The Werewolf Chronicles, Prompt: 064 Fall
Title: Dreams and Complications
Author: luthienberen (Jadwiga)
Character: Alexander Finch
Warnings: Homosexual character, horror, werewolf.
Prompt: 064; Fall
Beta: rae_fa
Word count: 1,931
Rating: R (no under 17s) overall.
Notes: This is part of a series of chapters, which can be can either be found via the community’s tag system or on my page at fictionpress.
Summary: A disturbing dream leads to a passionate embrace.
Chapter 18: Dreams and Complications
26th October, Early hours of Wednesday morning
Alexander dreamed…
It was cold.
The sky overhead was grey with ominous clouds hunkering low over the land, threatening to burst at the least provocation. Meanwhile, the land was hard and unyielding, with white frost sticking like glue to the ground.
The werewolf raised his head to examine the surroundings and saw that even though the light was dim, it was late morning. A sudden gust ruffled fine, silken fur but the werewolf did not shiver. Instead he waited - for what, the werewolf did not know, but still he waited.
Golden eyes travelled across the curious landscape, noting a gravel road leading somewhere amidst steadily rising countryside. Turning, the werewolf realised that this time the road disappeared behind curves, but in the distance were buildings.
“Storm,” whispered Alexander in his sleep.
Then there was a noise. A car was heading its way. Crouching by the side of the road, nestled in a dip, the werewolf waited. A moment later the vehicle passed and filled by a sudden urgency the werewolf leapt onto the road and loped after the driver.
Following the car proved easy, especially since whoever was in it could not seem to see the werewolf, even in their review mirror!
After what seemed only seconds they entered Storm and the car vanished.
Unconcerned, the werewolf simply sniffed the paved streets, searching for a scent that would stand out from the others like a siren call.
It came - a sharp unpleasant taste-odour: petrol. Excited and curious the werewolf ran on through Storm.
Empty streets flashed by, ghostly in their hush and abandonment.
Unease wound through the werewolf yet he continued on: around bends and straight lanes, and when necessary jumping hedges and fences with ease. No shouts followed his progress, no yells of shock or horror, for in this grey hazy world there was no-one present - not a living soul bar the wolf.
Finally the trail that he could taste as well as smell vanished, at the foot of a long driveway leading up to an old house, where the wood was worn, weathered smooth by the harsh climate.
However, a new scent wafted to his nose, one the werewolf knew well. Slinking low over the ground, nose pressed to the uneven surface he cautiously approached the house, padding silently over the gravel driveway and slipping under the loose tarpaulin that covered a woodpile.
Amber eyes, streaked grey-green, regarded the house.
The werewolf - Alexander - knew that this house and whoever occupied it was vitally important. Whatever transpired here would impact his future.
All he required was a sign - a sign to inform him when he ought to be on his guard, maybe even here, watching and waiting to see who would come or go. But what would be the sign?
As if in answer the ambience of the place changed. The temperature plummeted, so that each breath was painful, and he blinked to prevent ice crystals forming on his eyes.
Snow began to fall, so that he saw the house before him through a moving sheet of white flakes.
Exhilarated, the werewolf dragged himself from under the tarpaulin and answering an ancient call, flung back his head and howled long and sweet.
Then joyous, the werewolf leapt through the white rain and raced on promising to return when the first heavy snowfall.
= = = = =
Alexander woke gasping for breath. His chest felt like he was wearing a corset: his lungs were barely able to open so as to inhale life-giving oxygen and his entire ribcage seemed to be valiantly attempting to pierce his lungs.
Violently trembling, Alexander hauled himself upright in bed only to fall, onto his hands and knees upon his bed, clutching the tangled bedcover with white fingers. His skin was hot and tight, sweat coursed down his body like water in a shower as he struggled to breathe.
Alexander could have sworn he was still in wolf shape for his hands seemed unable to grasp the bed sheets, and the sensation of running through the blessedly cool and silent streets of Storm was so vivid it was as if it had really happened - or would happen soon.
A premonition.
Alexander bowed his head as he coughed violently once more. He was unused to seeing visions - the nightmare of killing of his own father had been just that, a nightmare.
At the time Alexander, new to the terror of being a werewolf, had thought his premonitions had returned but thankfully after his visit to rational Amy he had been able to dismiss the dream for simply the imaginings of a mind tormented by the Beast.
But now, better accustomed to his new status as a werewolf, Alexander recognised the feeling of one of his visions. They had returned, and it appeared that werewolves did not react well to such whispers from the future.
The flood of sensations were too much for the inexperienced werewolf, both for the wolf and the human, who had prayed his ‘gift’ had fallen away from him like blossom from a tree by his mid-twenties.
Alexander whimpered as memory caused his head to ache even more and without warning the after affects of his dream flared causing the room to spin crazily as his vision refused to focus. Then he convulsed, stomach roiling as his belly clenched painfully and forced stomach contents past fighting lungs to vomit.
Losing balance as all his senses failed the werewolf fell off the bed.
~ * ~
Hephaistion howled and pawed at the limp, unmoving form of his master. Why wouldn’t he wake up?
His beautiful queen nudged his shoulder, her cold nose a small comfort. Her bright yellow eyes shone with worry as she braced her front paws on their master’s arm. “Meow?”
Nothing.
Their master lay as eerily still as before.
Sniffing their human, Hephaistion experienced terror. His master smelled funny.
Worried, he meowed at Olympias who purred back, jumped down and curled up next to their Master’s chest to wait.
Running to the door Hephaistion released a shriek of frustration and rage - the spooky call at which cats excel. Racing back to his master’s bedside table he easily leapt onto the wooden surface and using his large body pushed the lamp, along with two books, onto the floor with a series of satisfactory thuds and a smash as one book hit the lamp - hard.
Feet - human feet - hitting the floor reached sensitive ears, then a door slamming into the wall and then their master’s door was flung open when after a brief slap on it received no response.
Hephaistion sat on the floor, feeling relief seep through his frame.
Help had arrived.
~ * ~
Strong arms cradled his body and a hand brushed against his belly whilst lifting him into a seated position, Alexander wheezed and arched a little into the touch. Muffled words were spoken to him yet everything around him was murky: hearing, sight, smell and taste; all were a confused jumble concentrating solely on his aching discomfort.
Only touch remained as clear as an unclouded sky, and the palm pressing upon his forehead, tilting his forehead back, sent fire coursing down his shivering body. Alexander’s eyes snapped shut just in time - instinct warning Alexander that they were not quite human yet for the effects of his premonitions seemed to have bled into the real, material world.
However, as Alexander leaned back into the loose yet firm embrace, drinking in the warmth of human contact, he was recalled swiftly to ‘normality’, where dreams did not take living shape and haunt the waking hours. /Not a wolf. I’m human shaped./
The dream had been a premonition - one he could deal with - but a shock to his system after so many years of silence, particularly to the sensitive nature of a new werewolf.
Sufficiently recovered, Alexander sensed it was safe to open his eyes. He did so, to the great relief of his dashing saviour - and unwitting anchor to the present - and breathed easily, with only minor residual trembling.
Dark eyes probed him. “Alexander? What happened? Are you alright? Shall I call Doctor Thomas?”
“Yes. I’m, I’m fine now. It was only a bad dream. A nightmare.”
Michael, whose masculine pheromones were helping Alexander to pull himself together, sounded doubtful. “Some nightmare.”
Alexander forced a smile. “Oh yes, I had plenty when I was a child. I must have eaten too much sugar yesterday evening to trigger such a terrible one.”
“Hmmm…” Again a large rough hand sought his forehead. “Weeeelll… you don’t have a temperature though you are flushed and sweaty.” A frown marred the handsome face. “Though that could be from your nightmare.”
Alexander just watched Michael silently then quipped without thinking: “Which my knight in shining armour saved me from!”
Almost immediately Alexander winced. /What the hell? What possessed me to say something as asinine as that?/
But Michael just looked amused. “You must be feeling better to joke around. However, let me check you for injuries. You may have bruised yourself badly from the fall - even sprained or pulled a muscle - because you are still trembling.”
It was then, when the handsome Mountie began to run gentle but inquisitive hands over his body, that the redhead became acutely aware of their undressed state. Michael wore only pyjama bottoms; his bare muscled arms and chest - honed due to years of training - were wrapped around his slight frame.
Meanwhile, Alexander wore a set of pyjamas wet from perspiration. Currently, long fingers were undoing the buttons on his top and carefully sliding the material off his shoulders.
His treacherous nose chose at that moment to note how deliciously masculine Michael smelled, while his touch wickedly informed the werewolf precisely how Michael’s skin felt on his - rugged hands and smooth chest.
Embarrassed, Alexander sought desperately to ignore the Mountie’s administrations, answering with hasty one-word replies to all inquires.
Then as he strove to filter out the slew of input, Alexander scented something else lying under the concern, and increasing in prominence as some of the excess worry dissipated.
/D…de …desire? What?/ Alexander was sure he was incorrect, that his senses were still a little delicate and easily hoodwinked.
Maintaining a calm exterior, Alexander opened his mouth slightly, and willingly turned in the supporting grasp, noting with interest how Michael shifted, holding Alexander a touch away from his body. Inhaling, Alexander held the breath on his tongue so that taste and scent could work simultaneously to give him undisputed facts.
Desperation and confusion, heavily laced with smouldering passion, burned the werewolf’s mouth causing Alexander to jerk his head up in surprise.
With their faces now so close, Alexander could see the individual shades of colour that blended together to form the deep chocolate of Michael’s eyes. He could also feel Michael’s hot breath ghosting over his sweaty face as he rose and fell with Michael’s breathing.
As everything narrowed down to this one entrancing man; as scent, taste, touch and vision, and even hearing drowned Alexander in the very essence of Michael; he felt the ghostly touch of lips against his lips as if he were in a fantastic dream.
Then Michael’s tongue was licking deliciously inside his mouth, while Michael crushed their mouths together in a tsunami of eagerness, desperation and the overwhelming sensation of repressed craving being at last released.
Then, as reality blurred and the wolf inside howled in triumph, he clutched weakly at his captor’s shoulders, and gave in to what he and the wolf so badly wanted.
~ * ~
Author: luthienberen (Jadwiga)
Character: Alexander Finch
Warnings: Homosexual character, horror, werewolf.
Prompt: 064; Fall
Beta: rae_fa
Word count: 1,931
Rating: R (no under 17s) overall.
Notes: This is part of a series of chapters, which can be can either be found via the community’s tag system or on my page at fictionpress.
Summary: A disturbing dream leads to a passionate embrace.
Chapter 18: Dreams and Complications
26th October, Early hours of Wednesday morning
Alexander dreamed…
It was cold.
The sky overhead was grey with ominous clouds hunkering low over the land, threatening to burst at the least provocation. Meanwhile, the land was hard and unyielding, with white frost sticking like glue to the ground.
The werewolf raised his head to examine the surroundings and saw that even though the light was dim, it was late morning. A sudden gust ruffled fine, silken fur but the werewolf did not shiver. Instead he waited - for what, the werewolf did not know, but still he waited.
Golden eyes travelled across the curious landscape, noting a gravel road leading somewhere amidst steadily rising countryside. Turning, the werewolf realised that this time the road disappeared behind curves, but in the distance were buildings.
“Storm,” whispered Alexander in his sleep.
Then there was a noise. A car was heading its way. Crouching by the side of the road, nestled in a dip, the werewolf waited. A moment later the vehicle passed and filled by a sudden urgency the werewolf leapt onto the road and loped after the driver.
Following the car proved easy, especially since whoever was in it could not seem to see the werewolf, even in their review mirror!
After what seemed only seconds they entered Storm and the car vanished.
Unconcerned, the werewolf simply sniffed the paved streets, searching for a scent that would stand out from the others like a siren call.
It came - a sharp unpleasant taste-odour: petrol. Excited and curious the werewolf ran on through Storm.
Empty streets flashed by, ghostly in their hush and abandonment.
Unease wound through the werewolf yet he continued on: around bends and straight lanes, and when necessary jumping hedges and fences with ease. No shouts followed his progress, no yells of shock or horror, for in this grey hazy world there was no-one present - not a living soul bar the wolf.
Finally the trail that he could taste as well as smell vanished, at the foot of a long driveway leading up to an old house, where the wood was worn, weathered smooth by the harsh climate.
However, a new scent wafted to his nose, one the werewolf knew well. Slinking low over the ground, nose pressed to the uneven surface he cautiously approached the house, padding silently over the gravel driveway and slipping under the loose tarpaulin that covered a woodpile.
Amber eyes, streaked grey-green, regarded the house.
The werewolf - Alexander - knew that this house and whoever occupied it was vitally important. Whatever transpired here would impact his future.
All he required was a sign - a sign to inform him when he ought to be on his guard, maybe even here, watching and waiting to see who would come or go. But what would be the sign?
As if in answer the ambience of the place changed. The temperature plummeted, so that each breath was painful, and he blinked to prevent ice crystals forming on his eyes.
Snow began to fall, so that he saw the house before him through a moving sheet of white flakes.
Exhilarated, the werewolf dragged himself from under the tarpaulin and answering an ancient call, flung back his head and howled long and sweet.
Then joyous, the werewolf leapt through the white rain and raced on promising to return when the first heavy snowfall.
= = = = =
Alexander woke gasping for breath. His chest felt like he was wearing a corset: his lungs were barely able to open so as to inhale life-giving oxygen and his entire ribcage seemed to be valiantly attempting to pierce his lungs.
Violently trembling, Alexander hauled himself upright in bed only to fall, onto his hands and knees upon his bed, clutching the tangled bedcover with white fingers. His skin was hot and tight, sweat coursed down his body like water in a shower as he struggled to breathe.
Alexander could have sworn he was still in wolf shape for his hands seemed unable to grasp the bed sheets, and the sensation of running through the blessedly cool and silent streets of Storm was so vivid it was as if it had really happened - or would happen soon.
A premonition.
Alexander bowed his head as he coughed violently once more. He was unused to seeing visions - the nightmare of killing of his own father had been just that, a nightmare.
At the time Alexander, new to the terror of being a werewolf, had thought his premonitions had returned but thankfully after his visit to rational Amy he had been able to dismiss the dream for simply the imaginings of a mind tormented by the Beast.
But now, better accustomed to his new status as a werewolf, Alexander recognised the feeling of one of his visions. They had returned, and it appeared that werewolves did not react well to such whispers from the future.
The flood of sensations were too much for the inexperienced werewolf, both for the wolf and the human, who had prayed his ‘gift’ had fallen away from him like blossom from a tree by his mid-twenties.
Alexander whimpered as memory caused his head to ache even more and without warning the after affects of his dream flared causing the room to spin crazily as his vision refused to focus. Then he convulsed, stomach roiling as his belly clenched painfully and forced stomach contents past fighting lungs to vomit.
Losing balance as all his senses failed the werewolf fell off the bed.
~ * ~
Hephaistion howled and pawed at the limp, unmoving form of his master. Why wouldn’t he wake up?
His beautiful queen nudged his shoulder, her cold nose a small comfort. Her bright yellow eyes shone with worry as she braced her front paws on their master’s arm. “Meow?”
Nothing.
Their master lay as eerily still as before.
Sniffing their human, Hephaistion experienced terror. His master smelled funny.
Worried, he meowed at Olympias who purred back, jumped down and curled up next to their Master’s chest to wait.
Running to the door Hephaistion released a shriek of frustration and rage - the spooky call at which cats excel. Racing back to his master’s bedside table he easily leapt onto the wooden surface and using his large body pushed the lamp, along with two books, onto the floor with a series of satisfactory thuds and a smash as one book hit the lamp - hard.
Feet - human feet - hitting the floor reached sensitive ears, then a door slamming into the wall and then their master’s door was flung open when after a brief slap on it received no response.
Hephaistion sat on the floor, feeling relief seep through his frame.
Help had arrived.
~ * ~
Strong arms cradled his body and a hand brushed against his belly whilst lifting him into a seated position, Alexander wheezed and arched a little into the touch. Muffled words were spoken to him yet everything around him was murky: hearing, sight, smell and taste; all were a confused jumble concentrating solely on his aching discomfort.
Only touch remained as clear as an unclouded sky, and the palm pressing upon his forehead, tilting his forehead back, sent fire coursing down his shivering body. Alexander’s eyes snapped shut just in time - instinct warning Alexander that they were not quite human yet for the effects of his premonitions seemed to have bled into the real, material world.
However, as Alexander leaned back into the loose yet firm embrace, drinking in the warmth of human contact, he was recalled swiftly to ‘normality’, where dreams did not take living shape and haunt the waking hours. /Not a wolf. I’m human shaped./
The dream had been a premonition - one he could deal with - but a shock to his system after so many years of silence, particularly to the sensitive nature of a new werewolf.
Sufficiently recovered, Alexander sensed it was safe to open his eyes. He did so, to the great relief of his dashing saviour - and unwitting anchor to the present - and breathed easily, with only minor residual trembling.
Dark eyes probed him. “Alexander? What happened? Are you alright? Shall I call Doctor Thomas?”
“Yes. I’m, I’m fine now. It was only a bad dream. A nightmare.”
Michael, whose masculine pheromones were helping Alexander to pull himself together, sounded doubtful. “Some nightmare.”
Alexander forced a smile. “Oh yes, I had plenty when I was a child. I must have eaten too much sugar yesterday evening to trigger such a terrible one.”
“Hmmm…” Again a large rough hand sought his forehead. “Weeeelll… you don’t have a temperature though you are flushed and sweaty.” A frown marred the handsome face. “Though that could be from your nightmare.”
Alexander just watched Michael silently then quipped without thinking: “Which my knight in shining armour saved me from!”
Almost immediately Alexander winced. /What the hell? What possessed me to say something as asinine as that?/
But Michael just looked amused. “You must be feeling better to joke around. However, let me check you for injuries. You may have bruised yourself badly from the fall - even sprained or pulled a muscle - because you are still trembling.”
It was then, when the handsome Mountie began to run gentle but inquisitive hands over his body, that the redhead became acutely aware of their undressed state. Michael wore only pyjama bottoms; his bare muscled arms and chest - honed due to years of training - were wrapped around his slight frame.
Meanwhile, Alexander wore a set of pyjamas wet from perspiration. Currently, long fingers were undoing the buttons on his top and carefully sliding the material off his shoulders.
His treacherous nose chose at that moment to note how deliciously masculine Michael smelled, while his touch wickedly informed the werewolf precisely how Michael’s skin felt on his - rugged hands and smooth chest.
Embarrassed, Alexander sought desperately to ignore the Mountie’s administrations, answering with hasty one-word replies to all inquires.
Then as he strove to filter out the slew of input, Alexander scented something else lying under the concern, and increasing in prominence as some of the excess worry dissipated.
/D…de …desire? What?/ Alexander was sure he was incorrect, that his senses were still a little delicate and easily hoodwinked.
Maintaining a calm exterior, Alexander opened his mouth slightly, and willingly turned in the supporting grasp, noting with interest how Michael shifted, holding Alexander a touch away from his body. Inhaling, Alexander held the breath on his tongue so that taste and scent could work simultaneously to give him undisputed facts.
Desperation and confusion, heavily laced with smouldering passion, burned the werewolf’s mouth causing Alexander to jerk his head up in surprise.
With their faces now so close, Alexander could see the individual shades of colour that blended together to form the deep chocolate of Michael’s eyes. He could also feel Michael’s hot breath ghosting over his sweaty face as he rose and fell with Michael’s breathing.
As everything narrowed down to this one entrancing man; as scent, taste, touch and vision, and even hearing drowned Alexander in the very essence of Michael; he felt the ghostly touch of lips against his lips as if he were in a fantastic dream.
Then Michael’s tongue was licking deliciously inside his mouth, while Michael crushed their mouths together in a tsunami of eagerness, desperation and the overwhelming sensation of repressed craving being at last released.
Then, as reality blurred and the wolf inside howled in triumph, he clutched weakly at his captor’s shoulders, and gave in to what he and the wolf so badly wanted.
~ * ~