“Oh, right. Of course. Suppose I’ll see you around? What were you doing in my neck of the woods, anyway?”
“Sea glass,” Kit said, needing an excuse other thanI was reverse stalking you. Quin might take that as some sort of sign.
“You collect it?”
“Yeah,” Kit admitted, like he had confessed a deep personal secret and not a minor detail of a normal hobby.
“Isn’t that illegal?” Quin didn’t sound judgmental, but the accusation rankled Kit.
“No, it’s not,” he protested.
Quin just laughed. “Such a naughty boy.”
Warmth spread through Kit’s body at Quin’s words. He tried to ignore it. “Bye,” he said. Without waiting to see what Quin might say, he sped off, needing to get some space.
Kit ran all the way home. He got into the bedroom and threw himself down on the bed—fully dressed—like he would when he was a dramatic teenager. He buried his face in the pillow, reliving every stupid thing he’d said to Quin. It had been far too long since he’d socialised. The last conversation he’d had was with Shaun, and that was months back now. Arguing with anonymous strangers on social media didn’t count, unfortunately, even though he was well-versed in that pursuit.
He continued to think over Quin’s last remark.
Naughty boy.
Kit squirmed on the bed, his clothing far too constricting. The foreign sensations curling in his gut felt distant from himself; like they belonged to someone else’s body or in another time. Despite that, he knew it.
Desire.
The feeling eddied inside him, wild and untamed. He snaked a hand down between his body and the duvet, palming himself over his jeans. He hadn’t done this in… He couldn’t recall how long. After Lawrence, he’d gone years without wanting to touch himself. Once, he’d mustered up the courage to involve another person; prettied himself up and headed to a club, intending to pull. It hadn’t gone well, to say the least. The club had been tooloud and the clientele too handsy. Kit lasted all of half an hour before leaving and never trying again.
In the past few years following Lawrence’s final death, he thought he might have made progress with his inability to feel anything. He had experienced occasional fleeting attractions to other men, but nothing beyond the surface level. Nothing meaningful, or strong enough to bother putting himself in a vulnerable position.
So, finding himself getting all hot and bothered by a few words said to him by an over-familiar werewolf wasn’t expected. But Kit grew hard as he ground himself against the bed. It wasn’t enough—he needed more—so he turned onto his back and fought to pull his jeans down around his thighs.
He closed his eyes as he lay with his head on the pillow, trying to focus on the physical stimulation as he rubbed his hand over his briefs. As usual when he tried to do this, memories flitted through his mind, unbidden, of blood and fangs and the scratch of his old school tie. He opened his eyes, needing to reaffirm that he was alone in the room. He put on a light, casting shadows on the walls.
Kit placed his hands flat on the bed. He felt stupid, lying there half undressed and half hard, so he whipped off his clothing and threw it all in a pile on the floor near the hamper.
He didn’t look down at himself. He didn’t need to. Over the past few nights, he’d spent hours staring at his body, cataloguing the marks that were left.
But he always spent the longest looking at what he considered his best features. In his weaker moments, he yearned for someone else to appreciate his looks, to revel in being able to touch him. To have somebody worship his body, to take over his senses and shower him with attention, was what he dreamed about when he wasn’t having nightmares.
Kit thought he might even like to be called pretty by someone who wasn’t Lawrence.
With a groan of frustration, Kit rooted around in his bedside cabinet for a few seconds before locating his one lonely bottle of lube. It was bubblegum scented, which wassonot the mood. But it was his only option. The bright pink bottle had duped him into buying it before he realised the scent was too sweet to be taken seriously.
Sex should not smell like bubblegum.
He settled himself back on the bed again, aware that he was procrastinating on masturbating. Resolving to get down to business, he squirted a small amount of the lube into his right hand and shoved the bottle under the spare pillow. His hand was icy cold when it circled his cock. He put his free hand over his eyes but kept them open. Relaxing his body as much as possible, he stroked himself. Up and down, up and down, the motion steady and his grip loose to begin with.
He sank into the feeling, his cock hardening as he grew more comfortable with the action. He was surprised he had enough blood to get hard. The images that formed in his mind aided him; visions of sky-blue eyes looking down at him dominated his thoughts. He could imagine how he might scrape his fingers through a thick, dark beard, and the slide of sweat-slicked muscles as they held Kit tight.
Kit’s hand sped up, his rhythm stuttering as he grew closer to his peak.
He imagined himself as he had been the other day: running through the forest. Only this time, he wasn’t running for his life from the beast at his heels. This time, he knew what was chasing him and with full knowledge of what would happen once it caught him. This time, hewantedto be caught. He wasn’t running out of fear. And this time, it was not a wolf on four legs, but a man on two.
Kit let out a soft moan as he rubbed his thumb over the sensitive head of his cock, smearing through the sticky precum that leaked from his slit. He lifted his hand to his mouth and sucked on his thumb, both for the taste of himself and to hold off from coming. Adrenaline coursed through his veins as he took himself in hand again, the story in his head building to a climax as he got caught by the man who chased him.
Because it was all in his head, he didn’t have to worry about jagged stones under his knees or his clothing being ripped. Instead, Kit focused on how it would feel for the werewolf’s large hand to envelop his cock and jerk it as if he had every right to be touching Kit.
He gripped himself harder, letting out a mewl that he’d be embarrassed about if anyone else heard. The images dissolved into stars as he came all over his chest, ropes of cum shooting from him as he continued to stroke himself through his orgasm.
