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Once he was full, I’d inhale the rest of the plate. After that, we’d use the bathroom and shower together, unable and unwilling to do it separately. Showering in my werewolf form was usually a sensory nightmare, both during and after, while I dried off. That made it one of the very rare times I actually preferred being in my human skin, but right now, there was nothing I could do about it while I was physically incapable of shifting out of this form. At least Klaus distracted me. He’d wash me himself, soapy hands roaming over every inch of me, running through my fur, lathering it up, until he was moaning and grinding his hard cock against my thigh.

We’d fuck again in the shower.

Once we’d both come, I’d meticulously clean every inch of him, getting to my knees and worshipping his body, grieving the loss as I carefully washed away my seed from between his cheeks. After that, I’d exercise just as much care to gently pat him dry with the softest towel I could find, before using an older and rougher one to carelessly rub away the excess moisture from my own body. I probably looked ridiculous with all my fur standing on end like it was weightless, but we were too preoccupied to care or even notice.

Once I’d taken him back to bed, I would lay him down and hook my hands under his knees to push them up and out, presenting his soft, swollen hole to my gaze. Then I’d dip my head and tongue it with frantic need, coaxing out that luscious slick until it flowed down my throat. Tasting the remnants of myself inside him. Softening him back up for my cock and getting to feel the succulent puffiness of his well-fucked hole that my dick had already caused.

The fuck after that, when his taste was still on my tongue, was always the best. I’d let the fresh, heavy wave of his pheromones wash over me, fill up every little crevice in my body and overwhelm my senses. Everything would become taste and smell and touch, and I wouldn’t have a single coherent thought until I was spent and panting on top of him as my knot pulsed and my dick dribbled out every last drop into his ass.

Not that I was having many coherent thoughts at all right now.

It was only then, once all our basic needs were taken care of and we’d fucked enough since waking to temporarily satisfy the urges driving us, that we were both lucid enough to talk for a while. Kind of. I wasn’t capable of anything more than grunting out a few words, maybe a broken sentence if I really focused. Klaus was a little better. He was aware of everything, but he sounded completely drunk, his voice slurred with lust, and he’d get distracted easily as soon as he started touching me. But we used that brief rational moment to check in with each other and make sure we were both okay. The final step in our weird little routine before we devolved back into mindless, horny animals.

Because outside of that routine, it was a free-for-all. We’d fucked in every conceivable position, on every conceivable surface in the bedroom and bathroom. And kitchen. And various spots on the floor.

Most of the time, I didn’t even bother pulling out of him. Partly because Klaus would get irritable and stressed if I did, but mainly, there was no point. The moment my knot deflated enough to slip out of him, we were both ready to fuck again.

There were a few moments, more lucid than the rest, when I distantly wondered if my rut and his heat were trapping us in a never-ending cycle of hormones and pheromones and biological impulses. Maybe they were feeding each other in a constant loop that we would never be able to escape from.

Then Klaus would clench around my dick again, or whimper pleadingly, or moan my name, and I’d realise I didn’t give a single fuck either way.

I’d worshipped every inch of him by this point. When he was on his hands and knees, impaled on my dick, he liked it a little rougher and faster. He liked me to grab the roots of his wings and pin them together in my fist, using them almost like a handle as I pounded into him. His tail would snake around my waist and cinch tight, pulling me into each thrust.

When he was on his back beneath me, he responded better to softer touches, longer strokes, deeper and slower glides of my cock in and out of him. His horns were unbelievably sensitive—I was pretty sure I’d be able to make him come just by teasing them, and I was beyond eager to try once his heat was over. It felt too mean to do it when he was this needy for full-body contact and stimulation.

The root of his tail was sensitive too. And his neck. His nipples. The small of his back. He loved it when I wrapped my hands around his waist and guided him on and off my dick. He shivered with pleasure when I lightly raked my claws down his thighs. He moaned with a delirious smile when I filled my palms with his perfect ass, my hands big enough to splay across the entirety of each cheek.

Everything about him was perfect. He was perfect. So beautiful it hurt to look at him sometimes. So sweet and kind that I didn’t think I’d be able to cope if I ever lost that sweetness in my life. He understood me better than anyone ever had, including my own family, my own parents. It seemed to come effortlessly to Klaus, this ability to see me, all of me, including the many parts I hid. See me and accept me without judgement.

Because that was the main thing. He seemed to truly accept me as I was. Exactly as I was. I’d never really had that before. Almost everyone in my life had dropped little hints about what they wished could be different about me, most of them without even realising they were doing it. And to a lot of people, it probably wouldn’t even come across as anything inherently negative or pointed, but it was a sore spot for me, so I noticed.

Like someone at work saying, “You’re so funny, Brian. If you weren’t so quiet…”

Or Mom saying, “Honey, maybe if you spoke up for yourself every now and then, your brothers wouldn’t…”

Or my college boyfriend saying, “I love our nights in, but sometimes I wish you were a little more sociable…”

They were harmless, not even really intended to hurt. But I’d grown hypersensitive to the way things were said to me over the years, because I’d always felt strange, almost other, which made me afraid of how much I came across that way to others too.

I couldn’t remember a single time Klaus had said anything like that to me. He’d never subconsciously revealed something he wanted to change about me. In fact, he told me often how much he loved certain facets of my personality. He praised me for them. He made me feel like they weren’t weird or annoying.

Like I’d said, he was perfect.

Right now, he was passed out, sprawled on his belly with one leg bent up and his cheek smushed into the pillow. I was nestled against his side, practically on top of him. I had an arm and a leg slung over his body, possessively, protectively, but also because I knew having some weight on top of him made him sleep better.

I was drowsy but too wired to nap. I skimmed my hand lightly up and down his side, revelling in the feel of his silky skin. Against my chest and arm, his leathery wings fluttered in his sleep. His tail was looped around my upper thigh. It had been bitingly tight at first, a hold that was both possessive and sweetly needy, but it had loosened when he dropped into deep sleep.

My snout was buried in his curls. They’d grown damp with sweat while we fucked, but they were dry again now, silky soft against my nose despite how tangled they were. His cinnamon and chocolate scent was druggingly strong. I inhaled it like an addict.

Faint sounds had my head snapping up as I tensed, shifting my limbs to cover Klaus a little more. My ears twitched. Within seconds, it was unmistakable.

Someone was pulling up onto my driveway.

My lips peeled back from my teeth, but I held back my snarl so I didn’t wake Klaus. Moving slowly and carefully as I listened to an engine cut off, followed by the very faint hum of two people talking in a car, I disentangled myself from Klaus. His tail uncoiled from around my leg with the gentlest of insistence, and then I was rising from the bed, the silent snarl still building in my chest, and stalking to the bathroom to snatch up my towel.

I wrapped it around my hips as I prowled into the hallway, easing the door halfway closed behind me. A car door opened, followed by another, then they both slammed shut. Footsteps crunched closer, flat and scraping over concrete, then hollower and deeper as they walked up the front steps of my porch.

Someone knocked as I silently padded closer and lifted my nose to draw in a long, deep inhale. I picked up the scents of Holt and Seb, and my hackles threatened to rise at the idea of anyone near my incubus, but especially another werewolf. I hesitated on the other side of the door, not sure what to do.