Description Owen Banks witnessed Max finding his destiny up on the mountain, then realized he was changing, too. Was he like Max, or was something else awakening within him? He decided he was going to find out.
|Updated||26 Oct 2019|
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.
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. Years as a quarterback had inadvertently trained to recognize split-second decision-making moments and 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 him. 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 moving 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.
Owen was having the dream again.
He’d expected to lay awake all night. Fucking the pups had energized him rather than exhausting him as it had Victor and Gerardo, and as they lay curled up against him on other side, nuzzling against his flanks in their sated sleep, pleasantly warm in the cool room thanks to a steamy second shower and their innately hotter-than-human wolf blood, Owen stared up at the motel ceiling, his heart thumping a steady rhythm as his mind raced in curves and twists, like a hundred cab drivers trying to find their way out of a complicated and suddenly exitless airport.
God, the fucking. It had been beyond intense. The best part was how it was so completely different from his eager bottoming for Max and Glenn up on the mountain. Back then, that had been about… well, it had been about a lot of things, not least the feeling of Max’s thick, hard, club of a cock inside him, and Glenn’s even larger monster, pounding into him tirelessly, sometimes one after the other. But what Owen had cherished even more than that, more than anything, was the excitement and gratitude of Max and Glenn tenderly gifting him—him, Owen, this hairy, wisecracking, muscled-up boytoy who’d butted into their lives (hah, “butted in”) and basically demanded they share their seemingly limitless sperm with him—with actual control over the power they had over him. He’d never understood what topping was until he’d been topped by Max and Glenn. They didn’t take, they gave, and Owen had reveled in it, his heart swelling with lust and admiration for the two men.
Bottoming for Max and Glenn had been euphoria, falling into his own world that was full of joy. Topping the werewolf brothers, though… To Owen it felt as if he had discovered some related and yet completely different kind of activity. There was getting fucked, and then there was fucking, and they were as different as working out and riding his motorcycle. Both were a rush, and thrilled him in every muscle of his body, but they were worlds apart. And yet—like pounding iron and eating up road on his Ducati, fucking and getting fucked were both unequivocally him.
He’d started with Gerardo, because he figured Victor would get off watching his brother get drilled, and that Gerardo would love getting picked first. It didn’t matter much to Owen. They were both sexy as fuck. Their warm skin, browner than his Mediterranean olive, turned him on, as did their deep, penetrating brown eyes and thick, soft near-black hair—not just the long locks they kept pushing back, but the heavy stubble and Victor’s dark little beard, and all the silky black hair that covered their chests and trickled down their flat, washboard abs to their randy groins. Best of all, they were lithe and limber and yet packed with muscle, the way Owen was increasingly coming to appreciate deep in his heavy, tight balls.
He’d always loved muscle, of course, especially the awesome way it had started to accrue on him inch upon inch and pound after pound from an early age. He’d relished working out since before puberty, not only for the rush it gave him, but also because the gym was a world of muscle. Working out around other muscly, sweaty, straining guys had been one of his real-life heavens for as long as he could remember, more fun than the exhilarating but stressful hours on the gridiron itself and almost as awesome (once he discovered it) as sex. The more Max had led him incrementally toward a slightly surprised yet inevitable understanding that he really wasn’t a regular hetero guy (in lots of was, apparently), the more Owen understood that the hours he’d spent intensively appreciating heavy pecs and thick, hard upper arms and wide, bulging shoulders and carved, tree-trunk legs hadn’t just been about “fitness aesthetics” and props for the hard work that had gone into building those impressive evocations of masculine power. He loved staring at muscle, caressing muscle, licking muscle, and being held by muscle as his partner’s eyes and hands and tongue and mouth communicated his own praise for Owen’s own hairy body and his growing, dense, huge and beautiful somehow-more-than-human physique.
They’d stood there by the bed, the three of them, naked and rock hard, the two brothers looking up at him with a crazy amount of desire in their eyes. Their hands twitched from wanting to touch him, but they didn’t dare do so without permission. He could feel a hint of trepidation from them, especially Victor, and Owen guessed it came from being a little unnerved at how completely and unequivocally their physical forms submitted to him. It was like their bodies had given Owen complete license over them without consulting their rational minds, and it was up to Owen to give them reassurance along with pleasure. They stood before him side by side, staring up at him with lust-dark eyes and looking more alike than any brothers Owen had ever seen that weren’t actually identical twins. Owen stared down at each of them in turn, using both hands to stroke their flanks, and they drew in silent breaths as the looked up at him, waiting, their three cocks bumping damply together between them.
He glanced down at their twitching, reddened boners. Owen’s playful, cut, torpedo-thick cock had been minutely expanding over the past few weeks, which was proof enough to Owen that something supernatural was going on even without the insta-beard he could grow during the full moon and all the rest of what he’d seen and felt. He’d spent most of his life growing his muscles the usual way, and in a way it wasn’t too surprising they’d started growing on their own—he could almost believe, with a wry smirk, that he’d trained them enough they’d finally gotten the idea of what they were supposed to do and didn’t have to be told any more with long hours at the gym. It went without saying that nothing in all those years had ever grown his dick, though when he was twelve he’d had a blast pretending that dick growth (length and, especially, girth) was a most excellent side-effect of doing hundreds of sit-ups and crunches, and Owen had kept up a hard six pack (more of an eight pack, these days) ever since. Now his fat, heavy, rock-hard and leaking tool was pretty much the biggest he’d ever seen, on par with Max’s and not that much smaller than Glenn’s, and even soft (not that it ever got completely soft these days) it was bigger than any hard-on he’d ever seen in the locker room or online pornos. The brothers’ boners were impressive on that scale, ten inches easy and more girthy than most—perfect mouth size, Owen realized with a warm shiver of excitement—and that fact that his was as big as both of theirs put together and considerably longer was definitely not about them being small. It was about him being abnormally, gargantually huge, and only faith in whatever supernatural forces were transforming him allowed him to feel confident that he could give them pleasure without tearing them open with his giant, monster dick.
He looked up and met Victor’s eyes. “On your back,” he said, and though it was a command he said it tenderly. Victor’s eyes lit, and Owen’s lips curved in amusement as he held back a smile. Whatever concerns Victor had about the uncanniness of their instant spiritual rapport, he wanted it. Don’t worry, pup, Owen thought, you’ll get it. He nodded toward the bed, and Victor moved instantly. Before he was in position Owen turned to the younger brother, whose expression told him he was a little miffed that he might have to wait his turn. Owen simply said, “Hands and knees.” Gerardo’s eyes widened comically, and a big, uncomplicated grin burst across his face as he realized what Owen had done. He turned instantly to obey, and Owen swatted his firm, hard ass as he did so, chuckling as Gerardo climbed onto the bed and positioned himself smugly over his disappointed brother, their long cocks fencing between them and dripping clear precum onto Victor’s amber-brown lower abdomen.
Owen stared at them, a powerful craving for them both welling up in his chest. They were extremely alluring positioned like this, staring into each other’s eyes with their long, limber, brawny bodies and equally long cocks on full display, the younger hunk-pup looming cockily over the older, and Owen had to fight a sudden and powerful urge to stand there and stroke himself to quick release just from the sight of them. Instead he said huskily, “Tell me where your lube is.” There was no question they had some, though how they played when strange more-than-werebears weren’t around, wither singly or together or maybe with someone else between them, was something he could sketch in with his imagination some other time.
“Toiletry kit,” they said together. Gerardo snickered, and Victor smiled and shook his head slightly, though their eyes remained locked on each other’s. Gerardo was shifting very slightly forward and back, sliding his precum-slicked cock against Victor’s, and Owen could sense even from a couple feet away just how much low-level pleasure this simple action was giving them both.
Owen’s arousal jumped. He was pretty sure he wasn’t going to last at this rate. His hands juddered, once again wanting to grip his supersensitive ship’s mast of a cock and drive himself to a blasting orgasm, but instead he cleared his throat and said, “You can kiss if you want” before turning and heading for the bathroom where the boys’ shared toiletry kit was.
In the bathroom he found the large, square, black leather zipped travel kit the brothers used for toiletries, and sure enough there was a large, half used tube of slick in there, clearly as relevant to the brothers’ daily routine as their combs and toothpaste. Interesting. Owen glanced around the bathroom, half expecting to see Bandit glowering at him at the impure things he was thinking about the dog’s charges. He’d let the dog out before they’d started their showers, not wanting an audience for what came next and trusting the young metacanine to take care of himself, but he could still smell him in here, and it made Owen grin all over again to think of the protector-dog acting all stoic and responsible after revealing himself to Owen, playful crouch, waggly tail, woofs and all. He grabbed up the lube and a couple towels in one hand, experiencing a flurry of excited anticipation as he turned to go back. This was going to be unlike anything he’d had before.
He returned to the room to find the two brothers engaged in a slow, languid make-out while they waited for him, their cocks batting at each other in the space between their tight, beautiful torsos. Victor was stroking Gerardo’s sides as his brother crouched over him, ass in the air, and Owen could feel the heat coming off them in waves like he was plugged into their arousal at a level beyond the usual, mundane senses. His cock surged and his balls drew tight, and his whole body felt like he was liable to erupt any minute, uncontrollably and without warning, before he’d even gotten his massive dick inside his pup’s hot, tight hole.
This time he did grip his dick, though only with one hand—the other was still holding the towels and the brothers’ well-used tube of extra-slick lubricant. He didn’t dare stroke his big, stiff prick, though, and his grasp was more like a steadying hold, urging it to wait, to hold back, so that they could all enjoy a true and incomparable release. “We’re going to have to do this a few times tonight,” he growled as a he stalked toward them. They broke their kiss and turned their heads to stare at him, their dark brown eyes drinking in his almost giant-sized form and tree-trunk cock as it bore down on them, and their own cocks jerked at the sight. “I’m not going to last long,” he admitted as he reached the bed and stood next to it, sweat already dappling his hairy, round delts as he looked down at them, the mere sight of the lanky fuck brothers now threatening pushing him toward the edge. “And one go is barely going to take the edge off,” he added, offering them a rakish smile. He wasn’t even sure why he was saying all of this. Maybe he just needed to give them one last out before he drilled them both into the mattress.
The brothers seemed to understand. Gerardo wrested his eyes away from Owen’s face to take in the massive dick that was about to be pushed into him, but when he looked back up at Owen there was no apprehension, only awe and need. “Please,” he pleaded, lifting his ass subtly, making it clear he was willingly offering himself to someone whose power over them none of them understood. He licked his lips, like he could almost feel what it was going to be like, and he had to have it.
Owen’s gaze flicked to Victor. His expression was more complicated, but he had already given himself to Owen, just as Gerardo had, and Victor was not the kind of man to back down or turn back on anything. He met Owen’s gaze steadily. “Please, Owen,” he said, and Owen’s heart stuttered. Oh, to hear his name on those lips. Whoever had said there was power in names knew what he was talking about.
“Sure thing… pup,” he replied with a crooked grin, deliberately not reciprocating. Victor sighed slightly, though without looking away from him. Owen knew there would be a moment, very soon, when he said Victor’s name with the power of orgasm behind it, and Victor knew it, too.
“Bastard,” Victor huffed. Owen laughed a little as he climbed onto the bed behind where Gerardo’s knees splayed on either side of Victor’s faintly tan-lined hips, placing his own broad knees between Victor’s thighs and Gerardo’s splayed, hair-dusted calves. Setting the lube and towels down to one side, he started things off with a slow, easy caress along the long, dark slope of Gerardo’s back, and Gerardo moaned plaintively, transparently eager to experience the sensation of Owen being on top of him, surrounding him and penetrating him, with his hairy, hard-muscled, randy-as-fuck brother below him at the same time. Victor stroked his sides in concert with Owen’s caress and drew his nose along Gerardo’s, their heated breaths buffeting across each other’s lips and bearded chins, and Gerardo jerked his mouth down into a sudden, fierce kiss that his brother unhesitatingly reciprocated.
They continued kissing as Owen slicked up his right hand, then used his index finger to explore Gerardo’s crease until he found the tight pucker between them. Gerardo hummed into the kiss in satisfaction, them moaned loudly into Victor’s mouth as Owen pushed his finger through the ring of muscle and shoved slowly in, inch after inch, until he was all the way in to the knuckle. Gerardo broke the kiss at last and lifted his head back to release a long “Aaaaaa-aaaa-ahhh!!” that was as much impatient craving for more as satisfaction. Owen wiggled his finger then pulled back and pushed in again, eliciting another cry from Gerardo. “Put it in me,” Gerardo begged. “I’m not a fucking virgin! Put it in me, Owen!”
“You’re a virgin for a cock as big as mine,” Owen warned. He pulled his finger out and pushed two in, and Gerardo groaned in pleasure. Owen grinned at him, taking in the simple joy on his face. Then to his alarm Owen notice hair creeping subtly up the younger man’s cheeks, and canines just starting to descend.
Victor saw it too. “Ger,” he said. “Stay with us!”
Owen stilled his fingers and laid his free hand firmly on Gerardo’s hip, as if he might communicate his will directly into the man’s body through though. He could almost feel the change in him, hovering just on the edge of being triggered, as though the very cells of his skin were vibrating with the possibility of transformation. He remembered what he’d told the brothers about control and said in a firm voice, “Don’t shift.”
Gerardo froze too. His eyes met his brother’s, though they seemed slightly dazed. A line of concern formed between his brows. Owen was worried, too. Something about their connection was so powerful, thanks to some unknown aspect of Owen’s nature, that it had an overwhelming effect on these closely connected werewolf brothers, especially the younger one. This was all on him, and he didn’t even fully understand what it was. “Gerardo, listen to me,” he said in a strong, resolute tone that seemed, to his irreverent mind, a little incongruous with the two fingers he had still inside the man. He used the thumb of his other hand to slowly stroke Gerardo’s butt-cheek, and he let a little more humor creep into his voice as he continued. “I only fuck men,” he admonished wryly, “not wolves. If you want to get fucked, you’ve got to stay a man, okay?”
“Just… put it… in!” Gerardo gritted out. He was sweaty and flushed across his shoulders, his damp hair clinging to his neck, but there was no sign of any fur there. Watching him closely, Owen saw with some relief that the whiskers had stopped advancing on Gerardo’s cheeks, and the fangs had halted in mid-descent, through they hadn’t fully retracted either. Owen stared, amused and aroused. There was something kind of awesome about a guy wanting his dick so bad he started losing control over his hidden animal nature.
Owen had read a bit of werewolf fiction, and there was always talk about how the man and the wolf were two separate natures. The man was always talking about “his wolf” and what it wanted, which always had to do with instinctual needs like hunting and fucking. It sure looked like Gerardo’s wolf really, really wanted Gerardo to be fucked hard and deep by Owen. Maybe Owen could ask the big silver-black wolf the next time Gerardo shifted.
Hey, did that mean he had a bear—”his bear”? Or… something?
Not the time to think about it. He patted Gerardo’s ass and said, “If you insist.” He continued with his prep nonetheless, twisting his fingers and scissoring them in Gerardo’s hot, very tight hole, and Gerardo moaned softly and whispered more indistinct begging. “Fuck, you’re a bossier bottom than I ever was,” Owen chuckled. He wanted to comply with Gerardo’s demand that he “put it in”—his own need was ramping up so high he might come the second he got his cock into the man—but he was a little unnerved at just how big his dick had gotten lately, and he wanted to be sure he’d done as much as he could. He pulled out the two fingers and forced three back in, slowly but relentlessly driving them deep inside him as far as he could.
Victor was staring up at him, concern subsided so that all that was visible in his expression was love and arousal. “He isn’t usually,” Victor said distractedly as he took in his brother’s needy face, and it took Owen a second to understand this was in response to his remark about Gerardo being a bossy bottom.
Owen grinned as he made one last press with his three fingers. “What about you?” he teased Victor.
There eyes met, and Owen saw amusement there. “I… don’t usually have to beg for anything,” he said drolly. Owen laughed. He was almost tempted to flip roles and let Gerardo fuck him—it sounded like that would be pretty wild. He’d have to settle for imagining the brothers going at it, at least for now. He pulled out his fingers at last and straightened up, squeezing lube onto his dick in a long, fat line down the wide, flat surface of his dick. Fuck, it looked like an aircraft carrier from this angle.
“Owennnn…” Gerardo begged, and the name coursed through him like a thousand little explosions. He quickly finished slicking up his cock as thoroughly as he could, then dropped the lube next to Victor’s hand, meeting the older brother’s gaze.
“Stroke your dicks together,” Owen instructed. “Like I said—I won’t be long. And all three of us are going to blow together this time. Got it?”
“Fuck, Owen,” Victor said shakily, like the command had shoved him hard toward the brink of his own release. “Who the fuck are you?” he added with a wondering half-smile, picking up the lube and slicking both hands with it.
“I,” Owen said, pausing as he positioned the head of his mighty cock against Gerardo’s hole, unable to resist such an obvious set-up line, “am the best fuck either of you pups will ever have.” He wiggled his eyebrows at Victor, who snorted a laugh and muttered something incredulous in Spanish. Then Owen pushed his cock-head into Gerardo’s tight, hot hole at the same moment that Victor clasped his fists around their long, thick, nuzzling cocks.
Gerardo tossed his head up and let out an “Oh, yes!” that was just loud enough for Owen to suddenly remember they were in a motel room. He had no idea of there were any neighbors on either side of him, and he normally wasn’t one to care, but from the moment Gerardo had started to shift Owen had felt a powerful sense of responsibility for the two pups, and that included protecting their secret as well as his own. With this in mind, he put his clean hand on the back of Gerardo’s head and guided it downward, and the brothers took the hint and embarked into some heated, sloppy making out that drove Owen nuts to watch. Fuck, he had to get inside this fucker before it was too late.
Loosely holding onto Gerardo’s hips from both sides, he began driving his oversized, steel-hard, more-than-eager cock inside Gerardo’s furnace-hot, impossibly tight hole, inch by inch. Gerardo cried and moaned into Victor’s mouth but didn’t stop their frantic kissing, and Victor kept up the steady two-handed fist-pistoning on their two big, hard wangs.
Owen’s larger form gave him the perfect angle to dominate Gerardo’s ass. The sensations of what they were all experienced flooded through him, a vast, hot torrent of turning, melding pleasure as their very centers somehow twisted and twined around each other, tightening their connection. Owen kept shoving his too-big cock into Gerardo, blinded by lust but feeling every inch of both of the smaller, sexy men below him. Some dim corner of his mind was hoping he would sense it if it got to be too much, too big, but the more he pushed into Gerardo the more unbearably right it felt… It was like this, this, was the way to his becoming. It was like an alignment of the universe, a slotting of things into the way they were supposed to be. Him being inside Gerardo—except—
Why did it feel like he was inside both of them?!
Victor moaned loudly into the kiss. It couldn’t be, but he was moaning—they were both moaning. Their hums and groans were winding and resonating through all of them, curling around Owen’s eager, blunt cock, and the brothers’ long, heated, crazy-sensitive pricks too. Victor’s strokes on his and his brother’s cocks were getting faster, his rhythm uneven. They were close. They were both close.
Owen was fucking them both. He was feeling their passion, their arousal and their pleasure coursing through him like he was on the surface of the sun and all its radiation was pouring through him. And it was both of them, spinning slowly through his own radiance. It was ecstasy and it was unendurable pleasure. He was going to blow. He had to get all the way in, at least, only, fuck, he was all the way in. He was fucking, gently but steadily, in a few inches, then back, in, then back, then in all the fucking way so that his billiard-ball buts were smacking against Gerardo’s ass. But inside, he could feel both of their pleasures from being fucked hard by his gigantic dick, and the knowledge that he was sharing this with these two hot-as-fuck muscle pups finally triggered him into a supernova climax. He exploded into them, his cock releasing spurt after spurt of hot cum deep inside them as they released with him, covering their chests and shoulders and bearded chins with long, hot sprays of spunk. They were still kissing, gasping for breath around each other’s mouths as they kept at it, and it was Owen that was yelling their release, and he definitely didn’t give a fuck.
They’d lain there for ages, Owen and Gerardo straightening out their legs so that Owen and Victor were sandwiching Gerardo between them. Owen knew he was too heavy with dense muscle these days to lie on top of both brothers for long, so he’d rolled the three of them on their sides and they’d cuddled there, sticky and half-dozing, until they’d accumulated enough energy to find the shower and rinse of, this time Owen going in first with Gerardo, then Victor taking his place, and he’d kissed them both languorously as they’d washed all the jizz down the drain. The brothers had barely stayed awake long enough to climb back into the bed and under the covers, and Owen paused only long enough to let a wryly amused Bandit back into the room before climbing into the bed between them, leaving the other, unused bed to the brothers’ canine protector. Despite the satiation of afterglow Owen hadn’t expected sleep to find him with all the strange thoughts spinning through his head, and he was a little surprised when he fell into blackness and the dream came for him.
Owen had always dreamt vividly. He remembered most of his dreams, not only the content but the way they’d seemed uncomplicatedly real no matter how bizarre their narrative. When he was six he’d dreamt that he was a fire truck—not a fireman riding a fire truck but the actual fire truck itself. He’d never forgotten what it had felt like to be a long, metal, sun-baked machine with such an important job, speeding down the streets and chivvying ordinary cars and pickups and bicycle-riders out of the way with his siren so his humans could get to their fire and save the town. He’d giggled as the happy firemen had washed him with rags and buckets of sloshing suds and powerful sprays of warm water all over his shiny red chassis. He even remembered how he’d worried about his humans in their dangerous job, and the pride he felt in how he helped them save people and stay safe with his speed and strength and the water and hoses and ladders he shared with them.
This one felt real, too, but he knew from the start he was in a dream. He was standing at the edge of a pristine lake he’d never seen before, its crystal waters perfectly reflecting a vivid blue sky marked by sparse, cotton-ball clouds and a bright yellow sun high overhead. The long, oval lake occupied the center of an enclosed valley; it was surrounded on all sides by tall deciduous forests of oak, ash, and maple rising up dark, wooded ridges that, while not tall, still hemmed in the lake and its little valley. The forests basked in the gleaming sunlight, the shadows of clouds passing along them in stark relief as a chilly wind wafted them into and then out of the lake’s purview. It was a calm and peaceful place—preternaturally peaceful, maybe, though the place was full of sounds as vibrant as its colors, from the songs and chatter of birds and squirrels to the lapping of the lake as the odd, autumnal gust caught the water’s smooth surface. The air even tasted good, brisk and clean, with a hint of oncoming winter still comfortably far away. It seemed to Owen that there was a hint of unreality to what he saw, as though the mundane world of men no longer contained this idyllic place. His heart swelled that it was still preserved, somehow, and he had found his way here to experience it.
He looked down and saw his own form reflected in the of the water. The lake was deep here, the banks dropping off rapidly not far from where he stood, and the mirrored surface only showed the sky and Owen himself as he stooped to look down at his own form, and nothing of what coursed below. It did not surprise him to see that what looked back at him was a massive, black-furred bear. Scale was hard to judge, but Owen somehow knew that he was larger than any real bear, maybe eight feet tall even on all fours and weighing well past half a ton. Owen grinned, his bear face easily displaying his glee in the reflection. He loved that how big he was as a man carried over into what he’d be like as a bear, and in spades. The same cool wind that scudded the clouds past overhead now playfully ruffled his thick, dark fur, and Owen laughed a gentle, ursine laugh as he bent to drink from the lake’s pure, clean water.
Rustling in the undergrowth behind him made him turn to see a pair of large, young wolves emerging from the woods near the lake and loping in his direction, unafraid, of course, of the massive predator before them. One was black and silver, and the other was a darker gray close to charcoal with strands of black that seemed almost midnight blue in this bright light. Owen could tell that, like him, they were easily half again the size they should have been if they’d been mere, ordinary animals, though their impressive size was, of course, dwarfed by Owen’s colossal form. They were smiling as they trotted up to them.
Owen found he could reach out to them with his mind—this seemed normal to him, in the dream, and he later remembered the mental and psychic abilities Max had gained as he’d undergone his monthlong transformation and the mental connection he’d gained with Glenn. Hey, pups, he sent to them happily. His tone was cocky and smirking, of course. Even here, they objected to being called “pups”—they were, after all, full-fledged adults in both their human and animal forms—but he also knew they cherished the way Owen teased them and played with them just as much as Owen did.
Shut up, Victor sent back blandly, pretending to ignore him as he bent to lap at the cool lake water, though the spot he chose to do so happened to be only a foot or so away from Owen’s mighty paws.
Yeah, shut up, Gerardo chimed in, though he’d paused in the act of bending to drink from a spot just the other side of Owen to stare up at him, and Owen caught indistinct ripples of emotion through their connection. Awe, he thought, and raging desire—Gerardo was addicted to the incredible fucking they enjoyed in their human forms—and, to Owen’s astonishment, love. Could that be right?
He knew instinctively, and in this place had known for a long time, that Victor and Gerardo would be his mates if they were bears, but… they weren’t bears. They could not be mates, not really. But that thought felt wrong to him.
He put the problem away to think about later. What did the elders say? he asked them. Owen had asked for them to reach out to other packs for stories and lore that might tell him who he was and why this place was undeniably home to him, since the tales of the brothers’ own pack had told him little.
Gerardo bent to drink at last. Owen felt a tinge of frustration from him as he replied, They were no help.
They’re afraid of you, Victor supplied. The elder of the two brothers was better at containing his emotions when they communicated, but Owen could still sense concern from him. There were legends in these lands of bear shifters and wolf shifters once having been at each other’s throats, literally when they were in their animal forms, and though it had been long ago the wolf shifters remembered, and no one talked about how there were no bear shifters around, or indeed anywhere between here and the White Mountains where some lived among men and others shunned all humans.
I guess I don’t blame them, Owen thought to both his pups. He bent to drink again, though he wasn’t thirsty now. He was a little scared himself, when he let himself think about it: the bits and pieces he was discovering about himself didn’t all fit neatly into the box labeled “bear shifter”. Even in the days of legend, for one thing, a werebear couldn’t make a werewolf shift involuntarily, between full moons. Victor had said so from the beginning, and the pack elders had confirmed it, reacting—so the pups said—with horror when they’d heard Owen had done just that to Gerardo. Owen wished they’d never told them.
They might… Victor started to tell him. Owen looked up. Victor was looking at him, his golden eyes bright. They don’t like that you’re here, Victor tried again. I think they are discussing driving you out.
Owen felt a flood of worry come from Gerardo—worry for Owen, but also for the pack. An echo of similar concerns came from Victor. Owen wanted to growl, to say “let them try”, because this was his home now—this was where he belonged. Max had his mountain, and here—these endless forests, rife with flora and fauna, and these hills and this lake—he could feel its energies knitting with his own, slowly rebuilding what was lost in him when he was left among the humans and unlinked from his birthlands. He wanted to defend, with tooth and claw and all the strength of a colossal werebear, his need to be here and to create a future here with these two men who belonged with him. But even Owen the bear wasn’t violent or destructive like that. He’d never take that path.
Maybe it was enough to know this place existed.
He shook his head and looked up at the sky. No storms loomed there, no thunderclouds gathered ominously along the tumbling, woody ridgeline. The sky remained bright and blue, and the puffs of clouds wandering past overhead seemed like friendly visitors.
It won’t come to that, he told his pups. I promise. Now, he went on, with a sidelong glance at both of them, who’s up for a swim?
Victor gave him a skeptical look. Gerardo glanced up in shock with a What?? Sure enough, Victor was distracted enough by his brother’s reaction and his instinctive need to protect him that he was caught off guard when Owen suddenly shifted his weight and shoved Victor right out into the cold, deep water. He came up sputtering and cursing mentally at him in Spanish, and Gerardo was laughing out loud, his wolfy laugh something Owen found incredibly endearing. Owen thought about sending the other pup into the water too, but instead he stepped backward from the edge until he had a good run-up to the lake.
Victor saw what he was doing and called out, No! Don’t you dare!, but Owen was already galloping fast toward the water’s edge. As the two wolves watched he leapt up with a happy roar, soaring out and over where Victor was treading water a few feet from shore, and arced hard down into the water with a belly flop. The result was a splash so massive that it seemed to inundate the whole valley and drench his entire dream, dropping Owen straight out of unconsciousness and back into the calm, unadorned midnight of the cheap motel where the silent darkness was disturbed only by the fitful rumbling of the heater under the window and the snores of two human lovers and one pert dog.
Breakfast was at the Denny’s that stood, improbably, about a thousand feet down the otherwise uncommercialized highway from the motel. There had been a moment of drama getting ready head out, when Owen had come out of the steamy bathroom buck naked to find Gerardo staring down in distress at his too-small tee shirt, a well-worn, brick-red “I heart NY” number that was straining across his chest and hugging his shoulders so tightly the cotton fabric seemed to be under the misapprehension that it was really Lycra. Victor stood to one side frowning at him, his own shirt, a white button-down with a wavy, mesh-like navy blue pattern, hanging open over his hard, hairy pecs and tight, bumpy abs, the white fabric providing a compelling contrast with the dark tan of his skin. His dark jeans looked tight, too. So did Gerardo’s.
Owen leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his much larger chest. “Why did you pack a shirt that was too small?” he asked.
“I didn’t!” Gerardo protested.
“It didn’t shrink in the laundry, either,” Victor added before Owen could ask. “He wore it two days ago and it was fine. Snug, but not—this,” he finished, gesturing.
Owen admired Gerardo for a moment, then realized Victor was giving him a shrewd, penetrating look. “What?” he asked, genuinely confused, but Victor just raised an eyebrow.
Then it clicked. Owen felt a slow, wicked smile blooming across his face. Gerardo caught Victor’s expression first, then Owen’s, and froze. He looked at Owen doubtfully. “What are you doing to us?” Gerardo asked, and Owen could already detect an edge of excitement in his voice along with the concern.
Owen grinned wider. “Heck if I know,” he said honestly. “But I can’t wait to find out.”
They found a dark blue button-down for Gerardo to wear over his tee and, once Owen was dressed—with Owen noting silently to himself that his clothes seemed a little tight, too—they’d tromped down the highway shoulder to the lonely-looking Denny’s in the midst of nothing but farmland, Bandit trotting sedately behind them, even though when they got there he elected to wait outside. Why he hadn’t just waited at the motel, Owen didn’t know.
There were, surprisingly, plenty of cars in the parking lot and a fair quantity of people inside, including a number of families who seemed to come here periodically. The waiter, a tall, skinny guy with a lot of wavy, blond hair he kept having to comb back with his hand, even knew the two brothers. “Hey, Ger,” he said amiably. “You’re looking good. You too, Vic,” he added, a little less genially Then he fixed his eyes on Owen and actually gave his lips a long, slow lick. Owen couldn’t decide if he’d done it unintentionally, or if he’d known exactly what he was doing. “So,” the blond said, staring hard, “who’s this?”
Owen gave him a feral grin. “Trouble,” he answered.
“Mike, this is our friend Owen,” Victor said in a cautioning tone. From how close they were sitting on either side of him in the U-shaped booth Owen was sure it wasn’t hard to guess what kind of friend. “Can we get coffees first?” Victor added.
“Sure thing,” Mike said distractedly, before reluctantly tearing his eyes away from Owen to go fetch the coffee carafes.
“Buddy of yours?” Owen asked Victor pointedly.
Victor rolled his eyes. “He’s Ger’s ex,” he explained.
“He’s not my—” Gerardo started to say, sounding exasperated, before starting over. “We dated for a while, but he… wasn’t a lot of fun. You know… sexually.”
“He was bad in bed,” Owen translated with a smirk. He knew he didn’t have that problem.
Gerardo blushed a little. “Yeah. Plus he wanted to be exclusive. And, well, the pack…” He trailed off.
“He’s not one of us,” Victor explained in an undertone. “You can fuck around outside the community, but you’re not supposed to get serious with anyone.”
“Uh huh,” Owen said, scratching his beard. He looked at the brothers in turn. “So,” he said, “is me being around going to be causing problems for you guys?”
To his surprise, Victor’s grin was as big as Gerardo’s. “Fuck yeah,” he said. Under the table, he squeezed Owen’s mostly dormant dick through his faded jeans, and Owen suppressed a yelp.
“We’re not letting you go,” Gerardo added, and in his eyes Owen saw that he meant those words absolutely.
“Not ever,” Victor agreed. He sounded almost fierce about it.
It was Owen’s turn to blush a little.
“What are we talking about?” Mike asked cheerily as he returned, turning up the carafe to pour steaming coffee into Owen’s waiting mug.
“Fucking,” Owen answered. Mike’s hand jerked, splashing coffee onto the table in front of Owen.
“And other stuff,” Gerardo added. He glanced cautiously toward Owen from under his lashes.
Owen’s heart pounded at the sight of Gerardo giving him a look that was so furtive and yet brazenly hopeful. He gave him a soft smile. “Yeah,” he agreed. “And other stuff.” Victor’s hand gave his dick another squeeze, then moved to Owen’s meaty thigh and rested there.
Yeah. And other stuff.
There was a beat as the three of them sat there together, pondering possibilities. “Let me just get a rag real quick,” Mike said dejectedly after a moment. He set down the carafe and disappeared.
“So what I guess I don’t understand,” Owen said after a moment, pouring them each coffee, “is—if you two are local, why are you staying at the motel?”
“We were sent here,” Gerardo said with a shrug that strained his shirts. He started pouring sugars intro his coffee, two packets at a time. “The three of us were. I guess for you, but we didn’t know it at the time. We were just told there would be something strange out here, and maybe dangerous.”
Sent here? By the pack, Owen guessed, watching the sweetening continue with amusement. Strange, and maybe dangerous. His lips quirked at the description.
He turned to Victor, who confirmed, “One of our pack elders has dreams, and he—”
“You mean, like the one last night? At the lake?” Owen blurted out, without thinking. He was about to retract this statement—of course, the brothers wouldn’t know anything about what he’d dreamed last night—but then Gerardo gasped, and Victor paused, frowning at him.
“You… were at the lake?” Gerardo said, amazed.
“With you two,” Owen agreed, turning to him. He leaned forward conspiratorially. “I threw your brother in.”
Gerardo’s eyes widened, and he snorted a laugh. From his other side Victor said, “I knew it!” When Owen turned to look at him, though, Victor was smiling. “You are nothing but trouble,” the wolf shifter said, but he said it fondly, like that was one of the things he was starting to appreciate about Owen. The hand on his thigh felt to Owen like Victor was trying to make sure Owen stayed there and didn’t take his trouble over the horizon anytime soon.
Owen nodded unrepentantly. “I am,” he said. Then he bit his lip. “Then, that stuff in the dream—was that… real?”
Victor sobered. “Sort of,” he answered. He wrinkled his nose, like it wasn’t something that was meant to be explained or understood. “It’s like an echo, and it’s like an abstract painting of something real, and it’s like ‘yes’ and ‘maybe’ and ‘not yet’. It’s true, but it’s…” He foundered.
“It’s the wolf dream,” Gerardo said, sipping his coffee with another small shrug. “It just is.” Owen looked at him, thinking Gerardo probably navigated the dream a lot more intuitively than his brother. Gerardo added, “Elder Sam, though—he sees more in the dream than we do.”
Gerardo seemed to think that this Elder Sam saw things Gerardo didn’t particularly want to see. Owen started to ask if he was really going to cause a lot of problems for the brothers and their pack. But just then Mike returned, trying very hard to be all business, and Owen didn’t let himself ask after that. Instead he sat back and enjoyed breakfast with his men, Gerardo sitting close and Victor with his hand on his thigh whenever he didn’t need it for eating, and thought about the road ahead. Whether it was a dream or a reality or an alternate truth, he was going to try to find that lake again, and when he did he was bringing his pups with him.