we've gone too far beyond the borders, it's just you and i

Sometimes somethings are so unexpectedly beautiful and touching, and just... it's continually a surprise to me that people actually read these things or care, much less when they like them to the point of analyzing them (recognizing a Jules Verne influence, comparing it to a *Star Trek* episode asdfjkl; do you know what that does to me?). But when I actually make people feel things (outside of their pants)? It's almost too much. I love you, stop making me feel feelings, especially these weepy, warm, wonderful ones.

I am going to focus on that accidental alliteration right now, and not all these fuzzy, golden emotions in my belly. Also, I feel like I should share something to get me back in the mood to finish this story after writing a random sort of sports-themed story for Dreamspinner's upcoming sport Daily Dose thing. (It's not sport-related at all. I might call it, "This Is Not About Baseball" because it really isn't.) Then I thought I'd write Bertie trying not to be possessive when he sees Arthur surrounded by people who recognize how awesome he is, but I am too tired for concentrating right now. (Trying not grab onto him, trying to be good, but internally thinking "mineminemineminemine" and getting hotter every single second, and Arthur would know, of course he would, and eventually just walk up and stand near him so Bertie could reach out and just put one hand, just one hand, on his lower back, and curl his fingers into Arthur's belt loop and just *hold* and try not to cling.

But you know he wants to make grabby hands and touch Arthur's bare skin and rest his head on his shoulder while Arthur is working. minemineminemine

Anyway, I need to get back in the mindset required to finish this, and squee over a confused tiny werewolf (who is average-sized for a human but was not raised around other werewolves and so just doesn't know things he should know) and the big alpha wolf struggling manfully to not claim him until he has learned some werewolf things. So, this,


“Why would I be mad?” He gestured at Tim’s seatbelt. Tim sighed and buckled up. A few hours without seeing him and Nathaniel was getting jumpy and protective too. “Here,” Nathaniel said as he started the car, and didn’t look over as he shoved a bag across the bench seat toward him.

It was a shiny, handled bag filled with shredded paper. It looks like a giftbag. The last thing Tim expected to find in it was a book. He frowned as he flipped the pages right up until he got a good look at the words. Then he shut it and looked over the front and back covers in more detail.

“You got me porn?” he asked in disbelief. It was a collection of short stories, about werewolves, by a werewolf. “Ramona Greenleaf?” he read the name in shock. “As in…”

“Albert’s aunt. Kind of a local celebrity.” Nathaniel took a hand from the wheel to rub at his neck and shoulder. “She writes about men and women, but I thought it might help. There are links in the back, if you want to look up other things.”

“You got me porn,” Tim repeated, not sure this was happening except that the sting in his cheeks was only too familiar.

“You asked for it.” Nathaniel said it as if that was any kind of explanation. “Just don’t… Don’t while I’m around.” He didn’t say don’t what, but Tim could guess. Tim looked up at him, barely aware that they were leaving town. It would probably be a good idea to not look at the book right now, but he couldn’t help glancing down at the cover again.

It didn’t seem right to apologize for doing what felt natural, but then it wasn’t right to make someone else uncomfortable because of what he wanted.

“Tim,” Nathaniel started, “about last night.”

“I didn’t mean to bother you,” Tim broke in quickly. “Did I break some were protocol? Houseful of us and I never know when I can, and then there’s you and what happened. I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

“What?” Nathaniel snorted and shook his head. “Didn’t mean for what to happen?”

“My scent.” Tim realized he was smoothing his hands over the book over and over again and held them still. “Does it bother you like that all the time?”

“You have no idea.” The noise that came out of Nathaniel was almost a sigh. It seemed stranger, but no stranger than when Nathaniel squared his shoulders and continued to stare straight ahead. “But I can control myself.”

That… was not anything like what Tim had expected him to say. “What? No ‘your hormones are out of control, Little Wolf’?” Tim wondered out loud. “No ‘You need to get laid, kid’?” He shoved the book back into the bag and studied Nathaniel’s profile. Nathaniel glanced at him and a muscle twitched in his jaw, but he didn’t say anything.

Tim angled his head up and sniffed as discreetly as he could. It got Nathaniel’s attention anyway. He looked over at Tim with wide eyes but then had to watch the road. Tim sniffed again, licking his bottom lip this time because it seemed to help him catch more.

Nathaniel’s explanations would only start making sense when Tim started thinking more like a were. He swallowed the scent-infused spit in his mouth and considered the flavor.

Nathaniel smelled like he always smelled, maybe a little warmer in a way that made Tim want to keep inhaling, only with his mouth somewhere on Nathaniel’s skin. Nathaniel smelled like he always smelled, Tim thought again, only Tim was suddenly conscious that his own scent was muted. His own want scent was always there, like background noise. Like the wind. Nathaniel’s scent was very much in the car with them, and it was warm and getting warmer, and Tim’s scent—at least until that moment—wasn’t any stronger.

“Oh my god.” Tim exhaled at last. Nathaniel glanced at him, looking concerned, and Tim realized the excited beat of his heart probably sounded a lot like panic. He shook his head, then said, “Oh my god,” again in a slightly louder voice.

“Little Wolf?” Nathaniel had to go and make it worse, asking in that voice. Tim thought about rolling down a window, but it was too late, the knowledge, the victory in understanding a scent and the instincts that went with it, were already making him hot. He tossed his head and slid closer to the door, which wasn’t what he meant to do.

“I haven’t been influencing you at all,” he realized. “You feel that way anyway. Fucking fuck. That is… that is… what is that? What does that mean?” His grin lasted all of three seconds.

They were coming up on the house. Tim took a deep breath, kind of fascinated with how he could keep track of the separate scents now, two intertwining, lusty smells. No wonder he’d had it so bad, that hadn’t been just his desires he’d been reacting to.

“You’re attracted to me,” he announced in shock as Nathaniel parked the truck. Nathaniel turned to look at him, radiating heat and want.


I might be more articulate later on this subject, but honestly, I am teary-eyed.