(no subject)
Title: Caught In A Trap
Pairing: Mikey/Frank
Rating: R
Wordcount: 1121
Summary: Part of Mikey's duty as a werewolf on a new colony is to recruit.
Disclaimer: This is a non-profit, non-commercial work of fiction using the names and likenesses of real individuals. This fictional story is not intended to imply that the events herein actually occurred or that the attitudes or behaviors described are engaged in or condoned by the real persons whose names are used without permission.
The brothers of the moon host a simple ceremony four times a year, when both moons are one day waned. Some of the packs are more extravagant, or so Mikey’s heard. Kegs of any sort of alcohol the colony has managed to distill. Stories of adventures exaggerated to the point of ridiculousness. Mass orgies.
The ceremony his pack has is simple. The weres stand in a circle facing out, hands clasped. The worshippers sit in a circle outside them, facing in. The second circle is always much bigger. At least half the colony worships. When the harp strums each brother lets go and walks outward, picking a worshipper. There’s really no call for pomp and circumstance.
Other packs make it a big event because for most of the worshippers it’s one last party. That’s the reason they don’t. By the next double moon at least three quarters of the newly turned will have gone insane. There’s all sorts of justifications for it. It’s the worshipper’s life to give up. If they didn’t recruit the pack would lose strength. Not recruiting would only mean the worshippers go to another pack, not that they would change their minds and live a long and productive life. Still that doesn’t mean successful recruitment is something to be proud of.
Mikey shifts, hem of his robe rippling with the movement. Christine’s fingers drum against Mikey’s knuckles. On the other side of him Juan is chewing on the inside of his cheek. Mikey’s sure every one of his brothers are exhibiting some kind of nervous movement. He’s equally sure none of the worshipper see it. No one wants to think god picks it’s nose.
At the wave of music Mikey unhooks his fingers from Christine and Juan’s. He doesn’t watch where they’re going, he’ll find out soon enough. It doesn’t really matter, not unless those they tap actually make it. No one remembers the faces or even names of the worshippers who don’t. Instead Mikey scans the seated crowd and picks out a man with a scorpion tattooed on his neck. The last two double moons Mikey picked women, and both went insane. It’s no worse than anyone else’s track record, but it’s still upsetting. Maybe a gender change will break the streak.
The man, unsurprisingly, is enthusiastic. As soon as Mikey touches his shoulder the brunet springs to his feet, introducing himself. Mikey relays his name, then asks “you know how this works, right? Someone told you?”
Frank looks at him, makes eye contact. Well, as much as he can with long hair that falls directly over his eyes. “I know. No one told me. I’ve researched it. I know what I’m getting into.”
Mikey very much doubts that.
But still, he has to bring someone into the pack, and Frank is giving his consent. Mikey does what he has to do. He takes Frank’s hand and pulls him down the path worn in the soil to his hut. On the outside it’s as dark and plain as the trees around it. On the inside it’s full of paint and books with colourful spines, and about a thousand pillows. It smells like maple syrup and coffee. Sometimes Mikey lights a cigarette just to let the smoke waft through the air, never mind that he doesn’t smoke. Certain things just remind him of home, is all.
“How do you want to do this? Are you attracted to me?” Mikey’s never been told no, but it’s no compliment. If he was an identical man, but not a werewolf, he wouldn’t get a fraction of the attention. Happenstance says he’s a werewolf in the lupine quadrant of the universe, that’s all.
Sure enough Frank grins fully, baring his teeth, like he thinks that’s a smile, not a sign of aggression. Maybe he’s new to the world.
“Who wouldn’t be?”
Someone who’s not a werewolf fetishist, Mikey answers in his head. But he keeps the bitterness on the inside and just bends down for a kiss. “Get naked,” he whispers against Frank’s lips.
Frank’s pretty, naked. He’s got more tattoos than Mikey can count, at least without getting hands-on about it. He’s also confident, standing without covering himself in any way. He’s the kind of guy Mikey’d want to have sex with, even if he wasn’t obligated. Knowing that they’ll say yes, Mikey never picks a person that doesn’t appeal to him.
He runs a hand down Frank’s hip on the way to the bed, then looks at him invitingly. It doesn’t take any more than that. They roll around for a bit kissing, on their sides, with Mikey on top, with Frank on top. It take can take long as Mikey wants it to, there’s no schedule to follow, only a quote to fill. The red sheet is wrinkled under Frank when he finally pulls away and lays flat on his stomach, ass tilted up the smallest bit. His back too is a landscape of artwork to look at. The words ‘keep the faith’ are written in large, easily decipherable script over a creepy looking jack-o-lantern on Frank’s right shoulder, and just above his hips are two crossed guns. Mikey runs his fingers over each one before he reaches for the bottle of slick on his bed-side table.
Frank opens up easily under him. In the past Mikey’s accidentally chosen virgins, worshippers of the brotherhood wanting only to belong to the moon. It’s not the way Mikey would choose to lose his virginity, and he’s glad it’s not true with Frank.
As Mikey nears orgasm he can feel his body call to the moon, and the moon answer. His hands clench on the headboard as his body starts to ripple and change. Not a full change, not until he’s outside, under the stars. But he’s hairier, muscles thicker. His spine curves a little, forcing him to hunch closer to Frank.
When he starts to orgasm his cock swells inside Frank, making it impossible for his come to go anywhere but deep inside the body beneath him. Frank shudders. Mikey parts his sweaty hair to lick the nape of his neck. He licks over the scorpion, then bites, just low enough that it doesn’t mar the tattoo. Werewolf bites scar. It wouldn’t do to ruin any of Frank’s artwork.
You only need one bodily fluid to turn a worshipper. But they never just want to be bitten. They always want to fuck. Since the chances of insanity or blood rejection are so high in the next few weeks Mikey can never bring himself to say no to what might well be their last request. His murmurs “you’re welcome” and wonders if this is yet another choice he’ll live to regret.