Page 8 of Bear With Me

He considered that. Bjorn was, well, a bear. Tall and bulky, with brown hair shot through with gold highlights that he was pretty sure were natural. His hair fell to his shoulders, a mix of straight and wavy that said it was entirely unstyled and just did that. Since the man hadn’t worn a stitch of clothing since they met, he was also aware that his body hair was thick and a shade darker than his head hair, without the blonde highlights. His skin was caramel-colored, hinting at ancestry that hadn’t exactly been isolated to the northern part of the globe, and his lips were full and pink.

Also his cock was proportionate, and his ass was delicious. Not that he’d noticed either of those things. He cleared his throat.

“Uh, Den? You still there?” Myrah asked loudly, and he realized he’d been sitting there against his tree, just visualizing Bjorn in all his naked glory, for who knew how long.

“Yeah.” His voice came out dry, and he cleared his throat again. “Yeah, I’m here. He’s, uh…attractive.”

“Attractive,” she repeated dryly. “Uh-huh. And does he seem like a criminal? Or unlikeable?”

He saw where she was going with this, and he didn’t like it, no sir. “It doesn’t matter,” he told her sternly. “We’re not a couple, and I don’t need to like him. I suppose I do need him to not rob me while I sleep, but I can deal with that.”

Myrah laughed, loud and long. “No one who’s seen your resting bitch face would dare try to rob you, Den. And I’m betting if this guy is fated for you, he’s no dummy.”

“Myrah, I called you to…to…” To what, exactly? To listen to him bitch? To talk him out of his frantic urge to flee the country? “To be on my side,” he finally finished.

“And I am on your side, my darling. I just happen to think that your side might be happier with a partner, and this guy sounds…let’s just call it ‘promising’.”

“Ughhhh,” he ground out, banging his head against the tree trunk.

“Just think about it,” Myrah urged. “Give him a chance. Get to know him a little while you’re trapped together. Maybe you’ll fall in love.”

“Or maybe he’ll murder me and turn my buttocks into a Sunday roast,” he retorted.

“Well, considering it’s Monday, that would still mean you got to know each other for six days before the murder, so I’d consider that a victory,” she said very seriously.

“I hate you,” he muttered.

She snorted, and he could almost hear her rolling her eyes. “You love me as much as I love you. Which is why I’m telling you all this: for your own good.”

“Still hate you.”

“And my work here is done,” she sang. “Go hang out with your bear. But tell him no more raw fish in human form; that’s just gross.”

Dennis grunted, then sighed. “Love you,” he said, grumbling the words so she knew he begrudged them. “And thank you for listening.”

Myrah cooed. “You’re so fucking sweet under all those protective layers. Give bear-man a chance to see under them. And I love you too. Now, I have a meeting in ten minutes, and I need to pee, so I’m hanging up. But I expect you to keep me updated!”

“Yeah, yeah.” They said their goodbyes and hung up, and Dennis stuffed his phone back into the cargo pocket of his pants. Ugh, that hadn’t cleared anything up, though he did feel a bit better just for having been able to unload his stress on her. He sighed again and closed his eyes. Maybe he could sleep out here. There was surely a bed of moss or something within range.

Who was he kidding, he was an indoor cat, there was no way he was sleeping outside with all the bugs and dirt. Now that he thought about it, he was pretty sure he had some new mosquito bites just from sitting out here on the phone. He shuddered and jumped to his feet, brushing himself off.

He started to walk back toward the cabin, then slowed. As much as he wanted away from the bugs, he also didn’t want to face Bjorn again. What would he say? Myrah had him doubting how sure he was that this couldn’t work, and that was just not ok. He needed to hold firm until they could get this cabin mess sorted out and go their separate ways. Then life could go back to normal, and he wouldn’t have a burly bear trying to declare his undying love or whatever.

So instead of returning to the cabin, Dennis turned on his heel and headed deeper into the woods. Thankfully, there were marked trails, so he wouldn’t get lost. He just needed to walk off some of this angst. He’d come back in a few hours calm, collected, and ready to negotiate with Bjorn.

***

He did walk for a few hours, returning exhausted to the cabin just as the sun set, but he was no calmer, and he certainly wasn’t feeling any more collected than he had when he’d hung up with Myrah. And ready to negotiate? Hah. Mostly he wanted a nap and for none of today to have ever happened.

Nevertheless, he couldn’t - wouldn’t - stay out here all night. He had to face the man sooner or later. So he girded his loins - whatever that meant - and stomped into the cabin, only to stop short when he nearly tripped over something in the dark room. Bjorn had apparently turned the lights out except for a dim one by the bed, which illuminated...no, seriously?

Huffing, Dennis toed off his shoes and walked deeper into the cabin and yep, that was Bjorn, still naked as the day he was born, sacked out on the bed. The only bed. The bed Dennis had paid to sleep in. And Bjorn was snoring quietly into the stillness of the cabin.

“Fuck,” he muttered. He eyed the couch, which hadn’t grown any longer since the last time he’d mentally measured it. Could he sleep there? Probably not, to be honest. He could wake Bjorn up and insist the other man go to the couch, but if Dennis wouldn’t comfortably fit, Bjorn wouldn’t even be able to crunch himself into the space.

Fuuuuck. He stood over the bed and studied Bjorn. In sleep, his face was smooth and almost timeless other than the dark stubble on his jaw. His leg twitched occasionally, and Dennis had a sudden memory of his childhood dog, who’d whine and twitch his paws while dreaming. Was Bjorn dreaming? Were they bear-y dreams, or human ones?

What the hell did he care? Godammit he just wanted to sleep. He didn't even care about that juicy steak anymore; he was too caught up in a weird combination of exhaustion from the walk and anxiety from Bjorn's mere presence. And there was still only one bed. Fuck this, he wasn’t surrendering his bed. Mumbling curses, he stripped out of his shirt and jeans, leaving himself in socks and his boxer-briefs. He briefly considered taking off his socks, but something about that felt like losing one too many protective layers, so he left them on and just hoped he didn’t overheat during the night.