LGBTFEST Fic: When Everything is Remembered...Part Two
cont'd from here
The Change, once begun, progresses swiftly. Every muscle, every nerve and even bone screams with a thunderous pain unlike any other as the body stretches, breaks and reforms, and even, in the case of the heart, for a moment dies.
It is impossible what the curse does to the human body...and the human mind. Control is non-existent, helplessness rules. The inevitable always happens, just as it happens when a body falls from a window to the hard pavement below. Once started on its journey, it can't be stopped.
But at least, as human being becomes wolf, the mind fractures as well as the body, and the memories of the pain endured are forgotten.
Not so in the reverse. Everything then is remembered.
He could never move immediately upon awakening. It wasn't only the sizzling ghosts of agony that froze him to the ground where he'd passed out after he'd changed back to normal again, but fear. The remnants of the wolf were still in his mind, but only remnants now. He could never remember exactly what the wolf had done. Where he'd gone.
What he might've killed. Or who.
He couldn't open his eyes; they still wouldn't cooperate. His forehead throbbed, a thin line of pain. He could barely breathe, and exhaustion pulled hard at him, pulling him deeper into the rough bed of dead leaves. He could sense the sun had yet to rise but it would soon. Then, he would have to force himself to get up, figure out his location and how to get back to the hostel. But not yet. There was time enough to let the pain fade, time enough for healing sleep. He couldn't move anyway.
His still-heightened senses burned with the taste and scent of blood, the wind caressed his naked body and rustled trees overhead, and a lonely call of a bird stung his ears. Wherever he was, it was in a forest somewhere. At least he hoped so.
Even though this was only his fourth change, he'd come to dread this part the most; the remnants of agony, the ache, the awareness of the full meal in his belly. He didn't want to think about what he'd hunted, caught, eaten. He couldn't handle it. He couldn't handle any of it, except he had no choice.
Pulling his body tighter into a ball, George shuddered, feverishly racking his brain in a futile attempt to remember what he'd done, how he'd ended up here. Wherever here happened to be. Impossible of course. The only thing he remembered was feeling devastatingly alone as the long night passed. As far as he knew he was the only one of his kind except for the wolf who changed him, a lone wolf hungry, so terribly hungry for food, for a mate. He curled his aching hands over his groin, embarrassment at his aroused state making his body heat even though he was just as alone as the wolf. It only took a moment to relieve that pain, at least, but the effort exhausted him.
He fell back into a fitful sleep.
* * *
The last vestiges of torment dissipate and urgency takes over--to flee, to hide, to explain. From wolf to rabbit in a matter of hours.
"Are you certain he's all right? He's got blood all over him," a woman's voice said.
George startled, then stilled. He quickly took an assessment of himself. The relief he'd given himself earlier had been temporary. Except that, and a throbbing on his forehead, he was okay. Then he realized, oh my God, that he'd been found. Shame filled him, his body heated and he had to fight the instinct to bolt. He held still as he could, hoping they would just go away, knowing they wouldn't. Of course, just his luck two good Samaritans had to run across his path. Dying would be nice.
A male voice, when it answered, was tinged with unmistakable disbelief. "I think so." A shuffling noise. George could sense him crouching. He shivered when a hand touched his shoulder. "Very odd," the man murmured. "There's blood, but I don't see any injuries except the cut on his forehead. Just--" A soft snort. "Might've been a meeting gone wrong, or he had too much to drink." The man bent closer to George.
"A rendezvous?"
"You know."
"Yes yes, I know what you meant. I'm just saying that means maybe his clothes might be around here still after all. You think he was assaulted then?"
George flinched. The man squeezed his shoulder.
"Can you hear me? Are you all right? What's your name? I think he's waking up."
"I should call an ambulance--"
"No, no not yet. There's no alcohol that I can smell. I think he's just been sleeping, is coming around."
"He might've been attacked, Andy. He needs to be taken to hospital."
The man removed his hand. Andy. "You're probably right. That cut might need stitches. But we can take him and drop him off. It's almost time for lunch, we can eat in the café."
The woman moved away. "You can take him. I have a lunch date."
She said it crisply. Almost...proudly. Who were these people? George opened his eyes a slit. Saw polished shoes, black trousers, and a glimpse of yellow.
Oh, God no. Coppers. Andy the Copper and his annoyed partner. Marvelous.
"Oh?"
"With Rhys."
"That fat oaf?" Andy the Copper muttered.
"What did you say?" the woman demanded.
"Nothing. That's nice, I meant."
"That's not what you said."
The man rose. "Gwen--"
"Forget it Andy. I thought you might at least be happy for me."
"I just meant--"
"Forget it. I'll look for his clothes again."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that," the man said, calling after her. George opened his eyes just enough to see a flash of uniform, swinging black hair stomping off, her rapid footsteps noisily kicking aside everything in her wake. It hurt his ears.
"Bloody hell. What can she possibly see in that bloke?" The man sighed. "Well, guess that leaves you and me. Whoever you are."
George let his eyes drift shut. Something slightly scratchy but warm settled over his body. A blanket. Fatigue pulled at him, all he wanted to do was bury himself into the leaves, and sleep. It was too soon, too early. Except, they'd said it was almost lunch? He wondered just how far he'd run this time, to need to sleep so long.
He struggled to open his eyes. The man--Andy the Copper--crouched next to him, concern etching his face. He smiled at George when he realized George was looking at him.
"Welcome back."
George tensed, once again fought the instinct to flee. But the copper looked fit enough to catch him. He cleared his throat, hoping his voice would work well enough. When he spoke though, it came out cracked, harsh. "Where am I?"
Andy the Copper, he just had to be a bloody copper, looked around himself as if he weren't too certain either. He ran a hand through his short blond hair, making the curls spring up in the damp air. He sighed.
"Cardiff. Caravan Park."
George groaned, closing his eyes. Cardiff. Miles and miles from his hostel in Newport.
"Fantastic," he said, draping an arm over his eyes. He jerked his arm back, touched his forehead. A cut, covered with dried blood. Then he remembered the throbbing in his head.
"Do you remember how you got here? You weren't-- Were you attacked by someone? There's blood, but I didn't find any injuries except that cut. It's pretty deep."
George dropped his arm. "You...examined me?"
Andy the Copper shrugged. "My partner stepped away. Don't worry."
George closed his eyes, humiliation creeping over him. Knowing, oh God, knowing what the copper must've seen, realized he'd done, laying there. He pushed himself up on his elbows, not meeting the copper's eyes. "Thanks."
"No worries. I couldn't wake you. Had to make certain you weren't seriously injured."
He winced at the abuse his body had taken--he could feel the bruises--held up his hand which was splotched with blood. "I wasn't." He touched his head.
"It's pretty deep. Head wounds bleed a lot."
"I know that."
The copper grimaced. "Sorry. Might I ask what you were doing here?"
How could he explain? He couldn’t explain. He gingerly sat up the rest of the way, taking care to keep himself covered. "I'd rather not say. "
"Okay then. Not required." The copper grinned. "I'll just put that you declined to answer. Anyone can draw their own conclusions."
George smiled wryly. "Maybe you should put I was fishing."
"Lake's a mile from here and no fishing allowed. I'd have to arrest you."
George looked at him, alarmed. "You're not going to arrest me, are you?"
Andy the Copper looked surprised, shook his head. "No no, of course not. Lounging about naked in leaves isn't an offense. I think." He grinned, making George relax, a little. "Long as there wasn't a complaint. Which there wasn't," he added. "We just happened to find you."
"Thanks. I appreciate that. I think." He started to get up. He couldn't bear lying about like a dog on the ground another second.
Andy put a hand on his shoulder. "Don't try to get up yet."
But George pushed himself to his feet anyway, wrapping the blanket tighter around himself. He stilled for a second as a wave of dizziness came over him. It passed though, and he looked down at himself. Leaves and twigs clung to the blanket, his legs. He brushed them off but only a shower would get rid of the grime. His fingernails were dirty, too.
"I'm fine. I think." He stretched, twisting his head about, feeling the ache ease a little. Andy the Copper also stood, his hands on his hips, watching. George winced at the scrutiny, but he could just imagine what he'd think, finding a naked man curled up in leaves.
Cardiff. He was in Cardiff for chrissakes. He'd never been to Cardiff in his life. He had no idea how he'd ended up here, but he was far, far away from where he'd left his clothes. So much for those jeans.
"I'm P.C. Davidson, by the way. P.C. Andy Davidson."
"A copper. I figured that out."
"And you are--"
"George."
"George. Just George?"
"George..." He sighed. What did it matter? "George Sands. I'm not under arrest, am I, right? I can go?"
But P.C. Davidson shook his head. "No, like I said, no. That cut needs stitches, so I'll take you to the hospital. "
The copper pulled closer to him. He was a few inches taller than George. He peered at George's forehead, brown eyes narrowing as he examined the cut. George held still, the proximity of the other man making his heart beat faster. He mentally cursed the beast, startled that obviously there were still remnants of the wolf's adrenaline surging through him, enough that he'd react to whatever human stood next to him. Even a bloke. He stepped back, and Andy looked down at him, surprise flitting across his eyes. He gave George a quick smile.
"Sorry. Didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," Andy said, gentling his voice.
George clenched his hands, a slight edge of panic tripping through him as his heart raced and his cock stiffened. Bewildered, he drew the blanket tighter, very grateful for having it. "I'm fine. No problem. Really. Fine. Just a little jumpy," he said with a laugh that wasn't funny at all. "No offense."
Andy eyed him, a little puzzled, then raised one eyebrow. "It's all right." He took a deep breath, stepped back and swooped down, picking up a hat George hadn't even noticed, and put it on his head.
Oh God, did he realize? George thought frantically.
"It's an awful lot of blood. Head wounds can bleed a lot but I don't think it is from just that. Any idea what the blood is from?"
An image sprang to George's mind. "Rabbit."
Andy's eyes widened. "Rabbit? It's all over your face."
"I--" George clamped his mouth shut.
"Are you certain no one else was with you? Maybe... met a bloke here in the woods, perhaps it went a little wrong--"
George stared at him in horror, pulling the blanket tight. This was even worse! "No, of course not! You think--" He looked around. "Oh. Guys come here to... Oh."
P.C. Davidson nodded. "Yes."
"I didn't!"
Andy raised his hands. "It's all right! Don't worry. It was just a possibility I had to ask about. If someone else had done this to you, I mean."
"Well the possibility is impossible, because that's not how, why..." He backed into a tree, shaking his head, willing himself to calm down. Especially his cock. "No, that didn't happen at all. I promise!"
"Easy, Mr. Sands. I'm not trying to upset you." P.C. Davidson lifted his hands in appeasement. George then realized he'd sounded near hysterical. He also realized the copper didn't believe him. Then realized--that was probably a good thing. An excuse more believable than the truth. His face heating, he turned away. "Let's take you out of here then. Go to the car, take you to the hospital. Get you cleaned up. Will that be acceptable?"
Slowly George nodded. It wasn't like he had a choice.
* * *
It'd been hours since P.C. Andy had dropped him off at the hospital. He'd declined Andy's offer to come in, just wanting to get this over with. George sat alone in an examining room, a blanket covering him. He'd washed as well as he'd could in the basin while waiting, not wanting to endure any more questions about the blood, and the dirt, and the bruises. After a moment's hesitation he tossed off into the toilet. The remedy would be short term. His hormones would keep raging for days.
It had taken only a few minutes to stitch up his forehead, but by the time he was left alone again, almost three hours had passed. Mid-afternoon already.
The door opened, making him startle. A woman carrying a plastic-covered package under her arm and holding a clipboard walked in and stood inside the door. She barely looked at him, busily writing notes. George waited. Finally she nodded, stuck the pen in her pocket and looked up.
"Well, you're released, Mr. Sands," the woman said with a smile. She held out the package. He looked at her, puzzled. "Scrubs. Given you didn't have anything but a blanket."
George took the package. "Thank you."
"Sorry I couldn't find any shoes. Are you certain there's no one we can call? Come pick you up? You can't walk out barefoot."
"No, no no, I'll be fine. I--" No shoes. "I'll...I'm not far from here."
She frowned. "Newport? It's actually not close at all."
"Oh. I have a friend. I'll call him. Her," he said in a rush. "I'll be fine." He pushed off the table, holding the blanket around himself. "Thank you again."
She frowned, then shrugged. "All right then. Sign this."
George took the proffered pen, then scribbled his name on the form. Smiled at the woman, breathed a sigh of relief when she left.
Ripping open the package, he pulled the scrubs out, tossing the wrapper in the bin. He'd just started to pull the trousers on, wishing he had some y-fronts, when someone knocked at the door. He tightened up the trousers. "Come in."
The door pushed open as George reached for the scrub shirt. To his shock, P.C. Andy Davidson poked his head in. He smiled. "Well, you're looking much better."
George froze for a second. "You came back?"
"Off duty. Figured you could use a lift home. Starting to rain." He walked into the room, nodding at the scrubs, the shirt in George's hand. Andy no longer wore his uniform, but a striped shirt, jeans and trainers. "At least you have some clothes now," Andy said.
George looked down at the shirt. "Oh. Yes." He pulled it on, careful not to touch his forehead, conscious of Andy the Copper, except now he was just plain Andy, watching him. "You didn't have to do that," he said, straightening the shirt.
Andy shrugged. "I don’t mind." He frowned at George's bare feet. "No shoes?"
George looked down at his feet. "No."
"Well then. We'll go by my place. I have some extra trainers that should fit." He grinned. "Might be a bit big, but they'll do until you get home."
George hesitated. He hadn't expected to see Andy again, had been mulling over his reaction to the other man ever since he'd been left to his interminable wait for someone to stitch up his head. He'd come to no conclusion other than he needed to get his leg over with someone. Anyone. Soon.
Andy waited expectantly, patiently, while George warred with himself. The ride to the hospital, he in the back and Andy and his partner sitting in stony silence up front, George was grateful to be let off and allowed to walk in on his own. Very grateful.
But now, he felt an uncharacteristic nervousness come over him at the thought of being alone with Andy Davidson. But, an excitement too. Why.
Damn wolf. Had to be the wolf. He was not into blokes!
Then why, as he passed Andy out of the room, did a shiver pass through him?
To be a werewolf, was to be alone. Always.
* * *
"Nice," George said as he padded barefoot into the bedsit. Small, but cozy, bright lights and plants. A pang of longing hit him. A home, would he ever have one? Film posters decorated the walls. X-Files, Terminator. But classics, too, like Invasion of the Saucer-Men and Metropolis. The Day the Earth Stood Still. He loved those films, wondered if Andy had copies, especially of Metropolis.
Not that he intended to stay around long enough to see them.
A telescope had been placed next to a window, beside a desk on which a rather nice computer sat. It'd been left on. A black and white cat with a single golden eye sat sphinx-like on an overburdened bookshelf, tail swishing. Best to avoid it. He had no idea how a cat would react to the traces of wolf still in him. It didn't look amused.
"Thanks," Andy said, closing the door behind him. "Make yourself comfortable. I'll go fetch the shoes. Oh, and that's Honkridge. Careful," he said when George took a step toward him though he'd had no intention of petting the cat. "He's pretty vicious, not friendly at all. My girlfriend stuck him with me." He frowned. "Ex-girlfriend. Right."
"What happened to his eye?"
Andy reached up and ran his hand down the cat's back. It closed its eye, pouring itself into Andy's touch. He grinned. "Came defective," he said, scratching under the receptive cat's chin. Seemed friendly enough to George. At least, to Andy.
George sat on the couch. There were numerous magazines on the coffee table. He looked around, saw several stacks of magazines. Pushing himself off the couch he looked at one of the stacks. Obviously well-thumbed copies of Pegasus, and George smiled at these, The Flying Saucer Review and Fortean Times. Interesting hobby, P.C. Andy Davidson had. George wondered if Andy was believed in little green men.
Or in werewolves.
"Oh. Are you into astronomy?"
George turned, still holding an Astronomy Now as Andy walked in, a pair of well-worn trainers in his hand. He looked nervous. That made two of them, he realized.
"Do you believe in UFO's?"
Andy hesitated, then smiled with a shrug. "I believe we're not alone," he said, his eyes darting from the magazine to George and back again. "I'm not one of those lunatics who chases after possible sightings." He hesitated. "At least, not most of the time."
George set the magazine down, straightened with a wince. "I guess anything is possible. Why not?"
Andy's face brightened. "I like to think so too. It would be rather egotistical, I think, to believe nowhere else but earth could produce human beings." He frowned. "You aren't a religious man, are you?"
"I'm Jewish. Not practicing." He shrugged. "I've lost my interest lately. But I think there's no real way of knowing what's possible until you see it or experience it yourself." He set the magazine down, crossing his arms over his chest. "I think," he said, then thought why not? "I think there are aliens, yes. Whether they're here or not, I don't know. But I'd like to think so." He pointed at the trainers, which looked at least two sizes bigger than he wore. "For me?"
Andy looked down at the trainers, then handed them to George. "Oh. Yes. Did they feed you? At the hospital I mean."
"No, I haven't eaten since...last night."
"Good! The food there is terrible." He hesitated. "Unless you need to get back, I can run to Tesco's, it's just down the street, and make us some dinner. If that sounds good to you." He stuffed his hands in his pockets, rocking on the balls of his feet. "Thought you might want to take a shower."
George hesitated. A shower sounded wonderful, he felt sticky, grimy. And, he definitely could use something to eat. He had nothing back at the hostel. And, he really didn't want to leave just yet. Andy the confident copper had disappeared, replaced by a different Andy who seemed to be...flustered. By him?
By him. He thinks I'm gay... George shook his head, wondering what he was doing. But, he really didn't want to leave. A hot shower and a good meal before he left, well, what was the harm in that?
"No," he said, dropping the trainers to the floor. Andy's face blanked. "No! I mean, I wasn't shaking my head at you, I was just shaking my head at--" He clasped his hands together. "I would love a shower. I would love dinner. Are you certain you don't mind? I've already put you to too much trouble."
Are you out of your mind?
Andy smiled "No, of course not. No trouble at all. Here, I'll show you the bathroom," Andy said, motioning George to follow him down the short hallway. He pushed a door open. George passed him, and once again, the nearness of the other set his skin tingling. "There's towels, and shampoo and soap. I have other clothes, too, if you'd rather wear those."
"The scrubs are fine. I hate to ask this, but-- I'm missing more than shoes."
Andy grinned. "I have a brand-new package of boxers. Mam sent them," he said, shaking his head. "They have--well, I'll get them. Remember, they're from my mother. I wasn't the one who picked them out."
Andy took off, leaving George alone. He pulled the shower curtain back and turned on the water. Shampoo, soap, clean towels, everything he needed. He held his hands under the water--cold. He could use a cold shower.
Peeling off the shirt, he folded it and set it aside. Then he looked at himself in the mirror, and winced. He looked as if he'd been in a fight. And lost, badly.
Bruises splotched his chest. More than just the cut on his forehead had marked him; it looked as if he'd run straight through bushes, he had so many red streaks over upper body. His eyes strayed to the scars on his left shoulder. Reaching up, he touched them gingerly--he swore they still hurt. That they would always hurt.
His scars ran deep, searing him to his soul, ripping him to shreds every time he looked at them. They would fade in time, he hoped, but it'd only been four months since the attack and they were still an angry red.
Leaning against the counter he closed his eyes, dropped his head. Why was he still here? He had no right, no cause to be in this man's home, taking advantage of his kindness. He should get a cab and go straight home.
Except, he didn’t want to. He didn't want to be alone. He hated being alone. He was always alone. Never talked to anyone at the hostels he stayed at, never stayed anywhere for long. Too much danger in that, too tempting to allow a careless hello to become a conversation. To move from the anonymity he'd created for himself to the dangers of being understood. The danger of being cared about by someone else.
He couldn't let that happen. Sliding his hand down his stomach, he rubbed his stiffening cock. He couldn't believe this. Normally, he would never let himself think of blokes like this. Like... Oh God, he wanted to be touched, to be held, to connect to someone. To Andy Davidson.
He opened his eyes, saw a jean-clad leg in the mirror. Oh God. He dropped his hand. So mired in his misery, he hadn't sensed Andy's approach. He wondered how long Andy had stood there, watching him. And, what he'd thought as he'd watched George rub himself like some teenage boy desperate for release.
He raised his head, caught Andy's gaze in the mirror. Andy quickly schooled his expression. Their gazes locked. George swallowed, hard, but there wasn't any recrimination or disgust on Andy's face.
Just one night, what is the harm of just one night, being with someone interesting and nice?
Andy stepped into the bathroom, a new package of boxers in his hand, as promised. He set them down, glanced at George again, then as George watched, Andy's gaze drifted to the claw marks on his shoulder. "You're not going to tell me you're a lion tamer by day, are you?"
George shook his head. "No, it was just...an accident."
"Pitchfork?"
George laughed at that. "Something like that." He picked up the boxers. They had Snoopy on them. He broke open the package, took out the red pair with a goggled Snoopy flying his Sopwith Camel, mouth open, one fist raised in triumph. "I like these." He held them up. "Why did your mother send you these?"
Andy grinned sheepishly. "I had a beagle named Snoopy when I was a kid. I collected him for awhile, but ever since, anytime she runs across something--" He ran one hand through his hair. "Well, you know mothers."
A pang passed through George and he realized that Andy saw it. "My mum still sends me biscuits," he said, shocked at how easily the lie fell from his lips. But Andy looked relieved. He didn’t have to know that George hadn't seen his mum in almost a year. He and his fiancée were to go see her after the holiday that ruined his life, tell her about getting married, show her the ring George had bought. But that hadn't happened. Never would.
Steam had started to fill the bathroom. "Oh," George said, reaching in and turning the cold water on. "Sorry about that. Wasting it."
"It's all right. It always takes forever to get hot. I'll just go to the shop now."
George turned back toward Andy, and looked up, realizing just how small the bathroom was. How vastly different in height they were. Andy stood mere inches from him, and now, George realized, his face had flushed a little. As had his own. "Good. Good then, I won't take long, wasted enough as it is."
"It's okay," Andy said, not moving, not tearing his gaze from George's. George couldn't move either. A second later, he had no idea who had moved first. Him, he suspected, but it was enough.
* * *
Time slows itself as the change takes over, makes the pulse jump wildly, the body's temperature rise in response. Respiration becomes rapid as adrenalin builds. What seemed impossible a moment before suddenly becomes all too real. What was once undreamed of, becomes reality.
Excitement takes over as reluctant acceptance is reached. Then, all thoughts of fleeing are overwhelmed by the primal urge to embrace.
George pulled away from Andy, where he'd pushed him against the bathroom wall and thoroughly kissed him like he'd never kissed anyone before in his life. He hadn't even known he was capable of kissing someone else so deeply. He took several deep breaths, his eyes searching Andy's.
But if he thought he might find horror there, or even fear fear me he realized neither existed.
Andy's smile was hesitant, surprised maybe, okay a lot, but George's sudden nagging doubt disappeared in a poof. Well, most of it. George gulped, rubbed his hand over his chest and looked away. "I, well, I-- Well, sorry about," George raised his hands, turned back to the shower. "I guess I'd better--"
"Wait!" Andy grabbed his arm, whipping George back to face him. He blinked, waited, hope hope? building in his chest. Andy released him, ran a hand over his mouth, then stopped, smiling beneath his hand. He dropped it. "Actually, you kiss damn well."
George sucked in his breath. "I do?"
Andy nodded. "Yeah. Really."
George said, "So did you."
"You liked it?"
All George could do was nod. Andy reached for his hand, tugged him close. "Mind if we--" He cocked his head to the side, a smile curving his lips.
George realized his pulse raced like crazy, it'd been so long since something beside It had done that to him he found himself nodding eagerly like a little kid. He let himself be pulled back to Andy. That was all George needed, really.
All sense of frantic urgency disappeared the second his lips met Andy's again. Warm, welcoming, Andy opened his mouth, his tongue lazily coaxing George's to follow its lead. George closed his eyes, a groan that was more whimper as Andy's warm hand slid down his gritty back. Andy chuckled as George pressed his body against him, and then, feeling brave, rutted against him. Hard too, George thought, not knowing why he was surprised. Of course Andy was hard. He was hard. Unbelievably so.
Remnants of the wolf.
He pushed that aside. Pushed all thoughts of It aside, though he couldn't deny how aching stiff he was, how hungry he was for human touch. For this. For Andy.
"You feel so damn good," he whispered hoarsely. He pulled Andy close, relishing the feel of another against him. Andy's arms went around him; instinctively, George squeezed him tight. The embrace shifted into a full-out hug. George buried his face in Andy's neck, digging his hands into Andy's shirt, clenching his teeth hard at the near-overwhelming desire to unleash fiercely-guarded emotions.
Andy's touch gentled, his hands rubbing up and down George's back. Unspoken sympathy, though George knew there was no way Andy could ever, ever understand why the man he'd found naked in the woods would, at that moment, freeze time forever if he could.
"You're Gritty," Andy said, relaxing his hold.
George pulled back, not looking at Andy, looking away from the tent his cock made in the scrubs.
He snorted softly, resisted the urge to wipe his arm across his face like a little child.
"Yes." He glanced at the shower. Steam still rose from it. He hadn't wasted it all yet. "Good hot water heater."
Andy laughed. "Yeah, guess so. It won't last much longer though. Want me to join you?"
George snapped his head back to Andy, looked up into his smiling face. "You're serious?"
Andy nodded. "I've never taken a shower with a bloke. Always thought it sounded fun. I could use a good scrub myself. You do my back, I'll do yours--"
"I-- You haven't done this before?" George shook his head. "I'm sorry, you aren't, well, gay are you?"
Andy peeled off his shirt in response, undid his jeans, kicked them and his y-fronts off. Straightening, hands on his hips, he said, "No." He paused, then shook his head. "I don't know. I like women." He snorted. "Then again, women don't seem to like me," he said. He sighed. George wanted to ask him why he looked so sad, but then remembered his girlfriend had broken up with him recently. He knew how that felt.
"I had a fiancée."
Andy's eyes focused on his. "Had? Well. Reason enough for us to give this a try then. Sounds good to me." He clapped his hands together. "No harm done if it doesn't work out."
He stared at Andy's chest, taken a little aback. Was this what it could be like with another bloke? Two...friends, kissing and having fun, then going their separate ways? He took a deep breath, and looked down. Andy's cock stared up at him, patiently waiting for him to finish arguing with himself so they could get down to business. Yehareg ve'al ya'avor!
"Stop over-thinking it, George."
George blinked, opened his mouth to say something, to argue, but ended up shaking his head in wonder. "Is it really this simple?"
Andy nodded, folding his arms over his chest. "Usually simpler. Most blokes wouldn't still be thinking things over whilst a naked man stood in front him. A willing naked man."
George found himself smiling, and nodding. He reached up and quickly kissed Andy on the lips.
Seconds later, his scrub bottoms lay heaped on the floor, they stood under the hot shower spray, lips locked, bodies pressed tightly together.
George's mouth sought Andy's, his tongue entwining with the other's as hands groped shamelessly over Andy's body. He felt so good. So different from a woman, no curves where there would be, but firmness in all the right spots. The texture of Andy's chest hair fascinated George. Now, he didn't resent the wolf's extra sensitivity all that much.
Andy waited, wearing a blissful smile as George, permission granted, explored the other man's body. The chest hair, the play of the muscles beneath his hands...Andy's height not to mention, when he finally allowed himself to get a close look...oh God, his cock! He had such a nice cock. He wanted it, somehow but realized he couldn't ask.
He just hoped Andy knew what they were doing because he certainly didn't. But he could touch it. Looking up at Andy, who nodded, George trailed his fingers Andy's chest, reaching his belly button, and the thin line of hair beneath it. He hesitated, so close to the tip of Andy's cock. The ache to touch it grew deeper.
"Uncircumcised," he said.
"Not Jewish, myself," Andy said, grinning. Then Andy took George's hand, squirted some shampoo into it, and placed it on his cock. "Not lube, but it will work well enough."
George stilled, Andy's hand still cover his, Andy's cock--hot, thick, pulsing and slick with the shampoo--beneath his hand. He wrapped his fingers around it. Andy motioned for him to stroke; when George did, sliding his hand up and down the cock shaft, Andy released him, leaned against the wall, eyes closed.
Grateful Andy had closed his eyes George watched what he was doing. The shampoo made bubbles. He would never look at a bubble again without remembering this moment. That thought made him a little sad, as he was reminded that this would be the only time for this. It was too dangerous.
Shaking the thought out of his he, he concentrated on what he was doing. He wanted Andy to remember this, too. His thumb played over Andy's cock head, his thumb exploring the foreskin. Amazing, so different from his own. He wondered how...Shook his head. Andy would show him, maybe.
"Feel good?" he asked.
"You've got one, you know what feels good."
"Oh. Right."
Pulling firmly, his movements encouraging Andy to thrust, George's excitement grew. With his free hand he grabbed his own cock--with his free hand, Andy grabbed his shoulder, started to thrust even harder into George's hand.
"Faster," Andy bit out, his chest rising and falling rapidly as George, cradling his own aching, too-near-to-exploding cock, began working Andy's cock in earnest. He wished they had lube, not just shampoo but oh God, it felt good, it was amazing doing this to Andy, for Andy, watching his face, the beatific expression as suddenly, his cock swelling for that last surge in George's hand, Andy shuddered, gasping, as he came hard into George's hand.
Hot come spewed onto George, blending with the water from the shower behind him. He grabbed for Andy, who collapsed on his shoulders. "That was beautiful," George said, unable to hide his wonder. "Was it good?"
Andy's hand smacked him on the shoulder, but all he could do was nod as the aftershocks rocketed through him.
Finally, he released George, braced himself against the shower wall with a "Wow."
George felt like preening. "You're welcome."
Andy burst out laughing, opening his eyes and looking down at George. "That was really good." His gaze traveled down to George's cock. "Poor bugger."
"I'm fine." At Andy's knowing look, he shook his head. "I am so not fine."
"Didn't think so." Andy pulled him back to his lips. Gave him kiss after kiss--short, firm, yet with remarkable intimacy--each one swelling George's cock harder, until he felt ready to burst with the need for air and release.
He jerked his head back, gasping for breath. Hot water cascaded the bandage over his stitches but he didn't care. Andy's kisses-- So amazing!
"Scrub time," Andy said.
"Sorry."
"I'm not." Without letting George go completely, Andy reached for something. George closed his eyes, rubbing his face while the water pounded his shoulder relentless. The dozens of tiny scratches shrieked with the onslaught but he didn't care. He didn't care about anything except for the connection between them. Andy's gentle hands began to wash him with a bar of soap, making him shudder with the unbelievable pleasure of being touched by someone else. He'd missed this so much.
"Hold still now. You know, I wouldn't normally say this to a bloke, but you are rather beautiful."
"No one's ever told me that. Male or female."
"Why not? Your body is incredible!" Andy ran his hand over George's shoulder. He tensed as Andy's fingers brushed over his scars. "You work out a lot?"
He nodded, grabbed his ears and wagging them back and forth. "But my ears stick out."
"And my hair's thinning. So what. Hold still. You're still beautiful."
"Thanks?"
Andy nodded. "You're welcome. Now hold still. You’re worse than a wiggly puppy."
George tensed. What did he mean by that? But Andy hadn't noticed, was vigorously rubbing the soap to get it bubbly. Bubbles again. Andy looked at him, expectant. Forcing himself to relax he obeyed Andy's silent command, shivering despite the heat as the unfamiliar sensation of being bathed by another overtook the last of any doubts he might've still had.
This was incredible. He'd never done this before. Not even with his fiancée. Couldn't, not until marriage, because of course they were good obedient Jews, followed the rules of their faith without question. At least, in that.
But to hell with religion, though he flinched a little at the blasphemous thought. It didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered anymore but this, but here, but now.
Andy's hands slid down over his sides, over his hips. The other man was shaking his head, his eyes hungry as they followed the path of his work. He hesitated as he reached George's groin, half-bent down as he used the bar of soap to clean George's cock and balls. George's heart pumped wildly, he had to hold onto the wall to keep upright, brace himself by grabbing Andy's shoulder with the other hand as Andy's fingers wrapped around his cock and pumped him once, twice, three time.
"Oh my God, I'm close."
"I'm not surprised."
Andy immediately stopped, but was smiling as he soaped George's cock head. All thoughts flew out of his mind when Andy's fingers reached between his legs and pressed in back of his balls.
Then, reaching past George's head Andy pushed the shower spray so that it would hit the wall.
"What? What's wrong?" George said, but Andy said, "I saw this in a movie." Grasping George by the hips, Andy pushed aside the shower curtain and sat on the edge of the bath tub. George's pulse skyrocketed.
Looking down in amazement, George shuddered as Andy's mouth neared the tip of his cock. Andy's tongue darted out, licked the tip. George closed his eyes and groaned, thrusting his hips, he couldn't help but thrust his hips, and the groan only grew louder as Andy's mouth descended on his cock.
"Oh my God, oh yes, unbelievable," George wrenched out as Andy pulled out, scraping his teeth against George's cock. And, went down again. Hot, incredible, little sizzles of pain where Andy dug into his hips with his fingers to keep George still. The remnants of the beast roiled in him still, amplifying sensations of heat, touch, smell. He fought against it, resentment filling him for Its existence, but he couldn't help it, oh God, I can't help it he couldn't fight the gift of pleasure the curse gave him as he jerked and twitched and moaned beneath Andy's incredible, unimaginable mouth and tongue.
He could hold back no longer, gave completely in, and howled.
You fight it, you must always fight the Beast within until all the last of your inner-strength is gone. To give it less than everything you have, every last vestige of strength and belief in Its wrongness, is to become less than the man you know you have the right to be. Only then must It be bowed to. Only then can It be seen for what it truly is--an abomination, a brilliant curse. Something to be feared and hated, yes, but something that must ultimately be accepted lest you fracture into thousands of tiny, irreparable shards. Only then will you give in and allow It to make you what you really are...
Not human.
* * *
George lay on his bed, clothes still on, empty crystal wineglass leaning against his side. The house had quieted, Mitchell having left for Shakespeare's after giving up on him. His friend had thrown his hands up in defeat at last. George could be very stubborn if he wanted to, and he'd wanted to.
Annie had watched silently as George pushed past her (not that one could exactly push a ghost) and slowly taken the stairs. Sometimes, she did listen when he'd tell her to do something.
Especially if it meant leaving him alone.
So now, still pissed and in a slightly spinning bed, George felt more alone than he had in a long, long time. He didn't like it. He ached for an end to this. He ached for...
He took a deep breath, let out a shuddering sigh. Sat up. Pulled out his mobile. He stared at it for a long moment, his thumb touching the five on the number pad.
It's ultimately on top for a moment, no matter how hard one fights to keep It down. For a handful of hours, the beast's nemesis--the human within--is vanquished. Yet as always, its victory soon becomes meaningless as the beast's time comes to a rapid close. The true victor is the human, not the beast, for only a human understands the meaning of life, of love....of hope.
Without these three things, It will never, truly, ever win.
George pressed the speed dial, held the mobile to his ear. Peace settled over him the moment he heard the voice on the other end.
"Hello?"
"Its George."
A moment of silence. Then Andy said, "I'd hoped you'd call me someday."
George stood and closed his mobile, pocketed it, and reached for Andy's trainers. On his way out, he turned the light off, and smiled.
The End
The Change, once begun, progresses swiftly. Every muscle, every nerve and even bone screams with a thunderous pain unlike any other as the body stretches, breaks and reforms, and even, in the case of the heart, for a moment dies.
It is impossible what the curse does to the human body...and the human mind. Control is non-existent, helplessness rules. The inevitable always happens, just as it happens when a body falls from a window to the hard pavement below. Once started on its journey, it can't be stopped.
But at least, as human being becomes wolf, the mind fractures as well as the body, and the memories of the pain endured are forgotten.
Not so in the reverse. Everything then is remembered.
He could never move immediately upon awakening. It wasn't only the sizzling ghosts of agony that froze him to the ground where he'd passed out after he'd changed back to normal again, but fear. The remnants of the wolf were still in his mind, but only remnants now. He could never remember exactly what the wolf had done. Where he'd gone.
What he might've killed. Or who.
He couldn't open his eyes; they still wouldn't cooperate. His forehead throbbed, a thin line of pain. He could barely breathe, and exhaustion pulled hard at him, pulling him deeper into the rough bed of dead leaves. He could sense the sun had yet to rise but it would soon. Then, he would have to force himself to get up, figure out his location and how to get back to the hostel. But not yet. There was time enough to let the pain fade, time enough for healing sleep. He couldn't move anyway.
His still-heightened senses burned with the taste and scent of blood, the wind caressed his naked body and rustled trees overhead, and a lonely call of a bird stung his ears. Wherever he was, it was in a forest somewhere. At least he hoped so.
Even though this was only his fourth change, he'd come to dread this part the most; the remnants of agony, the ache, the awareness of the full meal in his belly. He didn't want to think about what he'd hunted, caught, eaten. He couldn't handle it. He couldn't handle any of it, except he had no choice.
Pulling his body tighter into a ball, George shuddered, feverishly racking his brain in a futile attempt to remember what he'd done, how he'd ended up here. Wherever here happened to be. Impossible of course. The only thing he remembered was feeling devastatingly alone as the long night passed. As far as he knew he was the only one of his kind except for the wolf who changed him, a lone wolf hungry, so terribly hungry for food, for a mate. He curled his aching hands over his groin, embarrassment at his aroused state making his body heat even though he was just as alone as the wolf. It only took a moment to relieve that pain, at least, but the effort exhausted him.
He fell back into a fitful sleep.
* * *
The last vestiges of torment dissipate and urgency takes over--to flee, to hide, to explain. From wolf to rabbit in a matter of hours.
"Are you certain he's all right? He's got blood all over him," a woman's voice said.
George startled, then stilled. He quickly took an assessment of himself. The relief he'd given himself earlier had been temporary. Except that, and a throbbing on his forehead, he was okay. Then he realized, oh my God, that he'd been found. Shame filled him, his body heated and he had to fight the instinct to bolt. He held still as he could, hoping they would just go away, knowing they wouldn't. Of course, just his luck two good Samaritans had to run across his path. Dying would be nice.
A male voice, when it answered, was tinged with unmistakable disbelief. "I think so." A shuffling noise. George could sense him crouching. He shivered when a hand touched his shoulder. "Very odd," the man murmured. "There's blood, but I don't see any injuries except the cut on his forehead. Just--" A soft snort. "Might've been a meeting gone wrong, or he had too much to drink." The man bent closer to George.
"A rendezvous?"
"You know."
"Yes yes, I know what you meant. I'm just saying that means maybe his clothes might be around here still after all. You think he was assaulted then?"
George flinched. The man squeezed his shoulder.
"Can you hear me? Are you all right? What's your name? I think he's waking up."
"I should call an ambulance--"
"No, no not yet. There's no alcohol that I can smell. I think he's just been sleeping, is coming around."
"He might've been attacked, Andy. He needs to be taken to hospital."
The man removed his hand. Andy. "You're probably right. That cut might need stitches. But we can take him and drop him off. It's almost time for lunch, we can eat in the café."
The woman moved away. "You can take him. I have a lunch date."
She said it crisply. Almost...proudly. Who were these people? George opened his eyes a slit. Saw polished shoes, black trousers, and a glimpse of yellow.
Oh, God no. Coppers. Andy the Copper and his annoyed partner. Marvelous.
"Oh?"
"With Rhys."
"That fat oaf?" Andy the Copper muttered.
"What did you say?" the woman demanded.
"Nothing. That's nice, I meant."
"That's not what you said."
The man rose. "Gwen--"
"Forget it Andy. I thought you might at least be happy for me."
"I just meant--"
"Forget it. I'll look for his clothes again."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that," the man said, calling after her. George opened his eyes just enough to see a flash of uniform, swinging black hair stomping off, her rapid footsteps noisily kicking aside everything in her wake. It hurt his ears.
"Bloody hell. What can she possibly see in that bloke?" The man sighed. "Well, guess that leaves you and me. Whoever you are."
George let his eyes drift shut. Something slightly scratchy but warm settled over his body. A blanket. Fatigue pulled at him, all he wanted to do was bury himself into the leaves, and sleep. It was too soon, too early. Except, they'd said it was almost lunch? He wondered just how far he'd run this time, to need to sleep so long.
He struggled to open his eyes. The man--Andy the Copper--crouched next to him, concern etching his face. He smiled at George when he realized George was looking at him.
"Welcome back."
George tensed, once again fought the instinct to flee. But the copper looked fit enough to catch him. He cleared his throat, hoping his voice would work well enough. When he spoke though, it came out cracked, harsh. "Where am I?"
Andy the Copper, he just had to be a bloody copper, looked around himself as if he weren't too certain either. He ran a hand through his short blond hair, making the curls spring up in the damp air. He sighed.
"Cardiff. Caravan Park."
George groaned, closing his eyes. Cardiff. Miles and miles from his hostel in Newport.
"Fantastic," he said, draping an arm over his eyes. He jerked his arm back, touched his forehead. A cut, covered with dried blood. Then he remembered the throbbing in his head.
"Do you remember how you got here? You weren't-- Were you attacked by someone? There's blood, but I didn't find any injuries except that cut. It's pretty deep."
George dropped his arm. "You...examined me?"
Andy the Copper shrugged. "My partner stepped away. Don't worry."
George closed his eyes, humiliation creeping over him. Knowing, oh God, knowing what the copper must've seen, realized he'd done, laying there. He pushed himself up on his elbows, not meeting the copper's eyes. "Thanks."
"No worries. I couldn't wake you. Had to make certain you weren't seriously injured."
He winced at the abuse his body had taken--he could feel the bruises--held up his hand which was splotched with blood. "I wasn't." He touched his head.
"It's pretty deep. Head wounds bleed a lot."
"I know that."
The copper grimaced. "Sorry. Might I ask what you were doing here?"
How could he explain? He couldn’t explain. He gingerly sat up the rest of the way, taking care to keep himself covered. "I'd rather not say. "
"Okay then. Not required." The copper grinned. "I'll just put that you declined to answer. Anyone can draw their own conclusions."
George smiled wryly. "Maybe you should put I was fishing."
"Lake's a mile from here and no fishing allowed. I'd have to arrest you."
George looked at him, alarmed. "You're not going to arrest me, are you?"
Andy the Copper looked surprised, shook his head. "No no, of course not. Lounging about naked in leaves isn't an offense. I think." He grinned, making George relax, a little. "Long as there wasn't a complaint. Which there wasn't," he added. "We just happened to find you."
"Thanks. I appreciate that. I think." He started to get up. He couldn't bear lying about like a dog on the ground another second.
Andy put a hand on his shoulder. "Don't try to get up yet."
But George pushed himself to his feet anyway, wrapping the blanket tighter around himself. He stilled for a second as a wave of dizziness came over him. It passed though, and he looked down at himself. Leaves and twigs clung to the blanket, his legs. He brushed them off but only a shower would get rid of the grime. His fingernails were dirty, too.
"I'm fine. I think." He stretched, twisting his head about, feeling the ache ease a little. Andy the Copper also stood, his hands on his hips, watching. George winced at the scrutiny, but he could just imagine what he'd think, finding a naked man curled up in leaves.
Cardiff. He was in Cardiff for chrissakes. He'd never been to Cardiff in his life. He had no idea how he'd ended up here, but he was far, far away from where he'd left his clothes. So much for those jeans.
"I'm P.C. Davidson, by the way. P.C. Andy Davidson."
"A copper. I figured that out."
"And you are--"
"George."
"George. Just George?"
"George..." He sighed. What did it matter? "George Sands. I'm not under arrest, am I, right? I can go?"
But P.C. Davidson shook his head. "No, like I said, no. That cut needs stitches, so I'll take you to the hospital. "
The copper pulled closer to him. He was a few inches taller than George. He peered at George's forehead, brown eyes narrowing as he examined the cut. George held still, the proximity of the other man making his heart beat faster. He mentally cursed the beast, startled that obviously there were still remnants of the wolf's adrenaline surging through him, enough that he'd react to whatever human stood next to him. Even a bloke. He stepped back, and Andy looked down at him, surprise flitting across his eyes. He gave George a quick smile.
"Sorry. Didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," Andy said, gentling his voice.
George clenched his hands, a slight edge of panic tripping through him as his heart raced and his cock stiffened. Bewildered, he drew the blanket tighter, very grateful for having it. "I'm fine. No problem. Really. Fine. Just a little jumpy," he said with a laugh that wasn't funny at all. "No offense."
Andy eyed him, a little puzzled, then raised one eyebrow. "It's all right." He took a deep breath, stepped back and swooped down, picking up a hat George hadn't even noticed, and put it on his head.
Oh God, did he realize? George thought frantically.
"It's an awful lot of blood. Head wounds can bleed a lot but I don't think it is from just that. Any idea what the blood is from?"
An image sprang to George's mind. "Rabbit."
Andy's eyes widened. "Rabbit? It's all over your face."
"I--" George clamped his mouth shut.
"Are you certain no one else was with you? Maybe... met a bloke here in the woods, perhaps it went a little wrong--"
George stared at him in horror, pulling the blanket tight. This was even worse! "No, of course not! You think--" He looked around. "Oh. Guys come here to... Oh."
P.C. Davidson nodded. "Yes."
"I didn't!"
Andy raised his hands. "It's all right! Don't worry. It was just a possibility I had to ask about. If someone else had done this to you, I mean."
"Well the possibility is impossible, because that's not how, why..." He backed into a tree, shaking his head, willing himself to calm down. Especially his cock. "No, that didn't happen at all. I promise!"
"Easy, Mr. Sands. I'm not trying to upset you." P.C. Davidson lifted his hands in appeasement. George then realized he'd sounded near hysterical. He also realized the copper didn't believe him. Then realized--that was probably a good thing. An excuse more believable than the truth. His face heating, he turned away. "Let's take you out of here then. Go to the car, take you to the hospital. Get you cleaned up. Will that be acceptable?"
Slowly George nodded. It wasn't like he had a choice.
* * *
It'd been hours since P.C. Andy had dropped him off at the hospital. He'd declined Andy's offer to come in, just wanting to get this over with. George sat alone in an examining room, a blanket covering him. He'd washed as well as he'd could in the basin while waiting, not wanting to endure any more questions about the blood, and the dirt, and the bruises. After a moment's hesitation he tossed off into the toilet. The remedy would be short term. His hormones would keep raging for days.
It had taken only a few minutes to stitch up his forehead, but by the time he was left alone again, almost three hours had passed. Mid-afternoon already.
The door opened, making him startle. A woman carrying a plastic-covered package under her arm and holding a clipboard walked in and stood inside the door. She barely looked at him, busily writing notes. George waited. Finally she nodded, stuck the pen in her pocket and looked up.
"Well, you're released, Mr. Sands," the woman said with a smile. She held out the package. He looked at her, puzzled. "Scrubs. Given you didn't have anything but a blanket."
George took the package. "Thank you."
"Sorry I couldn't find any shoes. Are you certain there's no one we can call? Come pick you up? You can't walk out barefoot."
"No, no no, I'll be fine. I--" No shoes. "I'll...I'm not far from here."
She frowned. "Newport? It's actually not close at all."
"Oh. I have a friend. I'll call him. Her," he said in a rush. "I'll be fine." He pushed off the table, holding the blanket around himself. "Thank you again."
She frowned, then shrugged. "All right then. Sign this."
George took the proffered pen, then scribbled his name on the form. Smiled at the woman, breathed a sigh of relief when she left.
Ripping open the package, he pulled the scrubs out, tossing the wrapper in the bin. He'd just started to pull the trousers on, wishing he had some y-fronts, when someone knocked at the door. He tightened up the trousers. "Come in."
The door pushed open as George reached for the scrub shirt. To his shock, P.C. Andy Davidson poked his head in. He smiled. "Well, you're looking much better."
George froze for a second. "You came back?"
"Off duty. Figured you could use a lift home. Starting to rain." He walked into the room, nodding at the scrubs, the shirt in George's hand. Andy no longer wore his uniform, but a striped shirt, jeans and trainers. "At least you have some clothes now," Andy said.
George looked down at the shirt. "Oh. Yes." He pulled it on, careful not to touch his forehead, conscious of Andy the Copper, except now he was just plain Andy, watching him. "You didn't have to do that," he said, straightening the shirt.
Andy shrugged. "I don’t mind." He frowned at George's bare feet. "No shoes?"
George looked down at his feet. "No."
"Well then. We'll go by my place. I have some extra trainers that should fit." He grinned. "Might be a bit big, but they'll do until you get home."
George hesitated. He hadn't expected to see Andy again, had been mulling over his reaction to the other man ever since he'd been left to his interminable wait for someone to stitch up his head. He'd come to no conclusion other than he needed to get his leg over with someone. Anyone. Soon.
Andy waited expectantly, patiently, while George warred with himself. The ride to the hospital, he in the back and Andy and his partner sitting in stony silence up front, George was grateful to be let off and allowed to walk in on his own. Very grateful.
But now, he felt an uncharacteristic nervousness come over him at the thought of being alone with Andy Davidson. But, an excitement too. Why.
Damn wolf. Had to be the wolf. He was not into blokes!
Then why, as he passed Andy out of the room, did a shiver pass through him?
To be a werewolf, was to be alone. Always.
* * *
"Nice," George said as he padded barefoot into the bedsit. Small, but cozy, bright lights and plants. A pang of longing hit him. A home, would he ever have one? Film posters decorated the walls. X-Files, Terminator. But classics, too, like Invasion of the Saucer-Men and Metropolis. The Day the Earth Stood Still. He loved those films, wondered if Andy had copies, especially of Metropolis.
Not that he intended to stay around long enough to see them.
A telescope had been placed next to a window, beside a desk on which a rather nice computer sat. It'd been left on. A black and white cat with a single golden eye sat sphinx-like on an overburdened bookshelf, tail swishing. Best to avoid it. He had no idea how a cat would react to the traces of wolf still in him. It didn't look amused.
"Thanks," Andy said, closing the door behind him. "Make yourself comfortable. I'll go fetch the shoes. Oh, and that's Honkridge. Careful," he said when George took a step toward him though he'd had no intention of petting the cat. "He's pretty vicious, not friendly at all. My girlfriend stuck him with me." He frowned. "Ex-girlfriend. Right."
"What happened to his eye?"
Andy reached up and ran his hand down the cat's back. It closed its eye, pouring itself into Andy's touch. He grinned. "Came defective," he said, scratching under the receptive cat's chin. Seemed friendly enough to George. At least, to Andy.
George sat on the couch. There were numerous magazines on the coffee table. He looked around, saw several stacks of magazines. Pushing himself off the couch he looked at one of the stacks. Obviously well-thumbed copies of Pegasus, and George smiled at these, The Flying Saucer Review and Fortean Times. Interesting hobby, P.C. Andy Davidson had. George wondered if Andy was believed in little green men.
Or in werewolves.
"Oh. Are you into astronomy?"
George turned, still holding an Astronomy Now as Andy walked in, a pair of well-worn trainers in his hand. He looked nervous. That made two of them, he realized.
"Do you believe in UFO's?"
Andy hesitated, then smiled with a shrug. "I believe we're not alone," he said, his eyes darting from the magazine to George and back again. "I'm not one of those lunatics who chases after possible sightings." He hesitated. "At least, not most of the time."
George set the magazine down, straightened with a wince. "I guess anything is possible. Why not?"
Andy's face brightened. "I like to think so too. It would be rather egotistical, I think, to believe nowhere else but earth could produce human beings." He frowned. "You aren't a religious man, are you?"
"I'm Jewish. Not practicing." He shrugged. "I've lost my interest lately. But I think there's no real way of knowing what's possible until you see it or experience it yourself." He set the magazine down, crossing his arms over his chest. "I think," he said, then thought why not? "I think there are aliens, yes. Whether they're here or not, I don't know. But I'd like to think so." He pointed at the trainers, which looked at least two sizes bigger than he wore. "For me?"
Andy looked down at the trainers, then handed them to George. "Oh. Yes. Did they feed you? At the hospital I mean."
"No, I haven't eaten since...last night."
"Good! The food there is terrible." He hesitated. "Unless you need to get back, I can run to Tesco's, it's just down the street, and make us some dinner. If that sounds good to you." He stuffed his hands in his pockets, rocking on the balls of his feet. "Thought you might want to take a shower."
George hesitated. A shower sounded wonderful, he felt sticky, grimy. And, he definitely could use something to eat. He had nothing back at the hostel. And, he really didn't want to leave just yet. Andy the confident copper had disappeared, replaced by a different Andy who seemed to be...flustered. By him?
By him. He thinks I'm gay... George shook his head, wondering what he was doing. But, he really didn't want to leave. A hot shower and a good meal before he left, well, what was the harm in that?
"No," he said, dropping the trainers to the floor. Andy's face blanked. "No! I mean, I wasn't shaking my head at you, I was just shaking my head at--" He clasped his hands together. "I would love a shower. I would love dinner. Are you certain you don't mind? I've already put you to too much trouble."
Are you out of your mind?
Andy smiled "No, of course not. No trouble at all. Here, I'll show you the bathroom," Andy said, motioning George to follow him down the short hallway. He pushed a door open. George passed him, and once again, the nearness of the other set his skin tingling. "There's towels, and shampoo and soap. I have other clothes, too, if you'd rather wear those."
"The scrubs are fine. I hate to ask this, but-- I'm missing more than shoes."
Andy grinned. "I have a brand-new package of boxers. Mam sent them," he said, shaking his head. "They have--well, I'll get them. Remember, they're from my mother. I wasn't the one who picked them out."
Andy took off, leaving George alone. He pulled the shower curtain back and turned on the water. Shampoo, soap, clean towels, everything he needed. He held his hands under the water--cold. He could use a cold shower.
Peeling off the shirt, he folded it and set it aside. Then he looked at himself in the mirror, and winced. He looked as if he'd been in a fight. And lost, badly.
Bruises splotched his chest. More than just the cut on his forehead had marked him; it looked as if he'd run straight through bushes, he had so many red streaks over upper body. His eyes strayed to the scars on his left shoulder. Reaching up, he touched them gingerly--he swore they still hurt. That they would always hurt.
His scars ran deep, searing him to his soul, ripping him to shreds every time he looked at them. They would fade in time, he hoped, but it'd only been four months since the attack and they were still an angry red.
Leaning against the counter he closed his eyes, dropped his head. Why was he still here? He had no right, no cause to be in this man's home, taking advantage of his kindness. He should get a cab and go straight home.
Except, he didn’t want to. He didn't want to be alone. He hated being alone. He was always alone. Never talked to anyone at the hostels he stayed at, never stayed anywhere for long. Too much danger in that, too tempting to allow a careless hello to become a conversation. To move from the anonymity he'd created for himself to the dangers of being understood. The danger of being cared about by someone else.
He couldn't let that happen. Sliding his hand down his stomach, he rubbed his stiffening cock. He couldn't believe this. Normally, he would never let himself think of blokes like this. Like... Oh God, he wanted to be touched, to be held, to connect to someone. To Andy Davidson.
He opened his eyes, saw a jean-clad leg in the mirror. Oh God. He dropped his hand. So mired in his misery, he hadn't sensed Andy's approach. He wondered how long Andy had stood there, watching him. And, what he'd thought as he'd watched George rub himself like some teenage boy desperate for release.
He raised his head, caught Andy's gaze in the mirror. Andy quickly schooled his expression. Their gazes locked. George swallowed, hard, but there wasn't any recrimination or disgust on Andy's face.
Just one night, what is the harm of just one night, being with someone interesting and nice?
Andy stepped into the bathroom, a new package of boxers in his hand, as promised. He set them down, glanced at George again, then as George watched, Andy's gaze drifted to the claw marks on his shoulder. "You're not going to tell me you're a lion tamer by day, are you?"
George shook his head. "No, it was just...an accident."
"Pitchfork?"
George laughed at that. "Something like that." He picked up the boxers. They had Snoopy on them. He broke open the package, took out the red pair with a goggled Snoopy flying his Sopwith Camel, mouth open, one fist raised in triumph. "I like these." He held them up. "Why did your mother send you these?"
Andy grinned sheepishly. "I had a beagle named Snoopy when I was a kid. I collected him for awhile, but ever since, anytime she runs across something--" He ran one hand through his hair. "Well, you know mothers."
A pang passed through George and he realized that Andy saw it. "My mum still sends me biscuits," he said, shocked at how easily the lie fell from his lips. But Andy looked relieved. He didn’t have to know that George hadn't seen his mum in almost a year. He and his fiancée were to go see her after the holiday that ruined his life, tell her about getting married, show her the ring George had bought. But that hadn't happened. Never would.
Steam had started to fill the bathroom. "Oh," George said, reaching in and turning the cold water on. "Sorry about that. Wasting it."
"It's all right. It always takes forever to get hot. I'll just go to the shop now."
George turned back toward Andy, and looked up, realizing just how small the bathroom was. How vastly different in height they were. Andy stood mere inches from him, and now, George realized, his face had flushed a little. As had his own. "Good. Good then, I won't take long, wasted enough as it is."
"It's okay," Andy said, not moving, not tearing his gaze from George's. George couldn't move either. A second later, he had no idea who had moved first. Him, he suspected, but it was enough.
* * *
Time slows itself as the change takes over, makes the pulse jump wildly, the body's temperature rise in response. Respiration becomes rapid as adrenalin builds. What seemed impossible a moment before suddenly becomes all too real. What was once undreamed of, becomes reality.
Excitement takes over as reluctant acceptance is reached. Then, all thoughts of fleeing are overwhelmed by the primal urge to embrace.
George pulled away from Andy, where he'd pushed him against the bathroom wall and thoroughly kissed him like he'd never kissed anyone before in his life. He hadn't even known he was capable of kissing someone else so deeply. He took several deep breaths, his eyes searching Andy's.
But if he thought he might find horror there, or even fear fear me he realized neither existed.
Andy's smile was hesitant, surprised maybe, okay a lot, but George's sudden nagging doubt disappeared in a poof. Well, most of it. George gulped, rubbed his hand over his chest and looked away. "I, well, I-- Well, sorry about," George raised his hands, turned back to the shower. "I guess I'd better--"
"Wait!" Andy grabbed his arm, whipping George back to face him. He blinked, waited, hope hope? building in his chest. Andy released him, ran a hand over his mouth, then stopped, smiling beneath his hand. He dropped it. "Actually, you kiss damn well."
George sucked in his breath. "I do?"
Andy nodded. "Yeah. Really."
George said, "So did you."
"You liked it?"
All George could do was nod. Andy reached for his hand, tugged him close. "Mind if we--" He cocked his head to the side, a smile curving his lips.
George realized his pulse raced like crazy, it'd been so long since something beside It had done that to him he found himself nodding eagerly like a little kid. He let himself be pulled back to Andy. That was all George needed, really.
All sense of frantic urgency disappeared the second his lips met Andy's again. Warm, welcoming, Andy opened his mouth, his tongue lazily coaxing George's to follow its lead. George closed his eyes, a groan that was more whimper as Andy's warm hand slid down his gritty back. Andy chuckled as George pressed his body against him, and then, feeling brave, rutted against him. Hard too, George thought, not knowing why he was surprised. Of course Andy was hard. He was hard. Unbelievably so.
Remnants of the wolf.
He pushed that aside. Pushed all thoughts of It aside, though he couldn't deny how aching stiff he was, how hungry he was for human touch. For this. For Andy.
"You feel so damn good," he whispered hoarsely. He pulled Andy close, relishing the feel of another against him. Andy's arms went around him; instinctively, George squeezed him tight. The embrace shifted into a full-out hug. George buried his face in Andy's neck, digging his hands into Andy's shirt, clenching his teeth hard at the near-overwhelming desire to unleash fiercely-guarded emotions.
Andy's touch gentled, his hands rubbing up and down George's back. Unspoken sympathy, though George knew there was no way Andy could ever, ever understand why the man he'd found naked in the woods would, at that moment, freeze time forever if he could.
"You're Gritty," Andy said, relaxing his hold.
George pulled back, not looking at Andy, looking away from the tent his cock made in the scrubs.
He snorted softly, resisted the urge to wipe his arm across his face like a little child.
"Yes." He glanced at the shower. Steam still rose from it. He hadn't wasted it all yet. "Good hot water heater."
Andy laughed. "Yeah, guess so. It won't last much longer though. Want me to join you?"
George snapped his head back to Andy, looked up into his smiling face. "You're serious?"
Andy nodded. "I've never taken a shower with a bloke. Always thought it sounded fun. I could use a good scrub myself. You do my back, I'll do yours--"
"I-- You haven't done this before?" George shook his head. "I'm sorry, you aren't, well, gay are you?"
Andy peeled off his shirt in response, undid his jeans, kicked them and his y-fronts off. Straightening, hands on his hips, he said, "No." He paused, then shook his head. "I don't know. I like women." He snorted. "Then again, women don't seem to like me," he said. He sighed. George wanted to ask him why he looked so sad, but then remembered his girlfriend had broken up with him recently. He knew how that felt.
"I had a fiancée."
Andy's eyes focused on his. "Had? Well. Reason enough for us to give this a try then. Sounds good to me." He clapped his hands together. "No harm done if it doesn't work out."
He stared at Andy's chest, taken a little aback. Was this what it could be like with another bloke? Two...friends, kissing and having fun, then going their separate ways? He took a deep breath, and looked down. Andy's cock stared up at him, patiently waiting for him to finish arguing with himself so they could get down to business. Yehareg ve'al ya'avor!
"Stop over-thinking it, George."
George blinked, opened his mouth to say something, to argue, but ended up shaking his head in wonder. "Is it really this simple?"
Andy nodded, folding his arms over his chest. "Usually simpler. Most blokes wouldn't still be thinking things over whilst a naked man stood in front him. A willing naked man."
George found himself smiling, and nodding. He reached up and quickly kissed Andy on the lips.
Seconds later, his scrub bottoms lay heaped on the floor, they stood under the hot shower spray, lips locked, bodies pressed tightly together.
George's mouth sought Andy's, his tongue entwining with the other's as hands groped shamelessly over Andy's body. He felt so good. So different from a woman, no curves where there would be, but firmness in all the right spots. The texture of Andy's chest hair fascinated George. Now, he didn't resent the wolf's extra sensitivity all that much.
Andy waited, wearing a blissful smile as George, permission granted, explored the other man's body. The chest hair, the play of the muscles beneath his hands...Andy's height not to mention, when he finally allowed himself to get a close look...oh God, his cock! He had such a nice cock. He wanted it, somehow but realized he couldn't ask.
He just hoped Andy knew what they were doing because he certainly didn't. But he could touch it. Looking up at Andy, who nodded, George trailed his fingers Andy's chest, reaching his belly button, and the thin line of hair beneath it. He hesitated, so close to the tip of Andy's cock. The ache to touch it grew deeper.
"Uncircumcised," he said.
"Not Jewish, myself," Andy said, grinning. Then Andy took George's hand, squirted some shampoo into it, and placed it on his cock. "Not lube, but it will work well enough."
George stilled, Andy's hand still cover his, Andy's cock--hot, thick, pulsing and slick with the shampoo--beneath his hand. He wrapped his fingers around it. Andy motioned for him to stroke; when George did, sliding his hand up and down the cock shaft, Andy released him, leaned against the wall, eyes closed.
Grateful Andy had closed his eyes George watched what he was doing. The shampoo made bubbles. He would never look at a bubble again without remembering this moment. That thought made him a little sad, as he was reminded that this would be the only time for this. It was too dangerous.
Shaking the thought out of his he, he concentrated on what he was doing. He wanted Andy to remember this, too. His thumb played over Andy's cock head, his thumb exploring the foreskin. Amazing, so different from his own. He wondered how...Shook his head. Andy would show him, maybe.
"Feel good?" he asked.
"You've got one, you know what feels good."
"Oh. Right."
Pulling firmly, his movements encouraging Andy to thrust, George's excitement grew. With his free hand he grabbed his own cock--with his free hand, Andy grabbed his shoulder, started to thrust even harder into George's hand.
"Faster," Andy bit out, his chest rising and falling rapidly as George, cradling his own aching, too-near-to-exploding cock, began working Andy's cock in earnest. He wished they had lube, not just shampoo but oh God, it felt good, it was amazing doing this to Andy, for Andy, watching his face, the beatific expression as suddenly, his cock swelling for that last surge in George's hand, Andy shuddered, gasping, as he came hard into George's hand.
Hot come spewed onto George, blending with the water from the shower behind him. He grabbed for Andy, who collapsed on his shoulders. "That was beautiful," George said, unable to hide his wonder. "Was it good?"
Andy's hand smacked him on the shoulder, but all he could do was nod as the aftershocks rocketed through him.
Finally, he released George, braced himself against the shower wall with a "Wow."
George felt like preening. "You're welcome."
Andy burst out laughing, opening his eyes and looking down at George. "That was really good." His gaze traveled down to George's cock. "Poor bugger."
"I'm fine." At Andy's knowing look, he shook his head. "I am so not fine."
"Didn't think so." Andy pulled him back to his lips. Gave him kiss after kiss--short, firm, yet with remarkable intimacy--each one swelling George's cock harder, until he felt ready to burst with the need for air and release.
He jerked his head back, gasping for breath. Hot water cascaded the bandage over his stitches but he didn't care. Andy's kisses-- So amazing!
"Scrub time," Andy said.
"Sorry."
"I'm not." Without letting George go completely, Andy reached for something. George closed his eyes, rubbing his face while the water pounded his shoulder relentless. The dozens of tiny scratches shrieked with the onslaught but he didn't care. He didn't care about anything except for the connection between them. Andy's gentle hands began to wash him with a bar of soap, making him shudder with the unbelievable pleasure of being touched by someone else. He'd missed this so much.
"Hold still now. You know, I wouldn't normally say this to a bloke, but you are rather beautiful."
"No one's ever told me that. Male or female."
"Why not? Your body is incredible!" Andy ran his hand over George's shoulder. He tensed as Andy's fingers brushed over his scars. "You work out a lot?"
He nodded, grabbed his ears and wagging them back and forth. "But my ears stick out."
"And my hair's thinning. So what. Hold still. You're still beautiful."
"Thanks?"
Andy nodded. "You're welcome. Now hold still. You’re worse than a wiggly puppy."
George tensed. What did he mean by that? But Andy hadn't noticed, was vigorously rubbing the soap to get it bubbly. Bubbles again. Andy looked at him, expectant. Forcing himself to relax he obeyed Andy's silent command, shivering despite the heat as the unfamiliar sensation of being bathed by another overtook the last of any doubts he might've still had.
This was incredible. He'd never done this before. Not even with his fiancée. Couldn't, not until marriage, because of course they were good obedient Jews, followed the rules of their faith without question. At least, in that.
But to hell with religion, though he flinched a little at the blasphemous thought. It didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered anymore but this, but here, but now.
Andy's hands slid down over his sides, over his hips. The other man was shaking his head, his eyes hungry as they followed the path of his work. He hesitated as he reached George's groin, half-bent down as he used the bar of soap to clean George's cock and balls. George's heart pumped wildly, he had to hold onto the wall to keep upright, brace himself by grabbing Andy's shoulder with the other hand as Andy's fingers wrapped around his cock and pumped him once, twice, three time.
"Oh my God, I'm close."
"I'm not surprised."
Andy immediately stopped, but was smiling as he soaped George's cock head. All thoughts flew out of his mind when Andy's fingers reached between his legs and pressed in back of his balls.
Then, reaching past George's head Andy pushed the shower spray so that it would hit the wall.
"What? What's wrong?" George said, but Andy said, "I saw this in a movie." Grasping George by the hips, Andy pushed aside the shower curtain and sat on the edge of the bath tub. George's pulse skyrocketed.
Looking down in amazement, George shuddered as Andy's mouth neared the tip of his cock. Andy's tongue darted out, licked the tip. George closed his eyes and groaned, thrusting his hips, he couldn't help but thrust his hips, and the groan only grew louder as Andy's mouth descended on his cock.
"Oh my God, oh yes, unbelievable," George wrenched out as Andy pulled out, scraping his teeth against George's cock. And, went down again. Hot, incredible, little sizzles of pain where Andy dug into his hips with his fingers to keep George still. The remnants of the beast roiled in him still, amplifying sensations of heat, touch, smell. He fought against it, resentment filling him for Its existence, but he couldn't help it, oh God, I can't help it he couldn't fight the gift of pleasure the curse gave him as he jerked and twitched and moaned beneath Andy's incredible, unimaginable mouth and tongue.
He could hold back no longer, gave completely in, and howled.
You fight it, you must always fight the Beast within until all the last of your inner-strength is gone. To give it less than everything you have, every last vestige of strength and belief in Its wrongness, is to become less than the man you know you have the right to be. Only then must It be bowed to. Only then can It be seen for what it truly is--an abomination, a brilliant curse. Something to be feared and hated, yes, but something that must ultimately be accepted lest you fracture into thousands of tiny, irreparable shards. Only then will you give in and allow It to make you what you really are...
Not human.
* * *
George lay on his bed, clothes still on, empty crystal wineglass leaning against his side. The house had quieted, Mitchell having left for Shakespeare's after giving up on him. His friend had thrown his hands up in defeat at last. George could be very stubborn if he wanted to, and he'd wanted to.
Annie had watched silently as George pushed past her (not that one could exactly push a ghost) and slowly taken the stairs. Sometimes, she did listen when he'd tell her to do something.
Especially if it meant leaving him alone.
So now, still pissed and in a slightly spinning bed, George felt more alone than he had in a long, long time. He didn't like it. He ached for an end to this. He ached for...
He took a deep breath, let out a shuddering sigh. Sat up. Pulled out his mobile. He stared at it for a long moment, his thumb touching the five on the number pad.
It's ultimately on top for a moment, no matter how hard one fights to keep It down. For a handful of hours, the beast's nemesis--the human within--is vanquished. Yet as always, its victory soon becomes meaningless as the beast's time comes to a rapid close. The true victor is the human, not the beast, for only a human understands the meaning of life, of love....of hope.
Without these three things, It will never, truly, ever win.
George pressed the speed dial, held the mobile to his ear. Peace settled over him the moment he heard the voice on the other end.
"Hello?"
"Its George."
A moment of silence. Then Andy said, "I'd hoped you'd call me someday."
George stood and closed his mobile, pocketed it, and reached for Andy's trainers. On his way out, he turned the light off, and smiled.
The End