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Dark Moon II

Lucius is singing, softly, under his breath; his voice is odd and a little bit husky, and the melody he sings sounds a little out of tune. But it is not unpleasant, and Peter knows better than to say anything, knows Lucius thinks he is sleeping.

He is singing in another language; Peter thinks it sounds like German, and that surprises him, because as far as he knows Lucius doesn't speak German. The sound of the song is haunting, like the low wailing chants of temple priests. It vibrates in Peter's bones and makes his blood stir, and he feels like he should understand it, somehow.

In the middle of it a sneeze sneaks up on Peter, and Lucius stops suddenly, his body tensing.

"You're awake," Lucius says stiffly, and Peter nods against Lucius's back.

"Don't stop."

But Lucius doesn't sing any more. He is quiet, almost painfully quiet, and the tight bunches of muscle in his shoulders are like steel knots under Peter's fingers. Peter knows he should leave Lucius be, but his curiousity has the better of him.

"What were you singing?"

Lucius lies outright. "I wasn't. You were dreaming."

"Lucius."

Lucius doesn't reply, just lies there like he's fallen asleep, his chest rising and falling in even, if short, breaths. Peter feels like biting him, hard. But the marks of his teeth on the back of Lucius's neck, from the last full moon, are just healing. Peter opts instead for molding his body against Lucius's, scraping the stubble of one cheek against the flat of his back and up along the nape of his bitten neck.

He curls a hand around Lucius's throat and tilts his head back so he can kiss the tip of a pointed ear. He feels Lucius jerk under the contact of his mouth on skin, and he smiles. "I heard you. You can't lie."

Lucius's voice is husky when he speaks. "When I was five. My mother, she..."

Peter's hand has wandered downwards, underneath the warmth of the covers they share. Lucius pauses to swallow; in the darkness his hips lean forward into the warmth of a callused palm.

"When I was five my mother told me never to give my stories to someone who tries to pry them from my lips with pleasure."

Peter laughs into Lucius's neck; his hand is still moving, caressing, stroking. Lucius tries not to make a sound, but his breathing has changed, and so has his scent. Rich spice, musky like leather, deep and stirring as the scent of newly planked wood.

"Not even when it's your lover?"

Lucius sighs as Peter guides his sex between Lucius's slim thighs, as Peter rubs himself against the point where he might penetrate and satisfy them both.

"Not even when it's your alpha?"

"Peter," Lucius growls, twisting away and free. "I don't want to talk about it."

Peter sometimes thinks that if he was pureblood, or raised true, Lucius wouldn't dare do some of the things he does; would tell Peter anything he asked. As it is, his chest and belly feel cold, and he's holding himself in hand completely unsatisfied.

Peter also thinks that if there were other werewolves around, he wouldn't stand much chance of staying alpha of his little two-man Pack.

He rolls on his back; lets it go, focuses instead on the need that crept up on him while he was trying to tease Lucius. He knows what he likes, and well, but he's not much interested in anything fancy, so he just strokes, pumps his hand, ignoring Lucius like Lucius ignores him. He can smell Lucius still, he's close enough, and it makes him horny. Cedar chips and coffee and smoke and...

A tongue slides over the tip of his sex, runs along the rise and fall of his moving knuckles, bites down lightly at the join of his wrist. He lets go of himself, reaching after the brush of coarse hair over his palm. The bed sinks and rises, his head rolling right and his chin bumping a knee; he opens his eyes to see Lucius straddling his face, and then he groans loudly, arching almost completely off the bed, as Lucius swallows his erection.

He has time to gasp Lucius's name before Lucius presses against his lips, demanding return for his favor. Peter opens his mouth, flicks out his tongue, tasting salt and the smooth velvet of skin; then he opens his mouth wider, lets Lucius press in deeply, pushing his own hips up to drive himself deeper into Lucius's mouth as well.

They fuck each other like that for a long while, slowly, each waiting for the other to finish first. Peter reaches around, runs his fingers between Lucius's buttocks, hears and feels Lucius release him to gasp something that might be "No" or "Now."

He is stronger, he always has been. He rolls them both over, Lucius yelping once as his head bumps the board at the foot of the bed. Peter pulls him up, deepthroats him again, relentlessly attending him. Wetness glistens downward in a trail leading between Lucius's thighs, and Peter spreads it with his fingers, presses inside Lucius with his forefinger, feels Lucius tense around him.

"Stop," Lucius says, and his voice is shaky. "Stop... I'll tell you what I was singing."

Peter doesn't want to stop, but he feels like he has done something he shouldn't, or that Lucius thinks he is doing something he isn't.

"It's not like you haven't done this before," Peter hears himself whisper, even though he meant to say "That's not why I was doing this."

"I just... don't, Peter," Lucius says. He has gotten up onto his hands and knees, and he is turning himself around, his head lowered, his shoulders hunched, not looking at Peter. Willingly submitting himself. It makes Peter both more aroused and disturbed, as Lucius never gets in a submissive pose without at least a snarl to show his unwillingness. "Not tonight."

"What's wrong with tonight that I can't make love to you?" Peter asks, but he trips over "make love" and it ruins the whole thing. He might as well have said, "Lay down and shut up so we can fuck"-- it would have been more romantic.

Lucius lays down beside Peter, still dropping his gaze. He closes his eyes as his head hits the pillow, and then he begins to sing.

Peter rolls over onto his belly, and thrusts uselessly against the mattress twice; but his interest has mostly gone away. When he turns his head so he can look out the window, he sees that the moon is dark, and he sighs.