle confine Arran once again.
Fucking hell. Fucking HELL.
Arran was reeling. Weed could keep him down, and he wasn’t the least bit afraid. His calm amusement was infuriatingly arousing.
The swipe seemed to have given him pause, however. Weed’s nose scrunched, his mouth screwing up as some internal conflict played out on his face.
The roots clamped around Arran’s jaw loosened and slid away. Weed’s gaze flitted uncertainly to his. ‘You can tell me to stop, right? It’s got to be an order.’
‘I will hurt you,’ Arran growled urgently, the most important thing he had to say.
Weed’s face fell. He looked upset, even angry. ‘Yeah, well. I knew you would, eventually. Better get my kicks in while I can then, right?’
‘No! I am afraid —’ Arran’s response was muffled as another root cinched his mouth shut.
‘Stupid,’ Weed muttered. ‘I mean, I knew I was pushing it with this. But can you believe I thought you’d be different? I thought… I don’t know what I thought.’
Arran knew his growls sounded wild and fought to rein them in. He shook his head frantically from side to side, hoping Weed would comprehend. That’s not what I meant, that’s not what I meant.
Weed slumped, staring despondently at Arran’s cock. ‘I guess I should get my revenge in now, right? Before you tear me to pieces, or whatever else you’ll do to me.’
Arran screwed his eyes shut and threw his pride to the wind. He forced out an embarrassing whine, sounding for all the world like a house-dog in distress.
‘What sort of noise is that? ’ Weed exclaimed with suspicion. ‘Did someone step on your paw?’
But he took the hint and allowed the roots to loosen around Arran’s mouth again, just enough for him to speak.
Arran suppressed an instinctual snarl. He wanted so badly to lunge at Weed.
‘I am afraid I will hurt you,’ he rumbled, voice low and rough. ‘I would never intentionally hurt you. But it has been years since I… I am afraid I will be too feral.’
The snarl rose up as Arran spoke, overtaking the word feral .
A new kind of understanding bloomed over Weed’s face. Alongside excitement. ‘Feral?’ His right hand combed through Arran’s fur, running up his chest as the snarl intensified. ‘You want this, then, wolfie? I want to hear you say you want it.’
‘I do not want to hurt you.’ Arran stuttered around his own teeth, snapping in agitation. Every bit of his resolve was melting. The feel of Weed’s hand on his chest, the beseeching look in his eyes, the undercurrent of need in Weed’s scent.
‘You let me take care of that,’ Weed replied. Roots and vines reared behind him. The familiar, mischievous gleam re-entered his gaze. ‘But you gotta say you want it, wolf boy. Maybe with a little ‘please’ in there too.’
Arran’s reflexes screamed against the thought of anyone holding him down. Dominating him. Weed’s insolence was everything that riled up the animal part of him—and also turned it on.
‘You are a brat,’ Arran growled, the words now difficult to discern from his reverberating vocal chords. He braced himself for the reaction his own body would have. ‘I want… anything you will give. Please. ’
The last word had a thunderous quality. Arran hurled his head backward as his jaws inevitably tried to snap for Weed. They were quickly muzzled again, but the rest of Arran’s body writhed against the restraints until Weed added more, encasing his wrists and ankles in sturdy, woody stems. They pulled his limbs taut, spread-eagled on the ground.
Arran panted huge lungfuls through his muzzle, testing his bonds. Weed had given him barely any wiggle room, which was sensible and… delicious. He felt secure, yet vulnerable—a particularly foreign feeling.
‘How’s that feel?’ Weed asked, leaning right over his face.
Too close! Arran wanted to shout, but even as his teeth tried to lunge, the roots around his mouth held him back. He gasped, realising with exhilaration that Weed just might be in total control. Excitement jittered over his skin.
He caught Weed’s eye, still patiently waiting for an answer, and nodded.
Weed grinned broadly. He glanced down at Arran’s cock, now glossy with a thick coating of clear precum. ‘You look pretty ready for me.’
Arran’s cock swelled and another pump of fluid spilled over it. Weed dragged two fingers through it and sat back on his haunches between Arran’s legs, out of his sight.
Slick sounds reached his ears, accompanied by a sighing moan from Weed. Underneath it was the sound of his quickening heartbeat and the deepening scent of his arousal. It put Arran’s imagination on edge, desperate to see for himself what Weed was up to.
‘I’m getting myself ready for you,’ Weed purred, as the sounds gained a rhythmic quality. Arran groaned; the confirmation was too much, and his body responded in kind. His cock bucked, sending pump after pump of precum cascading over his flesh.
‘Oh, my.’ Weed seemed to muffle a laugh. ‘Aren’t we eager?’
He climbed into view, straddling Arran’s hips. He tutted to himself about the jeans, which were stuck halfway around Arran’s ass and physically couldn’t come off any further with his legs stretched out.
Arran fought to keep his pelvis still while Weed positioned himself. His torso wasn’t held down so tightly as the rest of him, and his body jerked under every tantalising brush with Weed’s flesh. The feel of two hot thighs either side of his hips had his mind close to whiting out. When Weed’s hole finally met the tip of his slippery cock, it was entirely beyond his control when his hips slammed upwards.
‘ Shit! ’ Weed shouted, doubling over. He winced, clutching fistfuls of Arran’s chest fur. ‘Shit, wolfie. Argh. You weren’t kidding.’
The pain in his voice brought shape back to Arran’s thoughts. He was delirious with the sensation of Weed’s body gripping his cock, growling deep in his throat like a rabid beast. Fuck. Are you okay? Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m going to fuck you so hard. Fuck.
His inner turmoil dissipated to the sound of Weed giggling. It sent vibrations through Arran’s cock, turning his growl into a moan.
‘Phew!’ Weed pursed his lips, steadying himself. ‘I guess I asked for it, didn’t I? This is gonna be fun, wolfie.’
Don’t call me that, Arran thought half-heartedly, but in truth he would take any names from Weed right now. He had also, after all, asked for it.
The pace at which Weed began to ride him shocked Arran into a yelp. He’d expected Weed to take his time, get used to the girth inside him perhaps. But Weed gripped his fur and slammed back and forth on Arran’s cock like it was his only means of survival.
Arran couldn’t hold himself back from that. His hips rocked up to meet Weed, stabbing hard and deep with his greedy cock.
‘ Ah—Ah— Fuck, yeah, wolfie. Hard as you can…’
Arran’s efforts doubled. Snarls ripped from his throat while he watched Weed losing himself in the wild rhythm. Weed’s pale cock slapped between their stomachs; his slender fingers tangled ever tighter in Arran’s fur. He rode Arran’s body as though it were a bucking horse and Weed was determined to stay in the saddle, sheathing Arran’s throbbing cock over and over with ruthless abandon. The frock coat flapped about him, grazing Arran’s thighs and adding another layer to the vulgar sounds of their bodies smacking.
Weed’s cries seemed like a mix of pain and pleasure, and he laughed between them. ‘Whoo! This is my kind— of sex, wolfie! You definitely shag— like a fae! No holds barred— eh? Balls out all the way! Haha!’
Arran could barely understand him behind the carnal haze filling his brain, but Weed’s exuberance shone through. The pressure was mounting in Arran’s cock. His balls tightened, hips stuttering. His limbs wrenched against their shackles and a few vines snapped free. Weed was too distracted to notice. Arran plunged his cock into Weed even faster, desperate to finish before he escaped his bindings.
‘You ever seen fairies shag? Now they— unh —they’re really— ah! —brutal. More teeth than you can fill a— oh fuck !—a nutsack with…’
How— are you— still— talking—?
Arran’s claws dug deep into the soil, toes and fingers curled with the strain. He barely registered the giddy expression on Weed’s face, the way his body arched and his mouth opened in a silent ‘O’ right before his cock shot streaks of cum over Arran’s chest.
Owned.
The beast in Arran roared, furious at having been marked, and the fury itself sent him over the edge.
Arran’s body thrashed as the orgasm overcame it. His teeth bared, gnashing at the gag, while his insides churned with the molten pleasure pulsing from his core. Weed bounced helplessly on Arran’s convulsing cock, gasping with each hot spurt of cum that fired inside him.
The release was so good it was nearly painful. It was followed by another kind of pressure, building low in the base of Arran’s cock.
Arran growled a warning, tossing his head from side to side. Off! Off! He twisted his pelvis, trying to buck Weed off him.
‘Hang on! I get it, I get it!’ Weed disentangled himself and landed inelegantly on the ground next to Arran. He rubbed his side where he’d hit a stone. ‘What’s the rush, wolfie? You gone all tender down there?’
Weed’s jeer turned into a gawp as he looked at Arran’s cock again. Blood rushed into the veins criss-crossing its base, swelling out into a bulbous shape twice as thick as the rest of it. ‘What is that? ’
Weed’s attention on it kept Arran’s blood running hot, even though the rest of him was beginning to cool off. He shook his head as Weed reached out to touch it.
Weed pouted, but withdrew his hand. ‘It’s fucking huge, wolfie. I wanna squeeze it.’
A snarly chuckle rumbled out of Arran’s mouth. The overload of dopamine left him feeling heady. The fury and the desperation ebbed away.
The muzzle loosened and Weed asked, ‘Should I let you go now?’
Arran checked in with his body. It had got what it needed. His muscles were able to relax. His claws and teeth unclenched.
‘It is safe,’ he said.
The many creepers slithered off him, leaving him feeling lighter for both the sexual and physical release. He pushed himself up on his elbows and saw Weed still gazing at his swollen cock with something amounting to awe.
‘It is my knot,’ Arran explained. ‘For procreating. It would keep me locked inside my breeding partner, for the best possible chances of propagation.’
Weed stared at him, then barked a laugh. ‘You’re definitely yourself again, then. Do you hear yourself talk?’
Arran tilted his head, trying to judge Weed’s reaction. ‘It is what it is. There’s no need to mock me.’
‘It’s your breeding butt plug, is what it is.’ Weed exploded into a fit of laughter and fell back onto the soil. There were tears in his eyes and his body trembled.
Perhaps Weed didn’t realise it, but his arms pulled up to hug himself, clutching at his coat as tightly as he’d clutched Arran’s fur.
Arran’s ears ticked toward him, searching for cues. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I’m great!’ Weed exclaimed, but it was followed by a gush of tears. He tried to blink them back. ‘Dunno why I’m crying. Guess it was just so fucking funny!’
Arran moved next to him and placed a hand on his arm. Weed sucked in a sharp breath.
‘Are you in pain?’ Arran asked.
The mirth fled Weed’s expression. ‘Often am. S’not new.’
His scent was hard to decipher, being a fresh mix of cum and excitement, but there was something else that was off about it. Arran drew in a stealthy inhale. Something a bit like shock. A tinge of dread. It reminded him of Weed’s panic attack earlier that day.
Arran felt shame rising in his gut. He craved amnesty from it for a little longer. He should concern himself with Weed’s wellbeing before he turned his gaze inward.
‘Would you like me to hold you?’ he asked.
Weed snorted, turning away. ‘Only if you let me sleep in your bed.’
Arran nodded. ‘Then we must go inside.’
‘Are you serious?’ Weed’s eyes skipped back to him, narrowed in doubt.
‘Yes. Though I will heat some water so we can both wash first.’
‘Fine.’
As Arran rose, Weed added in a petulant voice, ‘Carry me.’
He stared up at Arran sullenly, as though striving to look as brattish and unsympathetic as possible.
Arran crouched. He slid one arm under Weed’s knees, and the other around his shoulders. With little more than a grunt he hefted Weed into his arms, and carried him into the warm light of the cave.