Bitten
Sometimes, I hate him. Him being Peter Forsberg, that is.
Mainly I hate him because his fur is so sleek and glossy, his legs are longer than mine, and he never trips over anything. In comparison, I am a stumpy-legged, bumbling mutt with wiry hair. Hardly anything to look at when next to him. Occasionally, I’ll hate him because he was the one who made me this way. Not ugly, just into a mutt. Being one has made my life far more complicated than it ever should have been.
However, being a mutt isn’t all bad. On nights when the moon is bright, the air stings of frost, and Peter is willing to share his kill, it can be quite enjoyable. And on those rare moments when I make a kill myself, sinking my teeth into soft deer flesh, feeling its blood flood my mouth, yeah, those times I’ll love Peter. Because if it wasn’t for him, I’d never have discovered I could experience such joy. The thrill that comes with the hunt is on a much higher level than any human could hope to know, as that basic raw instinct has been erased from their makeup, but I, being half-breed, I know it all and it is truly a wonder of wonders.
On this particular night, Peter and I have been running, not hunting. There had been no need to hunt—there never is, really, except to satisfy our bloodlust—and running together is just as important as making a kill. It is an age old rite of bonding between two such as us, a partnership cemented by our ability to run as one. Plus, running is just plain fun. It is a feeling of power, this capacity to run forever and not tire. Certainly something unachievable by humans. Or by me, in my human form.
Peter runs as he skates, a smooth and fluid movement of limbs that carries him over rock and loam. His footing is always certain, always sure; his lope is that of oil on ice. He leads, as is his will, his eyes constantly questing onwards towards the next horizon. Peter is most vigilant; he wants nothing to surprise him and likes to know where he is going. I, on the other hand, do not run as I skate. On the ice, I have some semblance of control, some inkling of grace. Here I am a mass of flailing legs, scurrying in what I am sure is a comical fashion to stay in Peter’s shadow. I am not worried, though, at my lack of finesse. I am new still to this form and with more practice I am sure I will be better. Not that I would ever achieve Peter’s elegance.
It is a tingling behind my ears that tells me the night is ending. How I came to have this reaction, I do not know, and I do not care to. All that matters is dawn is approaching, and while that does not mean we must change back, it does mean that we should. Both Peter and I have obligations to our other selves, and the day is when we fulfill them.
Just as the first rays of light strike the earth, Peter and I emerge from the wooded land. There is a small clearing off the highway, just outside of Denver’s city limits, where Peter had parked his car, and that is where we end our run. We would rather not run any closer, for animal control is always on the lookout for strays on the streets, and while it is no trouble to escape them, the annoyance factor is all the same. More so for me, the mutt. Peter they would be wary of approaching, he has the lean look of the wolf he truly is.
I drop back on my haunches, waiting for Peter to change first. It is never safe to change at the same time; we are vulnerable in transition, so there must always be a guard. That is why you will rarely see a half-breed on his own, most of them would be killed during their first change. There are so many dangers in this other world that mere humans could never understand.
The transformation is quick and subtle; it is a blurring of his wolf form, a shimmer of light that refocuses around him as human. Even human though, Peter still looks wolf-like, his sharp ice blue eyes and languorous smile reminiscent of something lupine. It is that side of him that allows him to thrive as he does at the ice rinks, for no mere man could undergo what Peter does and still play at the level he maintains. I am quite certain of that, and sometimes I will wonder if there are other hockey players like him, drawing on wild strength to continue. Steve Yzerman would be my first candidate if I had to pick an example, the state that man is in—
“Hurry up Dan, we have to get back.”
Peter’s voice, strangely paradoxical to his appearance (one would expect it to be gruff and low instead of silky and soft), snaps me from my thoughts. I close my eyes and focus my mind on my other self, Dan Hinote the boy, Dan Hinote the hockey player. I will myself to become that Dan, and when I open my eyes I am. I stand slowly, remembering to balance on two legs and not four, and walk over to Peter’s car. Peter is already dressed and waiting behind the wheel. He hands me my stack of clothes, because really, it is simply impossible to change with clothing, and I wrap myself in them.
I get in the car, shivering slightly, for Denver is so cold in the morning, and I am without my coat. Peter does not turn on the heat though. He grew up in a world much colder than this; the Denver morning is nothing to him. We are silent the entire drive back into the city; Peter does not like to talk much. I do enjoy talking—many say I am incessantly loud in fact— but on these drives I never dare speak, though I always want to. I want to ask him how long he has been a half-breed, who made him one, how many more of us are in this world, and most importantly, why me. Why pick me to be his companion, when surely Joe or Adam or Patrick before he retired would have been a much more fitting choice.
I have a feeling these questions will never be answered, so I bite my tongue to never ask. Perhaps I am not meant to know.
Peter drops me off in front of my house, and the fact that I am truly back in civilization strikes me, and once more I feel melancholia nibble at my edges. It might be a week before we run again, depending on our schedule. The problem with being a half-breed is, you never quite feel completely at home in cities anymore. There is always that longing for the sprawl of wilderness and open spaces. I am lucky that I live in Denver, where mountainous forests are so readily accessible.
The best way to deal with the sadness, of course, is distraction, and there is plenty to distract me today. There are only a few hours before I am due at the rink; there is morning skate, and it would do me good to get some sleep before that. Then tonight, there is the game. The Kings are in town.
~~~~~~
Being a half-breed often means having to deal with overwhelming instincts. Humans, on the whole, are cultivated so as to have as few instincts as possible. They wish to be wholly cerebral creatures since they believe anything less than that would make them base and beastly. It really is a stupid and vain desire, for instincts are what keep you alive. And in the end, that is what is most important. That’s what the mutt side of me has taught me anyway.
The instincts that I experience are usually basic. Like the ones that urge me to run, hunt, kill; that remind me to stay in Peter’s shadow always; that make me regard Joe as a sort of pack leader, although I am sure he is not like me. These are desires and impulses I am constantly aware of, no matter what form I am in. Some of them are inconvenient, especially when I am human, but I do deal with them. And at times, they come in handy.
Like Peter, I might draw on those instincts during a hockey game. I am not quite as adept at it as he is, but good enough that I have avoided more than my fair share of injuries and chipped in just that extra goal. It is no wonder Peter is a hockey player; scoring gives almost the same elation as dragging down a healthy buck.
One instinct I have yet to deal with is the need to mate. By that I do not mean simply the physical act of reproduction—that desire is not an instinct; it is the craving of a single, horny 26 year old male who happens to be one of Denver’s most eligible bachelors. To be sure, I have had my pick of lovely girls. What I mean by mating is the feeling of wanting to keep someone by my side forever. Half-breeds mate for life, after all. Of all my passing fancies, no one has made me want them for eternity.
The hockey player part of me wants me to find someone already, so I can settle down and produce some children, as is the norm. But I know better. It would be unnecessarily complicated to marry some nice young girl only to find my mate later. I am not heartless; I do not want to cause pain to anyone, especially not my innocent unborn children. Besides, I am young yet. What have I to worry about? Peter is older than I, and he has yet to settle…
Although to be honest, I think Peter has already found his mate. Except, he cannot have that person, which would explain why he tries to lose himself in useless liaisons. Not that he has told me any of this, it is only a feeling I get.
I arrive at the rink tonight still feeling the nagging desire to return to the woods. That feeling at least is easier to control. I still remember the time I saw a rabbit dash across the road from the team bus. It took everything I had not to run right off the bus and chase after it. Even now, Alex Tanguay will give me strange looks when I say I am hungry.
Once inside the dressing room, however, there are plenty of things going on to take my mind off the feeling. Music is blaring, teammates are harassing each other, and the buzz of pre-game excitement fills the air. I am greeted with slaps to the back and a scent I have only recently begun to take notice of: sweat. Even though the dressing room was well-ventilated, the smell was always there, but I never paid any mind to it until after I was changed. Now, the odor is just a bit sharper, a little more pungent to my nostrils. It’s funny the things you will notice at the most random times.
Not ready to put on my gear yet, I toss my bag at my stall and wander over to where Aebi is sitting and staring intently at his feet.
“Hey Aebi! How you feeling? Ready to start the game?”
Aebi glares at me—he must have gotten that from Patrick because I distinctly recall being glared at like this before, only with blue eyes.
“Fuck you Noter! You interrupted my thought!” he hisses, eyes sparking.
I clamp down on the urge to growl at him and back away, letting him go back to whatever he had going on. I had to remind myself that it would not do to piss off the goalie right before the game. But really, what right did he have to snap at me? He is a rookie starter—surely I outrank him.
“Come on Dan, leave Aebi to his zone aye?” Joe chuckled. “Should get dressed, we’re on the ice soon.”
“Yeah, sure thing captain.”
Joe smiles and pats my shoulder before heading off to he stick room. As per usual, when Joe notices me, I want to blush like mad. Something about Joe just has that effect on me. I want his approval so badly.
I have yet to disobey even a suggestion from Joe, so I immediately go to my stall and change into my gear. On the other side of the room, I see Peter dressing as well. He glances up for a minute and our eyes meet—there is a smirk in his, he knows how I feel about our captain—then his return to Adam Foote, who is complaining about something. My eyes narrow slightly; I hate it when Peter mocks me. Especially when he feels the same way I do. There is nothing he wouldn’t do for Joe.
It is an unspoken agreement that Joe is our leader.
After dressing, the team heads out to the ice for warm up skate. The crowd is loud—it always is—as we step onto the ice. I have to wince a bit, my hearing is more sensitive now, and the roar reverberates something painful in my ears.
Peter brushes by me with a sneer and mutters, “Pup.”
Instantly, I bristle, a snarl building in the back of my throat. Constantly with the mocking, does he not get tired of it? I hate him I—
“Not you,” Peter says dryly, amused. “A-pup. Over there.”
He gestures with a nod across the ice, where the Kings players are also warming up. The one he is referring to, Sean Avery, is talking loudly while he stretches by the boards. I focus my hearing a bit without actually moving closer (it is a trick I learned stalking squirrels on lazy summer evenings) and I can hear he is saying how Peter is a diver.
As much as Peter may irk me, I will have no one slander him. It is a principle of pride for your team to stand up for a teammate. Or perhaps, for your pack to stand up for a pack mate. So I skate by, making an obvious show of stretching my back, toeing the red line carefully. And as I pass Avery, I snort, “Isn’t that calling the kettle black, pot?”
It is an instantaneous reaction from him; he is rather puppyish with all that energy, I think. Avery is on his feet now and I can feel him smirking at my back. “I don’t dive, Hinote. I hit back.”
I turn around slightly to retort, and I catch his gaze for a single moment. I only get a moment because the next thing I know, I am lying on the ice, staring at the rafters of the Pepsi Center.
“What the fuck, asshole?” Avery is shouting, he must be loud if I can hear him above the screaming of the crowd. He is glaring at me, all traces of playful banter gone from his expression. And all I can think is ‘I couldn’t help it I couldn’t help it it is not my fault’…
The rapid swelling of my bottom lip distracts me for a second…ah I am bleeding… that is what the coppery taste is. Strange how I failed to recognize the taste of my own blood. Oh and there are other kinds of swelling going on…my God I have to make that go away.
When I look up again Avery’s teammates have gathered around him, shielding him from my view. It is a good thing they have, because if I saw him again, I am unsure I would be able to control myself. My own teammates are surrounding me now, a further barrier between me and Avery.
“Fuck Noter, what’s wrong with you?” Alex Tanguay, it is he who is speaking and pulling me to my feet. “Game’s not even started, you can’t maul the guy yet.”
“Better get him inside,” Joe tells Alex. The look on Joe’s face is disapproving, and for a moment, I forget what has just happened and want to die. Joe is disappointed in me. It takes all my strength to hold back a whimper. “Jesus…hope the officials don’t suspend him for that.”
Alex nods and begins leading me back towards the dressing room. I follow along dumbly as I am hardly in a position to argue. I do chance a look back, however. That instinct is beyond my control now. And there is Avery, still glaring—
“Noter! Goddammit, knock it off!” Alex grabs my arm and all but hauls me off the ice. Absently, I note that he has gotten stronger if he is able to drag me like that while I am struggling to get away. “Get a grip, will you? What is the matter with you?”
I stumble into the dressing room; my skate blade catches an edge at the door and I crash to the floor. Alex mutters and does not help me up this time, and really, who can blame him? I do not notice though, my head is still reeling, trying to process what my body had just tried to do.
Like I said, instincts. When they take over, there is absolutely nothing you can do. Overwhelming, uncontrollable, inconvenient—but they never lie.
I want Sean Avery. For always.
~~~~~
Coach decided I wouldn’t play for the game. Said I was under too much mental stress, having a nervous breakdown and the like. I wanted to laugh when I heard that, he really has no idea. Nervous breakdown indeed. If only they knew. The only plus was that the officials seemed to buy it. At least as far as I know, they weren’t going to punish me.
I changed into my workout clothes. If I wasn’t playing, I would have to work my ass off on the bikes. Just to keep Coach happy, aye? I didn’t mind too much though. There’s something about the monotonous cycling that is quite soothing, almost like running, except for being stationary. It’s a mindless task, but an easy rhythm for the body to fall into.
It is probably during the second intermission-I tend to lose track of time when I’m blankly pedaling away-when Peter comes in to talk to me. He is all sweaty, his hair sopping and falling into his eyes, and his shirt dark in patches under his chest armor. He fucking reeked. And he didn’t care to stand downwind of me; the air vents blew his fumes right up my nose.
“Get over it, you don’t smell so wonderful yourself.”
Perhaps, but I am not rubbing my scent directly into his face. I do not complain anymore though, and go back to pumping my legs. “What do you want?”
“I saw what happened.”
I don’t reply, though I have such a snappy comment in mind. He would get angry if I disturbed his train of thought, and it is not worth mocking him to see him mad. Not many people have seen him angry, but believe me, it is terrifying. It is as though you have become his prey, the way his eyes pin you down. And you want to move, but you can’t for anything because you have already lost yourself in him.
“You will need to learn to control it. It can be done, just like everything else.”
For Peter. Peter often forgets that he is in on a different plane of existence from everyone else. I think Peter must have a will of steel. In the time I have known him Peter has never once lost control, never given into his instincts. It makes him cold and aloof, but his life is much easier. However, I do not think I would like to be like him. I rather enjoy feeling things, inconvenient as it might be. I like knowing I am not dead inside.
“I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“You want Sean Avery.”
“I am not gay.” This, I feel, is very important to establish. I have never had feelings for another man, other than friendly ones. And certainly not this longing for a man’s touch, to love him and to be loved in return, for his life entwined with mine.
“No, perhaps you are not. But it does not change things. You want him.”
I do, oh god I do. I want Sean like no other person I’ve ever wanted. It does not even matter that he is a guy, somehow that does not disgust me, he is beautiful and fierce and I want him. And not just for the night, for the week, or the month, I want him for always.
My legs slow then stop of their own volition. The room is unbearably silent now without the bike’s whirring, the air conditioning does not make nearly enough noise to hide the tension between us.
“So learn to control yourself. You can’t go insane every time you see him.” Peter gives me a searching look, but I don’t think my expression gives him the answer he is seeking, for he sighs and asks, “What?”
“Peter…how do I let him know?”
“Know what?”
“How I feel? I mean, do I explain what I am first? Or—”
“Idiot,” Peter snaps, suddenly narrowing his eyes. “You really are a pup. You can’t tell him anything. That’s why I tell you to control yourself. He can never know.”
“But, why?” Never let him know? But if I do not tell Sean everything, what chance do I have of making him mine? How could I possibly make him understand that we are meant to be together? Now that I know Sean is the one, I would crumble without him.
“He is not one of us,” Peter says harshly.
“I could. I could make him one.”
Peter barks out a short, ugly laugh. “Do you think it is that easy? What if he does not accept? Who will help him if he does? There are none of us in L.A.”
“I’d help him. I—you never asked me! And I am fine!” That’s true, isn’t it? I never chose to be this way. It all happened in a night of drunkenness, after losing in the first round last season, and now, I have adjusted, I have adapted. Why should Sean not be the same? My eyes demand a reply from Peter.
“You are different.”
My blood is rushing through my veins, if I had hackles, they would be standing straight up. I am angry, bristling and furious. I am different? The change did make me feel complete, as though I’d found my place in the world. I did accustom myself easily to my new life. All I know, I accept with the compassion all wolves do. I am different? A bit maybe, but surely I am not the only one.
“Sean could be as well.”
Peter snorts. “He isn’t.”
And suddenly, I do not want to take Peter’s word as law anymore. He has told me all I know, but never anything of worth, he has never answered my questions. To know is not knowledge. I want knowledge. I do not want to blindly obey him.
“Well fuck you Foppa.” That in itself scares me; I have never dared to disrespect him before by calling him that. Part of me wants to retract and beg for forgiveness, but another part of me tells me to go on, to break free of his hold and follow the chase for what is my given right.
“I’m going to tell him. Unlike you, I won’t be bitter for the rest of my life.”
The pain that lances through my head is unexpected; Peter has cuffed me. A dull throbbing starts up at the back of my skull, but I refuse to lower my gaze. I am not giving up. More important than our pack and our hierarchy is your mate. I will not give him up.
Peter gives me a disgusted look unconsciously curling his lip in a snarl. But he knows he has lost me, I can see it in him.
“Fine. Go. Make your mistake. I did warn you.”
Peter turns to leave, he has to be there for the start of the third period, and when he goes he is leaving more than this room. I know that once he walks out of here, things will never be the same again.
We have already separated, I can feel how we are no longer part of a greater one, but before he goes I need him to answer the one question I have been to scared to ask, but have always deserved to know.
“Peter? Why me? Of all people, why choose me?”
Peter turns slightly to look at me, and I am struck by the pain and sadness I see in his eyes. For an instant, they are not ice blue but dark grey, pools of hurt and unshed tears.
“You reminded me of another Daniel I once knew.”
I know right then that this Daniel was the one he could not have.
And then he is gone, like a wisp of smoke in the wind.
~~~~~
I don’t remember what the final score of the game was. After all that had happened, I do not think it mattered much. I am called into the coach’s office before I am allowed to leave. He lectured me for a while, something about not attacking other players or getting more fiber in my diet, I don’t know. I simply nodded a lot. I just wanted to leave and hopefully catch Sean before he did.
After Coach let me go, I run out to the visiting player’s exit. There is a moment between then and now that Peter tried to stop me. I think he was afraid I would give away his secret. I am not that petty. If anything happens, I will take responsibility for it all.
So I dodged Peter’s warning glare and raced outside. Thankfully, the Kings’ bus was still there, the players were only just beginning to board. I didn’t even need to look to find Sean though. I think that’s how you know. That someone is your mate, I mean. When you are able to feel this person constantly on the edges of you awareness, you know that person is the one.
Sean was getting ready to step onto the bus, so it was now or never. I drag in a deep breath of the icy Denver night air and call out; “Sean.”
Sean glances back over his shoulder and spots me almost immediately. Well, considering I am the only person not on his team standing there, that is hardly a surprise.
I wasn’t sure if he would come over; he really has no reason to. And he had been really angry after my little stunt on the ice. But I called anyway, and I smiled shyly when Sean mentioned something to his teammates and headed over.
Shyly? Fuck, this whole thing is turning me all kinds of insane. But that is how scared I am of destroying this…this tentative future I could see. I did not want to be like Peter, cold and alone. I need to have Sean, so I need to do this.
A couple of Sean’s teammates shot me nasty looks; I was tempted to glare back. There’s nothing like a good glaring match sometimes, but I won’t allow myself to be distracted, this is too important.
Sean stopped a few feet in front of me, and vaguely, in the back of my mind, I could feel the urge to pounce him. I quickly squash that impulse though; I am here to talk and nothing else, no matter what my body said. It is easier if I did not look into his eyes, I find. Much easier if I keep my gaze on the cement ground.
“Yeah?” He didn’t seem angry now as much as curious. There is a guarded air about him as well, and I couldn’t blame him for that. Sean…is not as puppyish as I first thought he was. In fact, I do not remember why I thought he was a pup in the first place. Perhaps it is his nickname that spawns the comparison. If anything, Sean reminds me of something else…there is a world-weary feel to him, as though he were one who has traveled far and seen much. That spark of puppyish enthusiasm is still there, but it is tempered by precision and patience.
“I, um, I just wanted to, well you see, it wasn’t, well, I mean—” Typical me. I talk and talk and talk, but when it actually had to mean something, I cannot find the words to save my life. I want to just bite my tongue and walk away mumbling. That, at least, would be less embarrassing.
“Hey Hinote?”
My eyes snap up to meet his and I feel heat surge through me once more; his eyes are an ungodly brilliant shade of blue. Sean is smiling crookedly. Then his expression grows more pensive, more cautious, as he glances around sharply to make sure his team is gone and we are alone.
Then he leans in and kisses me. Barely a kiss, more like a brush of lips really, but my god. This must be the feeling they are always trying to capture in movies, with the fireworks and extravagance. But this was so much more real, with careful tenderness underneath the heat, and a feather soft touch that leaves me shaking.
My eyes widen and I step back. I could feel a hitch in my breath; what is going on? “But you—you don’t—I mean—”
“Dan, you fucking talk more than me. Jesus. Shut up once in a while.”
His mouth covers mine again, and this time his hand comes up to rest on my back to pull me closer, to prevent me from pulling away.
This is insanity. My senses seem to have been put into overdrive—I am hyper aware of the pressure of his hand on my back, his clean, freshly showered scent, the scratch of his cashmere suit against the palm of my hands. The warmth coming from him makes me want to curl up and sleep. His tongue stroking mine makes me want to crawl inside him. As it is, all I can do is clutch at his shoulders and try to stay standing. If I let go, I knew I would collapse. I am drunk off him.
A salty, metallic taste suddenly fills my mouth. It takes me a minute to realize that the kissing had reopened my wound.
“Oops.” Sean pulls back slightly and chuckles, then drags his tongue across my split lip. I shiver, holding him closer. We could never be close enough, not like this…
“I don’t get it,” I whisper, hating myself for ruining the moment but needing to ask.
“What?” Sean murmurs, nuzzling my ear.
“Well, you hit me.”
Sean laughs softly, his warm, moist breath instantly condensing into tiny droplets on my skin from the intensely cold night. “We were on the ice. What the fuck was I supposed to do?”
If I let him have enough leverage to move his shoulders, I have a feeling that he would have shrugged.
“So then, you…can we…are we…”
Sean pushes me away suddenly, making me want to whimper. His hands come up to cup my face, forcing me to look at him. I want him more than ever, but hold still for him. I would give up every last drop of humanity for him.
“I only know what you know.”
What I know is that I was made for him. But he isn’t one of us. Peter told me so; I could see it, feel it for myself…So how could he possibly know? I blink at him blankly.
“There are more things in Heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy,” Sean quips impishly.
“Did you think you were alone in this world? Maybe I’m not like you, but I am something else that can understand.”
There is whole world that I do not know and could not dare to comprehend. Is it possible that Sean could be part of that world?
“What are you then?”
“A traveler. I have looked long and hard for you, Dan Hinote. From the sun to the fucking moon.” He pauses. “The team leaves tomorrow. I have to be on that plane. Tonight though, I have with you. So where do we go?”
‘There are more things in Heaven and earth…’ I echo silently in my mind, smiling. Maybe I am not meant to understand it all. And if not, then I have time later to try. I kiss Sean this time, folding my arms around his neck, feeling heat from his body transfer into mine. And just for a moment, I swear I felt the brush of wings over my cheeks and that I could fly.
~~~~~
The sound of the pounding surf hits my ears, making them twitch. This is very different from the usual quiet forest sounds. There is no soft chattering of the creatures of the night, no whispers of the rustling leaves, no trickles of streaming, shifting water. There is only the booming of waves, and the occasional crunch as sand moves over sand.
It makes me nervous a bit, because the surf is so loud, I cannot hear much else. If danger were to come—
A sharp, piercing screech sounds from above me. I tilt my back to look up, and if I could smile I would have. Sean hangs there in the air, his wings curved in a way that allows him to hover the way only kestrels could. With his falcon’s sight, he will spot any threat long before I could. He will watch out for me. His presence soothes my nerves; I am protected.
Sean dips his wings slightly and shoots forward. I am content for a moment just to watch him fly. There is such freedom and joy in his flight, a delightful precision, a thrilling speed. Sean flies as though every flight will be his last; he slices through the air with a desperation born from sheer pleasure. It makes me sometimes wish that I could join him in the sky instead of being bound to the earth. But the creators were right when they made me a mutt, I would have made a horrible bird. I would never have been able to fly right.
Sean screeches again, calling me, and I am off my haunches bounding after him. It is hard going; I am not used to running in sand, and my paws keep slipping. I find that if I spread my toes, I can run better, but that results in sand between the foot pads, which is quite uncomfortable.
Sean calls a third time; somehow he managed to put all sorts of derision in his tone. “Don’t be a pussy” he is telling me. I growl and plow forward. Then inspiration strikes. I remember, from way back in high school, something about density, and how wet sand is denser than dry sand…
The water is freezing, truly Pacific Ocean water during December. But it is a stinging, refreshing kind of cold, and I splash through it easily. For once, I am grateful for having wiry matted fur, because it will not become heavy and waterlogged. The salty water is strange, I had become used to the fresh water in land locked Colorado, but it is no less appreciated. It gives flavor to my running, something I have never experienced before.
It is a different kind of run, to be sure, this race on the California shoreline. And I will admit, I do miss running with Peter. The pure joy from that level of simplicity of traveling with another like you is something to be treasured. At times, though not often, I wonder if Peter ever found a replacement for me. And if so, I wonder who it might be. I might be a little jealous if he did replace me if only because I should not like to think that I am so easily replaceable. That and I feel wistful for not being able to run with more like me, a larger pack, a greater feeling of oneness.
But every time I glance up, seeing russet feathers flashing between blurs of stars, I know what I had given up was worth it.
After a bit, I sit back in the water and bark. Sean performs a little flip in mid air and wheels around to soar back to me. While he makes his way back, I return to my human form. Under his watchful eye, I know I have naught to fear.
I shiver the minute the icy water hits my bare, unprotected skin; I could feel goose bumps spreading down my body. Before I can stand and remove myself from the source of cold though, Sean dives out of the air. He transforms in mid-dive and tackles me in landing.
“Oof!”
I am shoved deeper into the water with an armful of warm, wriggling, naked Sean.
“Come here you.” One of Sean’s hands finds mine and yanks me up to him. We are two wet, nude half creatures standing in the surf of a beach in Malibu on Christmas morning. The sun has not even broken the horizon yet. I should be cold, but I am not, instead I am filled with the steady heat of his touch.
I reach up and run my free hand through Sean’s dripping hair, smoothing the curls back off his forehead, then resting it at the back of his neck. He smiles and gives me a salty cool kiss.
“Here?” I ask.
Sean laughs. “You’ll get sand up your ass.”
“Not if something else gets up there first,” I growl, pulling him close. It is damp cool flesh upon damp cool flesh, except at the center of our bodies.
“Whatever you want,” Sean breathes, laying me back on the packed sand. His fingers are careful; definitely I do not want certain things in certain places. But I am impatient and really, a little pain means nothing in the face of some pleasures, and I wrap my legs around his waist, urging him on. Sean complies, covering my body with his.
We kiss hard and deep, coming together as the first rays of sun peek over the line of the ocean. It is light toffee skin, his acquired California tan, across my preserved Colorado ivory flesh. I lick and bite as the soft skin at the junction of his neck and shoulder as I am wont to do; Sean retaliates by attacking the pulse point behind my ear. My hands clutch at his back, trying to pull him deeper into me, trying to make him become me, or me him, I am no longer sure.
When he comes, he is silent; it is a soundless plunge within me and a quivering of the most delicate tension. I howl as I follow Sean over the edge, my attempts to muffle the sound resulting in only broken skin and spilled blood.
I lap at the wound gently, lazily, reveling in the solid heat above me and the cool sea foam underneath. And then look up into Sean’s eyes, watching the sun rise in one while the moon sets in the other.