Unconventional Mate

Chapter Two

A/N: A note I missed in the first chapter. I'm writing this story because I've noticed a disturbing lack of slash fiction in the Women of the Otherworld category. In fact, I've only seen two so far. This series, I believe, has several amazing, and attractive, male characters that interact quite well with each other. So, I've decided to add to 's limited supply. If you guys like this fic, I might write more Women of the Otherworld slash. Also, in the next chapter, there very well might be a very graphic lemon. You have been warned.

Another wonderful thing about being a werewolf? We sober up quickly. As Clay stood in my attached bathroom, swirling mouthwash around in his mouth, I could already tell he was starting to return to normal. True, when he spit into the sink, a lot of it splashed over the side, onto the vanity. True, when he tried to close the bathroom light, he missed once before managing to flick the switch off. True, when he walked out of the bathroom and into my bedroom, his gait was a little askew. But he wasn't yelling or growling at me anymore. Not that I expected an apology, Clay could be an abrasive dick when sober. If you wanted him as a friend, you could take his personality or leave it. I chose to take it ten plus years ago, and I've never regretted my decision. Yes, Clay was a dick, but he was also the most loyal friend I've ever known, the only person aside from my father and grandfather who would take a bullet for me.

"Feeling better?" I handed him a chilled bottle of water from my room's mini-bar. He took it, but merely pressed the cool bottle against his forehead.

"I'm gonna have a hangover tomorrow, aren't I?" His voice had lost most of it's slur, his Louisiana drawl sounding almost normal.

"I've never had one, but I've only been "slightly drunk" never "throw up in a parking lot" drunk."

Clay laughed a little louder than he normally would have. Guess he was still a while away from sober. He seemed to realize this and sat down at the edge of my bed.

I pushed him down on his back and yanked off his shoes. As funny as it would be to watch him fumble to undo his laces, I wasn't in the mood for any more of his drunken antics. As it was, I would probably need to get my car reupholstered. Couldn't complain about it though, if Jeremy caught wind, he would insist on paying for it. The Danvers' had more money these days, now that Jeremy had sold his first two paintings, but he still couldn't be throwing money around all wily-nilly. I, on the other hand, had more than plenty to burn.

"Plenty to burn" extended to my entire family. Of all the pack, we were the wealthiest family with a sprawling Italianate manor large enough to for a family of thirty to each have their own bedroom. Once upon a time, the Sorrentino family was almost that large, but as of now, only four of us live in the house.

Technically, with so many guest bedrooms and an entire guest house, Clay, and all other visiting Pack wolves should be able to have their own bedroom. But, when wolves share a den, they like to all stay close. In all the times Clay has slept over here (and all the times I've slept at Stonehaven) we've always shared a room. Always shared a bed. It's a wolf thing. Really.

Clay managed to take off his own shirt while I moved on to helping him take off his jeans. As long as I've known him, Clay has only ever slept in boxers. Normally, I wear at least pants to bed, but whenever Clay stayed over, I had developed the habit of stripping down to my underwear as well. Not that Clay would ever tease me about wearing "jammies" like my other pack brothers had, he tolerated far stranger behavior without so much as batting an eye. But Clay was a person from whom I wanted respect, and I took every drop of it I could get. Even if that drop was as insignificant as bedwear, I wouldn't pass it up.

Once Clay was securely under the covers and reclining against the pillows, I moved over to the other side of the bed and climbed in. We were silent for a moment, then Clay started chuckling.

"Gay bar" he laughed, growing more voluminous with every chuckle. "Gay bar."

"Yeah, yeah" I chuckled back. "Just checking".

"What would you have done if I actually went for one of the guy's in there?" Clay asked, chuckles dying down. My own grew louder.

"What, you saying you were sweet on Mr. Tight Pants?"

"He was hardly the best looking guy in the room" Clay pointed out. Was it my imagination, or did he scoot a little closer when he said that? Nah, probably my imagination.

"Yeah" I rolled my eyes, turning over to glance at Clay. My werewolf night vision allowed me to see him clearly as I would have if the light was on. "Don't have to rub it in my face Clay. I, and every gay man in the bar who was staring, knows that you were the best looking guy who's walked in there in months."

Clay frowned momentarily. Then….yeah, no mistake that time. He definitely scooted closer, leaving only a few scant inches between us.

"What?" He asked. "You think I'm one of those guys who spends hours staring in the mirror, admiring himself? When I talk about the best looking guy, I was talking about guys I thought were good looking. Guys other than myself."

"So you were interested!" I perked up. "Ha! I wasn't that off-base after all"

His frown deepened. All laughter died on my lips when I felt him reach up and cup my face with his palm. I would have shaken him off….if my muscles hadn't chosen that precise moment to seize up.

"After all these years, you actually think id be attracted to a stranger? I wasn't attracted to any human in that bar, Nick."

Not attracted to humans? Everyone in that bar was a human. If there were any other werewolves, I would have smelled them. Clay certainly would have smelled them. Other wolves on pack territory would have meant a fight for us. There's no way there were any werewolves were there except for Clay and I. So if Clay and I were the only two wolves and Clay wasn't attracted to humans, that meant…oh shit.

I didn't have time to twist away before his lips connected with mine.