I woke to hear his breath. In the dark, it was the only piece of him I could find.
Slowly, the last twelve hours came back to me--the eater attack on the city; the fires; the assault rifles sparking from the rooftops; the wolfpeople waiting, panting, for the charge to begin; the eaters' flesh-sucking masters licking their sharp teeth in the spires of Midtown while the human guerilla armies tramped the wasted lots of the East Village.
Finally, I could feel him. He crouched beside me on the floor. His name was Seamus, and he was the alpha of the Clinton Street wolfpeople. He was tall, hairy-chested, broad-shouldered, with muscular arms and a firm, broad pony keg against the belt of his jeans. His smell was leather, cigarettes, meat, sweat. He had thick black glossy hair he greased back, a meticulous goatee, and a Texas accent; his original pack was from the Hill Country, before he was made lone and forced to start his own as a young man.
Sea leaned over to sniff me and the thick whiskers of his sideburns flicked across my cheek.
The same genetic plague that had made the eaters how they were was what made Seamus, and his parents and grandparents before him, into medical monsters normal humans called the wolfpeople. Innumerable other types of monsters existed--some strangely close to the traditional monsters of human fable and nightmare--but it was the wolfpeople who survived when the mindless hordes of the eaters, and their slightly more sentient parent-minds, devoured city after city. It had been five years since the government formally toppled; now existence was a continuing parry of life and death, and you took your safety where you found it.
Mine was in Brooklyn, with my group, but that night--the shouts--the wordless screams of the running eaters--it was all so vague--
It all came back when I realized my arms were handcuffed behind me. Gramercy. The Midtown eaters were starving, choking at their bits. They had tried to take the Garment District as a slavering, stumbling, desperate army. My team, the 3rd Scooter Calvary, had laid a daisy chain up and down 1st Avenue. A few of us stayed back to cover the retreating scooters, who were taking the injured and the evacuated with them as they went out. A flash--
Shrapnel? I wiggled all my extremities, making sure all my important bits were still attached. I felt bandages here and there. Nothing stung, nothing ached.
The others? They had to be dead. Skinny and Addle and Guido, all those civilians...
Seamus' people had obviously brought me in. They were my group's grudging allies, but they didn't trust regular humans. That would explain the handcuffs, and what appeared to be the subbasement of their Clinton Street stronghold around me.
Still crouching, Seamus checked my pulse. He was warm, and so close ... I'd known him five years, had seen him injured and scowling and laughing and drunk and had watched his mates come and go. He was alone, now, mate-less, without an alpha female willing to put up with his devotion to the fight.
He'd once told me, over stolen, warm PBRs, that I was one of the only people he trusted. I was shocked. I was a soldier and ambassador from the DUMBO Mods. I was a typical. He wasn't supposed to trust me. He wasn't even supposed to like me.
He smelled my neck again, sighed, and my eyes fluttered open. Wolfpeople were affectionate only with each other, but now and again in the past few months he'd stolen a hug or a caress from me, even in front of his people, and he didn't seem the least bit ashamed to be caught now. "You okay, baby?"
"Fine," I didn't move. His heat was so close it ached me. "The others--"
"Are you sure?" My throat felt full of ash.
"A few burns here and there. But you were the closest to the mines, honey. Ya' just bled a lot. They thought it best to bring you here, it's closer."
"And the eaters?"
"Got pushed back to Murray Hill. The West Side MPs came finally, moved out the civilians. Your commander put about six Mod units up on 26th, and they got some punks comin' in from Brooklyn Heights. One 'a our alphas, Arpeggio from Houston Street, you met him, he's rustling artillery from the line down on Center. We'll try to work 'em outta there."
"Why aren't you with him?"
"Dev and Kay went. They wanted to."
He stroked my arm. "Stay here as long as you want. Recover. We'll see to ya'." He turned, reached for something. "Have some water, baby."
As I sipped from a plastic bottle, I realized I wasn't wearing any pants, only panties, a fatigue jacket, and an undershirt. My legs were tightly bandaged, but they didn't hurt. I remembered shaving yesterday. Sweat started at my crotch and slicked my thighs.
He took the bottle away and resumed his close-but-not-too-close position at my side. I turned to look at him. He had a weird expression on his face. His thick brows were knit, his jaw set, but there was a gleam on his blue eyes. I'd never seen him look so ... concerned?
"Are you okay?" I asked.
"I was worried," he muttered, tossing his head. "You shouldn't a been so close to those mines."
"I was doing my job," I said, stung. "Sorry I can't stay in the kitchen like some girls--"
"You know what I mean: you're a fuckin' ambassador, Janey. You don't have to rush the line like some limp-dick private--"
"We're already short on soldiers, and those limp-dick privates were trying to keep your pups and bitches safe--"
He put a hand on my waist. "I'm thinking about keepin' you safe, too, honey."
There was a moment where nothing happened.
Then he put his arms around me from the back, pulled me to him, and held me like that. So warm, and tight. I felt him breathe against me, felt his chest shudder against my back. He nuzzled me and then, startling and strange and yet so right, he lightly bit my nape and licked my neck and ear.
"Sea..." I murmured.
He nipped me again. "This is okay?"
I nodded, slowly, stunned.
He traced my arms with his blunt claws, his calluses catching my skin. "And this?"
I felt lightheaded in a way that had nothing to do with the injuries. "Yes."
He trailed his hands from my belly to my hips, my ass, then he reached between my legs and rubbed the crotch of my sopping panties. Rubbing turned to fingering, and a sweet, deep pang spread out from my clit and turned my pussy to butter. "And this is okay," he whispered, "right?"
He had no idea how okay it was. He was the basis of all my major masturbation fantasies: him naked, him in nothing but tattered jeans, him working his family's ranch, dappled with sweat, him fucking me in an alley. Thoughts of him alone could make me hot. I rolled toward him and spread my legs.
He let out a low groan and slid his fingers into my panties. His fingertips spread my vulva, his thumb flicked my clit, then laid against it flat. I gasped. Slowly, he rubbed his thumb right to left, and feelers of pleasure tickled my toes and nipples.
"You can't--" he muttered, his voice husky, "You can't know how much I wanted this ... all this time, Janey..."
I shut my eyes. This had to be a dream. His mates and lovers were she-wolf babes, amazons, and modelesque warriors. I was a short freckled nearsighted typical with too many piercings and a penchant for ugly boots.
My wrists hurt where they were handcuffed behind me. He turned me over to undo them.
"No," I said. "Keep 'em."
Wordlessly, he flipped me onto my back. I felt him nudge open my fatigue jacket and slide one hand up my shirt and the other back into my drenched panties. He flicked the ring in one nipple, then leaned over and sucked it through my shirt as his fingers entered me.
I arched my back, moaned, and he took my whole tit in his mouth, biting and snarling and licking through my t-shirt with his long, dog-like tongue. He shoved his thick fingers in and out of my cunt, diving deeper and deeper every time. The cold zipper of his leather jacket fell across my thighs.
He sat up, hunkered down, and laid his body against mine. His erection was evident against the front of his jeans. He grabbed my hair in one fist and with his other hand he yanked my panties down, opened the front of his pants, and pressed his cock against my labia. I struggled to look down and caught sight of his penis, this long, thick length of hard, pulsing flesh, ridged and pink and thatched at the base with thick fur like it was in my dreams. He was easily eight inches.
He twitched his wrist and yanked my face back up to his, then parted my vulva with the head of his dick. It was hot, and I was wet. I thrust my hips against him. It would be so easy for him to slide into me.
He gripped my hair. "Not yet," he murmured.
I grunted in frustration. My pussy ached and dripped, the pressure from his dick parting me and paining my hips.
He grinned, pointy-toothed, and pressed his mouth to mine, parting my lips with his tongue. He filled me, utterly, groaning into my mouth as he grabbed my right tit and squeezed. His cock entered me, just the head. My cunt knotted with want.
"Oh," I murmured.
"Beg," he groaned.
"Come in me," I said, my mouth dry, my temples sweaty. "Shove that dick in me and come."
"Oh yeah?" He pushed his belly to me, but his dick didn't budge. "Say it."
He sat up, cock bobbing, and with one hand yanked my panties completely off. He took my ankles, bent my legs at the knee over his shoulders, and buried his face between my thighs.
My hips bucked on their own. "Oh fuck me!"
His lips parted me and his tongue flicked into my hot, aching cunt. I'd had no idea how thick and long and hot his tongue was all this time. He nibbled my labia gently with his fangs and I cried out from reflex. I could hear him lapping at me sloppily, slurping on the juices that couldn't seem to stop coming out of me.
He flattened his tongue against my clit and toyed it back and forth. I felt my back twitch and catch, I gasped, moaned, and crushed my eyes shut. He groaned into my pussy as he ate me forcefully. His fingers entered me, then disappeared; next thing I knew he was picking me up by the ass and grinding his face into my wetness, devouring me as he growled.
I shrieked. My back gave out, all the tension coursing through me came out in a wave of pleasure. My orgasm felt like fire.
I went limp in his arms, sweat and heat coursing from my body. Seamus skinned my shirt up to my chin and bit my breasts, leaving faint marks, and batted at my nipple rings with his tongue. He moved his way up my shoulders, my neck, slobbered in my ear--I moaned as he nipped my earlobe--then planted his mouth over mine and filled me again. I tasted my wetness, faintly musky, on his tongue.
He pulled away. "You wanna be fucked?"
"I want it bad," I panted.
I didn't finish. I was so wet the head of his cock slipped past my hot opening in a second, and then, suddenly, all of him was in me with a bright sharp pinch.
He arched his back, growled, tossed his head. "God, you're so tight!"
I moaned, harshly. I had no other words, it was such a close fit. He pulled back, and then shoved all of himself back in me, striking a bundle of nerves somewhere near my cervix. I cried out. It spurred him. Suddenly he was bucking and thrusting, his claws gripping my thighs. He grabbed me and jerked me onto him as he sat up. He filled me to the hilt, his thick pubic hair wet and sweating all over my pussy.
His claws scrabbled at my back as we thrust against each other. Every move sent my tits bouncing. Both of us grunted and moaned, grinding into each other like rutting animals. He bit my shoulder so hard I felt the skin break. Pain and pleasure twined and melted.
Our eyes met at some point. He took my head in his hands and stared me in the face, studying me as we pounded each other. I could hear the chain of the handcuffs jingling, the slap of my sweaty pigtails on my neck, the wet sound of our bodies meeting.
He kissed me, slowed his thrusting. Each jab became something planned, forceful, thoughtful. He took my hips in his hands and forced himself deep...
...Then splayed me flat on my back on the floor, his cock embedding itself inside me with a jolt of delicious, wet pain. My body and his collided. All my nerves cried out at once, every muscle twitched and loosed like a taut string being cut. We came in this spasm of need and slickness, I felt my pussy fill with his hot thick come.
He lay flat on top of me, groaning, his wet t-shirt sticking to my tits. There was no moving, we were both too exhausted.
Again, he kissed me, and trailed his wet mouth down my neck as he pulled himself out. I felt a sweet pinch as his dick's head left me. He looked down at my body. I was spread-eagled, handcuffed, and naked from the tits down.
"This is too good," he panted.
"So do me again," I said.
He stripped off his jacket, his shirt, removed his boots and pants. The dark hair on his chest was all over the rest of his body. I loved a big hairy man, so much to taste and touch. Under Sea's pelt--thick for a man but thin for an animal--there were tattoos: dog-skulls, a crucifix, a Texas flag, and a couple melted, broken, and pierced hearts. His dick, even flaccid, was impressive. It still glistened with our come.
"Help me up," I said.
He pushed me to my knees, and I bowed over his dick. I engulfed him with my wet hot mouth, then slowly dragged my lips up his cock and sucked hard on the head, the tip of my tongue flicking the tender spot just underneath. He grabbed my braids and pulled my face down on his dick till the head struck the soft tissue of my throat. I bobbed in place a few moments, pulled him back out, then, faster and faster, rocked my mouth up and down his throbbing shaft.
"Oh," he cried. "Oh baby. You suck so good, honey."
I clenched my lips around his dick and shut my eyes. Faster, harder, the taste of our bodies filling my mouth, his smell of flesh and sex and smoke inside my nostrils. The veins in his cock pulsed forcefully. I knew he was going to come any second.
"I wanna hear your voice, baby."
I moaned around his dick. He moaned in return. "Baby, tell me you love it, tell me, oh baby tell me!"
His come exploded in my throat. It was bittersweet, tasted like a stout thick beer. I swallowed every bit.
He pulled my head up by my hair--how did he ever know I liked being submissive? Was it one of those wolfperson things? Psychic knowledge of basic sexual proclivities?--and pulled me on top of him, holding my head to his broad furry chest and spreading my legs over his hips. He cupped my ass in his hands. His full belly swelled against me, I could hear his heart beating.
"I want a mate like you," he muttered.
I grunted noncommittally. Men always said that after sex.
He touched my back, gently, the raised scratches from his claws. "Lemme be your alpha, baby."
Again, I grunted. It was no secret how wolfpeople and regular people disliked each other, even though they were allies, and since wolfpeople were naturally stronger and keener there was no way anyone would see us as equals. And no way he could ever make me one of them. Their mutation wasn't capable of being passed on through bites or scratches, it took alleles, chromosomes, procreation. In turn, there was no way for him to turn his appearance off, like a werewolf could. We were stuck in our separate worlds.