Arnaud was furious. The latest vaccine should have lasted much longer, but tests were showing that he was developing a quicker immunity to each new development. It was almost as if his own body was fighting him, and was anticipating each new vaccine he developed.
“Nothing so far?” Alfred asked as he walked in, just as Arnaud smashed a petri dish against the wall.
With a roar, Arnaud picked up a scalpel and threw it at his cousin.
Alfred deftly caught its blade with his thumb and index finger, then gently placed it on a nearby table.
“Temper, temper,” Alfred admonished. “Look, you are dealing with millions of years of evolution, Arnaud. You must accept the inevitable. We have provided funding for this pet project of yours, on the understanding that it does not interfere with the new orders. How’s that going, if I might ask? I understand that two potential candidates have been found?”
“Well, since you seem to know everything that goes on around here, why bother asking me?”
“Arnaud, the Council’s patience is not infinite. Instead of suppressing our true nature, why can’t you give us your willing cooperation? Why must you be so difficult?”
“And why can’t you and the Council understand that unless we can better control our true natures, they will hunt us to near extinction, once more?”
“Arnaud, we are who we are. By the way, that Asian callboy we got you? He didn’t get infected, unfortunately. All he got for his troubles was a… ahem, a sore throat.”
“You have him?”
“We had him. Since he showed no signs of infection, we let him go. Hope springs eternal, and all. Oh, where are you going? I just got here!”
But Arnaud was no longer listening. He needed to go out for some fresh air. Since Alfred had shown up, it had gotten even staler, as far as he was concerned.
* * *
Tristan could not believe his luck. Despite the urging of his new friends, he could not bring himself to go up to perfect strangers and just talk to them. It had taken him two weeks to work up his courage to do so, and when he finally did, he scored!
Ilka was a blond from Finland, and Tristan had noticed him last week as he had sat alone at the bar. Other men had approached him, but the blond usually shrugged them off. Tristan had wanted to approach him then, but felt that the man wanted to be left alone.
“This is a gay bar, Tristan,” Blaise, a colleague, had sighed. “No one comes to a gay bar to be alone, now go talk to him!”
But Tristan just couldn’t do it.
“If I didn’t know any better,” Blaise continued, “I’d think you were a virgin.”
Tristan was grateful the place was dark. He knew he was blushing and didn’t want to give himself away.
“Nah,” said Pietrov, who worked in the institute’s accounting department. “I think he’s just one of those super picky ones. Is that it, Tristan?”
Tristan had put on a sheepish grin, so his friends agreed that that had to be it. Still, he was blushing, and he prayed that none would notice it.
This week, however, the blond sat alone at the bar again. When Tristan snuck a peek his way, the blond met his gaze. Panicked, Tristan looked away. Blaise noticed and jabbed him in the rib.
Tristan took a deep breath and struggled to overcome old, ingrained habits. Honfleur was a small, conservatively Catholic commune, and everyone knew each other, if only by sight. He had heard the snickers and the jeers when people talked about gays, and had been careful to keep his closet door tightly locked.
He looked back toward the bar, and saw that the blond was still staring his way. He looked to either side of him to make sure he was not misreading the situation. His colleagues on his right and left looked everywhere but at the blond, making it clear they weren’t available, and making Tristan look even more of a target.
Still staring straight into his eyes, the blond smiled and raised his beer stein. Pietrov and Blaise elbowed him simultaneously, making him jump.
“Get up and go to him, or else,” Blaise whispered under his breath, finding the table immensely fascinating for some reason.
Legs trembling beneath him, heart thudding louder than the music blaring out of the sound system, Tristan made his way to the lone blond sitting at the bar. He found out that the blond was a 22-year-old Finnish student who had just graduated, that he stayed at a hostel nearby, and that he really liked black-haired, blue-eyed blokes like Tristan. Half an hour later, they made their way out the door.
Tristan thought they were making their way to Ilka’s place, but the Fin was taking him across the street toward the Bois de Boulogne. This was Paris’ second largest public park, some two and a half times the size of Central Park in New York.
“You’re taking me to the park?” he asked incredulously.
Ilka just smiled at him as he held his hand, leading him toward a thick copse of trees ahead. Tristan wanted to pull back, but the strength and warmth of Ilka’s hand was wonderful, and the way the younger man smiled at him made him melt. Inside the bar, it was clear that Ilka had a beautiful, muscular body beneath his tight shirt, but in the brighter lights of the street, it became even more evident.
His tight jeans highlighted his bubble butt, and Tristan found himself getting even harder at the sight. Still, he hesitated. The Bois de Boulogne was a beautiful place by day, and generally crowded. At night, however, it was frequented by prostitutes and their pimps, as well as drug dealers on the prowl for customers.
“I’m not sure this is a good idea, Ilka. Why don’t we just go to your place?”
“I share the room with two others. Where do you live? Is it near?”
But Tristan hadn’t come out to Rene, and wasn’t sure he was ready to yet.
What he said out loud instead, was, “It’s over on the 18th. That’s too far away.”
Ilka chuckled and continued to pull him deeper into the tree line, till the lights of the street and the sounds of traffic began to diminish. Tristan had to admit: it was very romantic. It almost felt as if they had left the crowded city far behind.
Ilka stopped, leaned forward, and brushed Tristan’s lips with his own. It was the Honfleurais’ first time to feel another guy’s lips against his own.
Back in Honfleur, he had had ‘girlfriends’ with whom nothing ever happened save for chaste pecks on the cheek, and fumbling, clumsy lip-to-lip action. A few had made it clear they were willing to go ‘all the way,’ but Tristan had cited religious devotion, and had always said ‘no.’
Ilka did not fumble, however, nor was he clumsy; his lips were soft, moist, and warm. Tristan had to put his hands on the blond’s shoulders to steady himself. He never knew that lips could be such an erogenous zone, linking itself to his chest, stomach, groin, and toes.
The girls he’d kissed on the lips never had this effect on him. He moaned. Ilka pushed him against a tree, and pressed his entire body against him, thrusting his obviously hard groin against Tristan’s own. It felt wonderful! Tristan felt a sense of complete rightness about it, and forgot about the park’s unsavory reputation at night.
Ilka’s tongue parted his lips and began exploring his mouth. Tristan knew that if the blond had asked him to, he would leave his job the next day and move to Finland. He did not know what he would do in Finland, but if he could spend the rest of his life with Ilka, he didn’t care if he had to sweep floors for a living.
He slipped his hands beneath Ilka’s shirt and began exploring the hard planes of the Fin’s back. Ilka rewarded him by pushing up against him harder, dry humping him through his jeans.
Tristan liked the taste of beer on Ilka’s tongue, and when he stuck his own tongue out, the Fin sucked it into his own mouth. Tristan’s body was on fire. It was so different than his fantasies, so much more visceral.
Ilka pulled back, and Tristan almost felt like crying, but the Fin pulled up his shirt, leaned forward, and took a nipple in his mouth. One hand began pinching his other nipple, while the other began rubbing the hard surface of his abs.
“Oh God!” Tristan moaned.
The hand continued down further, slipping past the waist of his pants, sliding down till it found his cock. Tristan began hyperventilating. No one else besides himself had ever touched him there. The feel of another hand wrapped around his cock was mind-boggling.
Ilka began tonguing his way down, exploring the gap between the mounds of Tristan’s chest, and lower still in the valley of his abs. When the man’s tongue entered Tristan’s belly button, he gasped.
The blond got on his knees, and despite what had happened so far, Tristan felt a sense of unreality as he felt his zipper coming undone. He had fantasized about this for years. The fact that it was really going to happen at long last, was simply unbelievable.
He looked down, and despite the darkness, could clearly see Ilka kneeling before him. He had always been good at seeing in the dark, but his heightened sense of sexual excitement made his vision laser sharp. A part of his mind marveled that he could pick out the individual blades of grass below, almost as if he were looking at them with 3-D glasses on.
Ilka smiled up at him impishly as he grabbed his cock. Tristan watched transfixed at the vision of his cock in another’s hand. When Ilka took that cock into his mouth, the shock of seeing it took a while to register.
Then he felt it. His knees buckled, and he had to lean back harder against the tree as the hot, wet mouth took him in.
Tristan moaned and leaned his head back against the tree, doing his damned best to remain standing. He jerked when he felt fingers exploring his balls. Ilka took more of him in, and when the blond moaned, it added to Tristan’s pleasure.
The Fin chuckled, enjoying Tristan’s reaction, then began jacking him off slowly. As he pulled at the Frenchman’s beautiful cock with his fist, he leaned forward and took more of it in him. This early in the game, he could already taste some pre-cum. Despite being only 22, Ilka had been sexually active for a long time, and realized that Tristan was a virgin the moment they kissed.
This one’s going to be easy, he thought to himself.
Pulling out a little, he began licking at Tristan’s pre-cum, genuinely enjoying the bitter, salty taste of it. In the dim light, he could see and hear that Tristan was hyperventilating, and enjoyed the sight of his abs contracting and expanding.
Ilka leaned forward once more, taking Tristan’s shaft as deep into his mouth as possible. Grabbing a hold of it, he used his other hand to begin exploring the Frenchman’s ass, rubbing the space between his legs. They were shaking.
He sucked harder, making smacking sounds with his mouth, and thrilled when Tristan began thrusting forward. Hands grabbed his head, not letting him pull all the way out. He pulled Tristan’s pants all the way down till they bunched up around his ankles. Pulling away from the cock, the Fin took one of Tristan’s balls in his mouth and was rewarded with an even louder moan. Looking up, he could see that Tristan’s eyes were closed while his head lay back.
Perfect! he thought.
Taking the other ball into his mouth, Ilka slowly took the wallet he found in one of Tristan’s back pockets.
Lifting his left pant leg, he stuffed it into the sock along his inner leg, then pulled the pant sleeve back down.
That done, he returned his attention to Tristan’s cock: jacking it harder and faster to get it over with.
Tristan’s grip on his head had gotten tighter, and he began thrusting harder. From the amount of pre-cum he was producing, Ilka could tell he was about to cum. A part of him wondered where that strange smell was coming from: an unusual combination of nuts and cookie-dough.
The grip was starting to hurt, so Ilka grabbed the wrists to pull them away.
Tristan wouldn’t let go. With a growl, he started pushing his cock deeper into Ilka’s throat, till he heard choking sounds. A part of his mind told him to stop, but he was past the point of no return.
He felt Ilka start to struggle, but he couldn’t stop. Opening his mouth, he howled. He could feel hands beat at his groin, struggle with his wrists. Opening his eyes, he saw the blond looking up at him in confusion, eyes red as he struggled to breathe. The sight of it made Tristan’s heart beat faster, made him more excited, and he howled even louder.
Close! He was so close! He pumped harder, feeling a hard constriction give way before his cock’s tip. One final thrust, and he moved past it, entering a tighter, hotter, wetter space.
Ilka began choking as Tristan’s cock shoved past the tight constriction of his glottis.
For Tristan, it was too much.
He came, howling louder as his spunk shot out of him and into the mouth beneath him. More struggling ensued, and he gasped as he felt the tightness around his rod give way to air.
Looking down, he saw that the blond had pulled back, eyes and mouth wide with terror as he struggled to get away, face bright and red with tears.
Tristan’s spunk still flowed out of his cock, more weakly this time, as ecstasy gave way to dawning realization.
“Ilka?” he choked out; to his surprise, his voice sounded deeper than it ever had, coming out more like a growl.
“Ilka?”
The blond began scooting away on all fours, babbling something hysterically. Tristan took a step toward him, but Ilka gave out a scream and ran off into the woods.
“Oh my God. Ilka!” and Tristan ran after him.
In his panic, the Fin ran deeper into the park, but despite the darkness, Tristan could see him perfectly. Tristan fell, tripping over his pants, and cursed as he got up and put them back on. He was relieved to find that his voice had returned to normal.
He set off again, but something smashed into him, knocking him backward. He looked up and nearly passed out. It looked like some sort of huge animal, crouching before him; with purple eyes that shone in the dark.
Beneath those eyes were sharp teeth. The creature stood on two legs, and part of Tristan’s mind registered the fact that it wore the latest pair of Nike running shoes. It was crouched forward, however, resting its upper body on muscular arms.
Something like an electric current passed through Tristan. He rolled over on all fours, and crouched lower, growling at the strange creature before him. Teeth bared, he hissed, and lunged forward with a fist that had suddenly grown claws.
The other creature pulled back away from the swipe, then backhanded Tristan, sending him flying away. Tristan rolled on all fours again, and turned to face the other creature once more.
“Arrêter!” growled the figure before him. “Stop it! Enough!”
That took Tristan by surprise. The creature got up on its hind legs once more, and he realized that it was no animal. It had the body of a man, clad in jeans and a long-sleeved blue sweater. The head, however, was like a wolf’s… only it was changing as he watched, becoming more like a man’s. It finally resolved into that of some middle aged man with a closely trimmed, pointed beard.
Despite the strangeness of the situation, a part of Tristan’s mind screamed: gorgeous!
He stepped forward involuntarily, holding his hands out, wanting to touch the man. As they came into his line of sight, he saw that instead of seeing his own hands, there were claws in their stead. Tristan gasped, holding the claws up closer to his face.
What the hell? he wondered, as he began to cry.
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” the other man said, as if reading his thoughts. “You’re an Other, a Changeling of the Werewolf Clan. Like me. Don’t be afraid.”
Then they heard yelling. It sounded like several people heading their way. Through the trees, beams of light came toward them, and Tristan could hear Ilka’s hysterical voice heading their way.
“Run!” the other man said, crouching low again and losing his human features.
His voice was so commanding that Tristan obeyed instantly, crouching on all fours and following his leader.
Leader? his mind screeched at him.
Obey! his body commanded, and he ran like the wind.
A logical part of him wondered what the heck was going on, wondered how it was possible that he was able to run at great speed on all fours. There was no discomfort, however.
He was aware that his body had lengthened, as had his arms, and that he was running this way as if he had done it all his life. His body seemed to be functioning on automatic, picking up scents, sights, and sounds that he had never before noticed.
Although he normally had a bad sense of direction, he could suddenly tell they were headed northeast, and could smell the Superior Lake ahead. His senses were on fire, and information was coming in from all sides. It was almost as if he had a 360º view all around him.
The… person he ran after slowed down as they reached the lake, so he did likewise. The trees around them began to thin, and there were more pedestrian paths about, but he couldn’t sense other people.
“Change,” barked the man he followed.
Without hesitation, Tristan’s body began to contract before he even realized it. His fangs pulled into his gums, and he got up on his legs once more. He was conscious of the fact that his body had obeyed the man before his mind had even realized it. Almost as if the man had pressed some sort of remote control, and he was a puppet without a will.
They had come out onto an open field that led to the lake, and Christian jumped when a car sped past. How had he not sensed it?
“We’re beside the Route d'Auteuil aux Lacs,” the man explained, his voice sounding more human with each word that came out of him. “As you return to your human form, your senses become a little more dull.”
“Oh.”
The man ignored him and took out a cell phone, speaking English. It was too fast for Tristan to catch the exact meaning of, but he thought he understood enough.
“Please don’t hurt him. It wasn’t his fault. He… uh… he and I were talking… and uh…”
“How old are you?” the man asked.
“Twenty-three.”
“You’re pretty old to be having your first time, aren’t you?”
Tristan blushed.
“You have no idea what’s going on, do you? It’s alright. Nothing will happen to your so-called friend. He filched your wallet, did you know?”
Tristan didn’t quite get what the stranger meant, till he reached for his back pocket. Realizing that his wallet was missing, he had another insight.
“You were watching?”
“I only got to you at that part. Smelled you from afar, so I thought I’d investigate. Good thing I did.”
“Oh my God, I don’t believe this is happening!” Tristan suddenly felt sick. He found himself shaking, as he sank onto the grass while hugging himself. “What the hell is going on here? And who are you?”
“Arnaud Berenger Lupin. You?”
“Oh shit.”
Everyone knew of Arnaud Lupin. He was a genuine French aristocrat, as well as one of the world’s leading geneticists. He had served as the medical advisor to Nicolas Sarkozy, the former president, and was on the board of directors for the Pasteur Institute.
Technically, he was also Tristan’s boss.
Strong arms wrapped around him, and a deep, comforting voice told him it was going to be alright. Tristan had only ever been held like this by his parents before. He remembered when his father used to do it, and how safe it had made him feel. Unable to stop himself, he cried.
When his tears finally stopped, Mr. Lupin still held him, rocking him back and forth in the grass. Tristan reveled in the way the bigger man’s hands stroked the back of his head. His face rested on Arnaud’s shoulder, and he could smell the man’s clean sweat. It was very pleasant.
He finally developed the courage to hug his superior, marveling at the hard musculature he felt beneath the shirt. Tristan stuck his tongue out and licked at the beads of sweat that shone on Arnaud’s neck, and delighted in its slightly salty, slightly sweet taste. It did something to him.
Tristan kissed the neck, growing hard again, and he could feel Arnaud’s response. He reached out toward the older man’s groin, and was thrilled to feel it hard beneath the jeans.
“You haven’t told me your name,” Arnaud whispered, breathing hard into Tristan’s ear, as his embrace tightened.
“Tristan.”
“Eh? Tristan what?”
“Tristan Richelieu Beauchene, monsieur.”
“Shit!” Arnaud pushed him away and surged to his feet. “You’re the new guy we put in my department! You’re the one with AB negative blood, aren’t you!?”
“Uh, oui.”
“Shit!” Arnaud said as he stalked off.
Tristan sat on the grass, watching him walk away, feeling even more confused than ever. Arnaud vanished through the trees, and still Tristan sat there, looking at where he had gone.
He was still sitting there some fifteen minutes later when a car pulled up on the Route d'Auteuil aux Lacs, mere meters away. It stopped, then honked. When Tristan didn’t respond, the window rolled down, and Arnaud stuck his head out, motioning him to get in.
With a smile, Tristan got up and did just that.