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The Werewolf's New Plaything

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The only tavern in Dharovan is crowded with locals and travelers, rank with sweat and dirt. It’s a dingy place, with mediocre ale and the surliest bartender Ned Coldriver’s ever met. That suits him just fine; he doesn’t come to town for talk. The full moon’s in three days, and it’s one of those months the urges hit hard. He needs to burn off some steam before the change. Usually, he’d do that on a job—knock a few heads, slay a few serpents, liberate a few treasures. But the territory’s between wars right now, and besides, Ned’s been trying to retire.

None of the travelers look like his type tonight, though. A trio of burly mercenaries, a slew of tired merchants. A young knight with broad shoulders catches his attention briefly, but the knight’s in thick with his companions, and he looks like he knows how to use his sword. Ned isn’t looking for a fight tonight.

As for the locals—fucking his neighbors is like eating their sheep. That’s how wolves get driven out of town. Better to stick to prey no one will miss.

Ned waves for another ale. He’ll head home once he’s done with it, he decides. Not every hunt’s a success, and he still has time before the moon. He can head down the frozen river to Wintercrest tomorrow if he’s still feeling the urge. Coin can buy anything in a city that size.

The tavern door opens and shuts in a flurry of winter air. Ned glances back, curious, but doesn’t see anything through the crowd. All he catches is a faint, unfamiliar scent. Something sweet and warm—but as the air settles, it fades into the crowd.

The bartender refills his mug, and grunts the amount due. Ned fishes the copper out of his belt pouch and tosses it onto the bartop, then sips his ale. His wallet’s fuller than most around these parts. He figures that’s why the people of Dharovan tolerate him living out in their woods. They don’t see him much, but when they do, he pays well.

The moon isn’t full yet, but Ned’s senses are still wolf-sharp. That scent from earlier appears again, just as footsteps fall near-silently behind him. That’s all the warning he gets before—

He turns and grabs the offending hand just as it touches his belt pouch, a snarl building in his throat. “You’re making a poor choice in marks, kid.”

The brat has the nerve to laugh. “Sorry, sir, just bumped into you there. Crowded in here, huh?” Obnoxious, reckless, with a terrible sense of self-preservation. And he’s pretty.

Ned holds the would-be thief in place so he can inspect him more closely. The brat isn’t native to the territory. His dark traveling clothes are cut too close to his frame. The sort of winter gear they make down south, where they don’t get real winter.

But Ned’s more preoccupied with the pale skin, snow-white hair to his shoulders, wide blue eyes that seem to glow in the dim tavern light. He’s maybe-sixteen and skinny, and his features are so delicate Ned would’ve pegged him as an elf if not for the white cat’s ears poking through his hair. Ned looks further down, past a narrow waist, and sure enough there’s a long, fluffy tail twitching behind his thigh.

“Sir? You’re, uh, still holding me.” The little catboy’s voice is steady and light, but his lashing tail and pinned-back ears betray his nerves.

He’s right to be nervous. Ned’s found his quarry for the night.

Ned grins, and he knows how that makes the wyvern-claw scar down his cheek twist up horribly, a ragged white slash through his dark stubble. “I’m guessing you don’t have a thieving license, but don’t worry, I won’t tell the guild mistress. Sit down,” he says. “I’ll buy you a drink.”

The catboy’s eyes widen, then narrow. His pulse stutters in Ned’s grasp. He seems like he’s calculating something, until suddenly he relaxes. “I’m no thief,” he says, still smiling. “But thanks, I’ll take that drink.”

The second Ned lets go of his arm, he’s off like an arrow. A flash of white hair darting through the crowd. Another flurry of cold air, and the tavern door thuds shut.

Ned chuckles to himself and turns back to the bar to finish his ale. May as well give the kid a head start.

Ten minutes later, he stands outside and inhales deeply. The sun’s sinking down and the moon hasn’t risen, but Ned won’t need light for this hunt. He can smell the catboy as clearly as if he was in front of him—a clear track west out of Dharovan. Probably heading for Wintercrest.

Ned takes another deep breath, savoring the anticipation. As he exhales, he releases the wolf inside him. Not the full change, just enough to strain the seams of his coat with his broadening shoulders. His bones shift slightly, taller, faster. He shakes his head, adjusting to the widening jaw, the jagged teeth. When his skin settles again, he takes off at an easy lope out of town.

A thin layer of snow crunches under his feet. The temperature’s dropping as the day fades. The clear sky glitters with cold stars, but there are clouds building to the east. Not a big storm—that’ll be tomorrow. Tonight’s just a good night for a hunt, and a bad night for running away.

Ned catches up to the catboy half a candlemark later, just as the moon’s rising. He hears him first, light footsteps crunching around the next bend in the road. But feline ears are keen too. As soon as he’s in earshot, he hears his prey break into a sprint. Grinning, jaw open to taste the scent on the air, Ned runs after him.

A disappointingly short time later, Ned reaches his quarry. The kid’s leaning against a tree, panting desperately. His white hair gleams against the dark tree trunk. Something else gleams too—a knife in his gloved hand.

“Stay back,” he hisses.

It’s adorable.

Ned halts just out of range. He’s barely worked up a sweat, but for a second, he goes dizzy with the catboy’s overwhelming scent. Such an intoxicating cocktail of exertion and fear, with that same undercurrent of sweetness that had caught his attention at the bar. Here in the clear, clean night, unmuddled by the rest of the crowded tavern, he can identify the scent at last: the catboy’s going into heat soon. Not tonight, not for another week at least. But within the month.

Perfect. It’s no fun if the prey’s too enthusiastic at first. But after a few weeks of regular play—yes, a heat might be fun.

“That knife’s not going to do you much good.” His voice is rough, broken up by his fangs in the partial shift. “Be a good kitten and drop it now.”

He can hear the breath catch in that thin throat. A flash of movement is his only warning before the knife flies towards him. But the boy’s clumsy with fear, and the knife goes wide. Ned lunges forward as the boy attempts to run again.

Just two long strides and he has him. He slams him back against the tree, claw-tipped hand hard against his neck. The kid squirms against his grip, yanking on his arm, kicking futilely until Ned presses close enough that his legs can’t get leverage. He claws with gloved fingers at Ned’s hand, to no avail.

Ned holds him in place. The moonlight’s bright enough now he can make out every detail of the beautiful, terrified face. Such wide eyes, shining like mirrors. His pulse hammers so fast, and his breathing’s so shallow, Ned’s surprised he hasn’t passed out yet.

“There,” Ned says. “Now you and me can get properly acquainted.”

The catboy snarls. “Let go of me!”

Like that’s going to happen. Ned grins down at him. “I’m Ned Coldriver. What’s your name?”

The catboy just glares.

“No name? That’s fine. I can call you… Snowflake? Mittens?”

“Sasha!”

“There we go, Sasha. See, this is going to go better if you cooperate.” His breath ghosts over Sasha’s lips, and he feels the shudder of revulsion where they touch. Fuck, he’s half tempted to turn the kid over and take him right here. But the night’s getting late and cold, and a little anticipation will make this all the sweeter.

He lets go without warning, stepping back. Sasha crumples to his knees, clutching his aching throat.

“Come on,” Ned says, turning away. “Remember, running’s just a waste of both our time.”

He doesn’t look behind him as he starts towards his cabin. Part of him hopes Sasha won’t be smart. He likes the chase, after all. But after a few moments, he hears Sasha get to his feet and start to follow.

****

They’re halfway to Ned’s cabin when Sasha breaks the silence. “Where are we going?”

“My place.”

“How much further is it?” His voice is too loud in the clear, quiet night. He still hasn’t lost his veneer of bravado.

Ned stops and looks back. Sasha’s fallen a few paces behind. Bravado aside, he looks exhausted. Bedraggled. It’s a good look on him, but maybe a break would do them both some good. Ned grins. “Another half candlemark. How’re you feeling?”

Sasha scowls and hugs himself. Clearly doesn’t consider that worth an answer.

Ned just grins wider. “You look cold, kitten. Let’s stop a minute and warm you up.”

He prowls forward as Sasha stumbles backwards. “No—fuck—I’m fine,” he protests. But he’s shivering in his too-thin coat.

Or maybe that’s just fear, as his back hits a tree.

Ned reaches out to run his claws tenderly down Sasha’s cheek. Sasha closes his eyes and shudders, ears low and meek. Ned concentrates, forcefully rejecting the moon’s call, and after a moment, the shift begins to reverse. His jaw retracts, his shoulders lose a few inches of breadth, and slowly his fingers change from claws to blunt, broad fingertips. Claws have their uses, but he wants more dexterous hands for this. “Are you a virgin, Sasha?”

“Don’t touch me!” Sasha hisses. He tries diving to the side, but Ned traps him easily. Even unshifted, it’s easy to gather both his wrists in Ned’s much-larger hand, high above his head. He holds them tight against the tree trunk, a few inches too high, forcing Sasha onto his toes and stretching him out beautifully for Ned to enjoy.

“I’m guessing that’s a yes.” It’s awkward with just one hand, and with the delicious way Sasha keeps squirming, but he manages to get Sasha’s belt open and unlace his trousers. He gets his fingers up under his shirt, just touching his belly. Hardly anything, but Sasha yelps as their skin connects. “Don’t worry, I’m not fucking you out here.”

He doesn’t fancy getting his dick out in weather this cold.

Somehow, Sasha doesn’t seem reassured. His breath quickens as Ned shoves his hand down his trousers, and when Ned grabs his cock, he makes the most beautiful gut-punch choking sound. His cock feels small and soft against Ned’s palm. He isn’t enjoying this at all.

“You should be grateful I’m treating you so nice,” Ned tells him, just for the delightful way Sasha hisses in anger. Then he tugs harder on the soft little cock, drawing out the sweetest whine. The sound goes straight to Ned’s animal instincts. He presses closer, savoring the feel of the small body under his control.

He gentles his touch, stroking tenderly from base to tip. The angle’s awkward, and Sasha’s pants are too tight to allow easy movement, but he doesn’t need anything dramatic. The closeness makes it better, that extra heat and friction. He reaches further down and palms Sasha’s balls, tugging gently; that earns him a gasp and more struggling, and he has to tighten his grip on Sasha’s wrists against the tree.

“Hold still,” he growls. That earns a gasp too. Ned grins, a satisfying heat building in his belly. No matter how scared and unwilling Sasha is, there’ll be some deep-rooted animal instinct that responds to the overpowering presence of a stronger beast.

Sasha ducks his head away, the most he can hide while pinned like this. All the easier for Ned to bury his face in the little catboy’s neck and breathe against his skin.

There.

He feels the jump against his hand as Sasha reacts to that. He exhales again, hot air against Sasha’s pulse, and pumps his cock. Slowly, gradually, so slowly he’s starting to feel the burn in his arm, Sasha’s cock starts to fill in his hand.

“Enjoy this while it lasts,” Ned rumbles against his neck. “It’s the most fun you’ll have all night.”

Sasha groans and squirms uselessly. “You bastard.”

Ned laughs, kissing his pulse, and continues pumping. It’s starting to go smoother now that Sasha’s hard and leaking. “Relax, kitten. Doesn’t this feel good?”

“N-no,” he says, even as his hips jerk instinctively forward. He’s starting to lose his tenuous control. His pheromones are going wild.

Ned inhales, filling his lungs with the catboy’s lust and fear. He needs to finish this before he loses control too. He growls low in his chest and quickens his pace, moving steadily as Sasha jerks and gasps against him. “Come on, Snowflake.”

His teeth scrape gently against Sasha’s throat, a threat and a promise, and he tightens his grip, and that’s it. Sasha cries out, arching rigid against him. Ned feels the wet release into his palm. He keeps moving through it, firmly stroking Sasha’s pulsing cock, until his moans sharpen with the pain of overstimulation. He indulges in one last stroke, rubbing his thumb over the hot, oversensitive head, before withdrawing his hand.

He presses one last kiss to Sasha’s neck. “See? That wasn’t so bad.”

He wipes his seed-covered hand down the front of Sasha’s coat. Sasha must be pretty stunned; he doesn’t react to that at all. Ned takes some care lowering his wrists, steadying him on his feet. The kid leans limply against him as his breathing slows.

Ned can tell the moment he recovers from the orgasm. He tenses and tries to push out of his grip. Ned ruffles his hair fondly, then lets him go. Sasha only stumbles a few steps away, holding one hand over his mouth like he’s going to be sick.

The rest of the world starts to materialize again around them. The night’s getting darker as the clouds above blank out more of the stars, shrouding the silver moon. Ned claps his hands together, shakes out his wrists. Fuck, that took longer than he thought it would. Thought his hand was going to cramp up trying to get that frigid catboy off.

“Enough lazing about. Let’s get going.”

Sasha looks like he’s so shocked, he’ll freeze in place. But when Ned grabs his arm and pulls him forward, he starts stumbling along obediently enough.

Fuck, he’s going to be fun to play with, Ned thinks, as the first light flakes of snow start falling.

****

Ned’s cabin waits in the thick of the woods. He built it a few years back, with the help of a hired witch to dig the cellar into stone and build the walls up right. It’s not an impressive place, even though with his career successes he could have built himself a mansion in the merchants’ side of Wintercrest, or a whole damn castle down in Redvale.

He likes the solitude of the northern woods, though, and he likes his cabin. Two rooms and a cellar, and a smokehouse out back. Thick walls to keep the cold out. The perfect place to hang up his greataxe and stretch his claws and enjoy the simple pleasures of retirement.

One of those simple pleasures is now glued to his side. The snow’s falling more heavily, and Sasha seems to have overcome his distaste for Ned’s touch in favor of not freezing to death. He doesn’t even protest when Ned wraps a protective arm around his narrow shoulders.

“You know, the only reason you’re cold and miserable right now is because you tried running,” Ned says, squeezing him closer. “If you’d just let me buy you a drink, we’d be home and cozy by now.”

The only reply is a muffled, “Bastard.”

Then they’re tramping up to the cabin’s front door. Ned shuffles Sasha out of the way enough to grab his key, then shoves the boy in. The thick door swings shut behind them with a satisfying thud, and Ned can’t help grinning. He’s home, and the hunt is over. It’s time to properly claim his prey.

The main room of the cabin is the largest; a rough kitchen takes up one end, with a dining table in the middle. The inmost wall is lined with cabinets, some locked, some not. The other end is taken up with two huge, plush chairs—one well-worn and broken in, the other only used by guests once in a blue moon—and a huge, comfortable direbear-skin rug spread out before the massive fireplace.

“Take those wet clothes off while I start up the fire,” Ned says, and shoves Sasha totteringly towards the rug.

He leaves his boots by the door and his coat on its hook, then gets to work on the fire. The embers are still smoldering—there’s a charmed brick in the chimney that keeps the flames in place, so he doesn’t have to worry about anything exploding while he’s out of the house—and all he has to do is toss a few more logs on from the pile against the wall. He ducks back into his bedroom to tuck his belt pouch safely away from wandering hands, and to grab a bottle of oil.

When he returns to his new pet, he frowns. Sasha managed to take his boots off and leave them by Ned’s, but now he’s just standing there in his socks and all the rest of his wet clothes, staring blankly into the crackling fire.

Ned folds his arms. “I don’t like repeating myself.”

Sasha jumps at the sound of his voice, his fluffy tail lashing. His big blue eyes go even wider when he sees the bottle in Ned’s hand. “Please,” he whispers. “I don’t want…”

“Two choices. Take your clothes off, or I’ll rip them off for you.”

Sasha’s eyes flick towards the door. Towards the shuttered windows. It’s fascinating to watch the calculations cross his pretty face, weighing the possibility of escape now against the necessity of keeping his clothes intact to escape later. Eventually, he swallows hard. Eyes downcast, he tugs off his gloves and drops them, then lifts his hands to the neck of his coat.

Too bad. Ned would have enjoyed the second option.

This isn’t bad, though, watching the wet winter layers peel off. It’s a slow process, as Sasha’s trembling hands struggle with belts and buckles. Dark fabric falls away, revealing more layers of clothing beneath, before at last baring new pale skin to Ned’s hungry eyes. Ned’s blood pools downwards as Sasha finally strips off his flimsy undershirt. There’s a brief moment where he straightens and stands still, and Ned can’t look away from his lean lines, the way the firelight gilds his ribs. His skin’s smooth and hairless, without any scars Ned can see so far. He’ll have to look him over carefully to see for sure.

Without all the layers, Sasha’s even skinnier than Ned had thought. A perfect size to play with.

His belt and trousers are still undone from their fun out in the woods, and the fabric hangs enticingly from his sharp hipbones. Sasha’s eyes meet Ned’s briefly, before he bends down to pull his socks off first. Then he straightens again, his face pink, and hesitates. His tail swishes.

“I’d still be happy to shred the trousers,” Ned offers helpfully.

Sasha hisses, blushing furiously, and shoves off his trousers and smallclothes. As he steps out of the clothes, his hands move forward, then curl into tight, angry fists at his sides, as if he realizes how silly it is to cover himself up at this point. He’s completely soft again, his little handful of a cock pink between his white thighs. His tail half-curls around his thigh.

Ned whistles. “Fuck, you’re a pretty thing.” He tosses the bottle of oil onto the rug and starts unbuttoning his own shirt. It’s a quicker process than Sasha’s undressing; Ned’s wolfish physiology keeps him far warmer naturally. If his hands are clumsy too, it’s with eagerness, not nerves.

Sasha’s still looking at his feet for most of it, but when Ned kicks off his underwear, he looks up. And Ned’s not usually one to brag, but the way Sasha’s eyes widen in horror is delicious. Ned grins and grabs his cock, teasingly pumping its thick length. “You think this’ll fit, kitten?”

“Please,” Sasha says, his voice gone squeaky. “Please, let me—I’ll be good, I’ll jerk you off. Just let me jerk you off instead.”

“No, I think it’ll fit.” Ned stalks forward. “Have some confidence in yourself.”

This time, Sasha’s too shaky and scared to run. He stands frozen still for Ned to lay his hands on him, to run rough, open palms up his back. Sasha’s skin is so smooth and pale against Ned’s. He’s not as tan as he used to be when he roamed down south, but he’s still got the scars and burns of a complicated career, and the coarse dark hair almost peltlike down his arms and chest.

He can practically circle Sasha’s entire waist with his hands. He digs his thumbs into the sensitive hollows of his hips, drawing out a shudder, and pulls Sasha against him. Sasha gasps, hands up as if to shove him away, but the gesture’s useless. Ned’s grip is like iron. He slowly rocks his hips forward, rubbing the length of his hard cock against Sasha’s soft belly.

Fuck, that feels good. Dangerously good—Sasha whimpers, and Ned realizes his hands have started to shift. He takes a deep breath, pushing back the wolf. He can play rough with his new toy when the full moon arrives. Best to ease him into it.

Sasha really has no idea how nice he’s being tonight.

Ned ruts up against him one last time, then shoves him to his knees. “Ass up, like a good boy.”

Sasha bites his lip. His knees sink into the dark purple-black fur of the direbear skin. He looks pitiful, with his ears back and his eyes wide. But he seems to realize that begging won’t get him anywhere tonight. He closes his eyes briefly, shoulders shaking, then twists around onto his hands and knees. His tail hangs low between his legs, only the tip twitching slightly.

Almost what Ned had in mind, but not quite. He kneels heavily behind Sasha, noting the way the catboy flinches every time he moves. He retrieves the bottle of oil. He runs one hand down Sasha’s back, from the nape of his neck over sharp shoulderblades, rubbing soothingly into the lean muscles of his back. Slowing down as he reaches the faint curve of his ass, the soft base of his tail—yeah, that’s sensitive, judging from the twitch and the breathy whimper.

He runs his hand back up, kneading into trembling-tense muscles. Then he presses down between Sasha’s shoulders. Sasha resists at first, but the pressure’s too much. He pushes until Sasha’s face and chest press into the rug, thin arms bent before him. The steep angle arches his back, pushing his skinny ass up into the air. Ned’s back aches just looking at him, but the little catboy should be flexible enough to hold the position comfortably. If not, well. He can hold it uncomfortably. That works for Ned too.

“That’s a pretty sight.” Ned pets along his spine a moment more, then squeezes into one well-presented buttock. It’s a satisfying handful, though not a lot of give to it. He kneads as he continues. “This is what I mean by ‘ass up.’ Remember that for next time.”

“No,” Sasha chokes. “There’s not…”

Ned laughs and pats his ass. “We’re going to have plenty of next times, kitten. Now, time to relax and have some fun tonight, all right?”

Sasha only tenses up more at that.

Ned uncorks the bottle and pours a generous amount into his palm. He sets the bottle aside as he works his wet hand up his cock. He’s rock-hard in anticipation, and the heat building inside him has nothing to do with the roaring fire. He could probably get off in a few strokes just looking at the sight before him. But he holds off, breathing deep and slow to control himself. He wants to properly claim his prize.

He crowds behind Sasha and with his left hand grabs the base of his tail, pulling it up and out of the way. Sasha flinches, his tail lashing, but Ned’s grip is too firm to escape. He holds him still while he admires the little pink hole now revealed. The sensitive skin looks so vulnerable and exposed, pushed upwards like this.

Fuck, he just wants to ram into him. But running oil-slick fingers through his cleft is pretty fun too. The smooth pink skin twitches at his touch, especially when he starts massaging into the pucker. He takes his time, slicking up the outside, his blunt fingertip occasionally pushing partway in. Ned looks down, and sees Sasha’s little cock plumping up with the stimulation.

“You like that?” he asks, his voice starting to go husky with want.

Sasha just buries his face and whimpers. It turns into a full-on whine, and he claws the fur in front of him when Ned shoves his finger in. The tight heat encases him, and he pumps roughly into his new plaything. There’s no point in stretching him out—no amount of fingering will relax the squirming catboy enough to take his cock without complaint. He just wants to coat the tight little channel with enough oil to make it possible.

At last he can’t wait anymore. He withdraws his finger and moves closer up behind Sasha. His thick cock slaps heavily onto Sasha’s hole, and he slides up and down his oiled-up cleft, teasingly. He adjusts his left hand’s grip on Sasha’s tail, tugging upwards to force the catboy’s ass even higher. Then he shifts his hips and starts pressing forward.

For a moment, he thinks maybe Sasha had the right idea after all. His cock looks thick and red and massive against the tiny catboy’s body, like it couldn’t possibly fit in.

But no one ever called Ned a quitter. He works his thumb in, opening up the tight hole just enough for him to get his head in. After that, it’s just a matter of effort. He shoves forward in shallow thrusts, forcing just a bit further each time he moves. Sasha whimpers and struggles, maybe even says something, but Ned can barely hear him. His blood rushes and he can’t hear anything else, can’t pay attention to anything but the incredible heat around his cock, and the sight of the little hole stretched wide around him, growing redder and redder under the sheen of oil.

Grunting with the effort, Ned yanks on Sasha’s tail and rocks forward, finally sheathing his cock fully. His hairy thighs rub against Sasha’s smooth ones. He waits there a moment to catch his breath and appreciate the feel of the catboy’s body clenching around him, like he’s trying desperately, futilely, to force him back out.

He slaps Sasha’s hip lightly with his free hand. “I knew you could take it, Snowflake.”

His only answer is a broken moan.

Ned moves experimentally. He slides easier in and out now that his oil-covered cock has penetrated all the way in, slicking up Sasha’s insides. He lets go of the tail to lean forward, bracing one hand on the rug, and thrusts. The new angle drives him even deeper into his catboy’s body. He thrusts again, again, falling into a relentless pace.

His other hand drops beneath Sasha, exploring casually. He presses his palm up against his stomach, and with every forceful thrust he can feel his cock pressing up through the flat muscles. It’s like the little catboy was specially made to react to this onslaught, to be fucked like this.

He plays with Sasha’s cock—gone completely soft again with the shock of penetration. Ned finds the softness is unexpectedly, powerfully arousing, along with the thought that Sasha isn’t going to come from this. He’s not an equal, he’s not a partner. He’s a toy to be used and abused, and his body’s only purpose right now is to service his captor. Ned fondles him for a few thrusts, tugging at the delicate, unresponsive flesh, rolling him roughly between his fingers, before taking a firm hold of his hip. He needs the grip to keep them both upright, and besides, Sasha had his turn out in the woods already.

Ned drives in harder, faster, gradually losing all sense of rhythm. He’d like to drag this out longer, but his kitten just feels so hot and good on his cock, he can’t hold back. He snarls, dropping his forehead onto Sasha’s back, and sheathes himself all the way in. His orgasm unfurls through his entire body, like the moon’s change, an all-consuming shift in being. He shudders over his pinned prey, shooting his load deep inside.

He rests there, twitching through the last of his release. He’s probably leaning too hard on Sasha, who’s breathing ragged and shallow and isn’t squirming anymore. Ned inhales deeply, taking in the scent of sweat and sex, the way he’s gotten his own scent all over Sasha.

He withdraws reluctantly from his whimpering toy. Sliding out’s easier now that his erection’s fading. He collapses half-sitting next to Sasha, looks him over.

“You were great, kitten.” He catches the lashing tail again to hold it gently out of the way. He wants to inspect his handiwork. “Even better than I thought you’d be.”

Sasha’s hole looks just as tight as when Ned started; the only evidence of his intrusion is how red and puffy it’s gotten from overstimulation. Ned lets go of the tail to dip his fingers back into the slick cleft. He rubs his pet’s hole, feels how wet and warm and well-used it is. Sasha whimpers, but doesn’t protest or even try to move, when Ned pushes two thick fingers in. Fuck, the little hole’s still so tight. He plays idly with his toy, pumping in and around with no particular rhythm, as he thinks about what to do next.

He likes the thought of bundling Sasha into the bedroom for easy access whenever he wakes up. But as cute and cuddly as he’ll probably once properly tamed, the brat definitely isn’t tamed yet. Ned has a feeling he’d wake up with a knife in his throat if he tried taking Sasha to bed at this point.

He twists his fingers, tugging up against the rim, before pulling out with a filthy wet sound. He pats Sasha’s flank and stands up with a low groan.

Ned feeds another log to the fire, then gathers up the discarded clothes and moves to his bedroom. The clothes go on the floor, and his attention goes to a large trunk at the foot of his bed. His cabin is stuffed improbably with cabinets and chests of treasures accumulated over his adventuring career, but this trunk contains far more practical, personal gear.

He returns to the main room with a pair of manacles and a knife. The iron manacles clink together, dangling from his fist.

Sasha’s curled up on his side now, knees against his chest and tail around his knees, face buried in his arms. He curls in tighter when Ned crouches down over him, and Ned has to pull his arms out to lock the manacles around his wrists one at a time. He tugs at them, testing, until he’s sure they’re not too big for Sasha’s thin hands. “Try not to yank on these too much, you’ll only hurt yourself.”

The manacles are attached together by a one-foot length of chain. Ned pulls Sasha unresisting across the rug to lay the middle of the chain over the bare floorboards. He takes the knife and, summoning a hint of his supernatural strength, drives the knife through a link of chain and deep into the floor. The blade goes right through the center of the link, but the hilt holds it in place. Should give Sasha room enough to twist around and get comfortable on the fur rug, but not enough to stand up or even crawl off the rug.

Sasha’s hands clench into fists, but he doesn’t say anything.

Ned ruffles his soft white hair and ears, then gets to his feet. “Sleep well, kitten. You’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”