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The wolf that lay curled at his feet was a mangy looking one, that didn’t look much like a wolf. And that was alright; people didn’t need to know and get needlessly suspicious or wonder where it had come from. Pretending that the wolf was a dog made things seem much less complicated than they were. Nollaig could feel the wolf’s back press against the bottom of his leather shoe, its steady breathing increasing or decreasing the pressure. It was a comfortable feeling, and a comforting one.
After all, as a prince of Seamair, Nollaig had to put up with meeting a large amount of people who frustrated him to a large extent. Sometimes he felt as if he were about to go insane from the idiocy of some of the people that he had to meet — particularly his uncle His Majesty the King.
He had just finished the last scheduled meeting of the day, and was finishing up the last of the documentation necessary. It wasn’t his favorite thing to do, but he was even less entertained by talking to people, so he saw it as the lesser of two evils.
He sighed, and rubbed his temples with the tips of his fingers. He felt the wolf move, and knew it had looked up, feeling Nollaig’s own movement. He collected the parchments, and rose from his chair. The wolf stretched, its paws in front of it against the floor, and it yawned. In silence, it accompanied Nollaig to Nollaig’s bedchamber, and he could feel as it watched him close and bolt the door.
As soon as the bolt was in place, Nollaig felt arms wrap around his waist, and a kiss press to his cheek. He could tell fingers were on his belt, and he felt and heard the rustle of fabric as his cloak fall to the floor between their feet.
“You can’t go any faster?” Nollaig asked, feeling the sarcasm make the other man smile against Nollaig’s spine at the back of his neck. “Once upon a time, maybe,” he replied, and Nollaig felt his voice against his skin, and he shivered. He bent down to unwrap the straps to one of his shoes, and the man, the wolf, quickly unwrapped the other with a practiced ease. Nollaig stepped out of his trousers when they were pushed down his ankles, and he was pushed up against the wall. His chest pressed against it, the fabric of his tunic the only barrier separating his skin from the wood, and he felt kisses and light nibbles against the back of his neck, and his throat. His fingers curled against the wood in response to the hot breath and the press of heated, hard flesh against his rear, able to feel it even through his tunic.
He glanced over his shoulder at his secret lover, the man who disguised himself as Nollaig’s pet, and the man smiled warmly, with a haze of desire over his face, and there was never any doubt as to whether or not Fintan truly loved him.
Fingers buried inside him and Nollaig curved his stomach toward the wall and his head toward Fintan’s shoulder.
Werewolves were far from well-liked in Seamair, but still one of its princes kept one in his close vicinity at all times, since some years back. That Fintan was a former druid whom Nollaig had known since long before the was bitten, and now disguised himself as the prince’s pet dog Faolan, was something that nobody knew, not even the few trusted friends that Nollaig had.
Nollaig turned around in Fintan’s embrace, facing him, and he wrapped his arms around him. When Fintan lifted him, braced against the wall to make it easier, Nollaig clutched the werewolf’s mess of hair in one hand and his bare shoulder in the other. He wrapped his legs around Fintan’s waist, and simply trusted, as he always would trust this man.
Fintan buried inside Nollaig, buried his cock until it could go no further in that position, and he momentarily paused to allow Nollaig some time to adjust. “It’s fine,” Nollaig murmured, nearly only a breath, a gasp, into Fintan’s ear. Fintan made a sound of barely contained, pure lust, buried his face in Nollaig’s shoulder, retracted it to kiss him deeply, and pulled out half the way before thrusting back inside.
Nollaig gasped for air, though he got it in well without issues, and his head swam. Desire rolled like a wave loud as thunder inside of him, and the clutched to Fintan tighter, moaned his name, and heard the sweet sound of his own name on Fintan’s tongue.
Fintan sank to the floor, still buried inside of Nollaig and with Nollaig in his lap, and he kissed him deeply. “Would you like to move to the bed, my prince, or should I simply push you to the floor?”
With a hazy mind still, Nollaig didn’t really care at all about moving to the bed. He simply wanted more of the man that he loved, and he shook his head, telling Fintan that he didn’t really care as long as they were together and didn’t stop this yet. Fintan let out a barely suppressed moan, grasped Nollaig, and pulled him in closer. It made Nollaig gasp, and he grasped Fintan’s face between his hands so that he could kiss him deeply.
“I can comply to that, my beautiful, beautiful,” Fintan murmured against Nollaig’s lips, and that was the most worthful of promises that he had heard all day.