Chapter Text
Three months after the gala, Volt meets Eddie in the garden of their manor as he returns from a hunt, just as the sun has set, the sky still painted streaks of pink and orange.
“I’d like to invite the Drehers to spend the next new moon with us,” he says.
Eddie’s brows raise. He stops a few paces in front of Volt and slings the two rabbits he caught over his shoulders, then studies Volt’s face. His gaze is firm, eyes steadfast, and he’s clasping his hands together in front of his chest. An offer has been made, and he’s waiting for a counter.
Eddie sighs. He can’t say no - Volt would pout, ask questions, give his reasons, and in a few days, Eddie will have worn down, and said yes anyway. No use to adding all the extra steps. “Alright,” he says, and white eyes glow in response.
“Really?” The corners of Volt’s lips turn up into a smile, and he drops his hands. “I was expecting a little more hesitancy.”
Eddie had made no secret of the caution he exercised with the couple they had met in the palace. The remaining four days of the events, Eddie had mostly only spent the meals with Volt, maybe a few moments in the late hours in the library reading before bed. It wasn’t that he hadn’t been welcome at the hunt, or the organized tours around the palace - he simply had not wanted to go, and Volt hadn’t pressed him. There was only so much allotted time he could devote to being in a crowd. Even less, when said crowd was composed of vampires.
He’d had a harder time, though, reconciling that without him at Volt’s side, the empty position was filled by a centuries old French vampire.
He had trusted Volt, of course he had. He knew Volt could take care of himself, could balance how he danced around Drysdale’s words and flourishes while actually pressing him for advice. Volt was a charmer himself, and he knew how to get what he wanted. Eddie had been primarily preoccupied with avoiding the only other wolf in the palace.
Volt would come back to their room very few hours, eyes bright with all the new wonders he had learned about vampires.
(“Eddie, did you know I can run nearly ten kilometers in half a minute? Did you know that if I try, I can hear things nearly as far away as you can? Did you know that my eyes can turn red? What - why didn’t you tell me?”
“Husband. Did you know my fangs can produce an aphrodisiac?”
They hadn’t quite gotten that one to work yet, though not for lack of trying.)
And every morning, with the sun rising over the palace, Eddie wouldn’t rest until he ensured that the vampires staying on their length of the corridor knew the name of the wolf that made Volt cry with need.
Wolves can be territorial, you know.
When they had stood at the entrance to the palace, under the crescent moon on the last evening, Volt had slipped an envelope into Drysdale’s palm, and held the vampire’s hands tightly.
“Our address,” he’d said, when Drysdale cocked a brow. “Eddie sometimes has to travel to the depot, to fetch the letters, especially in the winter. But please,” his white gaze had sparkled as he spoke, “please, do keep in touch.”
Drysdale had chuckled, something glinting in his brown eyes that Eddie did not like seeing. “Of course. I couldn’t dream of letting you slip away so easily.”
Eddie had pulled his husband away by the waist, with only a curt nod in the direction of the other wolf, and didn’t even look out the window of their carriage as they were carted away.
He should have suspected the first letter would come almost immediately.
It’s part of Volt’s nightly tasks, now. Reviewing the tenants’ documents, adjusting the budgets, declining invitations, and answering the daily letter from the vampire Dreher.
It’s cutting into the time they spend together, with Volt reading to him in bed.
He shrugs, mindful of the rabbits he’s balancing. “I guessed it wouldn’t be too long before there was some sort of invitation extended. From them or us.”
Volt nods, eyeing him carefully. “And, you’d be alright with it?” he asks. His voice is soft, genuine. Eddie’s never been able to lie to Volt, and he knows that. He’s asking for assurance. For his husband’s comfort. “With another wolf in our home?”
Eddie’s not sure of the answer to that question, frankly. He’s never had a home, four walls and some windows, that were his. His decades have been spent in the forests, in run down shacks on the borders of villages. In caves, during at least one night a month. The animal inside his chest longs to bark and snarl at the manor’s doors, denying entrance to anyone it deems unfit to step within their sanctuary. The man is a little more reasonable, though he still wonders how far such courtesy will extend.
Especially when it’s not just another wolf he’s guarding against.
He sighs again, his chest rising and falling with the inhale of late spring air. “I suppose we’ll find out pretty soon, won’t we?”
Volt hums sweetly as he steps closer and places his hands on Eddie’s chest. “We will.” He strokes a thumb over the inch of skin that peaks out of the tunic Eddie had thrown on after shifting back, sparks alighting on Eddie’s chest at the touch. “I appreciate your understanding about… me.” He huffs. “I just… I need to know all I can. If we’re to have our centuries.”
A corner of Eddie’s lip tugs at the idea. At their promise. He’d do anything for it. “Always, baby.”
When their lips meet in a kiss, Volt gasps, and his tongue swipes into Eddie’s mouth - he’s chasing the remnants of rabbit's blood on Eddie’s teeth, swallowing down the taste of iron mixed with Eddie’s tongue. Eddie groans, sucking on his bottom lip, nipping slightly, and Volt laughs into his mouth.
Their foreheads press together, steel eyes meeting white, little smiles on both of their lips. “Thank you for catching dinner,” Volt whispers. His finger tugs at the fabric on Eddie’s neckline. “But what if I said I’m hungry for something else?”
They throw the rabbits on the kitchen’s butcher block as they head inside, and they are up the stairs, and in their bed, in under a minute.
After some back and forth, the Drehers arrive two months later.
Their carriage is old, ornate - it reminds Eddie of illustrations in Volt’s books, of how the palace in Versailles looked in the days of kings. But it shines, nearly glows in the evening light, as if it were brand new.
Drysdale steps out first, finding Volt’s hands with a “Baby fangs!” before he plants a kiss on both of Volt’s cheeks.
Eddie debates shifting just to shove him back inside the carriage, and then dragging it out into the lake that sits a few miles away.
Instead, he stands perfectly still, with his hands behind his back. The shoes Volt coerced him into wearing make his feet feel heavy, and the done up buttons on his vest remind him of a weight on his stomach.
Drysdale turns to him next, one dark brow lifted, and a smirk that reveals a glint on one of his fangs. “Eddie, cherub, how does one fare?”
Not well, growls the wolf.
“Fine,” he says, with his very human voice. “Welcome to our home.”
He does, admittedly, want to savor the opportunity of using such a greeting. Their home. No pretenses, no sham staffing positions for Eddie to step in to. This is the Circia manor, and they are the lords of the estate.
The look of devotion on Volt’s face is worth the struggle of shoes for a few days.
The air around him shifts, and the scent hits Eddie before he sees him. Tobacco, leather, wet earth. Rounding the carriage now is Washford, chest tall, copper and silver hair braided down his back and tied with a white ribbon. His blue eyes find Eddie’s grey ones with precision, and he gives a stiff nod, once, before aiding the footmen with the luggage.
Drysdale gasps dramatically when he steps back from Volt and takes in the manor before him. “And what a sight it is!” He grabs the sleeve of Volt’s shirt, tugging it slightly. “You must give me the grand tour.”
“With pleasure,” Volt chuckles, wrapping his arm around Drysdale’s. “I’ll show you to your room, then give a proper walkthrough to you and your husband once you’ve settled in.”
Volt leads them inside with a quick glance over at Eddie, a familiar plea in his white eyes: play nice.
Eddie turns his attention to the twin footmen, stacking the cases next to the carriage. “Do you need a hand with that, Jonah?”
One head of sandy hair pops up. “Not at all, Master Watts.”
He sighs. “Jamison?”
The other shakes his head. “I’m alright, sir.”
Then what the fuck was Eddie supposed to do with his hands?
He decides to ball them into fists behind his back when Washford walks over to him, his ocean eyes giving him a once over that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
“Eddison.” Washford’s voice is a rumble, a low, primal sound that makes Eddie’s eyes want to twitch.
He bites back a scoff - he should have never told him his fucking name. “Dreher.” He tries to keep his voice level, even.
“The invitation from your husband was thoroughly appreciated,” he says, taking in the manor for himself. “We thank you for extending your hospitality.”
Eddie takes a deep breath and rocks back on his feet. Yes, it’s his hospitality, his home. An authority over this wolf. He needs to remember that. “Of course.” He tilts his head towards the wooden doors. “Should we join them?”
There’s a tour, and dinner, mostly filled with Drysdale’s stories of France from over a century ago. Of the parties, the revolution, the few years of hiding from the masses’ guillotine. He laughs with delight, pets at Washford’s arm, leans forward in a low voice to tell little secrets to Volt.
Eddie’s husband laps at every word. He can see it on his face - how enthralled Volt is, how he’s imagining themselves, in a hundred years, recalling these days to friends over wine while he holds Eddie’s hand. Volt had told him, back in the palace, that Washford and Drysdale gave him hope, gave him a vision for their future. For seventy-three years more, and beyond.
There’s a part of Eddie that sees it too: an affirmation that maybe, if they’re lucky, he and Volt will get their centuries of moonlight.
Volt shows them the library once they’ve eaten, the moon is high in the sky. The fire casts warm, orange light and dark shadows across the shelves. Amir’s collection, it is not, but every inch of the tall shelves are filled, and a few stacks of leatherbound journals rest next to the chair Volt enjoys occupying by the hearth.
“Ah.” Washford notices the worn book that resides on the table in front of the sofa. A humble smile grows under his beard as he takes it in his hands, runs a thumb along the cover, over his own last name. “A first edition.”
Volt feels his cheeks grow flush, and he bites at his bottom lip. Immortal or not, he’s not immune to a touch of self-consciousness in the face of one he respects. “Indeed. It was my father’s. I took it for myself when I was young.” He casts his eyes over to Eddie, a small, shy smile on his lips. “There were some passages I resonated with immensely.”
The first time Volt had read a passage of Soliloquies Beneath the Crescent to him, when Volt’s hair was still kissed by the sun, and his eyes still a pale blue, Eddie had wondered if his heart was even designed to beat as loudly as it had. If he were meant to feel such profound loyalty to this man he called a friend.
He remembers it so clearly. Sometimes, as he drifts off to sleep on his husband’s chest, Volt will kiss the crimson streaks in his hair, and whisper it in his ear.
“And if my soul were to be free, it would glide as a bird into your cage. Let lips lie like lovers in the dark, to unite in our next life.”
Eddie is just grateful for their present life.
And he’s been trying very, very hard not to let the prose be soiled by the knowledge that they stem from another wolf.
Washford hums as he puts the book away, and he throws an arm around Drysdale’s shoulders. “You flatter me, Volt.”
“As you deserve to be, darling,” Drysdale says, with a hand on the wolf’s thigh. “You wrote that during our first decade together, didn’t you?”
He nods, a touch of pink blooming on his cheeks beneath the pale scars. “I did, my love.”
Eddie cocks his head, calculating a bit. “You said you’ve been married eight decades, though.” Steel eyes flick between the guests in his home, something bristling at the back of his throat. “The book is nearly a hundred.”
Drysdale chuckles and rolls his eyes, like he and Washford have just shared a joke. “Married, yes. A little ceremony to appease someone’s jealousy.” He tilts his head Washford, then shrugs. “A… compromise we made to assure my love that it would always be our bed I returned to.”
White eyes flash over to him, for less than a second, as both he and Volt stiffen.
Eddie hardly hears Volt’s voice through the roar in his ears - it’s one thing to suspect, to guess at one’s intentions. It’s another to nearly have them confirmed. And he hates how he’s yet to be wrong about this vampire, and his wolf.
“You’re not -” Volt attempts, but he falters, and clears his throat. “You’re not each other’s… only partners?”
Washford makes a small huff, but Drysdale cackles. He grips Washford’s leg, practically bowls over with the laugh that leaves his throat, a flash of red in brown eyes.
Eddie wonders, quickly, which of them he’d need to focus on first, if he’s going to pin them down, maybe throw them out the window. Volt is bigger than Drysdale - he might be able to annihilate one threat while Eddie threw Washford through the glass panes. His hands itch, his fingers burn, consumed with the primal urge to give into his beast and protect.
But he waits. And he watches. Preparing, silently, if need be.
Washford must know what Eddie is thinking - his eyes pin him in place, amber shining in them for a brief moment. Maybe Eddie’s own eyes had flashed gold, maybe his face isn’t as welcoming as he’s been trying his best to paint it.
When Drysdale catches his breath, he leans back onto the sofa’s cushions, a manicured hand on his chest. “Heavens, no, no.” He says it so simply, as if there could be no other answer.
It’s not that Eddie is judging - he has no right to, anyway, when he wears a ring engraved with another man’s initials. His pack had no restrictions on the flavor of mates one chose, and half the servants in the manor sought employment due to the whispers of the Viscount’s acceptance. Sometimes, in the kitchen, he’d catch glimpses of their housekeeper Marilyn and the scullery maid, heads pressed together by the fire. He wasn’t sure, but he also had his suspicions that the seamstress spent most of her nights between twin footmen. And based on what he’d seen in the palace, there were no quarrels vampires had with unorthodox couplings.
He’s not judging. He’s seething - at the notion that these men may have struck up a friendship with his husband if only to exploit him, pursue him, claim him. Come into their home with a scheme to take what they wanted, from whom they wanted.
My mate my husband my Volt.
Eddie would die before he let that happen.
Washford runs a hand across Drysdale’s shoulder with slow, gentle strokes as the vampire comes back to himself. “In such long lives as ours,” he says, his voice drowning out the flames of the fire, “one can experience a certain insipidness from monogamy.”
“If I see something that looks delicious,” Drysdale smirks, “shouldn’t I be able to have a taste?”
Eddie, for one, can’t imagine ever wanting anything more than the taste of Volt’s lips, the touch of his skin, the sound of his voice.
Volt nods, though not very gracefully, white curls almost reflecting in the firelight. “I see.”
“I’m sure you’ll have some opinions of your own, baby fangs,” the other vampire says, and the wink he sends at Volt makes Eddie bite his tongue so hard, he wouldn’t be surprised at the taste of iron. “Once you’ve been around three or four decades.”
Volt’s eyes find Eddie, and he wishes he were close enough to take Eddie’s hand, and not on opposite sides of the study. “I look forward to any time I can spend with my husband.” He says it quietly, almost to Eddie himself, like it’s not meant for the others in the room.
He relaxes his teeth against his tongue. My Volt, he thinks, mine.
Nothing more is said about it - the conversation moves to books, operas, sonnets. Byron versus Keats, Robespierre’s hubris. Eddie doesn’t follow much of it. But he watches, very intently, when Volt leads Drysdale to one of the shelves to get his opinion on a certain edition. They both chuckle lowly at something Drysdale says, and Volt steadies his laugh with a hand on his arm. When Volt looks away, he sees it again - a flash of red, a lick of lips.
But Volt can take care of himself.
Washford, in turn, watches Eddie.
He tries a few questions, some curiosity about where his pack was based. Eddie gives clipped, uninterested answers as he digs his nails into his palms.
He longs to take his shoes off.
Drysdale is the one that notices the soft red haze start to fill the sky, signalling the end of the night. Volt rings the servant’s bell to summon Marilyn, and after some small goodbyes, and more kisses to Volt’s cheeks, they are led away by the housekeeper, off to their suite.
Finally, in the solitude of their room, Eddie kicks off the shoes, nearly rips off the vest, tossing them onto a chaise under the window. He grunts with relief, closes his eyes, and takes a deep inhale to fill his lungs for what feels like the first time since their guests arrived.
When he opens them, a soft smile and white eyes greet him. Volt plants a quick kiss to his lips, Eddie chasing after him when he pulls away, but Volt only giggles, and kisses his nose.
“You’re a better host than you think you are, my darling,” he whispers, gazing down at grey eyes like they’ve hung the stars. “Thank you for indulging me.”
Eddie hums, his shoulders more relaxed now. “Always.”
Something flickers in the glow of Volt’s eyes, and one of his canines worries at his bottom lip. He’s thinking, Eddie can tell, parsing out what words he needs to use next.
“I wonder,” he finally says, and Eddie feels his finger graze down the trail of dark hair at the bottom of his stomach before resting on the fabric of his trousers, “if you might indulge me a bit more tonight.”
Eddie grins, licking his lips, because absolutely -
“Actually,” Volt says quickly, his lips tugging into a smile. “That’s not what I mean.”
Eddie tries not to pout, but the wolf inside him does whine a bit.
“I wanted to… broach something.” One of Volt’s dark eyebrows raises, and he sighs before continuing, “I’m… intrigued at something our guests mentioned this evening.”
Eddie’s eyes narrow, searching the face before him that he knows so well. “Intrigued?”
"Mm. Maybe a bit.” The touch traces along the edge of Eddie’s waistband, “Maybe, at the... possibility of... others, who could keep up with our stamina.”
The wolf’s jaw snaps, its body lunges. Eddie’s eyes flash gold as his fingers wrap around Volt’s wrist and yank, hard, pulling the vampire to him. There’s a growl in his voice now, a bite, something sharp. “I am not one to share, husband.” He cocks a brow - a challenge, a dare. “Or have you forgotten?”
There’s a moment of shock on Volt’s features, just before the smile falls back into place, and his eyes crackle with amusement. “Never, my darling, never.”
Eddie tilts his head. “Then what are you asking?”
Volt hums, planning his words again. “The Drehers have a point, don’t they? We have such a long, fruitful life to look forward to together.” His free hand moves to cup Eddie’s face, the cool touch against his warm skin making Eddie hiss in surprise. “Perhaps, we ought not limit ourselves if the situation were to present itself.”
Eddie’s mind is spinning, the wolf is snarling, and every thought that races inside him is screaming, howling - Mine mine mine.
But he forces himself to voice something - “You want to fuck them.”
Volt shrugs. “Not explicitly them, maybe.” He takes a step closer to Eddie, presses their chests together, and his finger tilts a stubbled chin up. “But aren’t you curious?”
Eddie, frankly, is curious about how quickly he can run to the guest suite on the east wing, and rip a pair of throats out with his teeth.
Volt isn’t finished, though, and his thumb runs over Eddie’s rough, bottom lip. “Havent you ever wondered, what it might be like with one of your own?” His voice is sweet, sultry, dripping with honey and the promise of pleasure. “Have you ever dreamed of watching me being pleasured, unable to touch?”
A shiver runs down Eddie’s spine at the words, and the hair on his arms stands on end.
Volt’s lips are a breath away, his white curls a veil around them - hiding them from prying eyes, shielding them from the world. “No one could ever give me what you can, sweet husband,” he whispers, only for Eddie’s ears. “But just imagine, through all our decades, all the ways you could watch me break.”
There’s a beat, a breath, before the wolf pounces.
Volt gasps as his back hits the mattress. Two strong, calloused hands shove him down by his shoulders, and a thick thigh slots between his legs. There are teeth in his neck, sharp against his pulse, and a dark sound rumbles in Eddie’s throat.
“You are mine,” he growls, rocking his thigh into Volt. “My husband.”
Volt groans, and his eyes flutter closed. “Eddie -”
“Say it.” His voice is hot in Volt’s pointed ear - it echoes in Volt’s mind, hardly sounding human anymore. “Say. It.”
He moans when Eddie’s teeth find the skin of his jaw, and his hands press a little firmer. “I - I’m yours, my darling.”
A nip to his neck. “Always.”
Volt sighs, arching himself into Eddie’s touch. “Always”
Drysdale gives them a knowing look over breakfast.
Not for the first time in his and Volt’s shared life, Eddie curses how quickly vampires heal. He wishes their guests could have seen the dark bruises he’d made on Volt’s pale neck - his claim laid, his mate marked, even if they only lasted an hour.
Despite the golden rings they wore, he longed for them to see the way Volt’s body yielded to him.
He sits a little taller regardless.
They’re in the gardens, Volt and Washford naming all of the new buds, when Drysdale voices an idea.
“Incredibly dense forest you two have, don’t you?” he asks, looking out into the tall trees. “You could go for miles without seeing a single soul.”
Volt looks up from a geranium bud. “Indeed. Not the best thing, for an only child, but incredibly serendipitous for Eddie and I.”
“Do you have a fair amount of game?” Washford wonders.
“Oh yes,” Volt answers. “Deer, mainly. Rabbits, foxes. Geese and ducks by the lake.” He looks over at Eddie, throws him a wink. “Eddie catches us meals a few times a week.”
Eddie brightens his chest a little more.
“My Washford is a bit restricted at our home.” Drysdale finds a seat on a bench by the stone pathway. “We live in the city - the nearest forest is an hour’s run away in his wolf form. Makes it hard for him to just run.”
In spite of himself, Eddie does hate the sound of that. At the caging of a wolf.
“I wonder,” Drysdale hums, drumming his leg with his fingers. “Volt, darling, do you think you might like to watch our husbands in a little competition?”
Washford’s copper brows raise just as Eddie’s head whips around. He braces, steps his feet a little wider, lest he be caught off guard by a lunge, a punch, something, from the other wolf. But Washford is still, waiting, for his husband to finish speaking.
Volt’s white hair shifts when he cocks his head. “Competition?”
“Yes, yes. Perhaps our husbands could play a little game.” His smile shows his canines, shining by the light of the fire they’ve built. He waves at the trees. “See which one of them brings home a bigger prize.”
Blue eyes find Eddie’s across the garden. There’s a challenge in them, a question.
This is Eddie’s territory. Eddie’s woods. This is where he hunts, how he provides for his husband and their home, ever since he appeared at the manor’s doorstep six years ago.
He will defend it with his life.
“Alright,” he says, as all the eyes in the garden turn to him. Without a second thought, he’s pulling at the hem of his shirt, yanking it off, and throwing it to the ground. “I’m in.”
Drysdale laughs with delight and claps his hands. Volt is looking at him with a questionable gaze. And Washford is smiling.
“It has been too long since I’ve caught something for myself,” the wolf says as he tugs his cravat loose. “And I do welcome a good contest.”
It’s never painful when Eddie shifts. It’s disorienting, only for a moment, as he adjusts to the new body, and the shackles he keeps around the wolf unlock. He doesn’t lose himself, doesn’t devolve to something feral, but his thoughts are different. Less human, and driven purely by instinct.
In any form, though, he’ll always recognize Volt.
He huffs through his snout, shakes about a bit, just as his husband comes to join him, resting a gentle hand by his scruffy jaw.
“You’re alright with this?” He whispers, grazing his nails in light scratches.
He presses the weight of his head into the touch. Volt nods, understanding.
“I love you,” he says, an adoring smile on his lips. “Catch the biggest buck for us.”
He would. Eddie would hunt all night if he had to.
A strong scent hits him from across the garden, and a sound grumbles in his throat at the sight. Washford’s wolf is large, wide like his human, with streaks of silver scattered through the ginger and rust fur. The scars remain, bigger, more pronounced across his snout, and amber eyes are startlingly bright in the moonlight.
He’s licking at Drysdale’s face, one of the vampire’s ringed hands against his muzzle. “Give us a good show, my love,” he says, with a voice that seems to expect victory.
He turns to Eddie, his grin wide. “Go.”
A few minutes after their wolves disappeared into the dark of the woods, Volt went to the cellars to retrieve one of his oldest bottles of bordeaux, and two crystal glasses. Both he and Drysdale agreed, the enjoyment of the flavor they experienced in their human lives was missing, but sipping it was still a welcome activity.
“He's quite something, isn't he?" Drysdale preens, crossing his legs after a hearty sip of the wine. "Your Eddison. Very strong.”
“Extraordinarily so,” Volt agrees, smiling to himself. He can’t wait to see Eddie when he emerges from the trees, hopefully with a buck in his jaw. His wolf always looks so breathtaking - the crimson streaks that adorn Eddie’s hair as a man are littered in the raven black fur along his back. His gold eyes, that Volt so often sees glimpses of with Eddie’s temper, are almost uncanny, but they glow, they shine, like the sun itself. He pulls the glass from his lips. “But, he can be a bit... protective.”
"Ah,” Drysdale hums. “Washford used to be like that, in our first decade. He's more amenable, now, though. More…” he trails off, twirling his hand as he searches for the word, “flexible, perhaps.”
Volt had been apprehensive about mentioning the Dreher’s conversation to his husband - wolves can be territorial, you know. It’s not that any part of him wants anything other than Eddie, or longs for the feel of someone else’s skin on his own. He’d happily spend every morning, and every night, nestled in the crook of Eddie’s arms, for however many centuries they’re allowed.
But there is a part of him, a curious part, that wonders what Eddie’s face might look like, watching from the end of their bed, while Volt was held down by another, and begged Eddie for his release. Or how Eddie’s hand might feel in his hair as he shoved Volt’s mouth onto another man’s cock.
It’s curiosity, that’s all. Because Eddie is his, and he is Eddie’s. For centuries. For eternity.
But Volt wants to try everything.
He takes another sip and leans back on the bench. “My sweet husband isn’t the most… amenable creature.”
Drysdale barks out a laugh. “I could’ve told you that, by the way he rattled Amir's palace.” He winks at Volt with a flash of his fangs. “An excellent little show he puts on.”
Volt couldn’t disagree with that.
There’s something that glints in chestnut eyes, and they narrow slightly at Volt. When he speaks, Drysdale’s voice is a little softer, a little knowing. “Perhaps my husband can talk a little sense into him, then.”
Eddie had caught the scent of a buck almost immediately upon entering the forest. He’d run left, in the direction of the lake, purposefully heading to where he knew the deer to congregate at this hour - and also, in the opposite direction of Washford.
He’s several miles into the trees by now, and the scent is strong. There’s a crack of a branch, maybe a few hundred meters out, and he whips around, wolf eyes scanning the brush. He wonders if the strong scent means more than one, so he breathes in a little deeper, and listens to sounds of the night.
The buck is still strong in his nose, but behind it, there’s something else, something -
He only sees a mess of copper and silver lunge from behind the trees before he hits the ground.
His muzzle smacks against the ground, and he yelps, something pitiful from the back of his throat, in surprise. The weight of Washford’s wolf has knocked the air from his lungs, and his legs thrash, they kick, in an attempt to free himself.
Sharp teeth on his neck makes his struggling cease, but he growls, barks, and bares his teeth.
But the weight changes. Eddie can hear the crack of bones, the rethreading of muscles, happening on his back, and the warm flesh of a man sits at the back of his neck.
“Calm yourself, Eddison.” Washford’s voice is nearly that of a wolf’s, raw and deep from his transformation. “Shift back so we can speak as men.”
Eddie considers his options. He could try to get his legs back under him, and run, but Washford could simply change back, and he’d be pinned again in a moment. He could try to get his jaw around some part of the man’s body, throw him to the ground. But that wasn’t what this competition was about. They weren’t vying for alpha. Their husbands were awaiting them only miles away - blood and gashes and teeth marks on his guest would not paint a picture of Eddie as a gracious host.
So he closes his eyes, rebinds the wolf, and lets his body return to that of a man.
When he comes to his senses a moment later, and he blinks his eyes back to human vision, he realizes -
He’s still pinned.
Washford’s hand is wrapped around the back of his neck, Eddie’s chest square on the ground.
He thrashes, just as his wolf did, and snarls, something primal from deep in his throat. “Thought you wanted to talk.”
“I do,” Washford breathes, his fingers tightening. “But I need to ensure you’ll listen.”
Eddie grunts, he struggles, he kicks, against the rough hand that forces his neck into the dirt. He feels warm thighs on either side of his own, another hand between his shoulder blades, and the weight of the wolf on his back pressing into his lungs. His breathing isn’t constricted - he’s just stuck.
His voice is winded from the hunt and strained from the position. "The fuck do you want?” He tries to shove his torso up, but the resistance is too strong. “You want the buck?"
In contrast, Washford’s voice isn’t even breathless. It’s calm, collected, as if they were sharing a meal and a bottle of wine, and not miles into the woods, hours into a hunt. "I want to speak with you,” he says, almost softly. “Man to man, a husband to a husband."
Eddie claws at the dirt, searching for purchase in the leaves that surround him. "About what!?” he yells. If he could just get his feet right, maybe he could flip them, turn the tables in his favor. He groans again, curses under his breath. Eddie is strong, he’s always been strong. But - Washford is big. Taller and wider, not to mention with the advantage of Eddie’s chest to the ground, as well as nearly two hundred years on him.
He should’ve never agreed to this - he should’ve known something like this would happen. Knew the look that flashed in blue and brown eyes last night. Lust. Obsession. He spits into the ground, “You wanna fuck Volt? Get the fuck in line!"
Washford hums, almost in surprise. "In crude terms, yes, that is what I'd like to speak about."
Eddie thrashes at the words, but the hands on his skin only push him deeper. “He’s mine,” he growls, loudly, for all the woods to hear. “Mine!”
"And no one is taking him from you,” Washford’s low voice is almost reassuring. Scholarly, like he’s offering a lecture. Eddie wants to rip his voice box out with his teeth. “We have no interest in that. We'd perhaps just enjoy... expanding your horizons."
Expanding their -? “Fuck you,” he snarls. “I’m -”
“He's the first man you've been with, am I correct?” Washford asks. He speaks as if he already knows Eddie’s answer, and when he doesn’t respond, he sighs. Eddie hates how satisfied it sounds. “Ah. Then you've never been able to watch the way your lover can writhe, can moan with pleasure from another, all the while begging for you.”
What the fuck -
He can feel blue eyes study him, and the hand on his shoulder relaxes, slides to his bicep. He bristles at the touch, fingers scratching at the dirt. Washford furrows a brow, his gaze raking over the skin of Eddie’s back. "You've never even had another wolf, I'd wager. You don't know what it feels like, to have inside you what you must adore giving to your husband."
He’s right - how the fuck he is right? - Eddie had never sought companionship with any members of his pack. He had no time, no patience - it was never something he’d even wanted.
Eddie can feel his face grow hot - why the fuck did he shift back? He knows his cheeks must be pink, even in the faint light of the moon. He needs to get away. Needs to get back to Volt, his husband, and throw these motherfuckers out of their home.
He bucks again against the hold on his neck. It does nothing but pull a low laugh from Washford’s lips, and a condescending tone bleeds into his voice.
“Eddison, really. This isn’t how we should behave in conversation.”
“What the hell do you know -”
“I know what eight decades with your love can entail.” The words rumble in Eddie’s gut, the wolf begging for release once more, but Washford doesn't pause. “All the harmonic ways you and he can find pleasure that can’t be read about in his books. Don’t you want to know too, what the bliss you give to him feels like in your own body?”
Eddie’s mind is racing, it’s frying with rage and primality, and the urge to shift is overwhelming. The urge to claw and bite and eliminate this threat. But underneath it, behind the wolf’s growl in his ears, he hears… Volt.
How he sounds in their marital bed. How he begs for it. The little ways he calls for Eddie, with his hands in Eddie’s hair and his legs wrapped around him. Enraptured in bliss.
He tries to shove it away, and he shakes his head, tasting the earth on his tongue. “He is my husband,” he snaps, growling with possession on the title. “What don’t you fucking get about -”
“If I’m not mistaken,” he interrupts, voice unbothered, “your husband and mine seem to have a vested interest in each other.”
Fuck.
So Eddie wasn’t the only one who had noticed.
The lingering touches. The flashes of red in chestnut and white eyes. The low voices by the fire.
“It doesn’t fucking matter.” Because it doesn’t. His and Volt’s conversation be damned - he was Volt’s wolf. No one else. “Mine.”
“And I’ve got no claim to him, or you. I only wish for us to share those interests.” Washford hums again, and the thumb on Eddie’s neck makes a simple motion, a small circle with the pad of the finger. Soft. Testing. "If you've never been with another wolf, then I'm sure there are things you don't know about our bodies. Like this.” The hand on his bicep is removed, but Eddie hisses when he feels a finger, rough like his own, gently brushing over his tailbone. His body jolts at the touch, but it travels up, up, to the small of his back, and something inside of Eddie wants to whine. Washford chuckles. "We are exceptionally sensitive in spots I'm sure you'd never think."
The touch disappears, only for a moment. "And here." Now, he’s pushing away Eddie’s black and crimson waves, and his nails just barely scratch behind his ear. "The spots that change the most in our wolf forms are quite powerful. You didn’t know that, did you?”
It’s almost like the movements of the man’s fingers are placating the wolf under Eddie’s skin - they’re calming, tender, and Eddie can feel himself getting -
No, fuck, no - Eddie snaps his head, whips it around to shake the hand away. The action only makes a guttural sound fall off Washford’s tongue.
“Get off of me -”
“I can teach you." Eddie gasps at how close his bestial voice was now - it reverberates in the silence of the woods. He can feel, smell, the wolf’s breath by his ear, the tickle of copper hair on the skin of his shoulder. “Could show you what it’s like, to be so full you’re reduced only to your basest sounds.” The hand around Eddie’s throat tightens, only just, as Washford adjusts his weight on his back. “There’s things your Volt is missing as well, aren’t there? My husband can help him experience that haze of lust their fangs produce. Imagine how he’d beg for you, in his most vulnerable state.”
Could - what?
"If it helps to ease the torrent in your mind," Washford croons, his voice more animal than human. "I have no intention of laying a finger on your Volt."
Eddie's mouth goes dry, and his eyes flash gold. For the first time since hitting the ground, he stills. “But you said -”
“My husband has his interests," Washford says simply, as if speaking to a child. He returns his finger to the small of Eddie's back, and lazily, unhurried, traces circles in the hair that blankets his tailbone. "And I have mine."
The understanding, the implication, of Washford’s words practically make him seize - he’s still trapped, burrowing even further into the ground with every passing second of Washford’s weight atop him. He tries, with all his might, to push his toes into the dirt, and shove, up and away -
A strong hand pushes him back down by his shoulder, and Eddie curses as his jaw slams against the forest floor once more.
“Now now, we’re having a conversation.” There’s that alpha cadence Eddie knows so well. The commanding nature, the instinct to be heard, never questioned. It makes Eddie’s skin crawl, to be held down, humiliated, by another who holds no authority over him. But Washford pays his thrashing no mind as, once again, his lips ghost over the shell of Eddie’s ear. His breath smells of tobacco, of the whiskey from dinner, of the night air itself. “If I were to turn you over right now, you wouldn’t be able to lie to me, Eddison, would you?”
Fuck.
Eddie bares his teeth, snarling and cursing, but fuck him, Washford only laughs. He’s right, fucking hell he’s right - and Eddie fucking hates himself for it. How, with each stroke of Washford’s fingers, every inch he’s shoved to the dirt, blood has been rushing to his cock, growing by instinct at the words, at Washford’s voice, but more than that - it wants. It aches, it almost burns, strained between his chest and the forest floor, reacting - shamefully - to the images that Washford's voice has painted.
Because under his wolf’s desire, its need to free itself, Eddie is only a man.
A man who, lying in bed with his husband this morning, replayed his and Volt’s conversation over and over and over, trying as he might to shove the thoughts away.
“Aren’t you curious?” Volt had asked, honey on his lips.
The wolf is not.
But Eddie is.
Curious about how Volt might plead and sob for relief only Eddie can grant, all while stuffed with another man’s cock. How Volt might sound, might moan, with Eddie’s cock in his mouth and being ravished from behind. How Volt’s body might shake, holding Eddie’s hair for dear life, while two tongues brought him to his release.
Volt is his, and he is Volt’s. For centuries. For eternity.
And Eddie wants to give him everything.
So he spits an answer through grit teeth, and balls his fists. “No - fuck - fine. No. I wouldn’t. That what you fucking want to hear?”
Washford lets out a little purr, a hum, low in the back of his throat. An approval. A victory. He rocks his hips, just slightly, and for the first time, Eddie is suddenly very aware of the weight of the other wolf’s cock, heavy against Eddie’s skin at the base of his spine. He startles, jerks a little, but he knows it’s no use. This is exactly where Washford wants to keep him.
"You and your husband have centuries to look forward to together,” he muses, his voice somehow even more relaxed now that Eddie appears to have accepted his predicament. Like he knew, somehow, they’d end up here, with Eddie finally listening. “You'd really deprive him of the rapture that we, and you, can grant him, because of your pride?" Another roll of his hips, a little more insistent this time, and Eddie hisses through his teeth. "You'd do anything for him, wouldn't you?"
Eddie’s jaw stays shut, his steel eyes focused to the ground.
“All you need say is ‘no’, Eddison. And my husband and I will leave you be.”
Inside his mind, Eddie’s wolf is baying, scratching and clawing and fighting.
But Eddie doesn’t want to anymore.
“Not without Volt," he breathes. It’s quiet, not entirely confident, and he’s trying his best to keep his voice steady despite the heat of the hand on his neck. “I won’t do, or agree, to anything without him there.”
Mercifully, finally, the hand at Eddie’s neck falls away, and the weight leaves his chest. He inhales, fully, for the first in since he was tackled. He sputters a little, and his eyes flash yellow when he hears Washford’s chuckle.
When he looks up, the other wolf is already standing, wiping away the dirt on his knees with an air of nonchalance that infuriates Eddie. He straightens, his scars pale white in the moonlight, and offers Eddie an open palm. "Then we'd better go find that buck, yes?"