Shadow of a Wolf

by Jez Morrow

  “Lose the towel, Martin,” Jack ordered in a lordly voice.

  Martin hesitated.

  “Or let me do it,” said Jack. He waved Martin closer.

  Martin approached diffidently. As soon as he was within reach, Jack whisked off the towel. A tremor stirred in Martin’s throat. He could not believe he was still shy.

  He felt Jack’s eyes travel appreciatively up and down his naked body. Then Jack lay back again and ordered, “Set me free.”

  Martin climbed onto the bed. He knelt astride Jack’s powerful thighs. His own long erection stood straight up between them and Jack murmured something like a prayer.

  Martin discovered the closure was a button-down fly. Even in the grip of nervous fear and clumsy passion, Martin managed a startled laugh. Exposed and flustered, he cried, “Jack, you prick.”

  “I don’t trust you with a zipper,” said Jack with a touch of evil.

  Cheeks aflame, Martin fumbled at the buttons, taking an agonizingly long time in getting them undone—not on purpose but it was good to let Jack burn awhile.

  He slid his hand into Jack’s trousers, took hold of his manhood and eased it free. Jack moaned. Martin let his hands float over Jack’s pleading cock with a feathery touch. He licked his fingertip and drew a circle around his swollen helmet.

  Jack rose swiftly and pushed Martin onto his back with a growl. Jack reached for the massage oil in the bedside table.

  Martin opened his palms, but Jack poured the oil into his own palms instead.

  “Stay still,” Jack told him.

  Satiny strokes of liquid fire traveled over Martin’s body, massaging, relaxing and exciting. Martin’s body simmered. Jack turned him over and kneaded the muscles in his shoulders, his back, his legs. The experience was lulling, luxurious and wonderful. Martin’s skin was singing.

  Jack got up from the bed. Martin could hear him taking his trousers off.

  Jack turned him over again. Martin moved languidly, smiling up at him. Jack’s touch grew hot. His hands were on his chest, teasing his nipples, making him feel things he had never imagined. Martin writhed and moaned under his touch. Jack’s hands strayed lower, cupped his balls and swept up his engorged cock. Martin had to push away from the unbearable pleasure.

  Jack asked softly, “Martin, do you want me to tie you up?”

  “I think you’re going to have to,” Martin bleated. He’d thought he was relaxed. He was wrong. “I can’t help it.”

  He let Jack tie his wrists to the bedposts. Then Jack descended on him like a famished beast. Martin thrashed underneath him, putting up a useless struggle he never wanted to win. Trapped like this he savored the raw lust and forbidden desires he could not submit to unbound. He strained at his bonds, resisting and needing Jack’s gentle domination.

  Martin tried to keep his eyes open while being kissed. He lost that struggle and surrendered. He opened his mouth to Jack’s deep kisses, his invading tongue, like being lovingly fucked.

  Jack’s great warm hand slid down between them. Martin felt it caress his tightening balls and stroke his erection.

  In the grip of pleasure so strong that he must either come or cry out loud Martin let go a wild savage cry, fighting not to climax.

  Jack pushed himself up. He sat back on his heels, gazing down on Martin, his face rapt.

  Martin’s body vibrated. He had been worshipped and teased and thoroughly felt up, so that his skin now glistened. His cock stood up rigid, begging.

  Jack prowled lower and Martin felt the wondrous shock of Jack’s hot, moist tongue roving over his groin. Jack’s mouth closed over top of his long shaft and Martin thought he must shatter.

  Jack’s lips, set in a firm ring came down on him, and back up, his tongue massaging his length. The light grazing male stubble at the rim of Jack’s lips made Martin fight his bonds even as his back arched up and his hips thrust of their own will.

  “No!” he cried. He meant yes. No just came out. None of this could be happening—Jack’s mouth on his manhood, his tongue stroking him, surrounding him with fire and paradise. “No!” He could not be feeling this way. “Jack!”

  Jack lifted his head. He dragged his forearm across his glistening mouth. He lifted Martin’s legs up over his broad shoulders. Martin felt Jack’s hands on his ass, caressing.

  Jack moved forward to crouch over him, forehead to forehead, eyes locked in an intimate gaze. “Are you all right?”

  “Take me,” Martin pleaded. “Please take me.”

  Jack kissed his lips with great tenderness and answered, “With pleasure.”

  Jack sat back. He took a drop of massage oil in his hand and smoothed it over his own cock. Martin felt his eyes go wide. Martin doubted Jack ever had to do that in his life. The sight of him touching himself was erotic.

  Jack moved over him again, lifted his buttocks. Slowly, sensuously, in a transcendent moment Jack’s slick cock entered his body. The promise of relief from sweet agony lay just over this next summit. Jack braced his hands on the bed on either side of Martin’s body. Martin gazed up at the muscles in Jack’s powerful chest, working, driving, a sweat sheen appearing under the dark springy hairs that curled there. Jack strained to be careful, gentle, as he thrust rhythmically, carrying Martin up to the highest point of desire. A deep throaty growl rose up from within his chest.

  Martin hovered on exquisite edge. The breath caught in his lungs. The splash of heat inside him pushed him over the brink. Fire spread to his groin. Heaven itself tore open. Martin opened his mouth, his teeth bared in a voiceless scream of shattering splendor. Sensations without words to contain them exploded in a wild conflagration. A joyous bursting star pulsed liquid fire in a searing blaze.

  And he cried his lover’s name over and over.

  Chapter Eight

  At last Martin was cleared to return to work. He was issued a new keycard, a new cell phone and his back pay. His office had been assigned to someone else while he was gone, so he got a workstation out in the cube farm.

  Martin was connecting his computer cables when a shadow fell across him. “Who let you in here?”

  Martin looked up toward the voice.

  Larry Hunter loomed over him like an eyesore of a tall building that someone ought to tear down.

  “Don’t look so happy for me, Hunter,” Martin said. He adjusted the position of his monitor.

  Larry Hunter put his hand atop the partition of Martin’s cubicle and hung there as if riding a bus. “What is Lieutenant Commander Jack Reed to you?”

  “Put your ears on, Hunter. Jack is my friend.”

  “Your friend lives all kinds of real fine for a government employee,” said Hunter. “Is he on the take?”

  Martin fought down rage. Martin did not know why he had not seen that insinuation coming. He had assumed that Jack’s innocence ought to be obvious. Making assumptions like that was a mistake in this crowd.

  Hunter, in so very many ways, did not know Jack.

  Martin answered, “If you had any intelligence, you would know that Jack inherited several extremely lucrative patents from his mother.”

  “His mother. Right.”

  Martin forced his attention toward arranging things on his microscopic desk. He tried to ignore Hunter but Hunter was very large and would not go away. Finally, Martin had to tell him out right, “Hunter, don’t you have an office to go to? One of us is trying to work here.”

  A little later, Moo Park sidled over to Martin and told him confidentially, “I personally think you’re innocent, Martin. But I think your friend Captain America might be using you as a patsy.”

  And I think you’re an idiot, Martin thought loudly. He just stared back at Moo Park.

  When Martin said nothing, Moo Park continued, “I just think you should be careful who your friends are. That’s all.”

  Martin nodded. So do I.

  * * * * *

  Jack had fallen asleep with his arms around Martin, their legs entwined. Jack woke to a dream of desire. His cock wa
s hard.

  He opened his eyes. Martin’s face was right there on the pillow before him. Martin’s eyes were open and watching him. A beautiful blush colored Martin’s translucent skin.

  “I had the same dream,” said Martin.

  Jack could feel Martin tremble. He moved over top of him, lay over him, kissing his face, his lips, his throat, his shoulders. He returned to drink in the sweetness of his mouth.

  He sat up to gaze upon his otherworldly beauty. There was a soft sheen to his petal-textured skin. The muscles underneath were hard as lustrous marble. There was a captivating gentleness in his wide frightened eyes.

  Earlier that night, Jack’s loving had been more enthusiastic than wise. He was feeling voracious and did not want to hurt him.

  Jack took Martin’s head in his hands, and guided him down toward his own stiff, pleading cock.

  Martin’s face filled with trepidation. His nostrils flared, his lips trembled. Jack urged him nearer.

  Martin braced the heels of his palms against Jack’s hips, trying to push away, resisting the amorous pull. “No.”

  Gently, firmly, Jack drew Martin’s mouth closer to his need.

  Martin’s eyes were wide, his lips achingly provocative. Jack needed those lips, so unimaginably soft and tempting, on his cock.

  Martin pushed, insistent, desperate, “Jack, I mean it!”

  He was so close Jack could feel the hot caress of Martin’s breath on his shaft that strained to reach that velvet promise.

  “Stop!”

  Upon that word, Jack instantly let go.

  Martin reared back. He did not go far. He did not leave the bed.

  Jack tried to collect in his scattered emotions and passions. Martin crouched at the edge of the bed, shaking. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. We don’t have to do that.” Jack sat up. “Come here.”

  Martin ventured closer. Jack gathered him back in his arms. Felt Martin’s eyelashes flutter against his shoulder.

  “If you don’t want to do it, then I don’t want to. You have the most erotic mouth I could ever imagine and I’d love for you to take me inside. But I’m not going to force you and I won’t have you upset because you don’t want to. You’re allowed not to want to do it.”

  “I don’t want to disappoint you,” said Martin.

  “You don’t disappoint me. You can’t disappoint me. You are a miraculous creature. I love your body. I love that squirrel’s cage of a mind behind those mysterious eyes. Believe me, if it doesn’t give you pleasure, then it’s no good for me, either.”

  “You don’t get it, Jack. I want to want to! And I don’t know why I can’t even—”

  His hesitation grew long, as if his thoughts had got lost somewhere.

  Jack asked, concerned, “What is it?”

  “I thought I was remembering something.” Martin’s eyes focused into the dark distance, as if trying to chase down a dream. Or a nightmare. At last, he shook his head. “It’s gone now.”

  * * * * *

  Martin had an early meeting in the morning, so while Martin got ready for work, Jack was still sprawled on the bed, naked, raw, male, trying to distract him. Martin stood at the bedside, dressing, fastening a button at his starched cuff. Jack watched him intently, noting his crisp white shirt, the sleek hard body beneath it, the open collar waiting for a tie.

  Not yet smoothed-down, knotted-up, buttoned and belted, Martin was a half dressed beauty, vulnerable and accessible. The contour of his thigh just there on the other side of the fabric called to Jack like a secret promise. Arousal overcame Jack. He took Martin by the arm, pulled him off his feet and onto the bed. Martin rolled into Jack coming to a stop nose to nose.

  Jack tasted Martin’s breath on his lips as Martin spoke, “I really do need to go. Jack, don’t make me say it.”

  It.

  The dreaded word stop.

  Jack immediately let go. But he brushed his thumb over Martin’s soft lips to let him know what he was missing. He felt Martin’s arousal against his hip. Jack chuckled. He’d turned him on.

  “Bastard,” Martin breathed, tearing himself away.

  * * * * *

  In the evening, Jack learned that something had happened during Martin’s investigations that day to make Martin realize that he had not talked under torture in captivity.

  “They still don’t know who El Gusano is,” said Martin.

  “Who is El Gusano?” Jack heard the stupidity of the question even as he said it. He backtracked quickly, “You can’t tell me.”

  “You’re right, I can’t tell you. But I can tell you what El Gusano is. It’s a code name for a traitor within the U.S. intelligence community.”

  “Do you know who El Gusano is?”

  Odd looks moved across Martin’s face. He began to shake. He took a step back away from Jack, topaz eyes round and terrified. He was suddenly horrified of Jack. Martin looked about to be sick. He backed toward the window as if he were about to transform into a wolf and jump to freedom.

  Jack suddenly realized that he had just asked the question Martin’s torturers asked him.

  Jack said quickly, “I didn’t say that. I don’t want to know.” Jack took several steps back, giving Martin space. He held his hands up, empty, meaning no harm. “I’m sorry. That just came out.” He forced himself to sit down, so he didn’t look so anxious to run at him and catch him. “I ask questions for a living. It’s what I do. Shit!” He clenched his fists. Wanted to go to him and didn’t dare. He shut his eyes tight, pressed fists to his brow.

  With a tread so soft that even Jack with his wolf senses hadn’t heard him, Martin crossed the room. Jack didn’t know it until he felt Martin’s breath disturb his hair. Martin whispered. “I know that, Jack.” Martin sank to the floor and rested his head against Jack’s thigh. “You’re the only thing I’m sure of.”

  * * * * *

  Come Friday, Jack came home from work in high spirits. He changed clothes and suggested, “Let’s find a nightclub and go dancing.”

  Martin scowled. “Are you insane?”

  “Are you ashamed of me?” Jack asked.

  Martin choked on that suggestion. “No,” he said. “Absolutely not. I just really don’t have a problem with the closet. It’s nice in the closet.”

  Jack coaxed, “I want to go out. With you. I have nothing to hide.”

  “Except being a wolfman?”

  “Now that little detail would be much harder to get someone to believe it than it is to keep it secret. Can you imagine trying to tell someone?”

  “Point taken.”

  Martin could not even say he was keeping that secret. The secret kept itself.

  Jack said, “If anyone ever asks me if I can turn into a wolf, I’ll tell the truth.”

  “And if they ask you to show them this ability?”

  “Then I’ll show them.” Jack demonstrated, closing his eyes and screwing up his face as if trying very hard to bend a spoon with psychic powers. He opened his eyes, regarded his own hands as if surprised to see them still there. “I just can’t seem to do it right now.”

  Then, not to be led off track, Jack returned to his pursuit, “Dancing, Martin. We were talking about dancing. Do you know how to dance?”

  “I can lead.”

  “You’ll get over that.”

  “I don’t know any gay nightclubs,” said Martin.

  “Neither do I,” said Jack breezily. “But how many intelligence analysts can it take to find one?”

  Martin inhaled for courage. “All right. But I’m starting drinking before we get to the club.”

  He marched to Jack’s liquor cabinet. Stopped short. Glared at the assembled bottles on top of the cabinet. He asked flatly, “What the hell is that?”

  Jack did not need to ask what Martin was talking about. “It’s a bottle of tequila.”

  “It’s a dildo,” Martin said flatly.

  It was a bottle of tequila, shaped rather rounded on either side, with a very long neck as
thick as Martin’s cock, terminating in a bulbous cap.

  “I was buying scotch,” said Jack. “I saw that and laughed so hard I had to have it.”

  “As long as you were laughing,” said Martin. “Keep that away from me.”

  “Oh hell, Martin, you’ve got to know I am not sharing you with a bottle of tequila.”

  Martin edged toward the liquor cabinet as if something fanged dwelled there. He gingerly took up the bottle. A devious look came over his face.

  He locked gazes with Jack and very slowly ran his tongue around the bulbous cap.

  Jack groaned. “You’re teasing me now.”

  “Yes, I am.” Martin set the bottle down. That was not happening. “You should have seen your face.”

  “I can imagine. Stop changing the subject. Let’s go out. Pick a nightclub. I want to dance with you.”

  “Oh, come on! Out? Out? In public? To be seen?”

  “I don’t give a damn who sees us. This is who I am. I have a right to be here. And I am not apologizing for loving you.”

  Martin fought down nerves. He demanded, “Where’s the scotch?”

  “You are ashamed of me.”

  The words startled Martin. His attitude abruptly shifted, like a sudden light going on. “No,” he said, decisive. He strode away from the liquor cabinet and grabbed his trench coat. “Let’s go.”

  It was easy enough to find the right place. The club had an artistic, upscale façade. Well-groomed, truly well-dressed men arrived in pairs or alone but not in the company of women.

  Martin walked in with Jack’s arm around him in ownership. Jack made it clear to the world that Martin was this wolf’s territory. Martin borrowed strength from Jack’s pride and ease and joy.

  Jack was fearless. He could talk to anyone. He was the alpha male in any pack.

  Martin was an inaccessible beauty. His walk said drop dead.