The Rock Star and the Wolf

by J. C. Holly

  “Sorry I’m third-wheelin’,” the small and sharply dressed man said. “Few things I need to discuss, though, and now seemed the best time.” He glanced from Harlan to Mitch. “Uh, I’m okay discussing business, right?”

  Harlan assumed that was the man’s way of asking whether Mitch thought Harlan would blab it all to a newspaper.

  Mitch nodded. “Harlan’s good.”

  “Harlan,” Bob said. “Now there’s a classic name.”

  Harlan smiled and shrugged. “I’ve always liked it. Not too many of us about.”

  Bob smiled in return, then turned to Mitch. From then till the limo came to a halt, it was all business. Harlan was pleasantly surprised to hear that Mitch took an active role in all parts of his career, from accounting to deciding who to hire in the band’s recording studio. He seemed to have his feet well and truly on the ground.

  A clunk came from outside of the vehicle, followed by an electric hum as, Harlan assumed, a gate slid open. The limo started moving again, then came to a halt a minute later. The engine cut out and the driver’s door opened and closed as the chauffeur came around to let Mitch out. All three climbed out of the same door and Harlan got his first look at Mitch’s mansion.

  “Right, I’m gone again,” Bob said with a smile and a nod to Harlan. “If I miss another meeting in the office they’ll nail me to the wall.”

  Mitch clapped the man on the shoulder as he left, then turned back to Harlan. “What do you think?”

  “Holy mother of crap.” Harlan spun three hundred and sixty degrees, taking it all in. “You own this?”

  The mansion, sat on more than a few acres of land, was built in a classical English style, though on a smaller scale, with sandstone colored walls and thick pillars standing either side of the grand entrance, framing the double doors.

  In front of the house, where Harlan was standing, was a wide gravel road that stretched to either end of the house, then curved back on itself toward the gate. There were three cars parked at one end, and one at the other. Each was worth several times what Harlan earned in a year.

  “You like?” Mitch asked.

  “It looks like you shrank the house from Pride and Prejudice.”

  He laughed. “Kinda what I was going for.”

  “Then you succeeded. I was expecting something more modern. Glass and steel.”

  Mitch winked. “Got one of those, too.”

  As Harlan turned to mock the man’s wealth, a shout came from the entrance to the house. In the doorway stood a shirtless and heavily tattooed man, a guitar held by the neck in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other.

  “Mitch! About time you showed up.”

  Mitch rolled his eyes, then led Harlan over. “Harlan, this is Carr, our lead guitarist. Carr, this is Harlan.”

  Harlan shook the man’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Yeah, you too.” Carr grinned and gestured inside. “Come join the party.”

  A wide hallway led straight through the center of the house. Multiple rooms lay on each side, most with their doors wide. Harlan took his time on the walk and glanced inside most rooms, taking in the plush carpets, various instruments and expensive electronics, and pieces of art.

  “Quite the collector,” he said, as he passed another room with paintings lining the walls.

  Mitch nodded. “I like beautiful things.” He winked at Harlan, then turned to point at a painting. “Plus, if I end up blowing all my money on booze and loose women, I’ll have some stuff to sell off.”

  “I’m sure.”

  He leant in closer to Harlan. “If you’re not up to the meet ’n’ greet, we can just say hi and then make up an excuse.”

  “No, it’s fine. I can play nice.”

  Mitch smirked and grabbed Harlan’s crotch. “That’s debatable.”

  By the time they headed out of the back door, Carr had settled back in amongst the other members of the band. They were all lying on loungers on one side of a large pool. Harlan was glad to see it wasn’t in the shape of a guitar. Or a microphone, he thought with a smirk.

  The men greeted Mitch raucously, and Harlan could smell the booze on their breath from a hundred meters away. There was an empty lounger and Carr disappeared into a large metal shed to pull out another for Harlan, which he jutted up against the other free lounger.

  “Wait, should one go behind the other?”

  The guys laughed, but it was friendly. Clearly it was Carr’s attempt at saying he knew Mitch was gay and that they didn’t need to hide anything.

  “Play your cards right and you can put mine behind yours,” Harlan said, much to the amusement of everyone present.

  Mitch handled the introductions then settled into a chair. Harlan took up the second one and tried not to sigh in contentment as he leant back and took some of the weight off his neck.

  “It’s not like Mitch to bring someone home,” Theo, the drummer, said. “You must be special.”

  “Oh, I’m fucking marvelous,” Harlan replied, his eyes half closed to hide the sun.

  Theo laughed. “I like this one, Mitch. You’d better keep him.”

  Harlan smirked and thought about the idea. What would happen after Mitch’s training was complete?

  Chapter Twelve

  The guys hung around for a few more hours before finally sloping off toward the front of the house, where one of Mitch’s security staff waited to drive them back to their own homes. All of them lived within a ten-minute drive, which made for easy meet-ups. On the downside, they were often there when he wanted some time to himself, too.

  He and Harlan waved the boys off, then headed back inside. Mitch closed his doors, locked them, then let out a long contented sigh. Home. As much as he enjoyed the occasional stay in a fancy hotel, it didn’t compare to being in his own home. It had been far too long.

  Harlan stood by him, his attention again on the contents of the house. Mitch knew it was silly, but he felt a little guilty about having so much. Yes, he worked hard for it, but Harlan worked hard for what he had, too. A damn sight harder in fact, since he was risking his life on a regular basis. Harlan must have realized Mitch was staring at him, as he turned back to him with an arched brow.

  “What?”

  Mitch shook his head. “Just glad to be home.”

  “I’m just happy to have my feet back on the ground.”

  “Yeah, I noticed you weren’t the happiest flier.” He started toward the kitchen and Harlan came behind. “I used to be terrified by planes. The first world tour was hellish. I had to practically overdose on sleeping pills just to get through it.”

  “I try and sleep, but it doesn’t always work. At least this time I didn’t have to put up with screaming babies.”

  Mitch opened the door to the kitchen and made straight for the coffeemaker. “Oh, caffeine, how I’ve missed you. How do you take it?”

  “Black, no sugar, thanks.”

  “Blech. How do you drink that?”

  Harlan shrugged as he leant on the worktop beside Mitch. “Usually with a cup.”

  Mitch grinned and turned to add the grounds to the machine.

  “Nice kitchen,” Harlan commented. “Looks like it’s actually used, too.”

  “I happen to be an awesome chef. I use a professional sometimes, like if I’m having a party, but otherwise I prefer to do it all myself.”

  “I can heat stuff up, but that’s about it.” Harlan gestured to the size of the room. “Don’t you get lonely in a place so big?”

  “Not really. I mean, there’re always people visiting, and I’ve got staff and security around most of the time, too.”

  Harlan took a breath in through his nose, then cocked his head. “There’s nobody else in the house.”

  Mitch nodded. “I dismissed them all. The security guys are still on the gate and will do sweeps of the grounds, but other than that we’re all alone. Also, I’m looking forward to doing that.”

  “Doing what?”

  “The nose thing. I me
an, my sense of smell is already better, but it’s not that good.”

  Harlan chewed his lip, lost in thought for a moment. “Right, close your eyes, put your fingers in your ears, then count to one hundred.” He began pulling his shoes and socks off. “Then you’re going to find me through scent alone.”

  Mitch laughed, but Harlan’s expression was neutral. “You’re serious? I’ll never manage that.”

  “Have faith in yourself. Closing your eyes will help, as will taking your time. It’s not a race, and I’m not going to make you write lines if you fail.”

  Mitch nodded. “All right, I can do this.”

  “Yes, you can. Now get my scent, then close your eyes and start counting.”

  Mitch leant in close and inhaled. Harlan smelled of soap from his quick wash before they left the hotel, but it didn’t completely cover the gasoline smell underneath that was no doubt from the car crash. Confident he could remember the scent, he closed his eyes and started to count.

  Even through his covered ears, he heard Harlan’s footsteps on the squeaky step of the staircase and was almost disappointed. He’d wanted to do it with no clue whatsoever. By the time he’d finished counting, though, enough doubts had surfaced that he wasn’t sure he could do it anyway.

  One way to find out.

  He opened his eyes, then remembered Harlan’s tip and closed them again, before taking in as deep a breath as he could. Scents swarmed in on him. Varying in strength and pleasantness, and too many to count, they threatened to overwhelm him.

  “I can do this. I can fucking do this.”

  He shook his head viciously then let out a long breath and began to sort through the odors. The most prominent were the kitchen smells, and the most prominent among those was the coffee directly behind him. He frowned as the smells seemed to fade into the background. Did he do that? He breathed in again, this time normally, and focused on other strong odors—the trashcan, the food in the fridge. They, too, faded once he’d identified them. His lips curled into a smile. He knew how to do it.

  It was as if his new shifter side did the hard work for him. He told himself what he needed to find, and what was unimportant, and his brain went to work sorting. Even though he’d probably done enough to locate Harlan’s trail, he stayed in the kitchen, sorting through more scents, enjoying the newfound ability. Soon he was left with only a few remaining scents, and the most prominent was his lover’s. As he focused upon it, he opened his eyes.

  “Okay, staircase.”

  He’d already known that, but as he walked toward it, he could feel that Harlan had passed that way. It was as if his nose had developed GPS. He paused only momentarily at the foot of the staircase before turning left and heading down the hall toward the guest bedrooms. Harlan had passed this way, pausing by two of the doors, but not actually entering them. His pauses meant that his scent was slightly stronger by the doors.

  Mitch grinned wide. “I’m sure you can already hear me,” he called. “This is fucking awesome!”

  No voice replied, but that was likely down to Harlan trying to stay hidden. Mitch had no doubt the guy was smiling. Maybe even feeling a little proud.

  Mitch headed further down the hall, his head bent, his attention wholly on the little patches of scent that were Harlan’s footsteps, until he reached the window at the end. A small table sat under it, holding a vase of fresh flowers that a maid must have placed that morning. Mitch identified and faded the scent in his head, then turned to face the other direction. Two doors, one on each side of him, lay closed, Harlan’s scent strong on both. Mitch eyed both carefully. He had a feeling that this part was intentional. If he guessed the wrong door, he failed.

  “Better get it right, then,” he muttered, as he in turn moved to each door.

  While both were covered in Harlan’s scent, only one had it on the doorknob. Mitch grinned and twisted the handle, then stepped into the room. Only to find it empty.

  “What?”

  He turned back to the hallway, baffled, just as Harlan dropped from above, landing neatly. Mitch looked up at the ceiling, then laughed aloud. The man had used the narrow hallway to climb up to the ceiling, his hands on one wall and his feet on the other.

  Harlan brushed a little dust from his shirt. “You did it.”

  “Well, almost,” Mitch replied, coloring. “I was too busy looking at the carpet to even think of looking up.”

  “Every new shifter does it. After all, the footsteps are where the scent is strongest.” Harlan smiled. “Hence my climbing. I couldn’t let you off easily.”

  “No?” Mitch moved closer, grinning, then ran his hand over Harlan’s crotch. “Not even for me?”

  Harlan laughed and pulled Mitch closer still. “Not even for you. It’s a tough world out there. Fame and security guards are useless in the wild.”

  “True. Unless I used my fame to hire a pack of were-guards.”

  “I’ll give you that one.” He bent in and kissed Mitch softly. “Which reminds me. I’ll cover packs later.”

  “Later? What’s wrong with now?”

  Harlan smirked. “We’re in an empty house, and my hard-on is pushing into your hip. Does your accountant do all your math?”

  Mitch reached down and gripped Harlan’s cock through his pants. “You want sex, you have to agree to something first.”

  “Oh?”

  “Uh huh.” He squeezed gently. “You have to promise to do what you just said.”

  Harlan cocked his head to one side.

  “About not going easy on me,” Mitch clarified.

  “Ah. I thought you wanted me to go easy.”

  He shook his head. “I was just kidding around. If I’m going to learn this shifter stuff, I want to do it properly.”

  “Done.” Harlan kissed him on the forehead. “Now take your clothes off.”

  Mitch quirked an eyebrow. “Here? In the hall?”

  “We’re alone, aren’t we?” Harlan stepped back and folded his arms. “Clothes off.”

  Mitch licked his dry lips. God, he loved it when Harlan used his authoritative voice. He pulled off his shirt, then kicked off his shoes and removed his pants. Harlan eyed him slowly, from head to toe, then twirled a finger. Mitch spun, as commanded, and Harlan growled softly as he turned to face away from him. Mitch jumped slightly as Harlan slapped his ass.

  “Walk.”

  Mitch’s heart was already hammering. “Where to?”

  “Bedroom. Slowly.”

  He did as he was told, the thick carpet soft against his bare feet as he made his way along the hallway. Harlan walked behind, occasionally slapping Mitch’s ass, or leaning in to whisper obscenities. Mitch could only bite his lip and keep moving. He stopped as he reached the master bedroom, pushing the door open as he turned to Harlan.

  “On the bed, ass up.”

  Mitch’s heart hammered as he crossed the distance to the bed. He climbed onto the soft mattress and moved toward the middle, then got into position, lying flat, resting his head on his partly crossed forearms.

  “Ass up, I said,” Harlan growled. “Don’t make me spank you.”

  “And if I want you to spank me?” Mitch said, his breath halting.

  Harlan chuckled as he pulled a drawer open and rifled through the contents. “In that case, ass up or I won’t spank you.”

  “Yes, teacher.”

  Mitch shifted position, moving up so that he rested on his elbows and forearms, and his knees. He arched his back toward the sheets, pushing his ass up and back. Harlan growled in approval, then turned back to the drawer and pulled out a bottle of lube. He paused as he closed the drawer.

  “Well, what do we have here?”

  Mitch bit his lip as Harlan pulled the item in question out of the drawer. It was a large black case, shaped like a flashlight. Inside was a soft rubbery silicone that simulated the feel of skin. There was a hole through the center, shaped and styled much like that of a tight ass. Mitch had bought it a few years ago to use with an ex who he’d dumped b
efore he got chance to use it. He could tell from Harlan’s expression that that was about to finally see some use.

  Harlan stepped behind Mitch and out of his line of vision. The mattress depressed as the man climbed onto the bed and moments later his large hands were on Mitch’s waist, pulling him back a little way.

  “That’s better,” Harlan said. “So, you like toys?”

  “I’ve never actually used it on myself,” Mitch admitted.

  “No?” The plastic cap landed on the pillow in front of Mitch. “I’ve had a couple. I can’t always find reliable ass, you know.”

  Mitch gasped as Harlan hooked an arm around his waist and flipped him over on the bed. Harlan reached down and stroked Mitch’s hard cock, the toy in his other hand.

  “Well, it looks like my plans have changed,” Harlan said with a smirk. “Time to pop a cherry.”

  He moved closer to Mitch, then flipped the cap on the lube bottle and dripped a little onto the entrance to the toy, then some onto Mitch’s cock and rubbed it in. Thoroughly, Mitch noticed. Harlan moved the toy and held its opening against Mitch’s cockhead. He had to admit, it felt pretty good already.

  “This isn’t as good as it feels when I’m inside you,” Harlan said. “But I’m sure it’ll suffice.”

  He pushed the toy down and Mitch moaned softly as the first inch of his cock disappeared into the slick silicone. Harlan pulled away again, pulling the toy off again, before slipping it back on.

  “I always found that to be the best part,” Harlan said, his attention entirely on his work.

  Mitch had to agree. The feeling of pressure on his cock as he slid inside was almost as good as feeling it from the other side. The fact that Harlan was the one in control of the action made it even better. Mitch lay back, his weight on his elbows, and closed his eyes as Harlan slowly jacked his cock.

  “Ground rule,” Harlan said. “You do not come until I say. No exceptions.”

  Mitch nodded once to agree, then started thinking about things other than sex to slow himself down. Harlan didn’t help.

  “This is some sight, you know,” the older man said with a growl. “Watching your cock, all slick with lube, slipping in and out of this thing.”