series: Love/Shift

Finding Owen

By BRK  Patreon Contact Page Twitter
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• Latest update: 21 September. Next update: 5 October. (Submissions welcome.)

• Latest from BRK: “SpoogeQuest”; “The quiet one”.


Owen Banks roared westward on a winding two-lane highway through New York State’s sparsely settled north country, his beloved, recently recovered Ducati eating up the miles between him and whatever lay ahead.

He grinned as he thought of the changes that had crept into his life and then pounced on him, like a beautiful beast. It started with physical changes, not just to how he looked but to how he felt. All through high school he’d been thick and hairy, with wide shoulders tapering to a trim waist and the kind of powerful arms and legs that let you plow through a defensive line like they were bowling pins. Like any virile teen he’d been horny as all get-out, and the very heft and weight of his round, girthy tool seemed to amp up his easily switched-on arousal. He’d been good-looking enough to catch the eye of any girl he’d wanted, too. His piercing blue gaze, wicked grin and bad-boy stubble on a good-boy football hero’s face tended to spark something deep and wicked in just about every girl in school. Too bad it wasn’t the girls he wanted, though it had taken him ages before he’d finally let himself go after what he really wanted—namely, the cocksucking lips of his boyishly cute, not-as-shy-as-he-seemed friend Maxfield Sheridan.

Now, though, after the mountain, he was all that in spades. He’d seen it in Max the moment he’d gotten there—his bj-buddy had swoled up in muscle, masculinity, and pure fucking hotness. He’d known instinctively that the mountain was changing something in Max, or maybe releasing something that was already there, and nothing had ever turned him on more than Max showing what he was becoming.

Owen had spent a few weeks up close and intimate with Max and his sex-on-legs, mountain-he-man dad, Glenn, and he’d picked up on a lot more than they had told him outright. He knew that Max was facing up against something powerful in his bloodline that was turning him day by day into something his father already was—a creature of the mountain, more than just a man. He’d heard Max when he’d talked about the bears in his dream and the way he’d sensed the bear that came near the cabin that night, and how what he’d picked up on was how you’d know them if you were one of them. Max was connecting with something that was not only primal but animal, in a way that blurred the line between human and beast.

And it was happening to him, too.

He’d felt strange, unknown possibilities and urges coursing through him like hot blood from a second, once-dormant heart almost from the moment he’d laid eyes on the newly manly Max, way up deep in the mountain forest, immersed in nature and far from man. Owen had had to fight himself just to keep from dropping to his knees and yanking Max’s jeans before Owen had barely climbed off his bike and gotten his first good look at him. The sensation had built and expanded through him after that first beer, and then… Max’s cum. It was like it sank into him no matter how he took it, infusing into his insides, like all that sperm was wiggling into every last part of him and joining with him, becoming one with his flesh.

Sheridan cum. Owen had become insatiable for it up there. Somehow he’d convinced them to share him between them, and soon he was getting pounded by their huge, raging erections in almost nonstop bouts of ferocious, playful, crazily passionate fucking. And the more he stayed with them and the more they fucked him and fed him and shared their strangely hornifying beer with him in that special, magical place, the more he felt like he was Owen And More, like his entire being was reaching beyond being a mere man.

He’d thought it was all a kind of delicious sex delirium. His time on the mountain were just pure escapist pleasure, a vacation from reality in a land where men could meld with the primeval, planetary power of a deep, secluded nature far beyond the ordinary world of men. Then Owen had left that world… and somehow he’d taken it all with him.

He was palpably different now. He was apart in a way that made him almost jubilant with excitement. Sure, football had made him feel like he was a leg up on everyone—cheering crowds and constant praise did that to you, though he was grounded enough to know other people were different in their way, too. But this—this was an order of magnitude beyond anything like normal. He was overflowing with energy, life, strength, power, and sexual zeal, and all of it to an extent that was making him feel just slightly inhuman.

He’d seen it when he’d strolled through his hometown with Max by his side and everyone had stared at them. It was so obvious that the two of them were different. They didn’t track with the mundanity everyone else was used to and measured each other by. Jaguars padding through the dogs and cats and parakeets of everyday life. And it wasn’t just Max. It was him too. He’d known for absolute sure, a thrill of excitement rippling through him, when that tool Brewster, who was used to towering over everyone else, had stood in front of him and looked him right in the eye and called him a yeti and a freak. The look on that dumbfuck’s face, when Owen had told him the secret to his new size and potency was man-jizz, rubbed all over—twice daily! Owen snorted a laugh as he remembered. That was gold.

Owen was bigger and harder than ever before. He couldn’t be more thrilled. And as if it had been crafted as an avatar of his overall physique his cock was bigger and harder, too. His super-heavy wankshaft was up and eager all the time now, boned rigid as fuck literally more often than not. Even now he was as hard as an iron pipe in his bike leathers as he tore down the interstate. Every minute put more distance between him and his town, his family, and everything he’d ever known so far, and for the moment he was good with that. The mountain was far behind him, too—and the mountain was the one thing that could conceivably have gotten him to turn around and go back.

He didn’t know exactly what he was doing. He didn’t have it all planned out. But Owen went with his gut, and his gut told him fun, satisfaction, and answers were all in front of him.

Owen had been raring to go back there that morning, when he’d sat with his dad over a plate of eggs and bacon and just let his beard grow back not half an hour after shaving it off—without even knowing how he’d done it. This was the tripwire. This was the sign he should go back to the mountain. He’d been filled with energy and power ten times more than usual that morning, like he was a fucking sun of muscle and hair and sex and cum. Everything had been super-intense that morning, and when it dialed back toward his new normal he could still feel it, that boiling potential, surging deep underneath. No, he couldn’t grow his beard on command any more, not like he had that morning, though when he did shave he didn’t keep a clean chin for long.

But the mountain was still there. He could feel the pull, like that was the kind of place he belonged. He wanted to get on his bike, ride up there, and—what? What would he do when he got up to the cabin again? Get busy with Max and Glenn, literally shoving himself between them? Owen was no idiot. Never mind how rude that would that would be, now was when Max most needed to understand who he was. That was what Owen wanted to figure out, too, but lovemaking on the mountain was the culmination of his history as a Sheridan. It was Max’s climax, not Owen’s.

At first he wondered if the ranging up in size and vigor and erotic ardor and everything else really was down to being pounded full of Max and Glenn’s powerful cum. They were something more, something primal, and he’d had more of their jizz released into him than he would have thought possible only a couple of months ago. But that couldn’t be the whole story. Owen’s virility upgrade, both on the mountain and after, was a shadow of what happening to Max; and Max’s month-long transformation was clearly the culmination of something in his physical genetic make-up. What was going on with Max was a like a puberty where Max found a new level of manhood that was, somehow, his blood-given birthright. Everything Glenn had been doing had been to reinforce that, and that had included him sharing his own seed with Max. Owen didn’t know everything about what went down with the Sheridans, but he was almost certain that whatever was happening to his friend and fuckbuddy was something that was already in him.

Even the mental abilities Max had developed—especially that rad way he could remotely track through the woods without moving from his cabin—seemed to Owen like they branched out from the bond between Max and his dad. He bet that bond reached back further, father to son, into the ancient primordial wilderness, before there was even a civilized world to keep separate from. The cum boosted Owen the way it had Max, but in Max’s case for sure it was just a catalyst helping to activate something innate and far older than himself.

Having figured this much out, Owen was left with two bafflingly contradictory conclusions. There had to be something in him that being up on the mountain with the Sheridans had tripped and brought to life. That also meant that it had to come from his dad, and Owen just wasn’t seeing it. His father had been a well-muscled, popular football player once like him—though really it was the other way around, since Owen had started playing the game to make his dad happy and, thanks to his exceptional physical prowess and his exuberance on the field, had turned himself into the star player his pop had never quite been. They even looked alike, at least to outsiders: bluff, stocky, hairy-chested. They didn’t feel alike, though. For one thing, Howard hardly ever smiled, and he didn’t seem to relish life much, even as a young man. Owen found living like that almost as alien and unrelatable as if his dad were a walking man-shaped warship or a crazy noseless wizard.

He found part of the answer after dinner one night in the “Personal – Family” drawer of his father’s filing cabinet. His stomach fluttering, Owen set the adoption papers onto the coffee table in front of his dad while Howard was watching a baseball game on his big, old-fashioned CRT television.

His father glanced at the folded papers and paled a little, but all he said was, “It’s not like it should be that big a surprise.” Then he added, “I’m still your father.”

“I know, pop,” Owen said. He resisted the urge to sit next to his dad and remained standing, close to where his dad slumped in the sofa after too long a day wrangling a living from an undistinguished five-store pharmacy chain. Owen almost felt guilty for how hard Howard worked and how Owen had been unable to stand doing the same kind of dronery. “I know,” he said again. “But… you know something’s happening to me, right?”

“I did notice,” Howard said. He sounded a little sour. “You’re even less like me than you used to be.”

“You mean, I’m handsome now?” Owen quipped. Howard said nothing, and Owen let out a breath. “I did try, pop,” he said.

“I know.”

Howard’s eyes were on the game, but Owen knew he wasn’t seeing it. Owen tried to find the words to explain what was going on in his head, but he wasn’t sure he understood it, either. Max was better at words—Owen was a visceral kind of guy. “There’s more, pop, I can feel it,” he said at last. “I… want to find it.”

Howard shrugged. “I can’t stop you.” He clicked his tongue and added, “I’d’ve done the same thing, to be honest.” But he didn’t say any more than that. He just kept watching the little men in the glass tube smack baseballs across some stadium diamond somewhere else in the world.

Owen pursed his lips. He’d been over the adoption forms, but they’d only contained information post-adoption. He was listed as Owen David Banks—the name he’d known his whole life. No information about birth parents, locations, or anything else he didn’t already know about beyond the adoption itself.

Owen needed something to go on. It felt the initial stirrings of a quest, and that kind of excited and amused him. But to embark on a quest you needed something to start with. A compass heading, anything.

“Pop,” he nudged.

Howard finally looked up at him. “You’re looking for what? Family? Roots?”

Owen toyed with revealing the hidden world whose threshold Max had allowed him to cross, and that seemed to connect to blood and lineage. If his dad knew about it, though, by virtue of how Owen had come to him if nothing else, then it followed that there was no need for Owen to tell him why he was looking. And if he didn’t… well, he thought he knew what his practical father would think of his son’s imaginings. “Roots,” Owen agreed.

Howard nodded. He turned back to the TV. “I’ll find you something. Give me until morning.”

There wasn’t much more to say, it seemed. Impulsively, Owen reached over and ruffled his dad’s hair, gray and thinning but still substantial. Howard’s lips twitched in an almost-smile, accepting the affection.

By the time Owen had gotten up the next morning, the house was empty and his dad was nowhere to be found. Presumably he had gone in to work at the crack of dawn, as he sometimes did when things were busy. That would be his excuse, anyway. On the kitchen table was a sheet of lined notebook paper on which had been written, in his father’s meticulous block handwriting, two pieces of information culled from whatever old notes or address books his dad had rummaged through the night before. One was an address in Lake Placid, New York. The other was a name: Burke.

Owen sat and had a bowl of cereal, pondering the address and the name the whole time. He cleaned his bowl and set it in the drainer, drying his hands. Then he came back and carefully tore the sheet of paper in two, folding the half with the address and name and tucking it in his pants pocket. He found the pen his dad kept on top of the fridge for shopping lists and wrote “Love You Pop” on the remaining blank half, leaving it on the table for his dad to find. Then he went upstairs and and packed, whistling tunelessly to himself in the empty house.

Owen wasn’t the kind of guy to stay cooped up in his motel room. As soon as he’d dropped his bags, dumped his riding clothes in the room’s only armchair, and taken quick shower to wash off the sweat and grime from long summer day on a hot highway, he was out exploring the area.

Though he’d taken the scenic route across Lake Champlain and through the upper New York Adirondacks, it was still light as he’d approached Lake Placid from the north, but he decided to stop for the night anyway and leave investigations for the morning. He wasn’t sure how he’d actually proceed the next day, but he wasn’t too worried—his gut told him something would turn up, and anyway, that was tomorrow. The place he’d picked, along the state highway outside of town, had decent reviews and was mostly full despite not being one of the expensive lakefront inns with swimming pools, gift shops, and omelette bars at morning brunch. Out back there was a large expanse of unmown grass dotted with random wildflowers behind the motel, and Owen spent some time wandering the little patch of wilderness with a huge smile on his face, while eyeing with great curiosity the darkly forested mountains looming up the east and south around the little valley. He found himself wondering what Max and his dad were up to just then, roaming their own mountain far away beyond the horizon. Owen’s heavy, hard cock flexed in his loose, knee-length shorts, riding high at the vertical now so that it was trapped by the wide waistband, and his anus twitched and squeezed with equal excitement as he vividly remembered the dark, spectacular joy he’d felt at being plowed by the ardent and lusty Sheridan men.

His smile got even wider, if a little wistful. He could almost have committed to being part of a—what was a couple called when there were three people involved? A trio? He could have done it, but… well, Glenn loved Max with everything he had in him, and Max loved Glenn even more. He didn’t quite fit into that kind of picture. Still, Owen wouldn’t mind something as sweet as Max’s love for Glenn on his travels if it happened to turn up, but (and here he directed his thoughts to his tireless cock) he’d definitely have to see about finding a little more mundane relief, and soon. His big dick jumped against his waistband, impatient and eager as always, as if to assure him that it not going away of its own accord anytime soon (if ever).

When he got back to the motel he found a curious sight waiting for him: a large dog with dark chocolate coloring was standing directly behind where his Ducati was parked between two SUVs. It stood absolutely still, ears up and tail straight out behind it, and was staring hard at the bike as if it were trying to bore a hole in the gas tank.

Owen approached cautiously, the dog almost immediately catching sight of him and watching him move steadily closer without turning more than his muzzle. Owen stopped a couple feet away and knelt behind the nearer SUV, maintaining eye contact. The dog was large enough that if Owen had gotten down on his hands and knees, they would have been pretty much face-to-face.

“You like my bike, buddy?” Owen asked, keeping his voice calm and friendly as he looked the animal over. He wasn’t up on dog breeds, but guessed he had to be a labrador. The dog had no tags or collar that he could see, but he also looked well-groomed and healthy, with a glossy coat and no sign of injuries or weaknesses. This was no stray, Owen was certain. From the size of the paws, its suppressed energy, and a general sense of the dogs he’d met over the years, he had an idea that in spite of its size the dog was fairly young, possibly as young as twelve months. “Whose li’l pup are you, eh?” he asked the dog curiously, still looking him over.

The dog tightened his gaze into a glare, and Owen, taken by surprise, barked a laugh. “I knew a boy like you once!” he exclaimed, grinning smugly at the dog. “You just gave yourself away, there, Fido. Which was it, ‘li’l pup’, or belonging to someone else?”

The dog snorted. “Aw, you and Tyrant would be such good friends,” Owen said, still grinning. “Though I bet you’re not as uptight as he is.” He put his hand out with the back facing the dog, fingers curled back. “Maybe you can smell something about me you can trust, like Tyrant did,” he said. “Want to see?”

The dog eyed him another second, then trotted forward, closing the distance just enough to sniff Owen’s hand. His reaction was almost comical: he bounced back a step, rearing a few inches on his rear paws, before planting himself in a half-crouching, play-fighting stance and letting out a loud “woof!”, while behind him his tail whipped back and forth in a frenzy.

Owen gaped at the dog for a second, breaking out in a huge smile. “You recognize what I smell like!” Owen said, delighted and awestruck all at once. “You know what I am, don’t you, boy?” He leaned forward involuntarily, hand still outstretched, and the dog woofed excitedly at him again. “Oh, pup, if only you could talk,” he said—but Owen was never wistful for long. “C’mere, pup! You know I won’t hurt whoever you’re protecting, right?” Now he did get down on his hands and knees, and the dog, exhilarated, danced left and right, waving its tail almost too fast to see. It was like he’d been waiting his whole life to meet and wrestle with someone like Owen. Owen jutted his head forward, and the dog leapt back half a foot a let out another happy bark in pretend-challenge.

“Bandit!” cried a male voice from some distance away, and instantly the dog froze—not in obedience but in mortification. Owen wanted to look up to see the owner of the voice, but first he had to mouth “Bandit?!” incredulously at the dog, just to see its reaction. Sure enough, the dog turned his head away, even more embarrassed, and Owen sat back on his haunches and chuckled as the dog carefully straightened up into its original, stiff and stoic deportment, careful not to look at Owen or anything else. It was the funniest thing Owen had seen in days.

At the sound of approaching footfalls, Owen looked up to see a dark-haired, amber-skinned young man hurrying toward him across the parking lot. He was roughly Owen’s age or just a bit older, and his black Springsteen concert tee shirt and light-colored sweatpants did little to hide a lithe, lean body that was tightly packed with hard, dense muscle. Owen was tempted to let out a whistle of appreciation as the man rushed up.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” the young man said, looking a little distressed. Owen guessed a lot people tended to be frightened of such a large dog, especially when it acted all grim the way it was now. Owen loved knowing that it was, in fact, just an act. He was very curious to learn just how much Bandit’s human knew, and if Bandit were hanging around the man for reasons similar to Tyrant’s seeming sense of responsibility for the stranger side of Stark, New Hampshire.

“He never acts like this,” the newcomer was saying. “But I promise he’s not dangerous.” He turned a glare on the dog, who was still stiffly avoiding all eye contact.

“No worries,” Owen said. He didn’t stand up just yet, as he was finding this position to be an excellent vantage from which to admire the very good looking and extremely well-put-together human companion to his new friend. He noticed that the man was hairier than he’d seemed at first, with long sideburns, a dusting of stubble along his jaw and around his lips, and more than a little body hair along his arms and poking past the collar of his shirt.

Instead of commenting, though, he deflected attention to the dog. “No worries at all. Bandit and I were just making friends. Right, buddy?” he added to the dog. Bandit turned his muzzle very slightly further away from Owen, not appreciating the ribbing over his name. Owen suppressed a laugh and, as an apology, he offered the back of his hand to the dog again. To his surprise, Bandit, almost reluctantly, leaned forward slightly and gave it a small lick with his the tip of his wide, red tongue.

Owen grinned, turning back to the human. “I have a way with animals,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound smug. He’d said the same thing to Max once almost as a joke, but the truth was that animals did tend to trust him—even, as it turned out, mysterious protector-type dogs that were clearly smarter than they were supposed to be.

“Bandit’s never like that with anyone,” the sexy stranger said cautiously, aiming a puzzled look at the dog. “Usually he acts like humans are beneath him.” The young man seemed to remember his manners and offered Owen a smile and an outstretched hand. “I’m Gerardo, by the way,” he said.

Owen took the hand and shook it, standing as he did so. He was a lot taller than the newcomer, and as he stood, Gerardo’s hand still in his, the effect was for Owen to rise up and up and up, exposing not only his height but the full extent of his recently enhanced musculature. By the time he was up to his full stature Owen was towering over a beautiful, saucer-eyed man who only came up to his collarbone. “I’m Owen,” he said at last, staring down into brown eyes stretched so wide he could see all the way around the irises.

Suddenly a red flush appeared in Gerardo’s cheeks, and he squeezed his eyes as tightly shut as they had been wide open before, snatching his hand back in the process. “Oh god oh god oh god,” Gerardo mutterred.

Owen realized what was happening with an answering surge of sensory pleasure flooding through him. His balls tightened and his pipe-like tool seemed to harden even further. “It’s okay,” he said soothingly, though he wasn’t sure which of them he was talking to. He rested a tentative hand on Gerardo’s square, very pleasantly muscled shoulder. “It’s okay,” he said. “It’s okay.” He clawed back from the edge of climax, and Gerardo seemed to do the same.

The smaller man blinked rapidly up at him, trying to focus on Owen. “Oh god, I almost—I almost—!”

“It’s okay,” Owen said. He toyed with confiding he’d almost hurtled off that cliff with him. He was still hot and flushed, and his pulse was hammering in his ears. “It’s okay,” he repeated with a smile. As Gerardo drew a breath, his gaze sinking into Owen’s, he went on, “Maybe we can do it properly later?” He felt his smile spread, and watched its effect on the young man looking up at him. “When we’re not in a parking lot,” he added.

Gerardo’s mouth fell open just slightly, his eyes a bit glazed. Owen, a little amused and very turned on, was contemplating bending down for a kiss when a new hand appeared on Gerardo’s other shoulder. It was dark amber and a little hairy, like Gerardo’s. “Everything okay, Ger?” asked a new male voice, concerned and suspicious.

Owen tore his eyes away from Gerardo to find an older version of him, this one in a midnight-blue tank-top and cut-off jeans shorts. The two men looked almost identical, though the new arrival, who had maybe two years on his—brother? Had to be brother—had longer hair almost to his shoulders and a well-trimmed goatee to go with the dark stubble lining his jaw and lower cheeks. He also, improbably, looked even more like he had as much dense, thick muscle as physically possible packed hard and tight onto a frame that could still count as a lithe, long-limbed aesthetic physique. Every hairy inch of him was jammed with round, hard muscle, but he still looked much more Olympic gymnast than Mr. Olympia.

Owen looked down into dark eyes much like Gerardo’s, only they were flintier and more guarded than the ones he’d been staring into. There was a glint of defiance visible there where there was none in his brother’s, and Owen was sure the older man was working to resist the deep attraction to Owen that Gerardo had quickly surrendered to. Owen found both reactions perplexing. Could he turn these guys on so easily, so completely, that he’d almost made one of them cum just by standing up to his full height? And why was the older one fighting such pleasure? At the same time, the brothers’ responsiveness to his hotter, harder appearance was deeply stimulating to him in a way that was already driving him almost irresistibly right back to the very edge of release.

“I’m Owen,” he said, his voice deep and rough in his ears, and he seemed to be speaking down into the well of those dark brown, lust-soaked eyes.

“Victor,” the older brother said, sounding as if he were far away. His brows drew together. They looked dark, somehow—in fact they looked just slightly darker than they had a moment ago. A cold shiver went down Owen’s spine. “I don’t… understand,” Victor said haltingly, his voice sounding strained as he continued to stare hard into Owen’s eyes.

Behind them, the dog barked. This time, he wasn’t playing.

Owen looked over at Gerardo and sucked in a sharp breath. Gerardo was baring his teeth, and they were all bigger and sharper than before. Vicious-looking fangs had erupted in place of his canines. Hair was racing up the sides of Gerardo’s cheeks, and… fuck, was his nose starting to push out? Owen’s hand was still on Gerardo’s shoulder, and the muscles there were quivering with impossible energy. It felt almost like power was boiling under Gerardo’s very skin, power so intense it was capable of full-on transformation…

Bandit barked again, more insistently. He grabbed the back of Owen’s right running shoe and yanked back hard on it so that Owen almost lost his balance, effectively bringing him out of the spell. Adrenaline poured through him as he recognized he was in a crisis situation. He had to do something now. Being a quarterbacks had inadvertently trained to recognize split-second decision-making moment sand how to respond to them, and Owen wasted no more time.

The main problem was they were in public. He had to get them out of sight first, then calm the two brothers. For a millisecond he considered his own room, but he discarded the idea instantly when he realized the brothers almost certainly would feel safer in their own space. He turned back to Victor. “Where’s your room?” he demanded.

Victor was frowning at him, eyes unfocused. He was fighting hard against whatever Gerardo was succumbing to. “What?” he said, confused.

“Victor, I need you to hear me,” Owen said. “Where is your room?”

Victor seemed to pick up on Owen’s urgency. “113,” he said.

Gerardo growled, finally alarmed at the transformation that he shouldn’t have been experiencing, now that it was too late.

“Go,” Owen ordered Victor. “We’ll be right behind you.”

Victor blinked, nodded, then looked at Gerardo and gasped. “Go!” Owen shouted. Victor nodded again and ran off toward the row of well-spaced red-painted doors directly behind them on the motel’s first level. Owen then picked up the younger brother and threw him over his shoulder, earning himself another growl and short whimper. “It’s okay, buddy,” he said soothingly, easily taking Gerardo’s weight as he turned and hurried after Victor. “It’s okay. Victor and I are going to take care of you. It’s going to be okay.” Gerardo’s weight was shifting weirdly on his shoulder, and Owen could feel some of what was going on as he held the other man tight against his shoulder. This was damn strange, totally unnerving, and awesome as fuck, but he wasn’t going to tell the others about that last part just yet.

Victor had one of the room doors open and was gesturing to the dark interior, dark eyes sharp with concern as he tracked their progress. Owen wanted to glance around for witnesses, but he didn’t risk taking his eyes off the asphalt and concrete between him and the safety of the brothers’ room. There hadn’t seemed to be any folks around when he’d returned from fields beyond the motel and discovered Bandit checking out his bike, so he’d just have to hope his luck held. It usually did. Even when it didn’t.

He rushed into the room, Bandit at his heels, and Victor closed the door. Owen deposited Gerardo from his shoulder down onto the nearest bed, only what he settled onto the rough, motel-issued ivory comforter was not the hunky, startlingly attractive, easily seduced man Owen had met only moments before. What Owen dropped down on the big, queen-sized mattress could only be described as a massive, black-and-silver, 150-pound wolf that was, incongruously and ridiculously, still wearing sweats and a Springsteen tee. He was immense as a wolf, so that lying on his side he took up a considerable share of the bed. Golden eyes looked up at him with mingled fear and annoyance, lips parted to reveal those large, scary teeth.

“Cool,” Owen blurted out, unable to hold back a grin.

At that remark Victor practically exploded. “‘Cool’?” he mimicked, viciously adding an airheaded surfer-boy drawl to Owen’s delivery of the word as he hurriedly yanked the sweats and shirt off his brother. “Is this a joke to you? This is not ‘cool’, cabrón.” His task completed, he hurled the clothes aside and turned his glare on Owen. “What the fuck are you?”

Owen blinked at him, taken aback. “What?”

Victor faced Owen like a man determined to show strength and determination even against a larger foe, a stance that frankly only stoked Owen’s arousal. Gerardo the wolf, meanwhile, was clambering off the bed on the side away from Owen and moved around to stand at Victor’s side. His powerful body made the motel room seem small. On four paws he was visibly larger than an actual gray wolf, his back reaching the level of Victor’s waist. He looked sleek and strong, and it occurred to Owen for the first time that in wolf form Gerardo was probably capable of ripping him to pieces, with or without his brother’s help.

Victor took a step forward, and Gerardo stayed right beside him, backing him up with a hard yellow stare. “We’re six days past the full moon,” Victor seethed. “That’s the only time our kind shifts involuntarily. Even an alpha can’t force it on one of us.” Victor took another step closer, jabbing the middle of Owen’s chest with his index finger. As Owen’s collarbone was just above eye-level he almost had to reach up to do so. “You are not wolf. What (jab) are (jab) you?”

Owen snatched Victor’s wrist into his own larger fist and held it stiff as stone. His heart pounded in his chest, and he had no doubt Victor’s did the same. Victor tried to pull his hand back, but when his arm didn’t budge from Owen’s grip he stilled himself and waited, watching him with his upper lip just slightly lifted to show teeth that were still human, for now. Gerardo crowded close, ready to support his brother in a fight.

What… are… you

He had an answer, but he didn’t know if he was right. It was the only thing that made sense to him, but it came from instinct, not knowledge. His innate sense was that the changes he had been starting to experience were an echo of what Max was going through, and that felt like the firmest part of a very uncertain mess. He wished he had Max to talk this over with, or better yet Glenn. Maybe he should have gone back up the mountain after all. Yet as soon as he thought it, he felt more strongly than ever that that mountain was not his mountain. His mountain—his place—was here, somewhere, and he had to find his knowledge here, if he could.

Owen flicked his gaze instinctively to find Bandit, who’d taken up a position sitting tall by the window and was craning his neck to peer out between the wide vertical slats, checking for trouble. He glanced over at Owen, perhaps feeling his eyes on him, then dropped to all four paws and padded past them into the bathroom. Can’t help you, dude, he almost seemed to be saying. Owen smiled at that.

He looked back down at Victor, whose eyes had narrowed slightly. Whatever he’d done to Gerardo and had been on his way to doing to Victor, the older brother’s ire and frustration was blocking it for now—though, he sensed, not completely. The way he was holding Victor’s wrist before him meant that Owen’s thumb was positioned directly below Victor’s curled palm. Owen stretched his thumb up and passed a single caress over the lower reaches of Victor’s inner palm, and watched as Victor drew in a long, silent breath.

He was still hugely erect and rock hard. He wondered if Victor was. He was sorely tempted to use his other hand to find out.

“You are not wolf,” Victor repeated, grinding out the words. “What are you?”

Owen stared down hard into dark brown eyes. It felt right in that moment to put this out there, here with these two that were like him and not like him, and see what happened.

“Bear,” he said confidently, his voice deep and rough. Then he smiled. Whatever else was true, he liked the idea of being a bear to these two wolves.

Victor frowned. “There are no bear people in these mountains,” he said. “And there’s nothing in the lore about bear people forcing us to shift.”

Owen didn’t waver. He was stoking his own arousal now, focusing it like a concentrated beam into his smaller friend. Victor’s nostrils twitched, as if smelling Owen’s powerful, cut erection and all the precum that had been seeping slowly into his waistband.

“Maybe you don’t know all the lore… Victor,” he said, using the man’s name like a gentle command.

“Maybe… maybe you are… not bear,” Victor said, speaking with difficulty.

“Or more than bear,” he said. He was certainly more than Owen, or at least, what he was used to Owen having been. He moved his eyes down Victor’s handsome face to his full, wine-dark, bearded lips.

Abruptly Victor tried again to pull his hand free, but Owen still held it fast. “Please,” Victor pleaded. “Don’t make me shift.” The tip of his tongue emerged from between his lips, pushing out just enough to wet them for him, and Owen knew that wanting to have sex with Owen was edging past a fear of shifting involuntarily as the overriding reason Victor wanted to stay human.

“Oh, you’re not going to shift,” Owen said, and it was an instruction as much as an assurance. “See,” he added, bending down slightly so that their faces were teasingly close, “I figured out what happened. Back in the parking lot. Gerardo started to lose control, and that turned me on so much that I started to lose control, too. So,” he added, bending still further, until he could feel Victor’s breath on his lips, “the trick is simple: stay it control.”

It was funny saying something like that aloud. People had thought he was like that in school, the cocky football douche. Even Max had thought he was a grinning, arrogant meathead at first, before they’d started hanging out. But Owen instinctively knew how to handle this situation, and being this close to a deeply attractive muscle hottie like Victor who wanted him this badly built up so much arousal and aching desire in Owen he though he might cum explosively from every goddamned pore in his body. Control was the answer, and he was stronger now—stronger in every way.

With Max, and with Max and Glenn, he had been an eager, insatiable bottom, much to his own surprise and amusement. He’d loved letting Max dominate him and stimulate massive orgasmic eruptions in him, and he’d loved letting the Sheridans double-team him too. He’d jacked off thinking about Max’s huge cock in his ass every damn day since, making his chest hair and beard all sloppy every time with huge gouts of hot cum from the vivid memories of being fucked hard and deep.

This was something different, though, and in its own way as equally, amazingly hot. With these pups, it was just as imperative that he top, and that it happen now, this fucking minute, and then again, and again, and again.

Victor nodded, as if assenting to everything Owen was thinking. His eyes were open, still watching him, but he was ready.

Owen had one more thing he had to do before the descent into euphoric madness. He dropped to his knees, still keeping hold of Victor’s wrist and tugging him down to a kneeling position in front of him before finally releasing him. Then he turned and stared into the yellow eyes of the wolf he’d made with nothing more than the raw sexual allure of his body and his voice.

“Shift,” he said. Gerardo the wolf made a tiny, whimpering sound deep in his throat. Owen leaned forward just a little further and stared deep into those luminous wolf eyes, making him feel the words. “Shift, pup,” he said again. “Shift for me.”

One thundering heartbeat, two, a third…

“You bastard,” Gerardo said, crouching on all fours in front of him, but he was beaming crookedly at Owen with wicked lust written all over his face. He straightened, proud and naked, so that he was kneeling next to his brother, his hairy, packed-muscle, beautifully proportioned body on full display. Victor’s slightly more impressive bod was not much harder to appreciate despite the tank top and shorts that were still in place. A nod from Owen at the shirt and Victor was pulling it off over his head and hurling it into the nothing that existed beyond the three of them. Owen raked his eyes over them and almost growled at the sight of a stiff, gently curved erection that was almost as big as Owen’s jutting out from Gerardo’s crotch. An even-bigger-looking bulge in Victor’s shorts told him he might just be giving Owen a run for his money in that department. Their lust washed through Owen, communicated through the connection already forming between them, and Owen knew that his almost limitless desire was pounding through them as well like a torrent.

Owen wrapped both of his meaty hands around the brothers’ napes. “Now, pups,” he said to them, looking from one to the other and grinning wide, “kiss me like you mean it.”

Victor rolled his eyes, but their lips all came hungrily together a moment later, and Owen felt the earth move just from the thrusts of the brothers’ tongues meeting his and each others’. The kissing deepened and intensified, and the feedback of the brothers’ pleasure into his own drove Owen suddenly toward total, unstoppable climax. “Cum for me, now!” he ordered them, breaking the kiss only long enough to force out the words. The brothers came hard, in complete unison, throwing back their heads and yelling their release as jets of spunk soared out of them, Gerardo’s splattering all over all three of them while Victor recklessly soaked the shorts he still was wearing from the inside.

Owen hastily lifted his shirt to expose the head and top inches of his monster torpedo cock just in time for climax to smash through him. His release smacked him right in the face, just missing his eye, and Owen quickly threw his head back, laughing and moaning at the same time. He gathered the still-cumming wolf brothers in his arms and they did the same, and they came hard and relentlessly together as they held their sweaty, cum-slicked bodies against each other until the orgasm subsided many long aeons later. Then they were just holding each other, dazed and delirious with incomparable, ball-tightening euphoria, their twitching, still-hard dicks jumping languorously as their bones tried to liquify inside them.

Their heads fell softly together, and they began kissing sloppily as if they were half-asleep, or drugged. “My only question for you two,” Owen said after a while, between pants and kisses, “is whether you want to shower first before we fuck for real, or if you want to be (kiss) slippery and (kiss) dirty.”

The brothers’ eyes glinted as they pulled back and shared a look. “How about this,” Victor counted. “We shower…”

“…and you watch,” Gerardo finished.

Owen laughed, even as his dick sprang to full hardness at the image the brothers’ words evoked in his mind. “Good,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows at them. “You be clean… I’ll be dirty.” The brothers were shaking their heads and smiling as they all climbed to their feet together, but Owen couldn’t help but notice that they were just as crazy-hard as he was. He had to kiss them one last time before he followed them into the bathroom, evicting a much aggrieved Bandit as they took over his hiding place for the next round of fun.

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