Disclaimer: See initial chapter.
A/N: Written in response to a comment left on the story on A03.
Chibs hadn't been overly thrilled when he'd been tasked with the duty of retrieving Juice. At the time, he'd thought that the boy should've been cut loose several months ago, especially with all that had happened recently.
Juice had been growing progressively unstable, and that was dangerous for all of them. Chibs had known that it was just a matter of time before everything came undone, that Juice was a ticking time bomb. He had hoped that, when Juice finally went off, it wouldn't hurt the club.
Had Chibs known just how dangerous Juice's instability really was, he'd definitely not have gone to Tina's on his own.
Retrospect, being twenty-twenty, and all that, does nothing for him now; however.
Chupacabra, he thinks, and then he shakes his head, turns to look at Juice. The boy – the man-beast – is still sleeping, and Chibs doesn't understand what happened, or why he hadn't run when he had the chance.
Doesn't understand why the fuck he'd seen the beast, and thought, beautiful, rather than, run. Doesn't understand how he recognized the man within the beast, and felt safe rather than terrified when it had looked at him.
There'd been something of Juice in the beast's eyes, when they hadn't been glowing. It was like Chibs had seen into the soul of the beast, had seen Juice beneath the layers, even though it felt like the beast had been looking into his soul.
Thinking about it – about what had happened between them – makes him dizzy and Chibs draws in a shaky breath, pushes away the memories of being taken by the beast, and fucked. Claimed. Mated.
It's odd, and confusing, and Chibs doesn't understand why he's not afraid. Why he's not angry. Why he doesn't feel … violated.
Strangely, he feels whole, and like he's been waiting for something like this to happen his whole life, and that, more than anything else, is what scares the crap out of him.
Waiting to be fucked and claimed by a chupacabra. It's the very definition of insanity, or at least one of them. Chibs snorts, and rolls onto his side, closer to Juice, lets his arm fall across the younger man's torso.
It's warm. Juice is warm. Supernaturally so. Or maybe that's just in his head. Maybe all of this is in his head.
Juice's arm wraps around him, tugs him close, and Chibs can feel the younger man's heart beating through his skin, can practically hear it. It's disorienting, and Chibs wonders what'll happen to him, to Juice, because Juice's days are numbered, and yet, Chibs knows that he can't let that particular hammer fall.
Something in Chibs' blood, his very being, is screaming the word: protection. He won't, can't, let anything happen to Juice. His will is no longer his own, and yet the thought of it, far from scaring him, thrills him, sets his teeth on edge. He can almost taste the blood, and smell the smoke and gunpowder of war. It's almost as disorienting as Juice's lips, the metallic taste of his tongue, and the way that their bodies seem to fit together when they fuck.
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