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Kyouji is not the type to take in strays.
Vampires, non-vampires (especially non-vampires) alike, he hates ‘em all. He’s been on this spinning ball of dust too long to care about anything or anyone else.
He’s been stabbed in the back - literally and figuratively - countless times, cheated on, lied to, and worst of all, used by the one person he trusted most. As far as he’s concerned he’s been roaming around for long enough (definitely too long) and he’s not sure he can bother with conjuring the energy required to be conscious; taking a long, deep slumber in his coffin for the rest of this infernal eternity sounds like a good plan.
At least, until he finds him.
He’s just a runt he met on his travels, a kid with the scent of a wolf pup pre-transformation. The youngster has clearly never seen a full moon, and as awful as it may be, Kyouji is glad to have met him pre-transformation since the only relationship a vampire can have with a werewolf is kill or be killed. The beginning of the lycan era is a little before his time, but he knows better than these wet-behind-the-ears vamps with their new-age beliefs that inter-species mingling is a bad idea, to put it plainly. Especially non-vampires. Again - not anything personal. Just not his cup of tea to hang out with someone that could murder him; to each his own, though.
That initial run-in was just a few weeks ago and Kyouji is torn between acting as friend or foe when he picks up the kid’s scent again. He’s got a very particular smell, ripe with scaredy-cat sweat and the robust hormones of prepubescence. Kyouji scans the area and notices a slender, short shadow quivering behind a tree.
“Satomi-kun?”
Little ears appear on the shadow, then the rest of the pup’s face pops out from behind the moss-covered trunk.
“K-Kyouji-san?”
“What are ya doing here this time of night? Somebody coulda eaten ya up by now.”
Satomi nods pitifully, his eyes darting side to side. “Is it safe now? W-With you?”
Kyouji licks his pointed teeth. “With me? Of course.”
Maybe he can just keep him around as a snack.
The poor kid doesn’t have anyone to rely on anyway and he’s sweet looking with those big, golden-yellow sunflower eyes and taped up glasses. Kyouji finds him a new pair to start off, cos he looks ridiculous walking around in his old pair. It helps that the kid is easy to manipulate, too. Kyouji doesn’t have to say or do much to convince Satomi to let him feed on him.
Okay, sometimes it does leave a bad taste in his mouth. What doesn’t leave a bad taste in his mouth, however, is the flavor of his blood.
“Satomi-kun, just one bite? I'm starvin' and I don't wanna feed on a stranger.”
The pup eagerly nods, eyes wide as he offers up his wrist to Kyouji. Kyouji shakes his head in a mixture of astonishment and excitement as he licks Satomi’s pulse point, inhaling deeply. When he inhales he instinctively detracts his fangs, letting them out to play as he sinks into Satomi’s supple, snow-white flesh. The thing about werewolf blood - it’s only slightly dangerous to vampires; since Satomi isn’t a full-fledged werewolf, it’s akin to a gentle stinging sensation as it goes down his throat and into his esophagus, a pleasant numbness. It’s a taste he hasn’t had in almost a century, so he savors his delicate flavor and thoroughly enjoys every drop.
Satomi seems to enjoy being bitten, too, by the little hard-on he sports every time. And since he so willingly gives it up just for him, Kyouji always lets him lick his fangs clean. But the look on his little face, the pure ecstasy as he uses his tiny tongue to lick away the evidence of Kyouji’s crime, well, it's just too precious to say no.
After weeks of consistent and copacetic cohabitating, Satomi seems different one night.
He looks unbearably itchy, like something is gnawing away at him from the inside, trying to claw its way out through sheer force of will. When Kyouji glances at the sliver of indigo sky peeking through their window, he realizes there will be a full moon tomorrow.
But Satomi is fine and dandy the next day. He looks normal - the same old tired face, with that somber expression of faux indifference.
Kyouji spends a good amount of time outside that evening, stocking up on a few things at the store to ensure both of their survival. It’s pretty late when he gets back, but the moon isn’t quite shining yet. He wonders, how young is too young for the change? He can’t remember - he chalks it up to several lifetime’s worth of memory clogging his reserves. But Satomi is definitely at the age where he can turn at any opportunity, probably just shy of 14, maybe 15 years old. With no parents and no birth certificate lying around he can’t know for sure.
Regardless, he does the best he can, chaining the boy down and locking him up in the cellar of the shitty shack they call a home. He does this for twelve months, for twelve moons, for twelve harrowing nights he hears Satomi’s screams of agony and terror as they rip through his petite frame, the muffled sobs wracking his body audible through the shoddy wooden door. He imagines this is what motherhood is like, what being a parent is like - hearing your baby cry out for you from their crib every night and fighting the urge to pick them up, hold them, soothe them.
It’s horrible just listening, so he can only imagine the absolute torment Satomi is in as he fights off the evil inside himself. The next day he’s always quiet, but in a less forlorn way than usual; it’s a pensive, melancholic sort of solemnness, like he’s happy to have survived, but painfully aware that he only has so many more nights before he can’t fight it anymore.
The day comes sooner than Kyouji would like. This year there’s some fancy pants blue moon, a 13th full moon that’s a little uncommon, but not nearly as rare as everyone is making it seem. On this night - to his shock and horror - Satomi manages to escape the careful web of chains and locks and traps he’s set inside the cellar. He almost tears Kyouji apart, too, barely cognizant in his newly awakened form.
Kyouji stays inside the safety of (what’s left of) their shack until sunrise, when peeks of light shining through the cracked, broken front door remind him that he’s still alive in spite of it all. All night he endured the blood-curdling screams and incessant wailing - not from Satomi, but from the humble people of this small town.
He follows the path of destruction outside their door to find Satomi in the middle of the town square, covered in blood and viscera like some newborn babe of horror. He’s back in his little pup form, furry ears stained red and petite body shaking. Kyouji carries him back to the house, plopping him on the creaky wooden floors as he sets up the bath. While the water runs, Satomi suddenly stirs awake.
His first act of sobriety is to grab onto Kyouji for dear life, still trembling, but with a different kind of fear - the kind of fear he will never truly grow accustomed to as a monster.
“Ky-Kyouji-s-san, I-I-”
“Shh, shh,” Kyouji murmurs. He tucks him in his embrace, wrapping his arms around him and rubbing soothing circles on his back. Satomi’s cries are eerily loud against the quiet of the town, crystal clear as the sun rises and a new dawn greets them with their devastating reality.
Kyouji leaves it all behind to take care of him, but it’s not like he sacrificed much. It’s a small price to pay to keep him safe. He manages to find a nice cabin, deep in the woods and far away from anyone else.
The geezer there didn’t stand a chance, anyway - a bear would have eaten him sooner or later.
As the years pass, Satomi grows before his eyes into a young adult. He’s at a point where he can almost fully control his urges in his werewolf form. He’s a bit too strong for Kyouji’s liking, though, and when he has a really bad day, Kyouji is the only one that can put himself in harm’s way and redirect those primal urges. That’s when he lets Satomi bite him, those huge teeth bearing down into his shoulder. He imagines this is what motherhood is like, what being a parent is like as Satomi nibbles on him like an infant teething on a frozen block of ice.
Or maybe he’s more like a giant chew toy.
“Satomi-kun, shit, be careful,” he groans.
“B-But, my canines hurt, Kyouji-san…”
So he lets him bite him wherever and whenever he wants.
Kyouji always hisses in pain as his canines sink in, that initial sting from the breaking of his skin. Satomi whines at the sound, licking at the wound as Kyouji strokes his hair to soothe him. He makes a bit of a fuss, but really, he can hurt Kyouji all he wants; if it's Satomi, it’s okay if it hurts. It’s gotten to the point that his neck, shoulders, upper back and the fragile skin near his collarbones are covered in scars from being gnawed on like a dog with a bone.
And like the sweet boy he is, he opens his mouth when he’s done so Kyouji can lick his teeth until they’re clean.
“Thank you.”
“Good?”
“Yeah.”
Soon - before Kyouji realizes it - Satomi is a fully grown wolf-man. He’s as short as ever, barely reaching Kyouji’s shoulder, but he’s filled out a little more, his jawline sharper, his cheeks less soft. Satomi is also stronger than him now, overwhelmingly so, yet something about him still screams pup, still makes Kyouji see him as his baby boy; he just can’t help it.
There’s just one teeny, tiny problem.
Satomi is currently at an age where he’s perpetually horny and it’s ruining Kyouji’s pristine and innocent image of him. There’s loads of cum stuffed in his socks, absolutely dripping with the potent substance as Kyouji picks them out of the laundry basket. And werewolf cum is perpetually liquidy (in case you weren’t aware, because Kyouji certainly wasn’t). He takes a whiff of the sock in his hand, and the lingering scent of sweat combined with Satomi’s musky, warm pheromones make his lifeless dick twitch.
Satomi is certainly not his little pup anymore, which is made very clear when he corners him that day, trapping Kyouji in between his defined forearms.
“Kyouji-san,” he murmurs. “I don’t feel too good.”
“What’s wrong?” His heart beat quickens, sweat trickling from his forehead. Is this when it happens? When his benevolent act gets punished and he’s eaten by the boy he raised?
Satomi looks possessed, his pupils dark as his eyes dart around the room. “I-I feel hot. I feel so warm. I feel like… my thing… something is wrong with it.”
“Your… thing?”
Satomi gulps and looks down, his head tilting as Kyouji follows his line of sight to the prominent bulge poking out his pants.
He’s definitely not a little pup anymore. He’s a big pup.
Kyouji licks his lips, taking his hands to Satomi’s shoulders. How long has it been since he touched him like this? When did his shoulders become this sturdy, this hardy? It’s probably from all the firewood he carries to keep their home warm, or maybe it’s from the stones he breaks day in and day out to patch up holes in the shoddy exterior. Either way, he’s taken aback by how much Satomi has grown when he wasn’t looking. The days and weeks and months blur together, until the image of the man before him is all he can focus on.
“Okay, let Kyouji-san help you.”
Kyouji has taken many, many women to bed. He has taken a few men to bed, as well (it was a different time in his life). But no matter who, he was always the giver, thus he is not well versed in the ways of taking.
Yet he finds himself on all fours, legs spread apart as Satomi’s tongue laps and slurps at his hole like a dog licking their dinner bowl clean.
“Satomi-kun, it’s r-really not, ngh, it’s okay.”
The vacuum Satomi has formed with his mouth makes a wet noise as he pops off from his rear. Kyouji feels his viscous saliva trickle down his taint and around the curve of his balls until it stains the clean sheets. Tsk. He just washed those.
“I have to make sure you’re wet.”
“I promise, it’ll be fine. G’head.”
Kyouji tightens his grip on the sheets, mentally preparing himself for what he assumes will be an extraordinary amount of pain. To his surprise, Satomi eases in rather slowly at first, the head of his cock just barely opening him up - but the head is the skinniest part, so it offers him no comfort. The wind is knocked out of him quite abruptly as Satomi buries himself inside, snapping his hips to fill him all the way to the hilt.
“Oh, Kyouji-s-so, so good,” Satomi moans. His lithe form wraps around Kyouji, lapping at the sweat pooled around the base of Kyouji’s neck as Satomi humps him like a naughty puppy.
“Wait-wa-”
Satomi either can’t hear him, or he simply doesn’t care. He thrusts at an irregular, off-beat pace inside of him and it shakes Kyouji to his core. He’s surprised by how much it stings, but not in the good way like when he drinks his blood or endures his incessant teething. Kyouji maintains his knuckle-white grip on the sheets as he bites down on his fist, fangs bearing down so hard he can taste the metallic, savory flavor of stale blood on his tongue. Satomi’s cock burns as it goes in and out, the stretch uncomfortable, and his rhythm frantic as he barrels toward his own release. Satomi groans as he spills inside him, hips stuttering with his orgasm.
He’s not sure if he’s disappointed or relieved that it’s over so soon - maybe a bit of both. It’s mostly relief, though, as Satomi slowly pulls out of him. Kyouji unlatches his teeth from the skin of his hand, licking the blood away lest Satomi see the marks. His saliva heals the wound as quickly as it appeared and it’s gone without a trace.
“Kyouji, I-I wanna see your face, see your eyes,” Satomi murmurs.
So Kyouji turns around, bones creaking as he lies on his back with his legs spread apart. The cum inside him dribbles out onto his no-longer clean sheets. More importantly, and much to his dismay, Satomi is still hard and throbbing before him, his cock covered in remnants of his seed.
“I see you’re ready to go again,” he teases.
Satomi nods as he slips back inside and Kyouji braces himself for the worst again. But the burning and stretching aren't as noticeable this time around. Instead he feels something else, a kind of warm, euphoric sensation as Satomi gently slides in and out of him. He’s got Kyouji’s legs in his arms, his fingers gripping Kyouji’s shoulders; it forces Kyouji to look right at him, face to face with the man desecrating the sanctity of his anal virginity.
And it’s desecrated all right, because it’s still technically the first time and he’s biting his bottom lip to stifle his moans, to tamper down any fantastical illusions that this is for his pleasure as well. Satomi needs a warm hole to put his throbbing, aching dick in - nothing more and surely nothing less - so any lingering feelings Kyouji has about this moment are not Satomi’s to bear.
It’s a weight Kyouji must carry and he solemnly swears to do so until Satomi thrusts against him at the perfect angle, adjusting his hips as he nudges a spot deep inside that makes stars whizz past his peripheral vision.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” he breathily replies.
Satomi leans even farther forward to place his lips on his own, lips trembling as he gives Kyouji his first kiss. It’s adorable and highly inappropriate for the moment, yet he wraps his arms around Satomi and licks into his mouth. The tip of his tongue plays with his fully-grown canines, the salty sweat gathered atop Satomi’s upper lip coating his palate as they fervently kiss. When they part a single strand of saliva keeps them connected.
Satomi eyes him, his expression painted with concern. “How does it feel?”
Kyouji’s front fang draws blood as he bites down on his own lip. He caresses Satomi’s face with his hand, brushing his thumb against his cheek and he’s surprisingly still a bit soft here, a bit doughy, a relic of his baby-cheeked past in his hands. He chuckles. “Feels good, kiddo.”
His pup is good to him - always has been, and always will be.