Chapter 9

 

As Thierry tripped backward down the short hall, Dmitri pushing at his chest, he couldn’t help thinking that it would have been very hot if Dmitri had been tearing his clothes off his back. As it was, he couldn’t even remember if they had latched the front door. A bear could wander in.

And he didn’t care.

Dmitri shoved him onto the bed and chuckled. “Good God, you’re a sight.”

He jumped on top of Thierry, narrowly missing his testicles with one knee, but then he framed Thierry’s body with his own. Dipping his head, Dmitri growled into his neck. “I want you.”

Ah, God. Thierry closed his eyes. He wanted it too. Wanted this, the sensation of this man on him, pushing him into the mattress, pushing into him—

But—

But.

Throwing his weight, he rolled them over. Dmitri’s eyes widened, then narrowed with desire.

Thierry lowered his lips, brushed them across Dmitri’s chin, letting his beard prickle. “I want to pleasure you.”

He caught the man’s mouth before he could protest, flicked his tongue against the sensitive skin behind Dmitri’s front teeth.

The man’s body grew rigid. Thierry’s biceps might have bruises the next day from his fingertips. “Yes.”

Dmitri’s cock was hard under him, pressing at his naked belly, but he would get to it. Nudging his lover’s chin, he explored Dmitri’s throat where his beard became bare skin. He kept his facial hair trimmed close, but thank God he didn’t landscape any other part of his body. Not that Thierry had been able to figure so far, anyway. He swiped his tongue over Dmitri’s pulse, feeling it thud against him, and then slid down, dragging his teeth into the thick, soft hair on Dmitri’s chest. Light in the bedroom was dim, but in his few short days here, Thierry had seen how this hair had once been dark, all of it, and had begun to grow in white. Dmitri wasn’t a full silver wolf yet, but someday he would be, and Thierry ached with wanting to see that. He soothed himself by rubbing his cheek to the hair, burying his nose in one armpit. When the man flinched, Thierry let loose a laugh that sounded evil even to himself, and dug further, inhaling greedily at Dmitri’s scent, made sharper by his recent shift. Dmitri squirmed at the invasion of Thierry’s bony nose into one of his most vulnerable places, so he eased the pressure… for a moment. Once Dmitri seemed to trust him, just barely, Thierry attacked again with the flat of his tongue, lapping the already warm, damp hair under his arm.

“Unh,” Dmitri breathed.

“You like it?”

“Yes.” He clutched Thierry’s ribs, probably hoping to draw him up, but he didn’t let himself be caught this time. Leaving Dmitri’s tender skin be, he continued his traipsing path down the man’s body, feeling ribs knock under his chin until he fell off the platform of them into the glory underneath.

Dmitri squirmed again. The man was self-conscious about his belly. Judging by the solidity of his arms and shoulders, of the thighs Thierry had so far only touched with his fingers, Dmitri might once have boasted a flat belly— the same delicious expanse of dark fur but laid over a landscape of rippling abdominal muscles.

Yes, well.

What the man had now was so much better, so mind-bogglingly delectable, Thierry was having trouble keeping himself together. He wanted to push his face into Dmitri’s skin, into the sweet feeling of the soft layer of insulation he now bore between his skin and muscle. It practically invited Thierry to take it in his teeth and—

“Ow!”

Dmitri’s knee hit his ribs. Thierry propped an arm on that leg. “Just a nibble.”

“If you want a nibble…”

“Patience, mon loup.” He smoothed a hand over Dmitri’s stomach, tickling at the hair and swirled his tongue around the man’s navel. Letting his hand drop lower, he ran a light thumb across the line where, in a few years, perhaps not even that long, his wolf might develop a little crease. He gathered the flesh in his hand and sucked on it again.

“Stop! Christ, Marrou.”

Thierry lifted his head. “What?”

Dmitri frowned at him, exasperated. “It’s embarrassing, man. Why couldn’t you have shown up ten years ago?”

“You would have gone to jail. I was seventeen.”

Dmitri stared at him and then let his head fall back on a groan. “Fuck.”

Thierry relented for the moment and crawled up his body. Turned the man’s face to his. “I adore your body. Everything about it. You don’t have to believe me, but don’t you think I’m down here making fun of it or something stupid like that.” He gave him a light slap on the cheek.

“Hey!”

“And you’re shy so suddenly? What about all those men at the tavern? All your past lovers?”

Dmitri’s mouth curled on a wry smile. “They were further in the past than you might think.” His fingers slipped into Thierry’s hair, then smoothed it. “It’s been longer than I’d like to admit, with a lot of cooking in between.”

Thierry grinned and kissed him. “You are an excellent cook, chef.”

“Maybe a little too good.”

“Good. Maybe I’ll get nice and fat. I could eat you up. I believe I will.” He slid down before Dmitri could stop him and settled between the man’s legs. “What have we here?”

To his delight, Dmitri folded an arm under his head, propping it up so he could watch. “See something you like?”

Thierry growled at his confidence. “You have no idea.”

His wolf’s pubic hair was still black and thick. He shoved his fingers into it, grinning when they disappeared. Dmitri’s cock rolled up to lie on top, deliciously plump. It was on the short side, which Thierry loved so much he nearly squealed, but even he had a scrap of dignity. Turning his hand over, he cradled Dmitri’s penis, smoothing a thumb down the soft skin of the underside. The vein there pulsed under his touch. He answered it with his tongue.

Above his head, his wolf groaned. Touched his hair. “Yeah.”

“Comme ça?” he murmured against Dmitri’s shaft. He dragged his lips up to the peak under the crown. “Et içi?” He pressed his tongue to the place and scraped it upward.

Dmitri grabbed the duvet. “Yes.”

“Oui, et… içi?” Thierry licked the rim of the cockhead.

“Yes.”

Thierry gave Dmitri’s hip a light slap. “Not ‘yes.’”

Dmitri looked down at him. “Serious?”

“Très sérieuse, mon loup. En français.” He raised his eyebrows.

“Oui.”

Thierry breathed out. “Again, please.”

“En français,” Dmitri teased.

“Encore, s’il te plaît.”

Dmitri smiled. “Oui.”

Thierry growled fiercely, and Dmitri laughed. It made his belly jiggle, and Thierry launched himself at the temptation like a bull upon a red cape. Dmitri shouted, trying to extricate Thierry from his softness. Thierry burrowed his face in, happy as a puppy. And Dmitri twisted, shouting, “Stop, damn it!” But he was laughing, so Thierry raised his head and snarled at him. Dmitri’s tongue flashed over his lip.

“How do you say, ‘Suck me’?”

Thierry’s gut flamed anew. “Suce-moi.”

“Suce-moi.”

He shook his head, feeling playful. “That’s too vague. You’ll have to be more specific.” He dipped his head to Dmitri’s thigh and, with an open mouth, sucked at his skin. Then he looked up at Dmitri. Pointing to the wet swirl of furry leg, he said, “La cuisse.”

“La cuisse,” Dmitri said.

“Suce ma cuisse.”

“Suce ma cuisse.”

“Oui.” He sucked on it again but only briefly. Edging northward, he lifted Dmitri’s scrotum, letting his balls rest on his fingers. He licked one ball. “La couille.”

“La couille.”

“Suce…”

Dmitri’s hips shifted. “Suce ma couille.”

Thierry drew the delicate egg between his lips and worked the underside of it with his tongue.

“Shit!”

“Merde,” Thierry mumbled around the testicle.

Dmitri’s laugh sounded pained. “Merde. Oh.” He raised his head. “Suce deux couilles?”

Thierry grinned in delight. “Mon loup! Aww, so sweet, you are learning!”

“Shut up and do it,” his wolf said with an embarrassed grimace.

Thierry winked at him. Opening wide, he took both of Dmitri’s testicles into his mouth, nibbling upward with his lips until he held the entire scrotum. He closed his eyes at the feel of them, hot and firm, tugging just a bit at his teeth, trying to draw themselves up to safety. He lavished them in wet warmth while Dmitri groaned, humming until one of them escaped. He let the other go and pecked a kiss on top of each. When he lifted his gaze to find Dmitri’s trained on him, hungry, Thierry prompted him.

“La bite,” he said, stroking a fingertip up the hardness of Dmitri’s penis.

“Thierry…”

It was almost perfect, his accent, and Thierry had to choke back his moan, not willing to miss the rest.

“S’il te plaît, suce ma bite.”

He couldn’t contain the whimper, not completely. He could only hope that Dmitri was too aroused to hear it. With a hunger fed by gratitude as much as desire, he took Dmitri’s cock into this mouth.

Closing his eyes, he let himself drift on the thick slide of the shaft down his tongue. In the sounds his wolf made in response, guttural noises no human could ever make, surely. Sucking back off Dmitri’s length, he descended on him again, lavishing him with every warm, safe sensation in his power to give, letting Dmitri hear his pleasure, hoping it made the man feel as powerful as Thierry thought he was. After his initial assault, he eased off, kissing and licking at Dmitri’s flavor, at the sharp scent of his skin and the tang of the cum beginning to drip from his slit. Thierry lapped at all of it, not wanting to miss a single drop, but when Dmitri’s hands gripped his head, he focused himself sternly on the job at hand. This was for Dmitri, for his wolf, who had taken him in, had fed him, had even taken him into public and not left him at the bar, as any sane man would have done.

He sucked hard, trying to convey the emotion doing its best to crack open his ribs, to squeeze from his tear ducts. He sucked, and licked, and moaned, and stroked, and when his wolf’s hips thrust upward into him, he swallowed, cupping his lover’s buttock to hold him in place.

How then, could he explain why, after he rose and kissed his wolf’s spent cock, so tender in its nest of dark hair, that he didn’t want the same?

Dmitri didn’t understand, wanted to reciprocate, wanted it enough to frown fiercely over it, to raise his voice, and then lower it again, the better to convince.

How to explain that he wanted what his lover offered, wanted it with every throbbing part of himself, but that what he needed was to curl against him, to pull the blankets over them and feel the warmth of Dmitri’s body sheltering his own?

He couldn’t explain.

So he didn’t.

And after a long, tense moment, Dmitri’s body relaxed behind him. His hand slid up to Thierry’s heart and pulled him back into a chest that felt like home.

He slept.

 

* * *

 

About a week later, Dmitri lay in bed, watching the sliver of moonlight move across the bed.

When Thierry had finished him off—he still wouldn’t accept anything in return—they had spooned up facing the window. The moonlight had lain across Thierry’s open palm, and he had joked that he’d caught it for his wolf.

“Well, give it here.”

“Aaaah, I can’t. You will have to be content only looking. But I’ll hold it for you.”

Such a big heart, and yet, he wasn’t sharing all of himself. It made Dmitri nervous. Made him want to lie there day and night, keep Marrou wrapped up against him. Make him acknowledge that their tumbles left his dick hard and his balls tight and his whole long body thrumming with unfinished business.

When Thierry’s breath had smoothed out into something slow and even, Dmitri slipped out of bed. Tucking the comforter around his sleeping lover, he drew on his robe and closed the bedroom door behind him. It took him a few minutes to locate the phone—their clothes still lay scattered around the living room. But then he stood huddled over the wood stove and thumbing through the short list of contacts. When he found the number, he dialed before he could think better of it. The ring on the other end sounded strange. But it would, wouldn’t it? It was ringing in Montréal.

And then it wasn’t.

“Thierry?”

Dmitri cleared his throat. “Bonjour, madame Marrou. Je m’appelle Dmitri Sernov.” He was glad Thierry couldn’t hear him. For several reasons.

“Aaah, monsieur Sernov. Parlez-vous français?”

Hmm. His French was pretty specific. “No, ma’am.”

“Ooo, do not call me ma’am, if you please.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right. Monica will suffice. May I call you Dmitri?”

“Yes.” He swallowed. This was more awkward than he had imagined. “Uh, I’m calling…”

“About Thierry.”

“Yes. He’s fine,” he hastened to say. “I mean, nothing’s happened to him.”

“That’s not true, Dmitri. You have happened to him.”

She knew?

“Thierry telephoned me last week.”

“Oh.”

“It was the first time he has called me in half a year.”

“Right. Well, he’s in Alaska. I guess he told you that.”

“He did.”

“He’s fine. He’s eating, and he’s warm.”

She chuckled, her voice nearly as deep and rich as Thierry’s. “I appreciate you letting me know that, Dmitri. A mother does worry. But… I don’t believe this is the reason for your call. What can I do for you?”

He exhaled. “Hm. I’m beginning to feel silly for calling you.”

“Oh, don’t. Not at all. Thierry is a piece of work, no?”

Dmitri laughed despite himself.

“Yes, well. You’ve probably called the right person. Now,” she said, all business, “what has he done?”

“Oh, it’s not that. He hasn’t done anything, exactly. It’s just… did he tell you why he’s here?”

“The dreams?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know why he had these dreams, or what about them made him willing to cross Canada. But he did, Dmitri. He crossed it to meet you. It frightens me to think what could have befallen him. Or how you might have reacted when he arrived. We never stop wanting to protect our young.”

“Well, I was surprised.”

She laughed. “I imagine so.”

“Yeah, it was a lot to take in. That’s never happened to me before.”

“Thierry says you are a writer?”

“Yes.”

“Have you never been approached by a fan?”

He laughed. “No. I’m not that well known.”

“Ah.” Was she disappointed? “Then I suppose he was a shock.”

“Literally.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Uh… he roughed me up in a hockey game. No permanent damage.”

“He can be very impulsive.”

“You don’t say.”

She made a soft, grumbling noise. “He comes by it honestly, as you might say. His father was just the same.”

“He said you told him he’s a lot like his dad.”

“Yes, he is.” She paused a long moment, and Dmitri wondered if he should change the topic. “Dmitri?”

“Yes?”

“Are you calling because you fear Thierry will leave?”

He hadn’t known it until that moment. “Yes,” he said, relieved. “I think so.”

“Mm. Unfortunately, Thierry comes by that honestly as well.”

“I don’t understand.”

“What did he tell you of his father?”

“That you met and fell in love, and that he was shot before Thierry was born.”

She sighed. “I’m going to tell you something, Dmitri Sernov, because I think it is important here. I don’t expect you to share it with Thierry. Honestly, I should do that myself. But here it is: Thierry’s father wasn’t shot. He didn’t die. He left.”

Shit. Dmitri looked toward the bedroom door.

“I was so angry when it happened. I was positive that when Thierry reached an age to know, that I would have no trouble at all telling him. But when he reached that age and he asked… I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t look at my son and tell him his father hadn’t cared enough to stay. So I lied.”

Behind that door, Thierry slept peacefully. “I’m sorry.”

“No, I am sorry. I should not burden you with this. But I fear for him. I see his impulsiveness, how quickly he changes his mind, makes radical decisions…”

“Like following dreams across a continent.”

“Yes, and I worry. I worry he will live his life the same way his father did.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m not pregnant.”

She didn’t react at first, and then she laughed loud and long. “Oh, monsieur Sernov. I begin to see what Thierry likes about you. Not pregnant. Well, that is comforting.”

“Listen, Monica. I’m sorry to call you like this, it must be weird for you. I didn’t even realize why I called until you said it. But I like your son. I like him a hell of a lot.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I know he tore a path getting here. I just…”

“You don’t want him to leave you, too.”

“I don’t.”

“Dmitri, have you had a lover before?”

“Yes.”

“A long-time lover?”

“No,” he admitted.

“I’m not going to lecture you. Were both adults. I don’t know how much Thierry has told you about me, but I don’t specialize in long-term relationships either. But I believe we can agree that they require work, yes?”

“Of course.”

“And patience. And tolerance,” she said with emphasis.

He chuckled. “I think Thierry has to tolerate more from me than I do from him.”

“Nonsense. I know my son. You probably feel as though someone has dropped a puppy into your lap. Old enough to bark and run and make a mess but not so grown that he can feed himself.”

“It’s a little better than that.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” She did sound genuinely pleased.

“I guess he told you I’m older than he is.”

“He did,” she said, and he detected a bit of teasing in her voice.

“Well, sometimes I feel really old.”

“Ridiculous. You’re only—”

She broke off. He couldn’t help it; he teased her back. “What did he tell you?”

“He…” She cleared her throat with a delicate sound. “He said he thought you might be… late thirties.”

“He said forty, didn’t he?”

“Ahh. He did.”

“He’s right. I turn forty in the spring. He’s twenty-seven. How can that work?”

“What’s to stand in the way? Dmitri, age is in your mind.”

“No, it’s definitely in other places too.”

She made a dismissive sound. “Well, yes, it is. It’s in your experience, in the way you approach the world. After four decades, you will have a natural confidence about life. That’s very attractive. So what if certain parts of you are slower to get on board.”

“Whoa. How much did he tell you, exactly?”

“It does not matter, Dmitri,” she said in what he knew was the voice that had raised Thierry to manhood. “He likes you. A lot, as you say. He wants to please you. And he’s frightened, cher. He worries that he won’t be enough for you. That he doesn’t have the life experience to match yours.”

“He does.”

“Well, I believe he does, but I have a shameful bias. So I’m glad to hear you think so too.” She sighed again. “If Thierry leaves, it will be because he thinks he has nothing to offer. If you want him to stay, you must convince him otherwise.”

He stood staring out the back window, at the sheen the moon spread on the snow there. “I will.”

“Good. I am rooting for you. That’s the phrase, yes?”

He laughed. “You know it is. Your English is better than mine.”

“I doubt that, mister writer.”

“Well, thank you. I probably don’t have to tell you that Thierry doesn’t know I called you.”

“You don’t. But I’m glad you did.”

“Me too. Thank you. Really. I still feel a little silly.”

“What are mothers for, huh? Is your mother still alive, Dmitri?”

“Nah. She passed away a few years ago.”

“Do you still talk to her?”

The question caught him off-guard, because he had done exactly that, in the months right after she’d died. “Not for a long time.”

“You should. I bet she would like to hear from you.”

“Thanks, Monica.”

“You’re welcome, darling. Ah, don’t tell Thierry about his father. I should do it.”

“I won’t.”

“Perhaps I’ll make a visit one of these days, so that I can approve you in person.”

“Oh Christ. Maybe I should save you the trip.”

She laughed. “I’m only joking. Your phone call tells me everything I need to know. Now, what are you going to do?”

“Convince him.”

“Good man. And Dmitri?”

“Yeah?”

“Convince yourself while you’re at it. You deserve this.”

She hung up, leaving him staring at the snow, mouth agape. He shut it with a pop.

He deserved this.

Hell, if Monica Marrou said so, that was good enough for him.

He cleared the call from the phone’s record of recents, and slipped it back into the pants he’d found it in.

Then he slid into bed again and curled himself back around Thierry’s sleep-heavy body.