The Werekitten Chronicles, pt. 4
Werekitten Chronicles, pt. 4
Pairing: catboy!Arthur/werewolf!Eames
Words: ~7800
Rating: R
Warnings: knotting
Summary: It's the babies' first birthday. Arthur and Eames celebrate Arthur-and-Eames-ishly. (Read: with violence.)
Author's Note: You people made me really like these mutant werebabies. You should be ashamed of yourselves. Moar werekittens here.
Before they reach the front lobby of Eames' parents home, Eames suddenly darts past Arthur, down the stairs, and blocks his path.
“Something you should know,” he says. “The first birthday is kind of a big deal to werewolves.”
“Okay,” says Arthur. Seems like everything to do with the babies is a big deal. Eames' parents had been in transports of joy when they'd heard that Thomas had cut his first tooth.
“I know you think my family spoils them ...”
“They do spoil them.”
Eames holds his hands up placatingly. “I just want you to know what to expect. The first birthday is a big celebration because they're old enough to actually enjoy it. And ... sometimes, we go all-out.”
Arthur eyes him. “How much spoiling are we talking about here?”
“I'm just telling you,” Eames says. “Be really polite and gracious, okay? I know that humans always feel the need to reject gifts at first, or say, 'Oh, you shouldn't have, it's too much,' even if it is, but that's a real insult to a werewolf, especially if it's something for a baby. It's like turning down food from an Italian.”
Arthur scowls at him. “Our kids are going to be brats if your family doesn't stop treating them like royalty.”
Eames grins. “They'll have each other to keep their egos in check. And you. Besides, imagine what it was like when I was born, the only child of the alphas. And look how I turned out.”
“Self-entitled and obnoxious,” says Arthur.
“Just the way you like me,” Eames says smugly, and kisses him.
The babies' gifts are piled on a table when Arthur and Eames walk into the room where Eames' family is just starting to congregate. And on some chairs, and under the table. Arthur opens his mouth at once and Eames elbows him none-too-gently in the ribs.
“This looks lovely, Mum,” he says, embracing his mother fondly. And it does look lovely. There are streamers everywhere and a big banner hanging from the ceiling that says HAPPY 1st BIRTHDAY THOMAS, LEAH & WILLIAM! The babies are sitting on the floor amidst some torn wrapping paper, evidence of a few already-opened presents, and looking both smart and adorable in little white frocks.
“That's a lot of presents,” Arthur limits himself to commenting. Eames' mother beams as if he's paid her a compliment.
“Isn't it? We've been planning this for months, you know, the hardest part was waiting till now to give it to them. Don't worry, though, Arthur,” she adds, smiling gently at him. “Some of those are for Theo.”
Theodore is Eames' cousin's baby, just a couple months old now, and fast asleep in his mother's arms as she introduces him to Arthur and Eames' litter. Thomas, chewing thoughtfully on the ear of a new plush teddy bear, looks mildly fascinated by the tiny interloper, while Leah shows no interest at all and just wants to grab his mother's hair. She's reached that phase.
Ariadne is keeping a close eye on them. It's her first time meeting the pack and they're all incredibly nice to her, which Arthur suspects has something to do with her carrying the babies to term for them. Eames' mum had greeted her like a daughter.
“Hey, Arthur, wanna give me a hand?” she calls over when Leah starts motoring away. Arthur swoops on her at once, swinging Leah as he lifts her, to make her squeal. She's an expert crawler by now. It's a little scary, mostly due to her attraction to mischief. She is definitely Eames' daughter.
Thomas follows her in his own shuffling crawl, then sits at Arthur's feet and holds his arms up to be lifted, too, so Arthur scoops him up as well. He's gotten very practiced at holding two at the same time. Will, who can't crawl at all yet, is cuddled in Ariadne's lap and focusing very hard on a pile of toy blocks.
“It's nice to have one sedentary baby, isn't it?” Ariadne says. Arthur frowns, because he's never not worrying about his babies, and she smiles gently. “He's a preemie, Arthur. He'll start moving around when he's good and ready.”
“Hopefully he's ready when Leah's developed longer than a five-second attention span,” Eames says, lifting the baby in question out of Arthur's arms. “Hard enough keeping up with this one, and her leading Tommy into trouble all the time.”
“Hear that, Leah?” Ariadne says, while Leah kicks her legs impatiently. “You're a bad influence on your brothers.”
“You should see them when they're changed,” Arthur says, setting Thomas back down. “She beats them both up. She's a bully.”
“Just imagine what she'll be like when she's a teenager,” Ariadne says.
“I'd rather not,” Eames says immediately, hugging Leah tighter to him. Arthur's pretty sure he'll be babying them when they're thirty.
Leah gives up on kicking and lets out a squawk of indignation, and Eames resignedly sets her back down so that she can scoot off again on all fours. Her getaway is cut short at the end of the room by the arrival of Micah, her favourite uncle, who swings her up high to make her shriek.
There's always somebody to look out for them when they're here, Arthur's learned. There's always someone who will have an eye on them, ready to swoop to the rescue at the drop of a hat. He'd noticed it on full moons, first. All the werewolves are exaggeratedly gentle around the cubs, but the sound of an unfamiliar approaching wolf one night had made them all snap to attention at once. Before Arthur's eyes, they had immediately bundled the cubs in a pile and thronged around them while Eames had hurtled straight for the intruder like a silent, deadly juggernaut, with his parents and Micah and half the pack's males on his heels. Eames had half killed the other wolf before realizing it was Faye, rejoining them from over the hills, her black pelt making her difficult to distinguish from the night, and in the morning he'd been all contrition-but for the rest of that night, even Arthur didn't dare go near him, or any of the other wolves for that matter. They take the guarding of their young extremely seriously. Arthur won't doubt them again.
Now, with the rest of Eames' family joining them, it's hard to think of those protective, deadly wolves. They coo and fuss over the babies and there are a dozen concerned pairs of hands reaching for her when Leah starts to cry. Arthur has to jostle his way through the crowd to pick her up, knowing that she's over-dramatizing for the attention.
“You're a diva,” he tells her in the kitchen while he's warming up her bottle. She mouths his shoulder tearfully even while her tiny slip of a tail waves back and forth. (She's in a weird bitey phase right now-he's sure it's the werewolf thing.) He knows he doesn't stand a chance of hiding her away in the kitchen to himself for very long, so he graciously returns to the family and lets Eames' mother feed her, instead.
Eames' father is sitting on the couch, surveying his pack quietly, when Arthur takes a seat next to him and does the same. He's surprised to see Alizé there. Even more surprised to see Faye, whom Micah is making a kindly token effort to engage. Eames has got Will, who is turning shy and tearful. He's bouncing him in his arms and laughing with Ariadne, happy as ever to be home. Arthur can't even see Thomas, but he's not worried.
“Does it feel good to be living in London again?” Eames' father asks at his side, surprising him.
Arthur recovers quickly. “Yeah, it does. It's good for the-babies to be closer to their family.”
Eames' father smiles. Both his hands are resting on his polished wood cane, propped against the floor. He looks-old, suddenly, really old. He hadn't exactly been young, before, but he seems to have aged many years in the time since Arthur met him.
“Does your mother get to see them often?” he asks.
Arthur nods. “She stayed for three months when we were still in Paris. She's visited a couple times since then, too.”
“Good.” Eames' father lowers his head, resting his chin on his chest, as if he's about to fall asleep. “Good. Family is so important.”
Arthur can't think of anything to say to that, so he just nods and watches Ariadne lift Will out of Eames' arms, soothing him lovingly. Yes, he thinks, family is important.
He's good and doesn't say a word while presents are opened, even though a lot of it seems like stuff they don't and will never need. They do receive an enormous triple-stroller which will be handy, but must have cost Eames' parents a small fortune. Leah and Thomas thrill over every toy, but also over every bag and scrap of wrapping paper, while Will, who likes all animals but especially birds, clutches a stuffed owl to him with wide eyes, his tears vanishing.
“Ba,” he says, or at least that's what Arthur hears. Eames is convinced he said “bird” and gets so excited that Will perks up at once and starts saying, “Ba! Ba!”
“What a clever boy!” Eames' mum enthuses, and this seems to be the general consensus. Not to be outdone, Leah screams, and seems satisfied when the adults around her laugh.
They get books and blankets and clothes, and a few superstitious tokens to keep them safe from harm, like a Tau Cross to represent St. Francis of Assisi, who is apparently patron saint of the animals and nature. The gifts don't seem to end, and Will is starting to get upset again under all the attention, so Arthur takes him to the kitchen for a break, and to pour himself a drink. He walks up and down the length of the kitchen to settle the baby, and Will quickly quiets and then falls asleep. Just tired, then. Arthur keeps walking, and brushes his nose against the velvet-softness of Will's ears. He loves their baby-smell.
Socializing is always a drain on Arthur, and he feels about ready to drift off, too, when he hears someone enter the kitchen behind him. He turns just as Faye says, “Kath is pregnant.”
“Who's Kath?” Arthur asks.
“Alizé's mate,” she says. “She's just past the first trimester.”
“Oh. Good for them.”
“Good for them,” says Faye. “Not good for you. Eames' father is too old to keep leading this pack for very long.”
“So Eames will take over,” Arthur says. He's annoyed by her, and doesn't know why. “He has a mate and he has heirs, end of story.”
Faye jabs a finger first at him and then at Will. “Not a real mate. Not a real heir. He's going to say they'll be infertile. He'll say you don't even count as a mate if Eames has never mounted you on a full moon. Werewolves are superstitious, he can make them think it's bad luck to be led by an alpha with an illegitimate mate.”
“How do you know all this?” Arthur demands, scowling, because it's none of the pack's business what he and Eames have or haven't done on a full moon. She shrugs.
“I know Alizé,” she says.
“So what are we supposed to do?”
“Be ready,” she says. “He could kill you, you know, just to goad Eames into a fight. Eames won't fight with him if he doesn't have a reason; he's already got the pack.”
Reflexively, Arthur squeezes Will slightly tighter. “What about them?”
She looks at him like he's crazy. “No werewolf would kill an infant. Not even Alizé.”
That's ... a relief, then, really. Arthur can feel the tension leave him. He's come a long way, he thinks. He could die, sure, but as long as the babies are fine.
Faye turns to leave, and he says, “Why are you telling me this?”
“You know why,” she says. And he does know, of course. Faye hates him. But she loves Eames. That means something, to a werewolf. She'll do anything to keep him from heartache, even if it means losing her chance with him all over again.
+The upside of staying at Eames' parents' house, more than anything else, is that it gives Arthur and Eames the opportunity to have sex; an opportunity which is few and far between these days. In fact, it's become depressingly normal to go entire weeks without any form of sex. At Eames' parents', his mother is happy to take the night shift, and the main guest bedroom is at the other end of the house, nice and far away from the master bedroom. They fuck like they're trying to make up for all that lost time.
When it's been that long, the first round is always fast and hard and ends with them tied together whether they really mean to or not, because Eames just can't really control it when he's that desperate. Even when they do have sex at home they can't tie; not when a baby could start crying and demand their attention at any moment. So they can only do that here, and that means fifteen-or-so minutes of waiting for Eames' knot to go down enough for them to start again; which means, as they're lying there together catching their breath, Arthur casts about for something to talk about and stupidly decides to tell Eames what Faye said.
“That's ridiculous,” Eames says. “Alizé wouldn't kill you. You can't harm a pack member's mate, it's the law.”
“We're talking about him finding a loophole, Eames,” Arthur says. “If his argument is that I'm not a legitimate mate, maybe the law doesn't apply.”
He's surprised to hear the feral sound that rips from Eames, a furious snarl. “It always applies.”
He's angry now, Arthur can smell it. Eames' scent is especially sharp in his nose, in the roof of his mouth when he tastes the air. The full moon is just a couple of days away, and it's already showing.
“We should be ready, anyway,” he says carefully, wishing he'd said nothing now. “There's nothing else we can-”
He breaks off in a startled yelp when Eames is suddenly pressing down on him, teeth fastened under Arthur's jaw almost hard enough to break the skin.
“Eames!” he hisses, shoving at him, even though they can't separate yet. “Eames, fuck off, your whole family will see if you bite me there-”
“Yes,” Eames murmurs, “they will.” He soothes the bite with a few hasty licks, breathing fast. “You're mine. Who else does he think you'd belong to-”
“Eames, we can talk about it in the morning,” Arthur starts, and hisses in a breath when Eames bites him again, slightly lower down Arthur's neck. Eames growls, but it's a sound of contrition, like he just can't help himself and he's sorry. His agitation is a prickling scent in Arthur's nose. Again, he lets go and licks the bite quickly.
He's not clear-headed right now, Arthur knows that. He's set off that old, irrational fear in Eames that he will lose Arthur, that somebody will take him away, and he's restaking his claim on Arthur as best as he knows how. Eames eases himself free of Arthur's body, and they both groan. Arthur can feel against his thigh just how hard Eames still is.
“Mine,” Eames rumbles softly, inhaling Arthur's scent, reaching under the covers to where Arthur is already slick and open and circling with his thumb. Arthur arches away from his touch, and takes Eames' face in both hands.
“Eames, stop,” he says, and at once Eames does, going still and looking at him. Arthur gazes at him steadily. “I'm yours, and I love you, and I'll never be anybody else's. But if you want to have sex now, do it because you love me too. Don't do this because you're angry about what Faye said.”
Eames is frozen on top of him. By now Arthur is hard again, too, wanting to be touched but waiting for Eames to clear his head first.
Then Eames lowers his forehead to Arthur's, exhaling against his face.
“Of course it's because I love you,” he says, sounding surprised, more like himself. Less like the wolf.
“Okay,” Arthur says. “I know.”
Eames buries his face in Arthur's neck, nuzzling gently against the bruises in apology. Arthur can practically hear his frown. “I'm sorry, Arthur. I didn't mean to scare you.”
Arthur snorts. “As if you could ever scare me.”
It's half a lie, and slyly, Eames nips at his neck again. Then he slides in, opening Arthur back up. He's slow and careful, all traces of possessive anger gone, and Arthur arches into him this time, sore but eager. He notes, though, even as Eames kisses him thoroughly, that he still smells like anxiety, and he wishes he knew the words to make it better.
+There's a shaded spot near where the werewolves like to gather on the full moon, a sparse strand of trees with a big rock jutting out of the sloped earth. Arthur likes to perch on top of this rock and read using the e-reader app on his tablet while the wolves gambol about in the valley. He'd claimed this rock without realizing that it's right next to Eames' parents' favourite spot, too. They both like to lie down right under the rock, bask in the moonlight and keep a watchful eye on their pack.
They used to, anyway. Arthur is noticing that Eames' father seems to be spending more and more of his time sleeping while his mate keeps watch for both of them. In the moonlight the old wolf's fur is soft-looking and faded, like an old teddy bear. Neither of them seem to begrudge Arthur for invading their space, at least, and the three of them form a peaceful sentry there on the slope.
Arthur is distracted frequently from his tablet by the antics of his children. Leah and Thomas are running around with the other wolves now-in big, flailing puppy-leaps, seemingly unable to coordinate all four legs at the same time, and they don't go very fast. Eames keeps pace with them in an easy lope, chasing and tumbling them until they round on him, bite at him and pull him down so they can climb all over him, and he goes easily, all too willing to be a lupine jungle-gym for his cubs. Even Will joins in when they gang up on Eames, moving shakily about in cautious, exaggerated steps. Eames is extra gentle with him.
Leah only has so much attention span, however, and before long she's tumbling down to target some other wolf. Almost everyone engages her playfully, dropping onto their forelegs like pups and rolling over when she jumps on them. Thomas inevitably follows her, while Will stays snuggled up against Eames, who licks him reassuringly. Arthur can't suppress a fond smile.
Now and then Leah goes careening off for the hills, but there's always someone to catch her up and gently herd her back to the bulk of the pack. Eventually she goes bounding off in Arthur's direction. He sets down his tablet and slides off the rock, in case she wants him, but she veers off and runs at her grandmother instead-stepping on grandfather's muzzle on the way. Arthur makes a sharp, concerned sound as the alpha startles awake, but when he lays eyes on Leah, he softens visibly. He reaches out and bats her with a gentle, padded paw, and when she turns excitedly and jumps on him, he rolls onto his side gamely. Thomas is there in another second to pile on the old alpha as well, tugging his mane fiercely while Leah chews his ear, and Arthur almost wants to intervene, in case they hurt him, but-the old wolf looks so happy. He bundles them away with his forepaws, and lets his tongue loll out sideways when they come bouncing back to fasten their little teeth in him determinedly.
When Thomas notices Arthur sitting there, he peels away from his grandfather and climbs clumsily into Arthur's lap for a cuddle. Seeing this, Leah, too, makes straight for Arthur, but she jumps on him and sinks her sharp little teeth into his arm.
“Ow!” Arthur lifts her, frowning. “You're supposed to be learning bite inhibition.”
She wriggles, and bites him again when he puts her down. And Arthur doesn't like to think of himself as a sissy, because he's got a damn good threshold for pain, but-well, it hurts. He's got raised welts all over his arms from scuffling with the babies when they're changed-which Eames says they won't start really regulating for another year or so, but at least their bite isn't anywhere near potent yet. Leah chomps him happily and steps all over Thomas as she does, her tail wagging, and there's not very much Arthur can do about it until Eames' mother gets up to save him and scoops the excitable cub away by the scruff of her neck. He rubs at his arms ruefully.
“She must drive you crazy,” he says to Thomas, who peers up at him lovingly. But in another minute Thomas leaves his lap to start wrestling with Leah, and they tumble down the slope together in a wriggling, squeaking ball of fur. Maybe not.
Arthur has just returned to his rock perch when another wolf comes racing out of the dark and runs straight into Eames' father, who has already settled back down to sleep. The running wolf trips, and for a second the two of them are tangled in a snarling, writhing blur like a vicious parody of the two playing cubs. Then they fall apart, and Arthur realizes that the other wolf, rich brown in colour, is Alizé-standing before the alpha wolf with a cockily raised tail, growling as though to challenge his uncle for daring to lie in his path.
The other wolves start to turn and look, attracted by the sound of the scuffle, and Arthur realizes then what Alizé is doing. He's challenging the alpha in front of the entire pack. Eames has explained to Arthur in the past that there are lots of alphas who run their packs based on their strength-mainly, packs that live in high-density areas and have to compete with other packs for territory. Earlier in his life, Eames' father had fought and won the right from his older brother to lead the pack, though it had left him permanently crippled; and he's never had to fight since then. They're a quiet pack, as Eames puts it, who don't invite trouble, and their alphas serve a more guiding role than guardian.
Still, this is a challenge no alpha could refuse. Even Arthur knows that, and he simmers with fury. So this is how Alizé is going to do it. He isn't going to attack Arthur at all-he's going to shame his own alpha in front of the entire pack.
Eames' father's fleeting look of confusion is almost painful to see. Then-realizing the other wolves are all watching them, now-he levers himself up carefully onto his three good legs, and bares his teeth at Alizé. There are disapproving rumbles from the wolves when Alizé makes no move to back down, although nobody intervenes.
For a moment the two male wolves hackle and growl, circling a bit to keep their shoulders to each other. In the valley, Eames gets up, leaving Will on the ground, and begins to lope across the grass, but before he can get there, Alizé raises a broad paw and cuffs the alpha mightily, slapping his head down. Alizé's gripping claws leave a bleeding slice right down the bridge of his muzzle, and again, the momentary confusion in the old wolf's face is painful-like he isn't sure what's happening or how he's supposed to react to it.
Then Eames is there. He drives straight into Alizé from the side, seizing a mouthful of mane, and drags him away, snarling. Wolves scatter. Leah and Thomas, still playing in their path, are grabbed up swiftly by Micah and his mate. Kath is the closest wolf to Will, and she scoops him up without a moment's hesitation to carry him away. All at once a space has been cleared for the combatants, and they waste no time on posturing. First blood has been drawn and Eames is furious about it. They claw and batter and snap at each other in a vicious whirlwind of teeth and fur.
Arthur hesitates long enough to check on Eames' father, whose face is being carefully tended by his mate's soothing tongue, before he gets off his rock and moves closer. He hates how useless this makes him feel. It's always him and Eames in a fight, watching each other's backs; that's the way it has always been. He hadn't even brought a knife or anything with which he might have helped Eames. But of course, he remembers a moment later, this is a fight Eames has to win on his own-however little Arthur likes it.
And Eames seems to be winning. He overwhelms Alizé with brute force, pushing and driving him around so that Alizé is constantly on the defensive. They've laid open wounds on each other's faces and shoulders in no time, dripping blood, but neither is able to gain a good hold on the other's mane or throat. The last time Arthur had seen them fight, it was Eames who had been seemingly overwhelmed. But he had been exhausted then. Now they're fighting fairly, and Arthur's heart thrills with every blow Eames lands.
The cubs have been ushered outside the ring of spectators, and it's Arthur who notices Thomas first, squirming his way through to his father curiously and tumbling out into the makeshift arena. Arthur starts to push forward, stops when he smells the high tempers all around him, and shouts desperately, “Stop!”
And to his great surprise, they do. Both wolves notice Thomas at the same time and disengage, licking their lips swiftly and backing apart a safe distance. Arthur watches in astonishment as they both wait for another wolf to quietly slink forward and remove Thomas. Only once the cub has been carried away do they both get back to their feet to resume the fight, and Alizé takes immediate advantage of the moment's distraction, surging forward with all his weight to bowl Eames right off his feet and seize him by the throat, but he has to let go when Eames pummels him with his clawed hind feet. When Eames gets up, though, he's bleeding heavily.
Heart in his throat, Arthur scours the crowd of wolves and spots the she-wolf carrying Thomas out onto the grass, where she puts him down. Arthur is there to pick him up quickly, giving him a tight squeeze just to reassure himself, then casts about for help. Eames' mother is still tending to her mate. His gaze lands on a wolf sitting apart from the others-one who never seems to be taken over by wolfish instincts, whose copper eyes always shine with the same shrewd human intelligence: the one wolf who will grasp the urgency of his request right away and not be distracted. He goes to Faye.
“Can you watch him?” he asks.
She blinks at him coolly. Then her gaze lowers to the wriggling bundle in Arthur's arms. Half closing her eyes, she dips her muzzle in a nod, an oddly human gesture to see on a wolf, and Arthur sets Thomas down at her feet. She raises a paw absently, and hesitates before she tucks Thomas a little closer against her body, the way a she-wolf would do with her own cub.
Arthur returns to the pack, scouring the crowd with his eyes while he sifts through all their scents. That's how he finds Will, curled up in a frightened ball between two she-wolves. He purrs when Arthur lifts him-an expression of fear, rather than contentment. Perhaps he can smell Eames' blood.
Faye is still with Thomas when he rejoins her, watching the cub curiously rather than the fight. He puts Will with her, too, and the smaller cub whimpers, looking for Arthur.
“I just have to find Leah,” Arthur says quickly, and he leaves again.
Eames and Alizé are still fighting. Eames is beginning to flag. He's lost a lot of blood: Arthur can smell it, sharp salt and iron in the air, turning his stomach. Alizé knows he's slowing down, and presses his advantage ruthlessly. For a second Arthur is caught up in their fight, a sick knot settling in his stomach. For the first time he starts to wonder how far Alizé will go. Will he forget himself, drunk on the smell of blood, and actually kill Eames? He can't, of course, it's not allowed-but there's a manic light in his eyes that shines the more Eames bleeds, the slower he becomes. The werewolves are whining, jostling amongst themselves, obviously growing uneasy.
Arthur gives himself a quick shake and sets to locating Leah. She would be the most difficult, of course. Maybe she's already gone galloping off across the valley. But he can't see her, and she wouldn't have gotten that far, surely. More likely she's off looking for trouble somewhere-or if not for trouble, then for one of them, for attention-
Then he sees her, the little cinnamon-coloured blur headed straight for her beloved daddy, for Eames, in the middle of all those wolves, wanting to join the game. The two males are on their hind legs, snapping at each other's shoulders, clawing, and Eames thrusts his cousin away with a twist of his forelegs. Alizé lands almost on top of Leah, on his side, vulnerable; and just as Eames gathers himself to lunge and end the battle, Alizé shunts Leah in front of him, knocking her over.
Arthur is pushing his way through the wolves without even thinking about it, ignoring the startled snaps. But suddenly the wolves stop snapping, all transfixed by the sight in front of them. Eames' belly hits the soft grass with a flump. He twists as fast as he can to show his throat. He's submitting. Surrendering.
Then Arthur breaks through, furious that Alizé would use one of their children like this, almost literally seeing red. Very distantly, he hears Faye's faint bark of warning and Eames' distressed whine. Alizé turns to face him just as he swoops down and grabs Leah up with one arm, and the werewolf lunges for him with a snarl. Arthur strikes him across the muzzle, as hard as he can, splitting one of his knuckles on Alizé's serrated canine. Alizé's jaws snap together, and for a second he looks almost comically bewildered. Then he leaps forward just as Arthur starts to retreat. Arthur throws his arm up defensively and Alizé's jaws snap shut around his forearm.
The force of his bite knocks Arthur flat on his tail, makes him squeeze Leah even tighter until she squeaks. Alizé bowls him over backward, still biting down steadily until Arthur can feel his teeth grinding bone. Blood wells up around Alizé's jaws, and Arthur, gasping, knows the bite force of a fully-grown werewolf, knows very well that to a predator who kills by crushing skulls or spinal cords, a human arm is nothing-
And then Eames arrives, snarling terribly, sending them all spilling over the ground and making Leah squeak again. His teeth meet in the base of Alizé's ear and without preamble he rips it from Alizé's skull. Alizé wrenches his jaws free of Arthur's arm, screaming, and Arthur catches a glimpse of the blood-red sclera of Eames' eyes before he lunges one last time and closes his jaws around Alizé's neck, just where the mane is thinnest. He literally drags him away. Alizé falls to his elbows even while Eames is hauling him over the grass and he puts down his tail, beaten. Eames lets go and smacks him across the face, leaving a deep scrape, a dismissal if Arthur ever saw one. With a last growl, Alizé bounds away.
But it's too late. Arthur can feel Alizé's bite starting to work, seeping into his veins.
He's still sitting flat on the ground, and he suddenly realizes how tightly he's gripping Leah in his good arm. She's wiggling and squeaking indignantly. He sets her down, and blinks black spots out of his eyes. In retrospect, hitting Alizé had been pretty stupid. Should have just grabbed Leah and gotten out of there. He peels back his sleeve, hissing, to take a look at the damage, but he can't see past all the blood. His vision swims.
Eames flops down in front of him. Arthur stiffens, but can see almost at once that Eames' hackles are down now, however encrusted with blood, and the red is fading from his eyes. He touches his nose to Arthur's arm, concerned. Then he starts to lick at the wound with long, steady strokes of his tongue. Arthur shuts his eyes, waiting for it to hurt, but it feels ... cool, and good. The wolves are all milling around now, and there are a couple around Eames, licking his wounds for him while he's licking Arthur's.
“Good job,” Arthur says thickly, and Eames' tail thumps the ground absently. He means it. Eames took a risk for Arthur, but not for Leah. It's the same thing Arthur would have done. “I think I need to go to the hospital,” he adds, and the words slur together slightly.
He forces himself to his feet. If he can get to the house, he can get Ariadne to drive him to the nearest hospital. Eames follows him. He's still dripping blood. The smell, pungent and werewolf, makes Arthur want to throw up.
“Go,” Arthur says. “I'll be fine. Stay with the babies.”
At that last word, Eames looks over his shoulder. Some of the she-wolves have bullied Faye away and are licking the startled cubs reassuringly. He looks back at Arthur.
“Go,” Arthur repeats, trying to push himself on. The pain is unbelievable. It's like fire in his nerves, scalding and creeping its way inexorably down to his fingertips, up to his shoulder, spreading slowly but surely. The black spots are taking over his vision. He ends up on his knees and has to struggle upright, and Eames is there, pulling at his coat.
His stubbornness to follow, and his determined control over himself, makes Arthur force himself on. They're not terribly far from the house. He can get there before he collapses, maybe. Is this what becoming a werewolf feels like? He can't be turning, he can't be, but what else could feel like this? The fire in his arm eclipses all his other senses. Is this what Faye felt like, nine years old and defenseless, when Alizé turned her?
He keeps falling, getting up, sometimes holding Eames for support. Either he's turning or he's dying. He's sure of it. No torture ever felt as bad as this. He wants to turn around. He wants to hold his babies again. He thinks he might be crying. Crying, because he might never see them again.
The house is in sight when he falls and can't get up again. He stares up at the stars, the whirling black locusts, and it takes him a moment to realize Eames has got him by the coat and is dragging him the last part of the way. He wants to say something, to tell him to stop, maybe, but the words would mean nothing to the wolf, and he can't speak anyway. The black encompasses him with surprising softness, like sinking into a warm bed.
+The next time he wakes up, lucid, he's in a hospital bed. Ariadne, curled in a chair in the corner and reading a magazine, looks up.
“Hey,” she says. “Welcome back.”
There are so many wires in him. Why so many wires? He pulls his arm in slightly, stretching them, but they don't come out.
Eames is in the room suddenly, his eyes bloodshot and bruised, hinting at a long period of sleeplessness. He walks straight to Arthur's bed, clasps his face and kisses his forehead.
“You're back,” he says, drawing away just to take Arthur in.
“Where'd I go?” Arthur asks groggily. “Where are the babies?”
“Home,” says Eames. “They're fine. We've all been worried about you.”
“Why?”
They get a doctor to explain to him, using all the medical terms, and half of it goes over Arthur's head, because he's still groggy and feverish. He listens, eyes glazed over, and then makes Ariadne and Eames repeat it when the doctor's gone and he's more awake and has had a chance to check his totem.
“The good news is you didn't turn,” Ariadne says, “and you didn't die of blood loss, and you could have.”
“Werewolf saliva,” Eames says, self-conscious. “It helps the blood to clot, that's why I was licking. But I ended up making it worse.”
Werewolf contagion and Arthur's species apparently don't mix. In fact, they so repel each other that Arthur's body had progressed with frightening swiftness from infection to severe inflammatory response to septic shock. The doctors gave him a thirty percent chance.
“Of dying?” Arthur asks.
“Of living,” Eames corrects.
It's a reaction that has been observed before, namely in exceptionally healthy adults, but the doctors also told Eames they'd never heard of a case this severe or rapid. They told him the odds of Arthur making it were fairly slim. At that point, Eames told them, “Yeah? Well, you don't know Arthur. You've got no idea what he can take.”
“Did you really say that?” Arthur asks.
“Well,” Eames says, sheepish, “Ariadne certainly did. I was trying not to lose it.” He takes Arthur's hand and kisses it. “Anyway, at least you've answered the timeless question of what happens when a catperson gets bitten by a werewolf. The answer is an uncontrolled hurricane of immune cell production. Apparently your body is so resistent to infectious werewolf pathogens you went into hypercyto-well-they had a term for it.”
“But,” Arthur says, still woozy, “I've had, um ... werewolf pathogens ... in me before.”
“Not infectious ones. Just lots and lots of semen.”
“Ugh,” Ariadne says, from the corner.
Eames smirks over his shoulder at her. Then he turns back to Arthur, who is probably the only person in the world who can see right through him. He can tell how shaken Eames really is.
“You've got to stop doing this to me, Arthur,” he whispers, with a false, wavering smile. He kisses the back of Arthur's hand again. “Every time you go into the hospital I don't know if you're coming out.”
Arthur laces his fingers with Eames', weakly. “I'll always come back to you,” he says.
+It's Ariadne who tells him what happened with the pack the morning after the full moon, when Eames leaves the room to get coffee.
“That big guy, Alizé, went begging to Eames' parents. Really groveling. He said he'd just lost control, and Eames' dad told him to learn how to control himself or find a new pack. He wasn't really mean about it, though. I think they went too easy on him. His ear didn't grow back, though, and he looked like shit. He must've really taken a beating. I wish I'd seen it.”
“No, you don't,” says Arthur. “What did Eames say?”
“Nothing,” says Ariadne. “He just stood there and waited till his parents had left. Then he told me to go upstairs-I watched from my window-and he hauled Alizé outside and beat the shit out of him. You should've seen him, Arthur. I thought he'd kill the guy. Then Eames said that if you died, he would kill Alizé, and he left him there.”
It's been so long since Arthur has seen that cold, brutal side of Eames that he'd almost forgotten it's one of his favourite things about him. Picturing that scene sends a pleasant shiver all the way down to his tailtip. The septicemia is almost worth it.
He's obviously not feeling too kindly disposed toward Alizé either. His arm is broken, literally cracked between the werewolf's teeth. He'd gotten dangerously close to organ failure and he's not even out of the woods yet, won't be for a very long time. That's what the doctors say, anyway. Arthur has a higher estimation of himself. By the end of the week he's just itching to get back to Eames' parents' house and see his children again.
“Not that I'm going to thank you for doing what you did,” Eames tells him in the car when he finally gets to take Arthur home. “But you did help me out back there.”
“When she's a bratty teenager we can tell Leah about the time she almost cost you the pack,” Arthur says.
“And you your arm.” Eames glances over at Arthur's cast, shaking his head. “You took on a changed werewolf. You terrify me, do you know that?”
“I know.”
Eames sighs, and says, “You'll have a scar to match Faye's. Although he nearly took her whole arm off, when he turned her.”
“I can't believe nothing happened to him for that,” Arthur says, disgusted.
“We don't like police interference in pack matters,” Eames says, though he sounds apologetic. “They won't do anything in your case either; you were on clearly marked pack land on a full moon and you provoked him.”
“Is Faye around?” Arthur asks. He wants to thank her. He wonders, vaguely, if she's disappointed that he didn't die. Eames shakes his head.
“Gone. She's got a job, I'm sure. She only likes to hang around here on full moons.”
Eames helps him upstairs, once they get to the house, and tucks him into bed. All the medications Arthur is on make him drowsy.
“Where are my babies?” he asks tiredly.
“Leah and Will went for a walk in their spiffy new pram with their Gran. Tommy's still asleep. My dad's minding him.”
“I want him,” Arthur says. He's already half out, though, and doesn't hear Eames' reply. Eames leaves, then, and Arthur dozes for a few minutes. Until Eames walks back in, holding an equally sleepy Thomas.
“Someone's missed you,” Eames says.
Arthur smiles, lifting his good arm automatically to take Thomas from Eames. Thomas is yawning, rubbing at his eyes with a scrunched fist, but as soon as he sees Arthur he kicks his legs and yells, “Dadada!”
“That's right, that's your dadada.” Eames deposits him on Arthur's chest. “Now give him a big kiss.”
Thomas obligingly smushes his open mouth against Arthur's cheek. Arthur grimaces and wipes off his face.
“Still better than being licked by Leah,” he says. “How's your dad?”
Eames is silent. He lies down carefully next to Arthur, and Arthur sets Thomas between them, so he can go back to sleep. Finally, Eames says, “Mum says we can stay as long as we need to. But if you want to go back to London ...”
“We can stay,” Arthur says. “How is your dad?” he repeats.
Eames sighs. “They want me to take over,” he says, in a low voice.
“I figured.”
“I told them I can't, I ... we live in London, and the pack's doing just fine, but ... Arthur, I don't know how much longer my dad's got,” he says, and he sounds a bit choked. Thomas reaches for his face, sleepy but curious, grabbing at his chin, and Eames folds Thomas' tiny hand in his own. “He just seems so ...”
“Yeah,” Arthur says. “I know.”
“But my mum can handle things, and she's got Micah, and if you don't want to stay then we don't have to. I don't have to do anything yet.”
Eames is an alpha, but that doesn't make him ambitious, like Alizé. Maybe in another pack, it would, but here he only has to obey his parents, and that's the most natural state in the world for a wolf to exist in. Arthur can see that he doesn't want this, would prefer anything but this, anything but to acknowledge that his father is no longer the powerful guiding figure he used to be. And Arthur knows, only from long practice, what to say.
“I'll stay with you whatever you choose,” he tells Eames.
“Thank you,” Eames says, after a moment. He rolls onto his side, careful not to squash Thomas, and gives Arthur a kiss. Then he kisses Thomas, too. “He'll be the next alpha, you know.”
“Not if he never learns to stand up to Leah,” says Arthur. Eames laughs.
“God, what a little terror of an alpha she would be,” he says fondly. Then he quiets. “One day she'll be a good beta. But he'll be the alpha.”
“How do you know? They're only one.”
“I can tell,” Eames says simply.
Arthur thinks about that. He thinks about them growing up in the pack, right here, surrounded by family, like he never was. Then, because it's been bugging him, he asks, “Do you think anyone else feels like Alizé? Like it's bad luck, that I'm your mate?”
“No,” Eames says, smiling. “You gave me babies-heirs. That's a sign if nothing else is.” He sobers suddenly. “If he ever has a go at you again-”
“Think of all the people who want me dead, Eames,” Arthur interrupts him tiredly. “Do you really think I'd ever let Alizé off me?”
“Good point,” Eames allows.
“I'll be fine. We'll all be fine. I'll take a gun or a knife with me in future.”
Eames tenses, and Arthur knows he's correctly assumed that Eames would rather keep him far away from any changed werewolf for the rest of his life. He turns his head to look at Eames, and says quietly, “I want to be there, Eames. I want to be a part of your pack.”
Eames starts to smile, slowly, before schooling himself. “Well,” he says, “even if you weren't before, you technically are now.” He touches Arthur's cast. “Although perhaps we should work on legitimizing you some more, for good measure?”
“Fuck off,” Arthur laughs, and Eames covers Thomas' little ears, even though he's already asleep, pretending to look scandalized.
“Get to sleep, you terrible influence,” he says. At that, Arthur yawns, and it shudders through him all the way down to his tailtip. Eames smiles fondly and leans over to kiss him. “I'll protect you.”
“I know you will,” Arthur says, closing his eyes and choosing not to fight that, because he does know. Eames has got his back, just like Arthur's got his. They always will.
Pairing: catboy!Arthur/werewolf!Eames
Words: ~7800
Rating: R
Warnings: knotting
Summary: It's the babies' first birthday. Arthur and Eames celebrate Arthur-and-Eames-ishly. (Read: with violence.)
Author's Note: You people made me really like these mutant werebabies. You should be ashamed of yourselves. Moar werekittens here.
Before they reach the front lobby of Eames' parents home, Eames suddenly darts past Arthur, down the stairs, and blocks his path.
“Something you should know,” he says. “The first birthday is kind of a big deal to werewolves.”
“Okay,” says Arthur. Seems like everything to do with the babies is a big deal. Eames' parents had been in transports of joy when they'd heard that Thomas had cut his first tooth.
“I know you think my family spoils them ...”
“They do spoil them.”
Eames holds his hands up placatingly. “I just want you to know what to expect. The first birthday is a big celebration because they're old enough to actually enjoy it. And ... sometimes, we go all-out.”
Arthur eyes him. “How much spoiling are we talking about here?”
“I'm just telling you,” Eames says. “Be really polite and gracious, okay? I know that humans always feel the need to reject gifts at first, or say, 'Oh, you shouldn't have, it's too much,' even if it is, but that's a real insult to a werewolf, especially if it's something for a baby. It's like turning down food from an Italian.”
Arthur scowls at him. “Our kids are going to be brats if your family doesn't stop treating them like royalty.”
Eames grins. “They'll have each other to keep their egos in check. And you. Besides, imagine what it was like when I was born, the only child of the alphas. And look how I turned out.”
“Self-entitled and obnoxious,” says Arthur.
“Just the way you like me,” Eames says smugly, and kisses him.
The babies' gifts are piled on a table when Arthur and Eames walk into the room where Eames' family is just starting to congregate. And on some chairs, and under the table. Arthur opens his mouth at once and Eames elbows him none-too-gently in the ribs.
“This looks lovely, Mum,” he says, embracing his mother fondly. And it does look lovely. There are streamers everywhere and a big banner hanging from the ceiling that says HAPPY 1st BIRTHDAY THOMAS, LEAH & WILLIAM! The babies are sitting on the floor amidst some torn wrapping paper, evidence of a few already-opened presents, and looking both smart and adorable in little white frocks.
“That's a lot of presents,” Arthur limits himself to commenting. Eames' mother beams as if he's paid her a compliment.
“Isn't it? We've been planning this for months, you know, the hardest part was waiting till now to give it to them. Don't worry, though, Arthur,” she adds, smiling gently at him. “Some of those are for Theo.”
Theodore is Eames' cousin's baby, just a couple months old now, and fast asleep in his mother's arms as she introduces him to Arthur and Eames' litter. Thomas, chewing thoughtfully on the ear of a new plush teddy bear, looks mildly fascinated by the tiny interloper, while Leah shows no interest at all and just wants to grab his mother's hair. She's reached that phase.
Ariadne is keeping a close eye on them. It's her first time meeting the pack and they're all incredibly nice to her, which Arthur suspects has something to do with her carrying the babies to term for them. Eames' mum had greeted her like a daughter.
“Hey, Arthur, wanna give me a hand?” she calls over when Leah starts motoring away. Arthur swoops on her at once, swinging Leah as he lifts her, to make her squeal. She's an expert crawler by now. It's a little scary, mostly due to her attraction to mischief. She is definitely Eames' daughter.
Thomas follows her in his own shuffling crawl, then sits at Arthur's feet and holds his arms up to be lifted, too, so Arthur scoops him up as well. He's gotten very practiced at holding two at the same time. Will, who can't crawl at all yet, is cuddled in Ariadne's lap and focusing very hard on a pile of toy blocks.
“It's nice to have one sedentary baby, isn't it?” Ariadne says. Arthur frowns, because he's never not worrying about his babies, and she smiles gently. “He's a preemie, Arthur. He'll start moving around when he's good and ready.”
“Hopefully he's ready when Leah's developed longer than a five-second attention span,” Eames says, lifting the baby in question out of Arthur's arms. “Hard enough keeping up with this one, and her leading Tommy into trouble all the time.”
“Hear that, Leah?” Ariadne says, while Leah kicks her legs impatiently. “You're a bad influence on your brothers.”
“You should see them when they're changed,” Arthur says, setting Thomas back down. “She beats them both up. She's a bully.”
“Just imagine what she'll be like when she's a teenager,” Ariadne says.
“I'd rather not,” Eames says immediately, hugging Leah tighter to him. Arthur's pretty sure he'll be babying them when they're thirty.
Leah gives up on kicking and lets out a squawk of indignation, and Eames resignedly sets her back down so that she can scoot off again on all fours. Her getaway is cut short at the end of the room by the arrival of Micah, her favourite uncle, who swings her up high to make her shriek.
There's always somebody to look out for them when they're here, Arthur's learned. There's always someone who will have an eye on them, ready to swoop to the rescue at the drop of a hat. He'd noticed it on full moons, first. All the werewolves are exaggeratedly gentle around the cubs, but the sound of an unfamiliar approaching wolf one night had made them all snap to attention at once. Before Arthur's eyes, they had immediately bundled the cubs in a pile and thronged around them while Eames had hurtled straight for the intruder like a silent, deadly juggernaut, with his parents and Micah and half the pack's males on his heels. Eames had half killed the other wolf before realizing it was Faye, rejoining them from over the hills, her black pelt making her difficult to distinguish from the night, and in the morning he'd been all contrition-but for the rest of that night, even Arthur didn't dare go near him, or any of the other wolves for that matter. They take the guarding of their young extremely seriously. Arthur won't doubt them again.
Now, with the rest of Eames' family joining them, it's hard to think of those protective, deadly wolves. They coo and fuss over the babies and there are a dozen concerned pairs of hands reaching for her when Leah starts to cry. Arthur has to jostle his way through the crowd to pick her up, knowing that she's over-dramatizing for the attention.
“You're a diva,” he tells her in the kitchen while he's warming up her bottle. She mouths his shoulder tearfully even while her tiny slip of a tail waves back and forth. (She's in a weird bitey phase right now-he's sure it's the werewolf thing.) He knows he doesn't stand a chance of hiding her away in the kitchen to himself for very long, so he graciously returns to the family and lets Eames' mother feed her, instead.
Eames' father is sitting on the couch, surveying his pack quietly, when Arthur takes a seat next to him and does the same. He's surprised to see Alizé there. Even more surprised to see Faye, whom Micah is making a kindly token effort to engage. Eames has got Will, who is turning shy and tearful. He's bouncing him in his arms and laughing with Ariadne, happy as ever to be home. Arthur can't even see Thomas, but he's not worried.
“Does it feel good to be living in London again?” Eames' father asks at his side, surprising him.
Arthur recovers quickly. “Yeah, it does. It's good for the-babies to be closer to their family.”
Eames' father smiles. Both his hands are resting on his polished wood cane, propped against the floor. He looks-old, suddenly, really old. He hadn't exactly been young, before, but he seems to have aged many years in the time since Arthur met him.
“Does your mother get to see them often?” he asks.
Arthur nods. “She stayed for three months when we were still in Paris. She's visited a couple times since then, too.”
“Good.” Eames' father lowers his head, resting his chin on his chest, as if he's about to fall asleep. “Good. Family is so important.”
Arthur can't think of anything to say to that, so he just nods and watches Ariadne lift Will out of Eames' arms, soothing him lovingly. Yes, he thinks, family is important.
He's good and doesn't say a word while presents are opened, even though a lot of it seems like stuff they don't and will never need. They do receive an enormous triple-stroller which will be handy, but must have cost Eames' parents a small fortune. Leah and Thomas thrill over every toy, but also over every bag and scrap of wrapping paper, while Will, who likes all animals but especially birds, clutches a stuffed owl to him with wide eyes, his tears vanishing.
“Ba,” he says, or at least that's what Arthur hears. Eames is convinced he said “bird” and gets so excited that Will perks up at once and starts saying, “Ba! Ba!”
“What a clever boy!” Eames' mum enthuses, and this seems to be the general consensus. Not to be outdone, Leah screams, and seems satisfied when the adults around her laugh.
They get books and blankets and clothes, and a few superstitious tokens to keep them safe from harm, like a Tau Cross to represent St. Francis of Assisi, who is apparently patron saint of the animals and nature. The gifts don't seem to end, and Will is starting to get upset again under all the attention, so Arthur takes him to the kitchen for a break, and to pour himself a drink. He walks up and down the length of the kitchen to settle the baby, and Will quickly quiets and then falls asleep. Just tired, then. Arthur keeps walking, and brushes his nose against the velvet-softness of Will's ears. He loves their baby-smell.
Socializing is always a drain on Arthur, and he feels about ready to drift off, too, when he hears someone enter the kitchen behind him. He turns just as Faye says, “Kath is pregnant.”
“Who's Kath?” Arthur asks.
“Alizé's mate,” she says. “She's just past the first trimester.”
“Oh. Good for them.”
“Good for them,” says Faye. “Not good for you. Eames' father is too old to keep leading this pack for very long.”
“So Eames will take over,” Arthur says. He's annoyed by her, and doesn't know why. “He has a mate and he has heirs, end of story.”
Faye jabs a finger first at him and then at Will. “Not a real mate. Not a real heir. He's going to say they'll be infertile. He'll say you don't even count as a mate if Eames has never mounted you on a full moon. Werewolves are superstitious, he can make them think it's bad luck to be led by an alpha with an illegitimate mate.”
“How do you know all this?” Arthur demands, scowling, because it's none of the pack's business what he and Eames have or haven't done on a full moon. She shrugs.
“I know Alizé,” she says.
“So what are we supposed to do?”
“Be ready,” she says. “He could kill you, you know, just to goad Eames into a fight. Eames won't fight with him if he doesn't have a reason; he's already got the pack.”
Reflexively, Arthur squeezes Will slightly tighter. “What about them?”
She looks at him like he's crazy. “No werewolf would kill an infant. Not even Alizé.”
That's ... a relief, then, really. Arthur can feel the tension leave him. He's come a long way, he thinks. He could die, sure, but as long as the babies are fine.
Faye turns to leave, and he says, “Why are you telling me this?”
“You know why,” she says. And he does know, of course. Faye hates him. But she loves Eames. That means something, to a werewolf. She'll do anything to keep him from heartache, even if it means losing her chance with him all over again.
+The upside of staying at Eames' parents' house, more than anything else, is that it gives Arthur and Eames the opportunity to have sex; an opportunity which is few and far between these days. In fact, it's become depressingly normal to go entire weeks without any form of sex. At Eames' parents', his mother is happy to take the night shift, and the main guest bedroom is at the other end of the house, nice and far away from the master bedroom. They fuck like they're trying to make up for all that lost time.
When it's been that long, the first round is always fast and hard and ends with them tied together whether they really mean to or not, because Eames just can't really control it when he's that desperate. Even when they do have sex at home they can't tie; not when a baby could start crying and demand their attention at any moment. So they can only do that here, and that means fifteen-or-so minutes of waiting for Eames' knot to go down enough for them to start again; which means, as they're lying there together catching their breath, Arthur casts about for something to talk about and stupidly decides to tell Eames what Faye said.
“That's ridiculous,” Eames says. “Alizé wouldn't kill you. You can't harm a pack member's mate, it's the law.”
“We're talking about him finding a loophole, Eames,” Arthur says. “If his argument is that I'm not a legitimate mate, maybe the law doesn't apply.”
He's surprised to hear the feral sound that rips from Eames, a furious snarl. “It always applies.”
He's angry now, Arthur can smell it. Eames' scent is especially sharp in his nose, in the roof of his mouth when he tastes the air. The full moon is just a couple of days away, and it's already showing.
“We should be ready, anyway,” he says carefully, wishing he'd said nothing now. “There's nothing else we can-”
He breaks off in a startled yelp when Eames is suddenly pressing down on him, teeth fastened under Arthur's jaw almost hard enough to break the skin.
“Eames!” he hisses, shoving at him, even though they can't separate yet. “Eames, fuck off, your whole family will see if you bite me there-”
“Yes,” Eames murmurs, “they will.” He soothes the bite with a few hasty licks, breathing fast. “You're mine. Who else does he think you'd belong to-”
“Eames, we can talk about it in the morning,” Arthur starts, and hisses in a breath when Eames bites him again, slightly lower down Arthur's neck. Eames growls, but it's a sound of contrition, like he just can't help himself and he's sorry. His agitation is a prickling scent in Arthur's nose. Again, he lets go and licks the bite quickly.
He's not clear-headed right now, Arthur knows that. He's set off that old, irrational fear in Eames that he will lose Arthur, that somebody will take him away, and he's restaking his claim on Arthur as best as he knows how. Eames eases himself free of Arthur's body, and they both groan. Arthur can feel against his thigh just how hard Eames still is.
“Mine,” Eames rumbles softly, inhaling Arthur's scent, reaching under the covers to where Arthur is already slick and open and circling with his thumb. Arthur arches away from his touch, and takes Eames' face in both hands.
“Eames, stop,” he says, and at once Eames does, going still and looking at him. Arthur gazes at him steadily. “I'm yours, and I love you, and I'll never be anybody else's. But if you want to have sex now, do it because you love me too. Don't do this because you're angry about what Faye said.”
Eames is frozen on top of him. By now Arthur is hard again, too, wanting to be touched but waiting for Eames to clear his head first.
Then Eames lowers his forehead to Arthur's, exhaling against his face.
“Of course it's because I love you,” he says, sounding surprised, more like himself. Less like the wolf.
“Okay,” Arthur says. “I know.”
Eames buries his face in Arthur's neck, nuzzling gently against the bruises in apology. Arthur can practically hear his frown. “I'm sorry, Arthur. I didn't mean to scare you.”
Arthur snorts. “As if you could ever scare me.”
It's half a lie, and slyly, Eames nips at his neck again. Then he slides in, opening Arthur back up. He's slow and careful, all traces of possessive anger gone, and Arthur arches into him this time, sore but eager. He notes, though, even as Eames kisses him thoroughly, that he still smells like anxiety, and he wishes he knew the words to make it better.
+There's a shaded spot near where the werewolves like to gather on the full moon, a sparse strand of trees with a big rock jutting out of the sloped earth. Arthur likes to perch on top of this rock and read using the e-reader app on his tablet while the wolves gambol about in the valley. He'd claimed this rock without realizing that it's right next to Eames' parents' favourite spot, too. They both like to lie down right under the rock, bask in the moonlight and keep a watchful eye on their pack.
They used to, anyway. Arthur is noticing that Eames' father seems to be spending more and more of his time sleeping while his mate keeps watch for both of them. In the moonlight the old wolf's fur is soft-looking and faded, like an old teddy bear. Neither of them seem to begrudge Arthur for invading their space, at least, and the three of them form a peaceful sentry there on the slope.
Arthur is distracted frequently from his tablet by the antics of his children. Leah and Thomas are running around with the other wolves now-in big, flailing puppy-leaps, seemingly unable to coordinate all four legs at the same time, and they don't go very fast. Eames keeps pace with them in an easy lope, chasing and tumbling them until they round on him, bite at him and pull him down so they can climb all over him, and he goes easily, all too willing to be a lupine jungle-gym for his cubs. Even Will joins in when they gang up on Eames, moving shakily about in cautious, exaggerated steps. Eames is extra gentle with him.
Leah only has so much attention span, however, and before long she's tumbling down to target some other wolf. Almost everyone engages her playfully, dropping onto their forelegs like pups and rolling over when she jumps on them. Thomas inevitably follows her, while Will stays snuggled up against Eames, who licks him reassuringly. Arthur can't suppress a fond smile.
Now and then Leah goes careening off for the hills, but there's always someone to catch her up and gently herd her back to the bulk of the pack. Eventually she goes bounding off in Arthur's direction. He sets down his tablet and slides off the rock, in case she wants him, but she veers off and runs at her grandmother instead-stepping on grandfather's muzzle on the way. Arthur makes a sharp, concerned sound as the alpha startles awake, but when he lays eyes on Leah, he softens visibly. He reaches out and bats her with a gentle, padded paw, and when she turns excitedly and jumps on him, he rolls onto his side gamely. Thomas is there in another second to pile on the old alpha as well, tugging his mane fiercely while Leah chews his ear, and Arthur almost wants to intervene, in case they hurt him, but-the old wolf looks so happy. He bundles them away with his forepaws, and lets his tongue loll out sideways when they come bouncing back to fasten their little teeth in him determinedly.
When Thomas notices Arthur sitting there, he peels away from his grandfather and climbs clumsily into Arthur's lap for a cuddle. Seeing this, Leah, too, makes straight for Arthur, but she jumps on him and sinks her sharp little teeth into his arm.
“Ow!” Arthur lifts her, frowning. “You're supposed to be learning bite inhibition.”
She wriggles, and bites him again when he puts her down. And Arthur doesn't like to think of himself as a sissy, because he's got a damn good threshold for pain, but-well, it hurts. He's got raised welts all over his arms from scuffling with the babies when they're changed-which Eames says they won't start really regulating for another year or so, but at least their bite isn't anywhere near potent yet. Leah chomps him happily and steps all over Thomas as she does, her tail wagging, and there's not very much Arthur can do about it until Eames' mother gets up to save him and scoops the excitable cub away by the scruff of her neck. He rubs at his arms ruefully.
“She must drive you crazy,” he says to Thomas, who peers up at him lovingly. But in another minute Thomas leaves his lap to start wrestling with Leah, and they tumble down the slope together in a wriggling, squeaking ball of fur. Maybe not.
Arthur has just returned to his rock perch when another wolf comes racing out of the dark and runs straight into Eames' father, who has already settled back down to sleep. The running wolf trips, and for a second the two of them are tangled in a snarling, writhing blur like a vicious parody of the two playing cubs. Then they fall apart, and Arthur realizes that the other wolf, rich brown in colour, is Alizé-standing before the alpha wolf with a cockily raised tail, growling as though to challenge his uncle for daring to lie in his path.
The other wolves start to turn and look, attracted by the sound of the scuffle, and Arthur realizes then what Alizé is doing. He's challenging the alpha in front of the entire pack. Eames has explained to Arthur in the past that there are lots of alphas who run their packs based on their strength-mainly, packs that live in high-density areas and have to compete with other packs for territory. Earlier in his life, Eames' father had fought and won the right from his older brother to lead the pack, though it had left him permanently crippled; and he's never had to fight since then. They're a quiet pack, as Eames puts it, who don't invite trouble, and their alphas serve a more guiding role than guardian.
Still, this is a challenge no alpha could refuse. Even Arthur knows that, and he simmers with fury. So this is how Alizé is going to do it. He isn't going to attack Arthur at all-he's going to shame his own alpha in front of the entire pack.
Eames' father's fleeting look of confusion is almost painful to see. Then-realizing the other wolves are all watching them, now-he levers himself up carefully onto his three good legs, and bares his teeth at Alizé. There are disapproving rumbles from the wolves when Alizé makes no move to back down, although nobody intervenes.
For a moment the two male wolves hackle and growl, circling a bit to keep their shoulders to each other. In the valley, Eames gets up, leaving Will on the ground, and begins to lope across the grass, but before he can get there, Alizé raises a broad paw and cuffs the alpha mightily, slapping his head down. Alizé's gripping claws leave a bleeding slice right down the bridge of his muzzle, and again, the momentary confusion in the old wolf's face is painful-like he isn't sure what's happening or how he's supposed to react to it.
Then Eames is there. He drives straight into Alizé from the side, seizing a mouthful of mane, and drags him away, snarling. Wolves scatter. Leah and Thomas, still playing in their path, are grabbed up swiftly by Micah and his mate. Kath is the closest wolf to Will, and she scoops him up without a moment's hesitation to carry him away. All at once a space has been cleared for the combatants, and they waste no time on posturing. First blood has been drawn and Eames is furious about it. They claw and batter and snap at each other in a vicious whirlwind of teeth and fur.
Arthur hesitates long enough to check on Eames' father, whose face is being carefully tended by his mate's soothing tongue, before he gets off his rock and moves closer. He hates how useless this makes him feel. It's always him and Eames in a fight, watching each other's backs; that's the way it has always been. He hadn't even brought a knife or anything with which he might have helped Eames. But of course, he remembers a moment later, this is a fight Eames has to win on his own-however little Arthur likes it.
And Eames seems to be winning. He overwhelms Alizé with brute force, pushing and driving him around so that Alizé is constantly on the defensive. They've laid open wounds on each other's faces and shoulders in no time, dripping blood, but neither is able to gain a good hold on the other's mane or throat. The last time Arthur had seen them fight, it was Eames who had been seemingly overwhelmed. But he had been exhausted then. Now they're fighting fairly, and Arthur's heart thrills with every blow Eames lands.
The cubs have been ushered outside the ring of spectators, and it's Arthur who notices Thomas first, squirming his way through to his father curiously and tumbling out into the makeshift arena. Arthur starts to push forward, stops when he smells the high tempers all around him, and shouts desperately, “Stop!”
And to his great surprise, they do. Both wolves notice Thomas at the same time and disengage, licking their lips swiftly and backing apart a safe distance. Arthur watches in astonishment as they both wait for another wolf to quietly slink forward and remove Thomas. Only once the cub has been carried away do they both get back to their feet to resume the fight, and Alizé takes immediate advantage of the moment's distraction, surging forward with all his weight to bowl Eames right off his feet and seize him by the throat, but he has to let go when Eames pummels him with his clawed hind feet. When Eames gets up, though, he's bleeding heavily.
Heart in his throat, Arthur scours the crowd of wolves and spots the she-wolf carrying Thomas out onto the grass, where she puts him down. Arthur is there to pick him up quickly, giving him a tight squeeze just to reassure himself, then casts about for help. Eames' mother is still tending to her mate. His gaze lands on a wolf sitting apart from the others-one who never seems to be taken over by wolfish instincts, whose copper eyes always shine with the same shrewd human intelligence: the one wolf who will grasp the urgency of his request right away and not be distracted. He goes to Faye.
“Can you watch him?” he asks.
She blinks at him coolly. Then her gaze lowers to the wriggling bundle in Arthur's arms. Half closing her eyes, she dips her muzzle in a nod, an oddly human gesture to see on a wolf, and Arthur sets Thomas down at her feet. She raises a paw absently, and hesitates before she tucks Thomas a little closer against her body, the way a she-wolf would do with her own cub.
Arthur returns to the pack, scouring the crowd with his eyes while he sifts through all their scents. That's how he finds Will, curled up in a frightened ball between two she-wolves. He purrs when Arthur lifts him-an expression of fear, rather than contentment. Perhaps he can smell Eames' blood.
Faye is still with Thomas when he rejoins her, watching the cub curiously rather than the fight. He puts Will with her, too, and the smaller cub whimpers, looking for Arthur.
“I just have to find Leah,” Arthur says quickly, and he leaves again.
Eames and Alizé are still fighting. Eames is beginning to flag. He's lost a lot of blood: Arthur can smell it, sharp salt and iron in the air, turning his stomach. Alizé knows he's slowing down, and presses his advantage ruthlessly. For a second Arthur is caught up in their fight, a sick knot settling in his stomach. For the first time he starts to wonder how far Alizé will go. Will he forget himself, drunk on the smell of blood, and actually kill Eames? He can't, of course, it's not allowed-but there's a manic light in his eyes that shines the more Eames bleeds, the slower he becomes. The werewolves are whining, jostling amongst themselves, obviously growing uneasy.
Arthur gives himself a quick shake and sets to locating Leah. She would be the most difficult, of course. Maybe she's already gone galloping off across the valley. But he can't see her, and she wouldn't have gotten that far, surely. More likely she's off looking for trouble somewhere-or if not for trouble, then for one of them, for attention-
Then he sees her, the little cinnamon-coloured blur headed straight for her beloved daddy, for Eames, in the middle of all those wolves, wanting to join the game. The two males are on their hind legs, snapping at each other's shoulders, clawing, and Eames thrusts his cousin away with a twist of his forelegs. Alizé lands almost on top of Leah, on his side, vulnerable; and just as Eames gathers himself to lunge and end the battle, Alizé shunts Leah in front of him, knocking her over.
Arthur is pushing his way through the wolves without even thinking about it, ignoring the startled snaps. But suddenly the wolves stop snapping, all transfixed by the sight in front of them. Eames' belly hits the soft grass with a flump. He twists as fast as he can to show his throat. He's submitting. Surrendering.
Then Arthur breaks through, furious that Alizé would use one of their children like this, almost literally seeing red. Very distantly, he hears Faye's faint bark of warning and Eames' distressed whine. Alizé turns to face him just as he swoops down and grabs Leah up with one arm, and the werewolf lunges for him with a snarl. Arthur strikes him across the muzzle, as hard as he can, splitting one of his knuckles on Alizé's serrated canine. Alizé's jaws snap together, and for a second he looks almost comically bewildered. Then he leaps forward just as Arthur starts to retreat. Arthur throws his arm up defensively and Alizé's jaws snap shut around his forearm.
The force of his bite knocks Arthur flat on his tail, makes him squeeze Leah even tighter until she squeaks. Alizé bowls him over backward, still biting down steadily until Arthur can feel his teeth grinding bone. Blood wells up around Alizé's jaws, and Arthur, gasping, knows the bite force of a fully-grown werewolf, knows very well that to a predator who kills by crushing skulls or spinal cords, a human arm is nothing-
And then Eames arrives, snarling terribly, sending them all spilling over the ground and making Leah squeak again. His teeth meet in the base of Alizé's ear and without preamble he rips it from Alizé's skull. Alizé wrenches his jaws free of Arthur's arm, screaming, and Arthur catches a glimpse of the blood-red sclera of Eames' eyes before he lunges one last time and closes his jaws around Alizé's neck, just where the mane is thinnest. He literally drags him away. Alizé falls to his elbows even while Eames is hauling him over the grass and he puts down his tail, beaten. Eames lets go and smacks him across the face, leaving a deep scrape, a dismissal if Arthur ever saw one. With a last growl, Alizé bounds away.
But it's too late. Arthur can feel Alizé's bite starting to work, seeping into his veins.
He's still sitting flat on the ground, and he suddenly realizes how tightly he's gripping Leah in his good arm. She's wiggling and squeaking indignantly. He sets her down, and blinks black spots out of his eyes. In retrospect, hitting Alizé had been pretty stupid. Should have just grabbed Leah and gotten out of there. He peels back his sleeve, hissing, to take a look at the damage, but he can't see past all the blood. His vision swims.
Eames flops down in front of him. Arthur stiffens, but can see almost at once that Eames' hackles are down now, however encrusted with blood, and the red is fading from his eyes. He touches his nose to Arthur's arm, concerned. Then he starts to lick at the wound with long, steady strokes of his tongue. Arthur shuts his eyes, waiting for it to hurt, but it feels ... cool, and good. The wolves are all milling around now, and there are a couple around Eames, licking his wounds for him while he's licking Arthur's.
“Good job,” Arthur says thickly, and Eames' tail thumps the ground absently. He means it. Eames took a risk for Arthur, but not for Leah. It's the same thing Arthur would have done. “I think I need to go to the hospital,” he adds, and the words slur together slightly.
He forces himself to his feet. If he can get to the house, he can get Ariadne to drive him to the nearest hospital. Eames follows him. He's still dripping blood. The smell, pungent and werewolf, makes Arthur want to throw up.
“Go,” Arthur says. “I'll be fine. Stay with the babies.”
At that last word, Eames looks over his shoulder. Some of the she-wolves have bullied Faye away and are licking the startled cubs reassuringly. He looks back at Arthur.
“Go,” Arthur repeats, trying to push himself on. The pain is unbelievable. It's like fire in his nerves, scalding and creeping its way inexorably down to his fingertips, up to his shoulder, spreading slowly but surely. The black spots are taking over his vision. He ends up on his knees and has to struggle upright, and Eames is there, pulling at his coat.
His stubbornness to follow, and his determined control over himself, makes Arthur force himself on. They're not terribly far from the house. He can get there before he collapses, maybe. Is this what becoming a werewolf feels like? He can't be turning, he can't be, but what else could feel like this? The fire in his arm eclipses all his other senses. Is this what Faye felt like, nine years old and defenseless, when Alizé turned her?
He keeps falling, getting up, sometimes holding Eames for support. Either he's turning or he's dying. He's sure of it. No torture ever felt as bad as this. He wants to turn around. He wants to hold his babies again. He thinks he might be crying. Crying, because he might never see them again.
The house is in sight when he falls and can't get up again. He stares up at the stars, the whirling black locusts, and it takes him a moment to realize Eames has got him by the coat and is dragging him the last part of the way. He wants to say something, to tell him to stop, maybe, but the words would mean nothing to the wolf, and he can't speak anyway. The black encompasses him with surprising softness, like sinking into a warm bed.
+The next time he wakes up, lucid, he's in a hospital bed. Ariadne, curled in a chair in the corner and reading a magazine, looks up.
“Hey,” she says. “Welcome back.”
There are so many wires in him. Why so many wires? He pulls his arm in slightly, stretching them, but they don't come out.
Eames is in the room suddenly, his eyes bloodshot and bruised, hinting at a long period of sleeplessness. He walks straight to Arthur's bed, clasps his face and kisses his forehead.
“You're back,” he says, drawing away just to take Arthur in.
“Where'd I go?” Arthur asks groggily. “Where are the babies?”
“Home,” says Eames. “They're fine. We've all been worried about you.”
“Why?”
They get a doctor to explain to him, using all the medical terms, and half of it goes over Arthur's head, because he's still groggy and feverish. He listens, eyes glazed over, and then makes Ariadne and Eames repeat it when the doctor's gone and he's more awake and has had a chance to check his totem.
“The good news is you didn't turn,” Ariadne says, “and you didn't die of blood loss, and you could have.”
“Werewolf saliva,” Eames says, self-conscious. “It helps the blood to clot, that's why I was licking. But I ended up making it worse.”
Werewolf contagion and Arthur's species apparently don't mix. In fact, they so repel each other that Arthur's body had progressed with frightening swiftness from infection to severe inflammatory response to septic shock. The doctors gave him a thirty percent chance.
“Of dying?” Arthur asks.
“Of living,” Eames corrects.
It's a reaction that has been observed before, namely in exceptionally healthy adults, but the doctors also told Eames they'd never heard of a case this severe or rapid. They told him the odds of Arthur making it were fairly slim. At that point, Eames told them, “Yeah? Well, you don't know Arthur. You've got no idea what he can take.”
“Did you really say that?” Arthur asks.
“Well,” Eames says, sheepish, “Ariadne certainly did. I was trying not to lose it.” He takes Arthur's hand and kisses it. “Anyway, at least you've answered the timeless question of what happens when a catperson gets bitten by a werewolf. The answer is an uncontrolled hurricane of immune cell production. Apparently your body is so resistent to infectious werewolf pathogens you went into hypercyto-well-they had a term for it.”
“But,” Arthur says, still woozy, “I've had, um ... werewolf pathogens ... in me before.”
“Not infectious ones. Just lots and lots of semen.”
“Ugh,” Ariadne says, from the corner.
Eames smirks over his shoulder at her. Then he turns back to Arthur, who is probably the only person in the world who can see right through him. He can tell how shaken Eames really is.
“You've got to stop doing this to me, Arthur,” he whispers, with a false, wavering smile. He kisses the back of Arthur's hand again. “Every time you go into the hospital I don't know if you're coming out.”
Arthur laces his fingers with Eames', weakly. “I'll always come back to you,” he says.
+It's Ariadne who tells him what happened with the pack the morning after the full moon, when Eames leaves the room to get coffee.
“That big guy, Alizé, went begging to Eames' parents. Really groveling. He said he'd just lost control, and Eames' dad told him to learn how to control himself or find a new pack. He wasn't really mean about it, though. I think they went too easy on him. His ear didn't grow back, though, and he looked like shit. He must've really taken a beating. I wish I'd seen it.”
“No, you don't,” says Arthur. “What did Eames say?”
“Nothing,” says Ariadne. “He just stood there and waited till his parents had left. Then he told me to go upstairs-I watched from my window-and he hauled Alizé outside and beat the shit out of him. You should've seen him, Arthur. I thought he'd kill the guy. Then Eames said that if you died, he would kill Alizé, and he left him there.”
It's been so long since Arthur has seen that cold, brutal side of Eames that he'd almost forgotten it's one of his favourite things about him. Picturing that scene sends a pleasant shiver all the way down to his tailtip. The septicemia is almost worth it.
He's obviously not feeling too kindly disposed toward Alizé either. His arm is broken, literally cracked between the werewolf's teeth. He'd gotten dangerously close to organ failure and he's not even out of the woods yet, won't be for a very long time. That's what the doctors say, anyway. Arthur has a higher estimation of himself. By the end of the week he's just itching to get back to Eames' parents' house and see his children again.
“Not that I'm going to thank you for doing what you did,” Eames tells him in the car when he finally gets to take Arthur home. “But you did help me out back there.”
“When she's a bratty teenager we can tell Leah about the time she almost cost you the pack,” Arthur says.
“And you your arm.” Eames glances over at Arthur's cast, shaking his head. “You took on a changed werewolf. You terrify me, do you know that?”
“I know.”
Eames sighs, and says, “You'll have a scar to match Faye's. Although he nearly took her whole arm off, when he turned her.”
“I can't believe nothing happened to him for that,” Arthur says, disgusted.
“We don't like police interference in pack matters,” Eames says, though he sounds apologetic. “They won't do anything in your case either; you were on clearly marked pack land on a full moon and you provoked him.”
“Is Faye around?” Arthur asks. He wants to thank her. He wonders, vaguely, if she's disappointed that he didn't die. Eames shakes his head.
“Gone. She's got a job, I'm sure. She only likes to hang around here on full moons.”
Eames helps him upstairs, once they get to the house, and tucks him into bed. All the medications Arthur is on make him drowsy.
“Where are my babies?” he asks tiredly.
“Leah and Will went for a walk in their spiffy new pram with their Gran. Tommy's still asleep. My dad's minding him.”
“I want him,” Arthur says. He's already half out, though, and doesn't hear Eames' reply. Eames leaves, then, and Arthur dozes for a few minutes. Until Eames walks back in, holding an equally sleepy Thomas.
“Someone's missed you,” Eames says.
Arthur smiles, lifting his good arm automatically to take Thomas from Eames. Thomas is yawning, rubbing at his eyes with a scrunched fist, but as soon as he sees Arthur he kicks his legs and yells, “Dadada!”
“That's right, that's your dadada.” Eames deposits him on Arthur's chest. “Now give him a big kiss.”
Thomas obligingly smushes his open mouth against Arthur's cheek. Arthur grimaces and wipes off his face.
“Still better than being licked by Leah,” he says. “How's your dad?”
Eames is silent. He lies down carefully next to Arthur, and Arthur sets Thomas between them, so he can go back to sleep. Finally, Eames says, “Mum says we can stay as long as we need to. But if you want to go back to London ...”
“We can stay,” Arthur says. “How is your dad?” he repeats.
Eames sighs. “They want me to take over,” he says, in a low voice.
“I figured.”
“I told them I can't, I ... we live in London, and the pack's doing just fine, but ... Arthur, I don't know how much longer my dad's got,” he says, and he sounds a bit choked. Thomas reaches for his face, sleepy but curious, grabbing at his chin, and Eames folds Thomas' tiny hand in his own. “He just seems so ...”
“Yeah,” Arthur says. “I know.”
“But my mum can handle things, and she's got Micah, and if you don't want to stay then we don't have to. I don't have to do anything yet.”
Eames is an alpha, but that doesn't make him ambitious, like Alizé. Maybe in another pack, it would, but here he only has to obey his parents, and that's the most natural state in the world for a wolf to exist in. Arthur can see that he doesn't want this, would prefer anything but this, anything but to acknowledge that his father is no longer the powerful guiding figure he used to be. And Arthur knows, only from long practice, what to say.
“I'll stay with you whatever you choose,” he tells Eames.
“Thank you,” Eames says, after a moment. He rolls onto his side, careful not to squash Thomas, and gives Arthur a kiss. Then he kisses Thomas, too. “He'll be the next alpha, you know.”
“Not if he never learns to stand up to Leah,” says Arthur. Eames laughs.
“God, what a little terror of an alpha she would be,” he says fondly. Then he quiets. “One day she'll be a good beta. But he'll be the alpha.”
“How do you know? They're only one.”
“I can tell,” Eames says simply.
Arthur thinks about that. He thinks about them growing up in the pack, right here, surrounded by family, like he never was. Then, because it's been bugging him, he asks, “Do you think anyone else feels like Alizé? Like it's bad luck, that I'm your mate?”
“No,” Eames says, smiling. “You gave me babies-heirs. That's a sign if nothing else is.” He sobers suddenly. “If he ever has a go at you again-”
“Think of all the people who want me dead, Eames,” Arthur interrupts him tiredly. “Do you really think I'd ever let Alizé off me?”
“Good point,” Eames allows.
“I'll be fine. We'll all be fine. I'll take a gun or a knife with me in future.”
Eames tenses, and Arthur knows he's correctly assumed that Eames would rather keep him far away from any changed werewolf for the rest of his life. He turns his head to look at Eames, and says quietly, “I want to be there, Eames. I want to be a part of your pack.”
Eames starts to smile, slowly, before schooling himself. “Well,” he says, “even if you weren't before, you technically are now.” He touches Arthur's cast. “Although perhaps we should work on legitimizing you some more, for good measure?”
“Fuck off,” Arthur laughs, and Eames covers Thomas' little ears, even though he's already asleep, pretending to look scandalized.
“Get to sleep, you terrible influence,” he says. At that, Arthur yawns, and it shudders through him all the way down to his tailtip. Eames smiles fondly and leans over to kiss him. “I'll protect you.”
“I know you will,” Arthur says, closing his eyes and choosing not to fight that, because he does know. Eames has got his back, just like Arthur's got his. They always will.