I got this prompt 2014-07-02, and I feel so bad about how long it took to finish, especially since it's been past half done for *cough* a while now *cough*. But I'm trying to knock out all 12 prompts I've had glaring at me for the past 5 months so be ready for a bit of a short-prompt-fills spam.
Originally posted to AO3 on 2014-12-22.
John had been living as a human, fighting a human war for a human king, when a longbow arrow had pierced his armour, and his shoulder, and the wolf had taken control. He'd woken up in the middle of a forest, the sun four days out of place and his body covered in wounds that told him the wolf had gotten into it with a pack of real wolves during his blackout. That was nothing new: extreme pain always forced the wolf to the forefront, and when that happened, the alpha nature of both the human and the wolf halves of himself never failed to ignite and erupt in the presence of real wolves, ones who kept the same shape no matter the cycles of the moon. What was new, however, was the curious fawn attending to his wounds.
The fawn had introduced himself as 'Sherlock', and John had been absolutely fascinated. Not just because he hadn't ever met any other 'mythical' creatures, but because someone who should have been afraid of him, predator and prey that they were, was so incredibly not. And not to mention how ridiculously gorgeous the fawn was. The werewolf found himself fascinated with the experiments Sherlock spent his time on, and he found himself integrating seamlessly into the homey cave the fawn inhabited, and the forest he roamed daily. Despite the fact that the were both alphas, they had fallen for each other, mating less than a week later, and John had never looked back at the knighthood he had abandoned.
During their matings, John consistently ceded dominance to Sherlock, always letting the other alpha mount him. Despite the trust the fawn constantly showed him in allowing him as his mate, the werewolf was always frustratingly aware that he was still a wolf, a natural predator to his lover's deer-based ancestry. The last thing he wanted was to scare his mate away from him, perhaps permanently. He knew he had an issue with anger and aggression, and the risk was always there of losing control and harming the male he loved. And then one day, several moons after their first meeting, Sherlock surprised him.
"You want me to do what?" Grey eyes glared at him in a familiar exasperation from over a pale shoulder.
"I want you to mount me," Sherlock repeated, voice annoyed.
John struggled for words. "I uh... I don't think that's a good idea, Sherlock." Now his mate tossed down the vines he'd been taking apart with a sharp stone.
"Why?" the male snapped, the scent of anger strong on his fur. "Do you think me too weak? Do you not trust me?" His hooves were loud on the cave's stone floor as he stomped around John towards the opening. Reflexively, the werewolf snagged his mate's wrist as Sherlock passed and the fawn yanked it back out, glaring at him hard enough that for a moment, John thought he was going to be slapped. After a moment, though, Sherlock continued his angry storm out of the cave and the werewolf sighed, dropping down into the natural ledge he used for seating like a bench. He could only hope the male would come back soon. He hated when things were left like this between them, always afraid the fawn's anger with him would one day supercede or even wash over his feelings.
For long hours, he contemplated his mate's request and the clear hurt he'd read in the shine of grey eyes. He hadn't wanted to offend his lover, or make him think that John didn't want him or trust him. But he didn't know how to mend the rift he felt in their still fairly new relationship. Their races were a constant ache in his mind, and not for the first time, he wondered if what weighed so heavily on him was just another trivial thing to his mate that had been painted over with more important information in that brilliant mind.
The sun had fallen below the horizon long ago and the full moon was bright above the trees, the wolf scratching to be free just under the skin, when Sherlock returned. John had begun to pace across the soft dirt-dusted floor as soon as the scent of his mate came into range, and he froze when the fawn came into view.
"I'm terrified of hurting you," John spoke up before the other male could start. The truth was always what worked best for Sherlock, and if he just got his concerns out in the open, perhaps they would be all right. "You know my control isn't the best, and if I lose it, the wolf could see you as prey. More often than not, my night terrors end with your blood on my claws and muzzle, and your body in pieces in our cave."
It was a gruesome image, one he had never shared with his mate, always attributing the cause to his time in the human king's army. It left him covered with a cold sweat and shaking with the phantom loss. "Your death would be mine," he whispered, dropping his head to scrub his damp eyes. He didn't look up at the sound of his mate's approach, body tense for whatever reaction.
"Perhaps you do not recall, but I have spent a great deal of time with the wolf during the times of your change." John's head snapped up in surprise at that. He always made sure to travel deep into the forest before he allowed the moon her reign on him, always made sure he was as far from his mate as he could get. "You always come home to me, John, even in those times." Long fingers cupped his face and drew him into a soft kiss, one he was unable to deny. "Despite our differences, you are still my mate, and I trust all of you with every part of myself. And obviously, you are the same. Even when you are at your most dangerous, that side of you still trusts yourself with my safety." Another soft kiss, slow and understanding, drew him in, strong arms wrapping around his waist and pulling him close against the fawn. "Allow me this."
Sherlock's forehead dropped against his, his face calm and patient, waiting, arms loose around John's waist. At last, the werewolf sighed and closed his eyes to avoid the smile of triumph. "Okay," he finally agreed. "Yeah, okay, I'll... I'll mount you." The arms around his waist tightened and he was lifted in the air, whirled about with a speed that made his eyes fly open. His mate's expression was more open and joyful than it usually was after he got what he wanted. Which usually meant it was something he did actually want, rather than trying to get just for the sake of winning.
"Can we now? Please?" Oh good moon, he actually said please. Sherlock did not say 'please'. It was not a word that was in his vocabulary, unless it was something he well and truly wanted. John pulled away, walking to the front of the cave, staring up at the full moon. It was more dangerous than any other day to do this, The wolf was only growing more restless, nearly screaming with the need to be free. Soft clops behind him made him start, but he didn't move away from the cave entrance. Hands cupped his bare hips, pulling him gently backwards into the warm solidity of his mate's chest.
For a long few minutes, John let his mind wander back to its occasional fascination that was Sherlock's hairless chest compared the the absolute chaos of hair covering the fawn from the waist down, opposed to John's human form which was hairless below his neck and his wolf form hairy simply everywhere. The contrasts between them were almost too much sometimes: the darkness of Sherlock's demeanour represented in the colour of his hair and fur, a direct contrast to John's golden hair and fur and demeanour. And yet their own races contrasted those aspects once again in the way the fawn's race preferred the sun and the wolf's preferred the moon. Such perfect opposites and yet such a perfect cohabitation. Unless John's other form ruined it all.
Soft lips hiding sharp teeth pressed against his neck, nibbling enticingly. The hands on his hips slid forward, smoothly moving into the cradle of his pelvis as long fingers slid through the curls surrounding the base of his cock. As the teeth at his neck grew bolder, John began to harden and he let loose a low moan, dropping his head back onto his mate's shoulder. "I trust you, my John. My mate. You should trust me in turn." He wanted to argue that point. He really did. But in a way, telling Sherlock that he couldn't mount him because he was afraid of hurting him was the same as not trusting Sherlock when he said that he would not be harmed.
With a torn groan, John whipped around and promptly devoured his mate's mouth in a frustrated kiss. The fawn didn't delay in returning it with rough enthusiasm, and before long, the ex-soldier was turning his mate around and shoving him onto his hands and knees, facing the entrance of the cave. Sherlock seemed to struggle against this for a frustrating amount of time, until John wrapped claw-tipped fingers around the pale wrists and held them to the ground.
"Stop!" he growled, and the fawn stilled instantly. "If I do hurt you, or if I'm about to, I want you to kick me hard enough to break something and then run, understand?"
"John," his mate replied in an annoyed 'why are you wasting my time' huff.
"I know what you said," he interrupted quickly, frustratingly familiar with the other being's ability to talk endlessly about a subject if he so chose. "I don't want to believe you, but I am. But we've also never done this before." For emphasis, he rolled his hips forward into the soft fur of his mate's arse and his lip quirked at the small gasp it inspired. "So if I get dangerous, I need you to save yourself from me. I want to come out of this with a live mate in the morning." Sherlock stopped struggling then, turning his head and almost hitting John in the face with his antlers.
"I promise," the fawn said softly, tilting his head back as best as he was able to lick a stripe along his werewolf's jaw bone. Assured that all possible precautions they could make, short of tying him down (and even that more likely to infuriate the wolf than restrain it), had been made, John finally released the thin, pale wrists in his hold and sat back on his haunches, stroking his cock, taking extra care with his claws. As soon as he moved back, his fawn's tail raised straight up, revealing the furled bud that shot lust through the whole of him.
"Do we have oil still?" he asked, voice a low growl. The change was already attempting to come over him, the full moon working in accomplice with his mate's amorousness to stretch his control to its limits.
The male nodded and John was on his feet in seconds, beelining for the chipped, earthen vase filled with the oil they'd been using to slick his mate's way into his passage. And now it was to be used oppositely. He poured the liquid over his fingers and then over the fur surrounding Sherlock's hole, enchanted by the sight of the slick dirtying the lovely black curled the fingernails, now claws, into his palm, letting the pain of claw tips piercing his flesh focus him before he placed that same hand right above Sherlock's tail, keeping his mate grounded while he slid his first finger.
It was paradise. The fawn was burning heat and slick soft inside, his muscles rippling and trying to pull the wolf's finger in deeper. Both males groaned as John pulled his finger back out before thrusting back inside.
"Another," Sherlock gasped, making his mate frown with concern.
"I've barely stretched with this one," he replied, his single finger settling into a smooth rhythm.
"I can feel that," the fawn snarked back. "But-" John shoved a second finger back in and his mate let a moan like a brothel worker and fucked himself backwards on the werewolf's fingers. The ex-knight's breath caught in his chest at the sight of his mate's sensitivity, and he couldn't help but begin to fuck his fingers into that tight hot hole just a little faster, something it seemed the fawn had no shortage of appreciation for. It wasn't long before the head full of antlers was tossing back, nearing knocking John unconscious if he wasn't paying attention.
He'd barely pressed a third finger in when Sherlock gave a growl of frustration that would please the wolf and reached back, blunt fingers pressing into John's wrist. "Now, John! Mount me now!"
He hadn't even realised how close the wolf was, how close it was to getting out until his mate drew his attention away from his task. But it was there. Prowling just under his skin. Hungry for release. He hastily pulled his fingers free and crawled up right behind the other male, pressing the tip of his cock to the sopping, stretch hole.
"Last chance, love," he managed to grit out from between clenched teeth, his fingers tense as they ran through the fur along his mate's hips. "If I get inside you, I won't let you go until well after we've come. Last chance."
Sherlock's answer was blunt, as to the point as he tended to make his answers. The fawn shoved his hips back, penetrating himself on his mate's cock in one smooth motion.
John had mounted females before, and males, none of whom he'd ever had any connection to and so had never had to worry about harming because the wolf never cared for them. But the sink that slick heat devoured him, the wolf surged against the man's restraints, fighting to get free, to properly fuck, to mark. He couldn't help his fingers tightening around Sherlock's waist, his claws creating pinpricks in the delicate skin. The scent of blood in the air, of his mate's blood, sent the wolf into a bit of a frenzy, and he was suddenly fucking into that tight hole as hard as he could, needing to come, to drench his mate in his scent inside and out.
The wolf was fighting for freedom, and gaining ground in pieces. John could feel his muzzle begin to grow, his fingers and toes fusing together, hair sprouting across his skin. Despite his warning to the fawn, the second he realised the change was coming over him, whether he wanted to or not, John tried to back away. He tried to pull out and dart into the back of the cave before he could hurt his beloved mate in the fury of the change.
As soon as he began to withdraw though, Sherlock began to scramble away, towards the entrance of the cave.
The wolf took over.
Prey escaping. Mate escaping. Mate unmounted. Mate not safe.
The wolf leaped forward, landing atop of the fawn. Before the male could buck him off, he closed his jaws around the back of the delicate neck and placed his paws on his mate's shoulders, curling his claws in in warning as he pressed down. The male's shoulders hit the dirt and his arse rose into the air, the small tail shaking but raised to expose where the wolf needed to be the most.
He balanced on his hind legs and thrust his hips forward until the tip of his cock caught on the fawn's hole and then he was shoving his way inside. His mate cried out below him, bucked in place, but the wolf would not allow something so precious escape again.
His fangs and claws tightened as he shifted his weight onto his front paws, keeping his mate still while he bred him nice and proper. Even in this state, he knew they would get no youngling from the mating, but the act was still just as important. The legs on either side of his began to thrash and he growled before carefully stepping on one of his mate's hind legs, and then the other. His hind claws curled into the fawn's fur, keeping the immobilised male still and balancing the other.
Assured of his position and his mate's own helplessness, the wolf began to thrust in with quick, ruthless thrusts of his hips. Blood, prey blood, was leaking into his mouth, making him wild with abandon and he growled his approval, moving his hips faster, letting the slick heat utterly consume him.
The smell of arousal in the air was strong enough to overpower even the scent of blood, and it drove the wolf to the brink of madness, to have such tangible proof in his ability to pleasure his mate. He could feel his knot swelling, preparing to tie them together, to keep the fawn from ever trying to get away again. As it continued to swell, not yet ready to pierce the tight rim, he closed his eyes, letting his other senses expand to enjoy the tastes and smells in the air, and just as importantly the soft cries from the male below him.
The human language was still something he understood when he was in this form, but it was not the human language his mate was using now. The fawn had reverted back to his own language, bleats and grunts detailing his pleasure, his possession of his mate, pleads for harder and faster. If the wolf could grin, he would have done so as he complied.
The wolf's knot was ready within a few quick thrusts and he pierced his mate with it, claws, and fangs alike, marking him irrevocably, something the human that controlled his form the rest of the month had failed to do properly in the several moons since their mating.
His fawn screamed as the wolf's knot swelled and he emptied himself into his mate's welcome heat, feeling the way the male shuddered around him. For a pleasing amount of his time, he stayed hard and swollen in the fawn, locking them together as his cock continued to pulse wave after wave of seed into his mate. By the time his knot went down, the fawn's natural scent had nearly been covered with his own and the scent of their mating, something that had the wolf growling in pleasure as he pulled his fangs and claws from delicate skin and his cock from the overworked hole.
As soon as they were no longer tied together, the fawn collapsed, trembling, on his side, and the wolf felt the first traces of worry. He nosed at the other male's face, licking salt water from his cheeks and whining. To his surprise, his mate flopped onto his back with a sob, the long jut of his erection waving in the air. John licked his lips at the sight and moved to stand over his mate's chest, arse to the male's face so he could engulf the painfully red organ with long tongue.
Like he'd anticipated, his mate jerked, his horns hitting the wolf in the back as he curled in on himself. John growled, more a word of caution for the jagged rows of teeth he had poised over the delicate bit of flesh than a true warning, but Sherlock bucked up, thrusting his cock past his mate's fangs, seemingly too eager to be engulfed by the heat of the wolf's tongue and mouth to exercise his usual restraint. John promptly settled his weight over his mate to keep him still.
It was easy to curl his long tongue around the turgid length and lower his open maw over it, breathing hotly on the sensitive flesh. The male trapped beneath his bulk writhed uselessly as he continued working the erection, careful to keep his teeth out of the way. If he still had fingers, he would be fingering open his mate's sloppy hole and forcing him to an overwhelming orgasm. But for now, his tongue and his cock was all he had, and he'd already used one, so time for the other.
The long thin muscle was unfamiliar with this particular task, but he envisioned it wasn't much different than wearing down a juicy bone, one that he had no intention of biting. He must have been right because each rasp of the slightly rough surface of his tongue and each delicate scrape of a fang had the male bucking under him like a bull. In no time, fingers were rushing through and tugging on his fur as the fawn's desperate bleats grew in pitch. The cock wrapped in his tongue throbbed a heavy beat until, at last, his mate's voice broke and the fingers in his fur dug in as the familiar, musky liquid flooded his tongue.
The wolf lapped eagerly at the substance, coaxing more and more from the weeping slit until the other male was sobbing and trying to tug him away. John immediately relaxed his efforts, keeping his swipes gentle and keeping them to the tip of his tongue to ensure his mate's cleanliness. Not that they wouldn't have to go bathe anyway. Sherlock hated when oil dried in his fur, and the come from when the wolf marked his mate from the inside wasn't considered to be much better.
When he was satisfied, he crawled off his mate and turned around, butting his muzzle gently against his mate's, whuffing softly. Shaking arms raised and wrapped around his massive neck, tugging him to lay back down to the fawn. He would have complied, but now that it was time to rest, they were too close to the mouth of the cave. He gave a growl and stepped towards the back of the cave. There was a sound of protest from his mate and then the arms around his neck tightened. With an annoyed huff, he dragged the fawn to the back of the cave, laying him along the wall.
After poking and prodding the male until he was satisfied with his position, the wolf stood and prowled the cave, searching for any indications of unwelcome predators. When he was satisfied that his mate's scent and cries had drawn no contenders, he loped back to the lax form and flopped down in front of him, a barrier between his beloved mate and the rest of the world. An arm draped over his neck and a nose pressed to the side of his neck as Sherlock began to hum.
"See? I told you you would not harm me," the fawn declared in a slurred smugness. The wolf did not point out the blood on his claws or fangs from where he'd pierced the delicate skin, but he did let out a soft huff of disagreement as he settled down into his mate's embrace. Sherlock appeared to fall asleep near instantly, but the wolf and the soldier in John were finally in agreement, and neither would sleep this night as they watched over the mate that never failed to provide unwavering trust and devotion.
FIN
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