by JC Holly
Keeping low, he headed out wide, far past the road and the shack, before crossing over and heading farther into the forest, parallel to the dirt track. From his position, he could smell the wolves still, but only because of his heightened senses. The wolves themselves were likely blind to his presence. Still, he couldn’t be certain, and stayed alert.
It had approached afternoon, and the sun was high, leaving him less shadows to work with, but Farrell had been doing what he did best for a long time. Despite the need for stealth and silence, the small shack was in sight within ten minutes.
The place looked no better than the last time he’d seen it a few years ago. What was left of the white paint hung on the old wooden walls in flakes. The bent chimney was nearly rusted through in several places, but apparently still functioned. The rich scent of wood smoke wafted past Farrell’s snout as he tried to ascertain who was inside.
Sandy was there, certainly, and he couldn’t smell fresh blood, which was a great sign. Two other Weres were in the shack, likely the two that had grabbed her in the first place. Added to the three near the road, and another two that were patrolling, though poorly, that made for odds Farrell didn’t like. Despite telling Ethan he’d be careful, he’d secretly hoped to jump in and rescue Sandy without any trouble. Instead he’d have to head back and get some backup. Somewhat dejected, he turned tail and headed back to Sandy’s house to collect his car, stopping to collect and put on his clothes on the way.
He jumped into his car soon after and flipped open his phone. Avani answered on the first ring.
“Farrell?”
“I’ve found her.” He explained the situation. “I’ll need some help.”
“No problem. I’ll head over now, and we’ll grab Victor on the way.”
“Not yet. There are too many for an assault, unless we’re looking for a bloodbath. We need to be stealthy about this.”
“What do you suggest?”
Farrell scratched at his leg. “We go in at night, someone distracts, and someone extracts.”
“That works, I guess.” She sighed. “Ethan wants to wait to see if they demand a ransom, anyway.”
“You’re itching for a fight, aren’t you?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe. Did you hear about Victor yet?”
Farrell clenched his fist and the phone creaked. “Is he okay?”
“He is, yeah, but Carl’s dead. Murdered in his own place.”
“Shit.” Carl had been a great guy. Gabriel would pay. “We’ll make sure they pay for it tonight.”
They arranged to meet at Farrell’s place at sunset. Farrell assured her that Sandy would be fine, while trying to assure himself of the same, then headed home. He needed to relax for a few hours. The death and kidnapping had him wound tight, and if he went into a fight stressed, he’d make mistakes.
He arrived back at his place to find Victor sitting on the couch. He stood as Farrell approached, his hand on his belt. “I needed some stress relief. Figured you were the go-to guy.”
Farrell moved close and kicked the door shut behind him. “It’s like you read my mind.”
Chapter Six
Victor let Farrell kiss him on the lips, before pointing to the couch. They sat together.
“You heard about Carl?”
Farrell nodded. “You heard about Sandy?”
“Yeah. Avani just called my cell.”
They were silent for a moment, before Victor put a hand on Farrell’s knee. “Sitting here stressing will do us no good.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
“In that case…” Victor stood and moved into the middle of the room. “I propose a trade.”
Farrell raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“Yup. For every question you answer, I take something off.”
“And what kind of questions are we talking about?”
Victor took a deep breath and steeled himself. “I want to know about your past.”
Farrell was quiet for a moment, obviously thinking hard. After what felt like the longest minute ever, he nodded once. “Okay. But you have to agree to tell nobody.”
“Of course. It’ll be just between us.”
The man grinned. “And when you’re done stripping, your ass is mine.”
Victor’s cock twitched at the thought. “You twisted my arm, man.”
Farrell laughed and sat back on the couch, his arms over the back. “Ask your questions, then.”
Victor unbuttoned his shirt, pausing on the last button. “Let’s start with the biggie. How old are you?”
“Thirty-two. Take it off, big boy.”
“I meant wolf and human combined. No cheating.”
Farrell waggled his eyebrows. “Can’t blame a guy for trying. You sure you want to know? It puts some guys off.”
“I’m not that shallow, Farrell.”
He nodded. “True. I’m four hundred and twenty-two. Give or take a year.”
Victor took a step back in surprise. “Are you serious?”
“I am. I was born in 1558, in Ireland, and was turned a little after my thirty-second or thirty-third birthday. Dates weren’t as important back then.”
He opened his mouth to comment, but words wouldn’t come. He’d been prepared for a hundred at most. Hell, Ethan was the oldest wolf he knew up until now, and he’d only been a Were for a few decades. He was a puppy compared to Farrell.
Farrell still smiled, watching Victor flap his mouth. “I know. It’s one of the reasons I keep it quiet.”
“And what are the other reasons?”
He gestured to Victor’s shirt. “Aren’t we forgetting something?”
Victor glanced down. “Oh, right.” He removed the shirt and tossed it to over Farrell, then slid his thumbs into his jeans. “There.”
Farrell smelled the shirt then dropped it onto the couch. “Age is important in pack structure. In the past, whenever I revealed how old I was, it would cause problems. The leader would get antsy, expecting me to take over, people would challenge me to fights in the hope they could best the oldest wolf on the continent…” He rolled his eyes. “I’ve been a member of so many packs that I’ve lost count. In the end I just stopped telling them.”
The oldest wolf on the continent. Whoa. “Doesn’t it bother you that you’re keeping something from your leader?”
Farrell shrugged. “The good ones, like Ethan, don’t care as long as I’m a productive member. Ethan’s been the best in a long time, actually.”
“He’s a good guy.”
Victor popped the button on his jeans, then pulled the zip halfway down before stopping. Farrell rubbed at his own crotch, the bulge beneath his pants straining. Victor tried not to lick his lips at the sight.
“Another question?”
“Yup.” Victor pulled his zip all the way down, partly to flash Farrell his boxers, and partly to relieve the building pressure. “Who turned you?”
“Never knew his name. I’m pretty sure I was turned intentionally, and knowing what I know now, he or she was pretty old, but they didn’t last the night.”
“Oh?” Victor frowned. “You killed them?”
“My family did.” Farrell shrugged. “The wolf ran into me in an alley and nipped me on the leg, barely enough to break the skin, but enough to transfer the magic. That’s why I think it was intentional.
“Lonely Were?” Victor asked. “No excuse, though.”
“Yeah. Anyway, I ran home after I was bitten, and I had a large family. As soon as they saw their youngest with a hole in him and heard the tale of a wolf in the area, they rounded up the village and went hunting. The carcass was on the doorstep before morning.”
“But you knew the wolf was powerful, even though you didn’t speak to them?”
“I didn’t at the time. I just thought all Weres were as powerful as me at first, and it was a long time until I met others.” He laughed. “There weren’t many Were bars back then.”
Victor smirked. “Guess not. My bite was a little differe
nt to yours. Sounds like something out of a horror movie, actually. I was out for a walk with a friend in the hills. Next thing I know there’s a wolf with its teeth in my arm, and my so-called friend is running for his life.”
“What a prick,” Farrell said with a shake of his head. “Still, you’re still kicking now.”
“True enough. Maybe if it had been less vicious I’d be less averse to the whole deal, though.”
“Maybe, maybe not.” He gestured to the window. “Helps to see the world a little, get a real feel for nature, instead of forests near cities.”
Victor shrugged. A conversation for another time. He bent to slide off his jeans, leaving him in just his boxers. As he straightened, he found Farrell already had his own cock out, and was rubbing his thumb over the huge head.
“Hey, that’s cheating,” Victor said.
“You’re the stripper, not me. You gonna call a bouncer?”
“Maybe I’ll just stop here,” he said as he snapped the elastic on his shorts.
“Yeah, right.” Farrell stroked his cock. “You couldn’t even if you wanted to.”
Farrell had him there. Victor was damn horny now. Still, one item of clothing meant one more question he could ask. He was done with the history stuff, though. It’d take a while to process the age thing, but it didn’t bother him that he was with someone so old. Helps that he doesn’t look more than thirty. His gaze drifted downward. Also helps that he’s got his cock in his hand.
“Okay, last question.”
“I’m all ears.”
“How many men have you fucked with that cock of yours?”
Farrell raised an eyebrow. “How many?”
“That’s what I said.” Victor grinned. “I want to know how much experience you’ve had with it before I let you do your thing.”
“Well in that case I won’t lowball you. I haven’t exactly counted, but I’d say at least a couple of thousand. Maybe three.”
Victor tried not to choke. Two thousand different men. He’d assumed it would be something like that, but hearing it was another thing entirely. Farrell caught his expression and shrugged.
“I’ve been alive a long time. Granted, it was harder to find men in the old days, so I wasn’t anywhere as active, but it all adds up.”
He was right, of course. Even if he’d done practically nothing in the first sixty years or so, that still left over three hundred and fifty years. Dividing the men over that period meant something like seven or eight a year. In fact, given how bad he’d been in the short time Victor had known him, Farrell must’ve been practically monk-like for a long time.
Farrell frowned, no doubt taking the silence for shock. “Does it bother you?”
“No.” Victor took a breath then lowered his boxers to the floor, exposing his own rock-hard cock. “Though with all that practice you’d better give me the best fuck of my life.”
* * * *
Victor stood in front of him, naked, the coffee table between them. Farrell had to fight hard not to vault the tiny obstacle and take the man there and then. Damn, he looked good. He’d already seen Vic naked more than once, but he’d seemed to get better looking every time.
He’d taken all the new information about Farrell’s history well, too. Farrell had been a little worried about revealing the info at first, but it was more from past experience than a lack of trust. He’d lost more than one lover from revealing his past. Some were intimidated by his power, and others felt the age gap was insurmountable. That reason always annoyed Farrell. He tried damn hard to keep up with the times. He wore what was in fashion, adapted his slang to suit where he was, and even forced himself to listen to the crap modern man called music. Hell, he even liked some of it. That was another benefit to the wolf lifestyle. Wolves now were exactly the same as wolves four hundred years ago. No pressure.
Still, rants for another time. Right now there was a man in front of him with no clothes and a big smile on his face.
“How do you want me?” Vic said.
“In every position imaginable, and a few that don’t even exist. For now though”—Farrell stroked his cock—“grab the lube from my office, then come sit on my lap.”
Victor turned and walked into the office, giving Farrell a great view of the ass he was about to fuck. Toned cheeks that he’d love to sink his teeth into. Maybe he would, later. The man reappeared a moment later, his hard cock bobbing as he walked. He tossed the lube to Farrell, who spent no time massaging it onto the head of his own cock.
Victor slid onto the sofa then arranged himself so that he was sat on Farrell’s lap, facing him. He sat down on Farrell’s thighs then lowered his head to kiss Farrell on the lips, parting them with his tongue. Farrell kissed back, letting his tongue explore Vic’s mouth. Victor broke the kiss with a smile, then ran his hand behind his back and found Farrell’s cock.
“What have we here?” he said, as he rubbed a fingertip over Farrell’s cockhead.
Farrell bit his lip at the sensation. He slid his hands down Victor’s muscled shoulders and onto his chest, following the lines of muscle with light fingertips. The man was perfect. His fingers went lower still, over his taut stomach, then into the light bush of pubic hair that surrounded his thick cock. He knew what that felt like when it was doing its work, he thought with a smirk.
“It’s bad manners to smirk while staring at a man’s penis,” Vic said, a grin on his face.
“Yeah? Well it’s even worse manners not to get on my cock.” Farrell reached round and slapped Vic on the ass. “Get to work, boy.”
Victor laughed as he raised himself up, his hand still on Farrell’s slippery cock. “Yes, sir.”
Farrell breathed in as his cockhead was pushed up against Vic’s ass. It felt like it would never fit. Vic lowered himself slowly, and Farrell gasped as he slid inside him. Vic groaned softly and paused as he got used to it, then raised himself off before lowering his weight again. This time Farrell’s cock slid in farther, though there was plenty more left. He placed his hands on Victor’s hips and moved with him, not pushing him down or pulling him up.
“That feels great,” he muttered as Vic pulled up again.
“Where do I rank?”
Farrell frowned. “What?”
“In your thousands of men.” Vic bit his lip and lowered himself again, taking more of Farrell’s cock into him.
Farrell laughed and slapped him on the ass again. “You’re already in the top five hundred.”
“That it?”
“Well, we have only just started.”
“That’s true.” Victor slid down further. “I guess I’d better get to it.”
Farrell closed his eyes and let out a breath as Victor got to work. On each stroke he increased the depth, and soon Farrell’s cock was all the way inside him. Victor stopped, sat on Farrell’s lap, and began to rock back and forth slightly while moving up and down only a little. They stayed in that position for the longest time, moving enough for it to feel incredible, but not enough to work up to an ending. Farrell closed his eyes and let his head fall back as he guided Victor’s hips with his hands.
“Definitely top two fifty,” he muttered, his eyes still shut.
“Getting better.” Victor gripped Farrell’s shoulders and firmly worked the muscles, massaging them. “How about now?”
“Top hundred.” Farrell felt Victor’s lips brush lightly against his and opened his mouth to accept him. “Seventy-five,” he managed to mutter, before Victor kissed him hard.
As they kissed, Victor switched gears and moved his hands onto the couch behind Farrell, then rocked forward a little, increasing the stroke again. Farrell moaned into the kiss as the speed picked up, and he shifted his hands farther up Victor’s sides, gripping the taut flesh as Victor bounced on his lap.
“Fuck,” he groaned. “Keep doing that.”
Victor grunted in response as he kept up the vigorous speed, slapping up and down on Farrell’s cock. Farrell tried to take his mind off the moment, to think
of something, anything, that would slow down the approaching climax, but it didn’t work. He’d wanted this since the moment he met Victor, and that much desire was hard to distract with thoughts of brick walls and sports games. As the moment neared he gripped Victor hard and used his hips to thrust farther inside Victor. In response Victor came down harder and faster, his right hand desperately jerking his own cock.
The pair built to a crescendo unlike Farrell had had in decades. With a cry he climaxed, his cock pulsing as he came hard inside Victor. A moment later thick ropes of cum splashed against his chest and neck as Victor followed suit. He kept working Farrell’s and his own cock until they were both entirely spent, then fell forward into an embrace. Farrell gripped him hard, breathing even harder.
“Number one,” he managed to gasp. “You win.”
Victor laughed, his own breath just as ragged. “Damn straight.”
* * * *
“I’ve been thinking,” Victor said.
He was laid out on his side, beside Farrell. Their shower had been a quick one, and they’d both collapsed onto the bed straight after. Farrell had slept for an hour or so, and Victor had done the same, though he’d woke before his bed partner.
“Hmm?” Farrell said, opening one eye. “About what?”
“About, well, us.” Victor shrugged the shoulder he wasn’t lying on. “I think we should go out some time.”
“I dunno, I think I prefer staying in.”
Victor laughed and poked Farrell in the ribs. “We can’t do both?”
Farrell sat up in the bed, his back against the headboard. “Sure we can. I just hadn’t thought about the ‘dating’ thing.”
Victor frowned. “No?”
“Don’t get your boxers in a bunch,” Farrell said with a grin. “I mean I literally hadn’t thought about it. No negative connotations intended.” He shrugged. “I mean, I’ve thought about us doing things, I just never thought of it in a couple way.”
Victor nodded. “I know what you mean, don’t worry. I think we work together well enough to give it a try, though.”
