Ruff Trouble

by Sharon Maria Bidwell

  Bobby closed his eyes. Although Manning would cost the country plenty to care for him, there was a strange karma about the whole thing. Something had made Manning’s mind snap all right, and no one believed him.

  Bobby had delivered him tied up and ranting to the station. Kathleen had testified he’d attacked her. Sam did too. He didn’t say how badly, didn’t need to. Manning was foaming at the mouth and jabbering, screaming threats about how he would cut off Bobby’s ‘beast’ cock. At first, the other officers believed Manning referred to Bobby’s size. A wry grin twisted his mouth. Well, he didn’t like to boast.

  “Thanks, Sarge.” Bobby thanked Gordon, using the term for old time’s sake.

  “For letting you know as soon as I did? Believe me, I won’t let anyone keep me in the dark or make the same mistake next time. Manning ever hits the streets again, you and I will both know about it before the fact, I promise you.”

  If Manning ever hit the streets again, he’d better stay away because Bobby wouldn’t let him threaten them a third time, and no one would ever find him. His conscience didn’t sit easy, but enough was enough.

  They’d suffered…enough.

  Sam.

  Bobby ran his hands over his face.

  “You okay?”

  He nodded at the colleague who asked. He was about to knock off for the day. A few days. He had leave, and it was Christmas. They’d opened the pub for Christmas Eve lunch, but from now until the day after Boxing Day, they were closing. He had two-and-a-half days to enjoy life at home with the ones he loved.

  * * * *

  For once, her senses failed her. Unable to decipher the expression on Bobby’s face or his smell, Chantelle asked outright. “Any news?”

  He gave her a weak smile. “All good.” He told her about the phone call. “I’m…I don’t know.”

  “I do.” Since they’d survived so much and the outcome might have been worse, most people would have assumed they should have been elated, but how many shocks was it possible to take? Overloaded, they were numb, as if their bodies and minds feared more emotion. Even the sight of the Hare and Hounds decked out for the season did little to lift her spirits. “If we’re deflated, how must Sam feel?”

  “Where is he?”

  “Out back.” She gestured to the conservatory. Bobby nodded, paused on his way by and kissed her on the brow. “Be gentle with him.”

  “You know I will.”

  “He still won’t let me put up the mistletoe.” She paused, allowing the fact to sink in, waited until Bobby glanced at her. “I think tonight should be all about Sam. Sam and I love each other, but we both belong to you, you know?”

  “I need you to belong to each other. I need to know…” He paused. “I need to know you’ll be there for each other.”

  “We are. We will. I promise you. But tonight…” She left the rest unspoken.

  At last Bobby nodded. His lips twitched. Chantelle frowned at him and he waved a hand in her direction as if to ease her concern.

  “It’s nothing. Something I have in mind. I’ll make sure Sam enjoys himself. You’ll enjoy it too, even if you don’t take part.” With a broader grin and a light kiss, Bobby moved on by. Before he did, he gave Chantelle the bag he carried and instructions.

  * * * *

  A strange, eerie silence permeated the pub. Even when empty of patrons and staff there was often sound. Voices. The radio. Music. Something. Tonight, there was Bobby, Sam and Chantelle, and Chantelle gave them space to talk. He’d found Sam sitting in the conservatory extension gazing at the stars. Told him about Manning’s fate. Sam nodded without referring to it.

  “It will be a clear night.”

  Was there apprehension in Sam’s voice?

  “It’s perfect.”

  Sam didn’t respond, but Bobby wasn’t mistaken about his anxiety. Tonight, they would take Sam out into the darkness. Tonight, they would run as pack. “It may help if you talk.”

  “I will if I need to. I won’t hide.” Sam’s lips stretched, flashed a hint of a smile, straightened out.

  “No? Then why won’t you let Chantelle put up the mistletoe?”

  Sam’s expression changed, becoming distant. He swallowed. Bobby gave him time.

  “I still can’t remember.”

  Bobby didn’t need him to explain. “Nothing?”

  “Not much. I know there was pain. I know it was so bad I wanted to die. I remember being tied, hanging there, v-vulnerable.”

  Bobby wasn’t sure whether Sam realised he put his hands together in a protective gesture between his legs. Sam had been lucky in one respect: they’d found him before Manning got to those parts. The way Manning had tied Sam left Bobby no doubt the man would have mutilated every inch of him. He laid a hand on Sam’s thigh though Sam didn’t react.

  “Why can’t I remember?”

  “Do you need to?”

  “I don’t know. It’s more like it worries me I can’t, in case part of me is damaged beyond anything I can imagine.”

  Bobby didn’t know what to say; fortunately, Chantelle did. She’d slipped silently into the room, nothing but her scent alerting him. Did Sam smell her too? Must do; he didn’t jump when she spoke.

  “Sam, honey, when we change, we heal. Maybe when you shifted your brain decided your mind needed to heal, too. Maybe you can’t remember because it’s the best thing for you.”

  “Would be nice. I hope so.” Sam looked at the moon. “It’s what I focused on. The mistletoe. When the pain got too much, I know that’s where I took my mind. To here. Christmas. Us. Kissing under the mistletoe. Me telling you it didn’t matter the mistletoe was fake as long as the kisses weren’t. I tried to hold on to the hope, but I failed.” He sounded disgusted with himself.

  “Sam.” Disapproval leaked into Bobby’s voice.

  “What? You going to tell me never again? Everything will be all right? I’ll never doubt?”

  “No. I will tell you we’ll face whatever comes when we have to. And you need not doubt. Even if Manning had succeeded, it wouldn’t have lessened how much we love each other.”

  “I know. Deep down, I know.”

  “But?”

  “Sometimes it’s easier not having love.”

  “I’d say different, but not easier.”

  Sam nodded. “What if I do remember one day? What if…” He swallowed. “What if I wake screaming one night?”

  “Then you’ll wake us too because we’ll be right beside you.” Bobby held out a hand. Sam took a moment but placed a hand in Bobby’s, and, as Chantelle crouched beside him, Sam put his other hand in one of hers.

  * * * *

  “Aren’t we going to bed?”

  Bobby shook his head. “I want you on the bar.”

  Sam blinked, his expression one of disbelief. He stared at the bar as if trying to figure out the logistics.

  “Get on up there. Let me guide you.”

  Sam’s first step didn’t do the word hesitant justice. Bobby failed to hold back a chuckle. As Sam reached the bar, lingering in indecision, Bobby ordered, “Clothes off.”

  Again, Sam blinked. “If Health and Safety doesn’t approve of mistletoe, I’m sure they won’t approve of nudity.” He also cast a surreptitious glance at the big picture windows.

  “We’ll switch the lights off.”

  Chantelle moved to do so even though Sam spoke not a word. As night washed over them, Sam relaxed a little. Sam had taken huge steps in the last few days. Tonight, he would take an enormous one. Bobby intended to help him along. “Clothes off.”

  A few seconds were needed before Sam responded. He pulled garments off, movements slow, and methodical, almost embarrassed. Tired of Sam averting his gaze, Bobby walked over, clasped Sam’s jaw, and tilted his head to him. He kissed him, hard, forcing his tongue in past the barrier of lips and teeth. When he broke the kiss, pulled back, and spoke, he kept his voice low, commanding, harsh.

  “Get on the counter, now.”

  Ahhh. Sam’s scent g
ave off the things Bobby spied in his expression: shock, a little fear, and pleasure. Bobby gave Sam the boost he needed to sit on the bar. From her perch further along, Chantelle watched, her chin cupped in her hands, gaze darting, a smile widening her lips, making her appear a little demented.

  Sam’s gaze swept over him, a silent query: why was Bobby still clothed when Sam wasn’t? Good point. Bobby stripped, making more of a show, revealing his body to Sam and Chantelle both, taking pleasure in it. Dogs weren’t modest, didn’t see the need to be. He was already hard and did nothing to hide it.

  Taking his erection in hand, he waved it a little. “Guess I can wag more things than a tail.” He stared in Sam’s eyes. “Lie on your front.”

  Puzzlement tightened Sam’s expression but there was less hesitation. He moved to obey, his movements still a little uncertain. Sam wasn’t used to his leg working yet, expected it to give out on him. He always seemed surprised when it didn’t. He lay flat, gasping when Bobby pulled him to the end of the counter, taking care to protect Sam’s tender parts as he did. Soon he had Sam as he’d imagined him a few days ago before a lunatic had shown up and threatened to end their happy existence.

  “Are you serious?” Sam demanded.

  “Deadly.”

  Chantelle moved, edged toward them, happy to be a spectator, but wanting a better view.

  “This is…weird.”

  “Just weird?” Although he liked the view, Bobby wanted Sam to enjoy this.

  “No. Good too, though strangely.”

  “Feeling exposed?”

  Laughter bubbled out of Sam’s throat. “Yes.”

  Bobby reached out, taking hold of the stiffening column hanging between Sam’s legs. He had the man positioned so his lower half hung over the end of the counter. His upper body rested on top, and while the position must be uncomfortable, at least some part of Sam enjoyed itself.

  “You’ve got a beautiful arse.” The small intake of breath might have meant anything, but Bobby smelled Sam’s emotions, noticed what he often did: doubt. After what he’d been through in life, who could blame Sam for his distrust?

  As if she had read his mind, Chantelle picked up the footstool they sometimes used to get to the top-most and seldom-asked-for drink bottles from behind the bar. She placed it by his feet. Bright girl. Bobby winked at her; she grinned back.

  He took a step up, tapped Sam’s rear with his cock. “This proves nothing to you?”

  Sam sighed. “We don’t need this conversation.”

  “I agree; we don’t.” Running his hands over Sam’s well-rounded and smooth cheeks, Bobby exposed the tight puckered entryway into Sam’s body. Beneath his touch, Sam jolted a little, surprised, but relaxing when Bobby played with the secret place with the tip of a thumb. He grinned; Sam no doubt believed Bobby merely worked to open him to prepare for a much larger penetration. He’d get one in time, but not yet.

  With his free hand, Bobby landed a smack on one of Sam’s cheeks. Sam jolted, swivelled his head to stare at Bobby, gaze accusing, a glimmer of yellow light in their depths. Sam’s beast wasn’t at all sure about getting smacked. The slap awoke it, but it lay calm, interested, non-aggressive. Exactly what Bobby wanted.

  Even when Sam looked away, Bobby could tell what went through his mind. The animal and the human struggled to work through the situation and balance what both desired.

  As a distraction, Bobby took his thumb to his mouth, wet it. Slid it inside Sam. The sudden intrusion made the man cry out. Pulling his thumb out, Bobby repeated his earlier action of spreading Sam to his view and holding him there…until enough seconds ticked by for Sam to experience consternation, to wriggle to make Bobby release him.

  “You didn’t look above the bar.”

  “What? You bring that up now?” Clearly, Sam struggled to believe Bobby was talking while he had him in such a compromising position. Still, Sam twisted, strained to see, and gaped. While they’d talked out back, Chantelle had done as Bobby asked. She’d decorated the area over the bar with mistletoe.

  “It’s…”

  “The real thing,” he told Sam.

  “And a few sprigs left over.” Chantelle grinned, twirling a piece before Sam’s face. Leaning forward, she held it over his head while she kissed him.

  “My turn.” Bobby didn’t try to move to Sam’s head. Instead, he waited while Chantelle drew closer, placed the small stem of green leaves and white berries on Sam’s lower back.

  “Wh—”

  Before Sam finished, Bobby bent his head. Planning to confuse Sam as to his intentions, he crouched until able to pull on Sam’s cock and tease the head with his lips and tongue. Sam made a strangled sound. Once Sam relaxed into the sensation, enjoying it, Bobby moved up, mouthing Sam’s testicles to keep him guessing, before he swept his tongue through the channel until he touched puckered skin. As Sam gasped so hard it made him cough, Bobby softened the tension in his tongue and assaulted him with a gentle rimming.

  “Fuck, B-Bobby.” Sam twisted, a foot kicking back, striking Bobby’s shin by accident.

  Easing off, Bobby said, “I’m a dog, Sam. This part of the body doesn’t worry me the way it does some people. And anyway, I’m your lover. Means no part of you turns me off. I know you love this.”

  Doubt and embarrassment soured Sam’s scent—not because Sam had qualms—but because he feared something might damage their relationship. Nothing could. Nothing short of hurting Chantelle. Whatever Sam wanted, Bobby would do for him. He used his mouth on Sam, first gentle and then not. By degrees he opened him, made him slick, until Sam’s breath rasped in small pants, the intimate place spasming, grasping for a cock not there…yet.

  Once more, Bobby stepped onto the footstool. Perfect alignment, as he’d hoped. He pressed the tip of his cock at Sam’s back door and teased him with it.

  Sam swore and Bobby laughed. As did Chantelle. Sam twisted his head to glare at her. “Enjoying the show?”

  “Of course.”

  Bobby added to the shock of her blatant reply by entering him. He took it slow so as not to cause Sam pain, but he didn’t let up until he’d buried every inch. He took in Sam’s gasp, jolt, moan, dip of head, watching and savouring every reaction. Passion and arousal made Sam surrender. So did love.

  Leaning over him, Bobby planted a kiss in the centre of Sam’s back. “You gonna say no Sam? Hmm?” No surprise Sam protested. “Relax. You won’t fall.” He might have without Bobby’s firm grip, but held—impaled—Sam wasn’t going anywhere. “We can take our time. I can take my time.”

  Sam shook his head as if denying him.

  “What’s wrong, honey?” Chantelle spoke even as Bobby caught Sam’s struggle in the tremors assaulting his body and his scent.

  “You close, Sam?” Sam nodded. Bobby dug his nails in, made Sam hiss. “You telling me I’ve brought you to the edge so readily when I’ve been in you a few minutes?”

  “Your tongue was in longer.” Sam’s voice sounded tight, his words accusing.

  Bobby chuckled. “You don’t have to hold back, for me. Not this time.”

  “I’m…not. What makes you think—” Sam gasped. “Not for you. I’m holding back…for me. I…” Sam hesitated, glanced at Chantelle, and then glared over his shoulder at Bobby. Looked for all the world like he wanted to swear at him, but then his eyes glistened and whatever protests he had fell apart.

  “I-I love you both. Can’t get enough. Want to…run with you both, though it scares me.”

  Chantelle’s arms went around Sam, so Bobby no longer saw any part of his face though he felt the trembling body beneath him. Damn if Sam’s reaction didn’t bring him to the edge.

  “There’s no need to fear, honey,” Chantelle whispered. Under her hands, lips and tongue, Sam groaned. She might not be touching any sensitive part of him, but Bobby knew her sensuous caress worked wonders. She made her way down while Bobby maintained a pace to keep their climax at bay. He waited until Chantelle had manipulated her way over Sam, her prying fin
gers running over his skin to where Bobby ploughed into him. Until she rubbed his testicles and Sam’s, and at last wrapped her hands around two penises.

  Sam shook in his climax, breathing laboured, and the tight spasm of that hot channel was more than Bobby could withstand. Sam’s climax forced his body to tighten, and Bobby decided to pull out. He came in a warm flood over Sam’s lower back, and both men might have fallen had Chantelle not been there to hold them.

  * * * *

  Neither Sam nor Chantelle asked why Bobby had chosen not to climax inside Sam. They knew. Bobby often knotted if the three of them made love. Sam didn’t mind. There’d been something reassuring about accepting Bobby’s seed on his body as well as inside him.

  Fingers brushed through his hair, disturbing him. Nothing hurt. Nothing bothered him, but Chantelle would not give in. He opened his eyes to a sprig of mistletoe and laughed. Chantelle kissed him on the brow, then his lips, and Bobby joined in—the kiss ended in an awkward but loving three-way tangle of tongues.

  “Are you ready to run with us, Sam?”

  Without a word, he stood and followed. Fear toyed with him, although Bobby had spent the last ten days teaching Sam to control the change, working through the pain. As Bobby had told him, Sam could now change with ease. Still, to become something other was a like giving up part of his humanity. Tonight, he would run wild with his pack, and he was a little afraid; scared he’d forget himself. They both watched him.

  “Sex I can do. This…” He shook his head.

  “We’ll bring you home, Sam.”

  Bobby said it with words; Chantelle with a touch. He nodded. They would. He watched his lovers shift, knelt, let them push their cold wet noses against his bare skin. He let his animal rise as Bobby had taught him. His limbs elongated. No pain; not this time, but a strange…sliding. The world around him altered: became brighter, sharper, alive with smells and sound.

  The chill of the night, the snow on the ground, meant nothing. His blood ran hot. As did his need. He could run in human form now, but, in this shape, he could run like the wind. So, he did.

  Part 3: Paws for Thought