Chapter Fourteen
A s usual, Weed slept late and woke to a ready-made breakfast laid out for him. There was a washbasin too, and Weed happily dunked his head in it, first thing. He used to think, having had an intimate relationship with soil, that he wouldn’t care if he was dirty—but an unwashed human body was unpleasant for a number of reasons, and being able to keep it clean was proving to be a delicious thing.
He slicked back his hair, catching sight of Arran emerging from the pantry, and winked. ‘Morning, wolfie!’
Arran set down the basket he was carrying, which turned out to be the one he’d fixed the night before. ‘Good morning, Moss.’
Weed’s throat went dry. His chest was suddenly tight. He wanted to run. ‘What… What did you call me?’
Was it just him, or were Arran’s eyes looking all the way fucking through him?
‘Moss,’ Arran replied softly. ‘You said you would choose it as your name. Last night.’
‘I…’ Weed found it hard to swallow. Seriously, had all the moisture from his mouth just packed its bags for good?
Arran cocked his head, gaze still locked on Weed as though searching for him. ‘Do you prefer Weed? I will call you whatever you wish.’
For the longest second, Weed froze.
The first time Weed had been commanded to kill a living creature—at Elsie’s behest—he’d felt like he was balancing on the edge of a cliff, with a sheer drop into darkness opening up in front of him. He was nauseous with vertigo and fear. With the knowledge that stepping into that chasm would change the very fibres of his soul.
Weed found himself teetering on a similar cliff edge now. Darkness fell away from his feet. Arran was right behind him, like Elsie had been. But instead of threatening to shove him over the edge, Arran was simply still, and patient.
Weed looked into the darkness again and saw change swimming somewhere at the bottom.
Heart hammering, he stepped over the edge.
‘Moss,’ he croaked, then cleared his throat. ‘Yeah, that’s what I said. You better remember it, wolfie.’
Arran nodded solemnly. ‘I shall.’
Moss rolled his shoulders, feeling some deep tension leave them. A piece of his soul unclenched, like a flower unfolding in the presence of long-awaited sunshine. Arran passed him a cup of nettle tea, and Moss caught the corner of a smile playing at his jaw.
Don’t be so smug, wolfie. You deserve some punishment for this.
For making me feel this way.
‘Sleep well?’ Moss asked. He flounced over to the stone bench, ensuring that his frock coat flapped all the way open on the way.
Arran did an adorable double-take at the flash of his naked body and quickly averted his gaze. ‘Yes. You were no bother, if that’s what you mean.’
‘I didn’t think I was.’ Moss sipped his tea. ‘But you were dry-humping me all night.’
Arran’s claws audibly clattered on the rock floor as he startled to a standstill. ‘I was not. ’ He sounded utterly mortified and his ears bent right back. ‘Was I?’
‘Like a rutting bull,’ Moss crooned. He set down the cup and sauntered toward the mouth of the cave. ‘I expect I have bruises, you know. That big dick of yours is a menace.’
Arran followed him, drawn by the bait, though a note of suspicion entered his voice. ‘If I’ve caused you any discomfort it was entirely unintentional…’
‘Discomfort! What an understatement.’ Moss felt for the creepers outside; latched onto a stronger set of roots that he persuaded to slink closer. Having rounded the corner he twirled, leaving his back to the fresh breeze of morning air, and pointed a finger into the Wulver’s chest. He couldn’t hold back the grin from his face, which in hindsight was a dead giveaway. ‘I demand recompense for your disregard of my personal boundaries.’
‘Recompense?’ Arran stared down at his finger and raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m not sure I believe you. Have I truly overstepped a boundary of yours?’
‘Yes,’ Moss said firmly, slinking into Arran’s warmth. ‘The one where you stepped out of my personal space. I want you within shagging distance at all times. In fact, if your dick is not in my ass I’m gonna take it as a sign of disrespect.’
Feeling somehow bolder than he had in years, Moss slung both his arms around Arran’s neck, stretching on tiptoes to pull the wolfman’s head right down so they were nose to nose.
Arran stumbled under his onslaught, already breathing heavily. ‘Moss,’ he rasped, his claws digging into Moss’s back. ‘Don’t be foolish.’
Moss stared into his beautiful eyes, speaking with all the petulance he could muster. ‘I want your dick. Now. ’
Arran slammed him against the cave wall, which was fucking exhilarating . Moss gasped a laugh, overjoyed by the harsh scrape of rock and the Wulver’s biting grip. But a flash of panic in Arran’s eyes reminded him to slow the pace. Was the big dumb wolf really so worried about hurting him?
Don’t worry wolfie, I got you.
Striking like vipers, Moss trained his small army of foliage on Arran’s throat, wrists, and ankles. With a howl the wolfman was hurled away from Moss and dragged to the round cave opening. Moss fluttered his hands to direct the vines, stretching Arran’s arms and legs out diagonally.
‘You planned this,’ the Wulver wheezed through bared fangs. His dick was big and obvious, poking out the top of his jeans. The poor thing looked distraught.
Moss ambled up to Arran. ‘Of course I did. It wouldn’t do to be foolish. ’
With a quick flick of a vine he undid the top button constraining the Wulver’s eager dick. It dropped under its own weight as the jeans were tugged away. Moss sucked in his lower lip, already imagining the feel of it in his mouth. It was a real beast of a thing, visibly pulsing as blood flowed through its thick veins. He hadn’t had the chance to taste it properly, yet.
Their previous time together had been too rushed. He’d make sure this time was slow .
‘I’m going to keep you ungagged this time,’ Moss said, trailing his fingers through the shallow fur over Arran’s hips. ‘I want to hear every howl your lungs have to give. And you will howl.’
He darted to Arran’s dick and squeezed. It expelled a gush of precum while Arran let out a ferocious grunt. Moss pressed his thumb into the slit, kneading it roughly. He could hear Arran’s teeth grinding and smirked up at him.
‘Want me to stop?’
‘ No. ’
It was barely Arran’s voice, like some other creature had taken over. Moss’s heart jumped at the hunger in it. His own body hungered in return.
With his free hand creeping under Arran’s hoodie, he explored the Wulver’s thick chest. It was packed with muscle beneath the fur, and hidden deep in the fluff around his pecs Moss discovered a nipple. He pinched it. Arran spasmed in his restraints with a feral snarl.
‘I don’t know why you wear this ugly thing. Who are you hiding from out here?’ In a complicated manoeuvring of roots and vines, Moss managed to tug the damned hoodie off the Wulver’s body. Arran had a brief altercation with the foliage as one of his arms came free, but Moss got him contained and nicely stretched out again with little trouble.
Now that he had full access, Moss spread out the fur around Arran’s left nipple to get a better look. It was dark grey, like the skin of Arran’s palms, and currently hard to the touch.
Moss closed his mouth around it and sucked. The reactive growl deep within Arran’s ribcage quivered against his lips. Moss circled the nipple with his tongue. He tickled the very tip of the firm nub and then leisurely pushed it to and fro in his mouth while the Wulver’s body bucked against him.
‘ Moss, ’ Arran snarled, desire and urgency riding on his voice.
‘Ah, ah,’ Moss teased, pulling away. ‘Don’t get too excited just yet.’
He noticed the claws of Arran’s toes scraped on the rock, gaining some purchase to strain against his fetters. That wouldn’t do.
Moss directed the vines around Arran’s upper body to pull, slowly lifting him off the ground. Arran let out a startled yelp as he lost all leverage, and his legs were pulled a little further apart by their restraints as he hung in midair.
Next, Moss gestured for a thin, smooth vine to creep up Arran’s leg. It wrapped around his thigh, then his hip, then the base of his dick.
Arran gave a coarse gasp as it tightened. The vine continued climbing, coiling around his length, sliding in its fluid. It looped a figure eight around the head, criss-crossing over the tender slit. His flesh turned a deeper purple as the vine squeezed. Arran released a ragged howl, thrusting into nothing with the urgent need to find release.
Moss watched him intently. Savoured every wrinkle on the Wulver’s deeply furrowed brow; the curl of his upper lip as he fought to subdue the howl. He was fighting so hard.
Fighting for me, it occurred to Moss, making him feel giddy. And he so desperately wanted Arran to lose.
‘That’s fucking beautiful, wolfie,’ Moss murmured, staring down at Arran’s dick. His cheeks grew hot. He was practically salivating at the sight of it. ‘Your dick is so pretty all trussed up. It’s mine, right? I own this pretty monster.’
A shocked splutter from Arran told him that he’d hit a nerve of some kind. Locking eyes with Arran, Moss sank down until his lips were level with the wolfman’s incarcerated, twitching dick.
‘Mine,’ he trilled in a bright sing-song, then engulfed the curved tip of Arran’s dick with his mouth.
Arran roared, thrusting hard, hitting the back of Moss’s throat.
Moss pulled away with a gagging laugh. ‘ Fuck. Tut, tut, wolfie. You could’ve hurt me.’
Arran’s legs were shaking, his hips still erratically thrusting into thin air. He shook his head, struggling to control his tongue. ‘Don’t joke— about that—’
Moss sobered up a little. He ran his palms over Arran’s trembling thighs. ‘What if I want you to hurt me a little?’
Arran groaned; the sound rose from his core and reverberated around the cave. ‘Why would you want that?’
Moss’s fingers found Arran’s dick and formed a ring around its base over the top of the squeezing vine. ‘Maybe I want a go on your knot. See what it’s like for you to own me, the way you’re supposed to.’
There was a halting quality to Arran’s response. ‘I am not supposed to own you, Moss.’
Moss rolled up his coat sleeves, baring the twisted rope tattoos ‘You see these?’ he demanded, stretching out his forearms. ‘These mean you do own me. Whether you like it or not. You still hold all the power here, wolfie.’
Arran groaned again, but this time it held a note of disappointment. ‘I thought we were past this, Moss. What has been done to you is wrong. I shall not abuse your curse. There is nothing I will ask of you.’
‘Nothing?’ Moss snapped, jumping to his feet. ‘You’re all trussed up like a fly in a web with your dick all defenceless and at my mercy and there’s fucking nothing you’d ask of me?’
Arran didn’t seem to have a dignified reply this time. He withdrew into his usual stoic silence. Only his slightly flattened ears betrayed what he might be feeling inside.
Moss exhaled heavily. He noticed his hands had balled into fists and his dick was going soft. It was his own fault. Why’d he pick now to initiate a conversation?
Because I want more than just an easy shag.
‘What about what I want?’ Moss muttered, before locking onto Arran’s gaze again. ‘Do I get to ask? I want what you have right now. For all the choices to be taken away from me. I want to be fucking used , wolfie. I want to be shagged so hard I forget I exist. I want to be unmade by this pretty dick of yours.’
He stroked the veins along Arran’s length with his thumb, bidding the vine to slide back and forth in tandem. No growls came from Arran this time. Just a dark, brooding silence.
‘Won’t you use me, just a little? If I ask nicely?’ Moss knew he sounded defeated, pleading, even.
Arran huffed softly. ‘Boundaries are important, Moss. Are you asking me to command you?’
‘So formal,’ Moss sneered, rolling his eyes. ‘Yes, if you like. You can order me to untie you and bend over if it takes your fancy. I want… I just fucking want you to be honest about what you want, too. You wanna bury yourself in this ass, right?’
‘Yes.’
The instant and gravelly nature of Arran’s reply shot a renewed thrill into Moss’s dick. He realised, belatedly, that Arran was taking his request so, so seriously.
Arran continued solemnly. ‘My boundary, for now, is that I wish to remain restrained. I do not know the limits of your body, and I fear breaking them. I also wish for you to choose a clear way to communicate to me that you’ve had enough. That you wish to stop.’
Moss couldn’t quite believe his ears. ‘You mean a safe word?’
Such a silly idea. He’d never needed a safe word before.
He’d never had his boundaries respected before.
Swallowing back this thought, Moss covered up his unrest with a quick twirl and a flourish of his coat. ‘All right then, wolfie. My safe word is ‘willow’—how about that?’
Arran nodded. ‘Very well. You always have permission to use it, you understand? Consider that your first command.’
‘So considerate of y—’
‘Shut up. Get hard for me.’
Moss began to laugh, then abruptly stopped. The rush of heat to his groin nearly knocked him off his feet as his body strove to obey the extremely clear order it had been given. His dick perked right up, straining toward the Wulver like a dog begging to be petted.
Arran’s voice was calm but firm, and it shuddered through Moss from his head to his toes. ‘You are going to sit on my cock. Prepare yourself for it.’
Moss had no trouble getting on board with this. He stuck two fingers in his mouth, swiping as much spit onto them as possible, then sat on the rock floor with his legs splayed out wide. He wanted to make sure Arran could see everything .
He started by teasing his hole with little circles. Then rubbing against it roughly. Then thrusting the first finger inside, followed quickly by the second.
Arran watched him, seemingly impassive—but his dick leaked a steady flow of clear fluid while Moss finger-fucked himself with growing urgency. Moss was panting, starting to see stars when Arran finally said, ‘Enough.’
Moss withdrew his fingers and sat still, awaiting his next command.
‘Climb up here,’ Arran said, ‘and place yourself on my cock.’
‘Mmn.’ Moss hummed a satisfied moan. That was exactly the kind of order he wanted.
He climbed Arran as though he were a tree. The roots and vines provided extra footholds, and Moss clung happily to the Wulver’s fur to pull himself up. Getting into the right position presented more of a struggle, but nothing that another well-placed vine couldn’t fix. Eventually Moss had his legs wrapped tightly around Arran’s waist, his hands tangled in the fur at his shoulders, and his hole lowering onto the wet wolf monster dick beneath him.
Moss moaned as the tip breached him, first stretching his loosened ring even wider, then filling him as he eased it deeper. He let gravity take it from there: Moss released his grip and fell all the way onto the Wulver’s shaft.
Arran jerked up with a snarl, forcing the curved tip of his penis right into Moss’s sweet spot. Moss squealed and nearly fell off entirely. A quick flick of vines caught him. Moss used them to secure himself to Arran’s body, ensuring a tight seal between his ass and Arran’s pelvis, even if it meant Moss had to curl his whole spine in order to look the wolfman in the eye.
‘What next, oh master of mine?’ Moss asked sweetly.
Arran’s eyes flashed, recognising the taunt for what it was. ‘Fuck yourself on my cock until you come.’
‘Ahhhh…’ Moss closed his eyes and obligingly rocked his hips, but in this position he couldn’t find much purchase. ‘Gonna need a little help with that, wolfie.’
Arran grunted but endeavoured to meet Moss’s rhythm. It turned out that neither of them actually had much purchase, and their combined efforts sent them swinging back and forth in Moss’s web.
Nevertheless, Moss was enjoying himself immensely. It had been a raw, urgent fuck the first time he’d goaded the Wulver into shagging him. Satisfying, yes. But fulfilling? Not quite.
Even though it was slow, and occasionally faltering when their tempos unsynced, Moss could tell by the deep, insistent thud of the Wulver’s cockhead that felt like it was about to poke a hole in his stomach, that this time it would be ful filling .
‘That’s it, wolfie,’ he panted, heaving himself up by his grip on Arran’s fur. ‘Give me all of your juicy dick. You’re such a good dog.’
Arran groaned deeply. ‘Don’t call me that.’
‘Why? Do you like it?’
By the agonised rumble in Arran’s throat, Moss concluded that he did. He cackled joyfully and tucked the knowledge away for later. Then he summoned a new vine and looped it around Arran’s neck, giving a little tug. ‘There. What a pretty leash for a pretty dog.’
Arran’s thrusts stuttered to a halt. Fangs glinted in his mouth. ‘Do you want to be used or do you want to be in charge?’
Moss tugged the leash again, tightening it just a little and adoring Arran’s sharp intake of breath. ‘It wouldn’t be any fun if I didn’t test you. Can’t let you win without a fight, right? I don’t think you want that, either. What’s your safe word, wolfie?’
Arran’s roar jostled Moss on his dick, causing him to cling on again for fear of being shaken off. Moss watched the battle play out over Arran’s face with rising elation. He hadn’t realised just how hard he’d struck the beast, or how close Arran was to letting it escape. Moss wanted to help him release it all the way.
He opened his mouth, having thought of another taunt, but Arran beat him to it.
In a voice dark with hunger, Arran growled, ‘ Come, now. ’
‘Wha —Nngh— Ah, fuck! ’
Moss’s body snapped backward, hanging off Arran by only his legs as his balls cramped and his dick shot hot stripes over the wolfman’s chest.
‘Oh, shit,’ Moss said feebly, staring up at the rock ceiling. He had to give Arran credit. For all the wolfman’s talk of refusing to give orders, that was one hell of a creative way to take advantage of his cursed ownership.
Moss sniggered, pulling himself back up to meet Arran’s glare. ‘Shit, wolfie, that was—’
‘You will come,’ Arran cut him off, snarling, ‘when I tell you to come. You will come as many times as I demand. You will come until your mind is a fractured wreck of pleasure and your body is a shivering ruin. Say yes please.’
‘Yes please!’ Moss squeaked. How the fuck was Arran keeping it together to say all of that so gravely? The grim seriousness of his intentions reached right down into Moss’s soul and yanked on him by the roots. He’d do fucking anything for that voice, curse or no curse.
‘Good.’ Arran angled his hips up, pressing into Moss’s prostate again. ‘Now come.’
‘ Oh… Oh, shi— ’
Moss’s breath left him in a whoosh. His lungs burned for air as his body spasmed, his dick filling and emptying within the space of seconds while pinpricks of light exploded behind his eyes.
‘Come.’
‘Oh, wolfie—! ’
Moss’s voice broke into a protracted shriek, elongating his pet name for Arran throughout the entire orgasm. His dick strained, expelling nothing, yet insistent that it was in the throes of ecstasy. He blearily heard birds scatter outside, scared by the noise.
He slumped against Arran’s chest, sticky with sweat and cum. The Wulver’s dick pulsed achingly inside him.
Arran’s muzzle leaned down, nudging his hair and inhaling deeply. ‘Do you feel used yet, Moss?’
‘Ohh, wolfie I—’
‘Come,’ Arran said roughly. Moss felt his amber eyes glowering at him while he shuddered and gasped into the Wulver’s fur. ‘If you can still talk, then you haven’t been used hard enough.’
Moss whimpered and shut his eyes. Yes please, yes fucking please.
He licked his lips, desperate to summon words. Desperate for more. This was so fucking good and he trusted Arran to take him all the way, to give him everything he needed. He trusted Arran…
For a split second he was a system of roots being strangled by fungal mycelia. The spirit of his fae consort cackled in his ear. He will betray you, too.
‘Moss,’ Arran said. Something was off. His voice was soft and urgent. ‘Moss, you are crying.’
Moss glanced up through tears. His body was doing that tiresome trembling thing again. And it seemed like a giant pebble had lodged in his throat, obstructing the air.
‘W—w—willow,’ he said in a hoarse whisper. Then buried his face in fur, hiding the hot shame in his cheeks. ‘S—sorry.’
A great rumble in Arran’s chest cut through his panicked snivels. ‘Moss, breathe. You can breathe. Let me down. Let yourself down. Gently.’
Grateful for commands he could unthinkingly follow, Moss called back his roots and vines and allowed the Wulver to part their bodies. Arran lifted Moss up and set him back on his feet.
Moss looked away, still shivering, and acutely aware of all the dripping cum running over his skin. ‘What a washout, right? Dunno what happened there, wolfie. I swear I’m not a wimp, I just got up in my head or something. That’s what humans say, right? You should’ve kept going.’
To his shock—and alarm—Arran knelt in front of him. It put the Wulver’s head just below his sternum, and it was a strange thing to be looking down on the wolfman for a change.
Arran placed his palms around Moss’s waist, warming him through with the contact. ‘Moss. You never require an excuse—or even a reason—to ask me to stop. Your word is law to me, you understand?’
‘Get up, wolfie,’ Moss whispered, feeling distress rise in his stomach. He couldn’t handle the shifting dynamics between them. It made him feel like a sand dune unbound by its mat of plants, being broken down by relentless wind and sea. ‘One minute you’re too scared you’ll hurt me, then the next you’re adamant you’d never do me wrong. Fucking pick one.’
‘We are both complex creatures,’ Arran said softly. ‘At war with our wants and needs, which do not always align. I want you to be free. I need you to be mine.’
He stopped with a little shudder, as though he’d said more than he meant to.
To be his, Moss echoed.
His. Mine. I’m on his leash and he’s on mine.
Moss found he’d lost control of his hands. They reached out of their own accord, cupping the Wulver’s ears and stroking along his brow with his thumbs. Arran looked up at him, eyes bright and sincere. There was a smattering of lighter grey hairs around his cheeks, specks of near-white receding into the mane along the back of his neck.
‘I’ve done some fucking awful things, wolfie,’ Moss heard himself saying, as though from a distance. ‘Ugly things. Evil things.’
‘So have I,’ Arran replied. His head tipped, leaning into Moss’s touch. ‘What brought this to your mind now?’
Moss’s tongue felt thick in his mouth. ‘I wouldn’t have had to do any of it if… If I hadn’t trusted the wrong person.’
Arran’s hands slid up his sides, mirroring the ministrations of Moss’s fingers with his own. ‘Is that how you were captured?’
‘I loved Them.’ Such a frail statement. Even as Moss said it, doubt clouded the words. Had he truly loved Them? Or had he simply been overwhelmed by Their grand gestures of peace and pleasure?
Their copulation had been wild and turbulent, overpowering Moss to keep him distracted. He’d been on a different kind of leash and never even known it.
Moss stepped away from Arran, pulling his hands up to scrub over his face like he could scrub the thoughts themselves away. He was so tired of betrayal hanging over him.
Perhaps Arran read his mind. ‘Would you like me to draw you a bath, or would you like to bathe with me in the river?’
Golden sunshine streamed into the cave behind him. The river sounded glorious.
‘The river,’ Moss said, squaring his shoulders. ‘But only if you carry me.’
With an amused huff, Arran gently lifted Moss in his arms and walked out into the sunshine.