The doe went one way, the wolves another. Satisfied, Sawyer rubbed his tingling palm and stepped back into the comfort of his cabin. Some cabin—the outside might be huge, squared-off logs, but the inside offered comfort to rival any of the swanky houses back in town.
Sawyer took all he’d learned creating luxury condominiums and employed the best materials and features into his home.
The high ceiling peaked into the roof with no worries for the tons of snow it supported, and flames crackled in a fireplace big enough to roast the entire ox he’d jested about being hungry for…. Last week. He’d settle for the deer this morning.
Hibernation time must be drawing to a close. Hard enough to keep a business running when he needed a third of the year to eat, sleep, and fuck for sixteen hours a day.
A heavy sleep-sigh gusted from the open bedroom door. Dillon hadn’t wakened. Much as Sawyer needed to teach the only other bear in his sleuth how to be a proper bear, Dillon needed the sleep. Natural remedy for what ailed him. Or better be. Sawyer slid out of his jeans and back into bed. Risking the chill of his skin waking his toasty-warm, maybe even too warm, lover, Sawyer snugged up to Dillon’s back.
How had he survived last year’s hibernation? Alone, when his few waking hours needed the touch and company of another bear? Not just any bear had come into his life, but Dillon, strong, young, handsome. And gay as Sawyer. He could have sent in a custom order for a mate and not gotten anyone as perfect as Dillon. Then again, he also might not have gotten the rest of the motley crew he’d plucked out of a bar in a wide-spot-on-the-road mountain town. Three other young shifters not welcome in their home packs or skulks, all trying to make a living and take care of each other. His Dillon had looked after Jerry and Kevin and Brad, and they him, and now Sawyer had the lot of them.
A solid unit. Loyal to a fault.
Not that he wanted quite as many of the merry ménage as currently occupied the bed. At least at the moment.
Brad rolled over, his black paws waving in the air. His bushy tail stuck out behind when he uncurled, sending the red brush of fur into Dillon’s face.
Dillon sneezed explosively, jerking back and nearly flattening Sawyer’s face.
“That’s enough, Brat!” Sawyer swiped the surprised fox up and dropped him over the edge of the bed. “Go find Kevin.”
Shouldn’t be hard: if Sawyer wanted either of the wolves, he’d go look in one of the other four bedrooms, the one with the whiff of semen. Why Brad had ambled in here last night wasn’t too clear, but having the little guy in the bed didn’t crowd the bears any. Once he fell asleep, he shifted and cuddled. And sometimes got rolled over on.
Brad lolled his tongue out from the doorway and trotted away. Leaving Dillon to rub the tickle out of his nose also left him alone for Sawyer’s bare hugs.
They hardly had any time alone these days, what with the wolves, foxes, the occasional elk, a random possum who showed up to court their bobcat housekeeper, the brave fellow, and at least half of them ending up in the bed. But now, just him and Dillon.
Sawyer wrapped thick, muscular arms around Dillon from behind. Pulling him back meant moving a grown man nearly as large as himself, but didn’t hurt to remind him of Sawyer’s strength. None of their menagerie could match either of them, but Dillon couldn’t match Sawyer now, and maybe never would, potential alpha though he was. He’d grown into those shoulders this winter, filling out with their housekeeper’s excellent cooking, the occasional elk (nobody who shifted) and heh, a steady diet of semen. Perfect spice for their lives.
Dillon and his pals were insatiable, with all the horniness of the early twenties male plus the natural randiness of their species. Almost made Sawyer feel old. For about twelve seconds, until the hibernation lust hit again. Like now.
“Awake now?” Sawyer nuzzled into Dillon’s ear. “Or should I say, are you up now?”
“Oh yeah.” Dillon reached back to haul Sawyer’s hips closer to his ass. That delectable, tight ass, still a little slick from last night.
“I’m up too,” was both obvious and true. Just getting close to Dillon put the lead in Sawyer’s pencil, which was a lot closer to a log. And in just the right place to rub into his lover’s crack. That and a friendly reach around made a dandy “good morning.”
Oh Moon, but Sawyer loved his bear. Maybe Dillon was the only other bear on his mountain, but hardly a consolation prize. No wonder he’d been thrown out of his old sleuth, with his aura of power and taste for cock.
What made him unacceptable to the bears of the Black Hills Sleuth made him perfect for Sawyer.
Dillon was awake all right, pushing back and rocking for all he was worth. Sawyer growled his pleasure into his lover’s neck, loving the rasp of whiskers against skin and the travel of rod against crack. Oh hell yes, but… was he..?
Yes, he was still lubed enough, more than eager enough. Sawyer pulled back to aim. Dillon welcomed him in.
The tight passage of his bear-honey’s ass made a fine, fine place to be. Might be cold outside but it was hot enough to melt him in here. Holding on tighter and flicking a nipple, Sawyer groaned at the perfection of welcoming his lover to spring and a new season.
The muscular solidity of the man he held drove Sawyer to greater effort. Steering with a big handful of Sawyer’s butt, Dillon aimed him just so, right at the sweet spot. His moans were the best music, his gasps a reward. With a handful of stiff cock, Sawyer pleasured his lover from both directions until Dillon pulsed and cried out something so deep and primal Sawyer could have drowned in the wordless praise. He joined his mate in the throes of orgasm. Spurting his seed deep into Dillon’s body, Sawyer could only hold on tightly and ride the crest of climax.
They collapsed into a puddle of satisfied bear. He’d withdraw, but he wouldn’t let go. No, Sawyer’d never let go. He didn’t want to, he didn’t have to, and in some ways, he couldn’t, even if he wanted to. Why would he? They’d bonded deeply at the beginning of the year’s cold, and now, when the first bulbs forced green shoots through the snows, they’d learned some small measure of what their bonding meant.
Sawyer nuzzled into the curls grown long at the back of Dillon’s neck. “Good morning. Happy spring.”
A deep chuckle shook Dillon’s sturdy frame. “Happy spring to you.” He patted the cheek he’d been steering with and rolled to snuggle against the pelt on Sawyer’s chest. Even on a king bed, his feet stuck over the edge, making a tent of the goose down comforter.
Happy wasn’t enough to describe this spring. Sawyer rubbed his cheek against the top of Dillon’s head. There might be only two bears in the sleuth of Ballantine Mountain, but enough love to fill every vale and hollow.
Their peace didn’t last long—Dillon shot out of bed, running for the bathroom. Definitely green around the gills.