Archive of Our Own

In a small village like Minho's, rumors spread worse than wildfire.

One night, a crying, shivering girl ran out of the trees of Yellow Wood, her dress dirty and her hair tangled. The village elders rushed to help her, and once she was warm and wrapped up in a blanket, they questioned her.

But the only thing she could say, whispering out shakily, was 'man-wolf.'

This sent an uproar among those present. That single word devoured their hearts like fire, and the fear jumped from person to person as quickly as flames jumped from tree to tree. Before the sun even rose, everybody in the village already knew about her and the 'man-wolf,' and their village was burning with the flames of fear.

Minho knew the girl, somewhat – in a small village like his, almost everybody knew everybody else, to some degree. She was the daughter of the only baker in the village, and more than once she had given Minho shy glances and small smiles. He also knew that she panicked easily, and had a vivid imagination.

That was why Minho took her words with a grain of salt. The moment he had heard about it, flashes of his grandmother's stories ran rapidly through his mind, almost leaving him breathless. He had always wanted to see a man-wolf, back before everybody told him they didn't exist. He was older now, though, and now he knew better (or so he liked to think), so he had calmed himself down and thought about all the reasons why a man-wolf didn't exist.

He didn't quite think he convinced himself.

Although wolves were rarely seen in Yellow Wood, it was possible that she had just seen a normal wolf, or some other creature that had been distorted by the night's shadows, making her think she saw a man-wolf when in fact she hadn't. Jisung, ever the fearful one, had told Minho that the mark left on the girl’s neck could never have been done by an average wolf; besides, Jisung had reasoned, if it was an average wolf she would have been dead already. At least, that was what Jisung had heard Jeongin's father say, but Jeongin's father was neither a hunter nor a tracker nor an expert in wolves, so Minho took that with a grain of salt as well..

They were all told not to enter Yellow Wood at night, and to keep away from it even during the day until the village’s strongest men managed to hunt down and kill the ‘man-wolf.’ Minho only frowned at that. The people were strong, indeed, only that some of them could be quite arrogant and were often more talk than action.

He doubted (or so he made himself believe) there even was a man-wolf to hunt, and if there was, he doubted they could take it out before it took them out.

“Hyung, it’s better to be safe than sorry,” Seungmin said, hands strong and steady around his fishing rod. His father had allowed him to take the day off from helping him catch fish for their little stall, but Seungmin was one with the water, and even as he came to have fun with them all by the riverside he had brought his treasured fishing rod and a small basket of bait with him. “Even if there was no man-wolf – and yes, I also doubt there is – there’s still something out there, something that could scare a girl to the point where she shakes and trembles and refuses to talk for a week. Something that could leave a mark like that and yet keep her alive.”

“I know.” Minho sighed and leaned back on his hands. The grass was soft under his palms, and the morning light was pleasant and warm on his skin, weaving through the leaves above them and settling comfortably on him. “But my grandmother is sick. Jeongin's father and the men who visited her village early this morning told us that she's getting worse and worse." When Minho looked at Jeongin, Jeongin nodded gravely. "I need to bring her supplies tonight, even if Mother doesn't let me.”

And, he didn't say, he had always wanted to see a man-wolf. He didn't believe, no – but like a stupid child, he still wanted. He wanted something that he didn't believe in. Was that even possible?

The single mark on the girl's neck had been so mesmerizing, after all – teeth, dug into her skin just once, enough to leave deep indents but not enough to snap her fragile life. Other than that mark and the fear that remained in her heart, no other harm had been done. If there really had been a man-wolf, well...it was a merciful one.

Once again, flashes of his grandmother's stories ran through his mind. Blurry, but still there – the creak of his grandmother's rickety chair, the gentle click-clacking of her knitting needles as she told stories of man-wolves and their insatiable hunger whenever the full moon hung heavily in the night sky. Of naive travellers, dragged through the trees – victims, feasts for that insatiable, wild hunger. They never died, no, but when they crawled out of the woods the next morning, trembling and dazed and breathless, the marks of the man-wolf's hunger were painted vividly on their skin, and the man-wolf's howl was etched permanently on their minds.

Minho bit his lip. He didn't believe in man-wolves, but...

“You should listen to your mother and stay at home," Jeongin told him.

“Man-wolves are just stories, told to scare children to sleep," Minho said, even as his mind raced with thoughts of fangs and claws and feral eyes. "Whatever’s out there, I can handle myself well.”

Jisung stuck his tongue out. “Not to insult you, Hyung, but are you sure you're strong enou—“

Minho growled at him. “Want to have a first-hand man-wolf experience?” He curled his hand into a claw, glaring, and Jisung squeaked, hiding behind Jeongin and pouting.

“Why does your grandmother live in the other village, anyway," Seungmin mumbled, more to himself than to anyone else. He wasn't asking a question, everyone knew – he was complaining, musing about the absurdity of it, and everyone agreed with him, although they were less vocal about it. They all knew the story, after all. They all knew the story, so when Seungmin spoke, a hush fell over them. "If she lived with you, you won’t have to go through Yellow Wood regularly just to take care of her.”

The river water silently streamed past. A single bird chirped from a branch, and then flew off with a flap of its wings. Quietly, Minho murmured, “You know that mother and grandmother had an argument."

The argument.

His mother had eloped with a man from this village – Minho's father, who he'd never met. He had died while Minho was still in his mother's womb. His grandmother had never liked his father from the beginning, and only frowned upon his mother more when he had died. His mother had a strong and stubborn attitude, though – but so did his grandmother. So they had refused to live together, and Minho's mother chose to stay in his father's village and raise Minho there.

However, his mother was still his grandmother's daughter, and this daughter had a tender heart behind her strong attitude. She could never really abandon her mother, sending food and medicine and supplies regularly. Not directly, though – that became Minho's job when he turned old enough to cross Yellow Wood by himself.

Minho looked at Seungmin. "Remember the story, Kim Seungmin?”

Seungmin glanced up at him. He had on his face an almost apologetic look, and he smiled slightly at Minho. “Yes, I was only mumbling. Sorry.”

Minho waved him off with a hand. He had already gotten used to this life. "It’s nothing. Go back to fishing.”

There was a moment of silence. Then, Jisung said, “Still, be careful, Hyung. Man-wolf or not." He tossed Minho an apple, which Minho caught mid-air and bit into. "Be careful.”

The house was dark and silent when Minho tiptoed to the door, a basket full of food and medicine in one hand. His mother was asleep in her bedroom, and her reminder of not going out at night echoed in the back of his mind, but only for a minute. His grandmother was severely ill, and she needed him – at least, that was what he kept telling himself as he moved silently through the house.

His grandmother was severely ill, and that was why he was going out to Yellow Wood in the middle of the night, even though everybody told him not to. Not because he wanted to know if man-wolves truly existed.

His red cape hung on a hook beside the door, and he took it and draped it over his shoulders – it was a cold night, and he didn’t want to freeze in the dark.

When he was young, his grandmother had gifted him a similar handmade cape, and young him had loved it so much he had worn it every day. He had worn it everywhere, too, and everybody had called him Little Red Riding Hood for it. It had been fitting, when he was younger; he was far from little now, though, but the old, thin man who always sat under the tree beside his house still called him by that nickname, even without his red cape, and he found that he didn’t truly mind.

That cape was too small for him now, though, and the one that swished behind him as he stepped out into the cold, dark night was a new one, bigger and longer so it fit his bigger body. He rarely used it these days, but again, he didn’t want to freeze tonight. He was not sure whether red would be a good idea, especially if something unkind was crawling around in Yellow Wood, but, well...man-wolves didn’t exist, after all.

During all the times he had travelled through Yellow Wood, Minho had never found it scary. Once, when he was twelve, he had found a path so worn-out and thin that it was almost invisible, and he had followed it despite remembering his mother’s warning of sticking to the path everybody used to go to the other village. To his delight, the path weaved through beautiful flowers, and he had even met a pretty little bunny. He had also met a boy, and they had both played with the bunny for so long that the sun was setting by the time MInho got home. His mother had given him an earful for that, and he couldn’t even remember the boy’s face or name anymore, but ever since then Minho had always chosen the road not taken (or so the nameless boy had called it), and with all the bunnies and the butterflies around, it was hard to be scared of Yellow Wood. He didn’t really understand why everybody else didn’t like it.

Besides, Minho was strong and cool-headed. Ghosts, if there ever were any, didn’t scare him. He had a small, albeit a little rusted dagger hung through his leather belt (it had been his father’s, once) so small, wild animals he knew he could handle. He had never been scared of Yellow Wood.

Tonight, though, Yellow Wood was silent.

Thick. Tense. As if all the birds and the critters and even the trees held their breath. Low-hanging fog swirled around Minho’s feet, almost clinging to him – but fog did not cling, and trees did not breathe, so that must be his imagination. Perhaps the rumors had started to get to him a little, even though he didn’t believe them. He rolled his neck to compose himself, then went on. Somewhere in the darkness a single owl hooted, the only one brave enough to break the silence, and overhead the full moon hung heavily in the starless sky.

The darkness hid the narrow, worn path of the road not taken, but Minho had gone through this path countless times already, so he had it ingrained deep in his mind, his body, and he knew he could walk through it even with his eyes closed. The darkness was nothing to him.

Suddenly, something rustled to his right.

He froze and whipped his head towards the noise – nothing. Bushes sat silently on the earth, and the trees stared back at him. Whatever meager light that came from the moon was too weak to reach the ground, so shadows hid the flowers from sight and crept over his feet. His heartbeat sped up just the slightest bit; why, he wasn’t certain. With a last side-eye, he pulled his hood tighter around his head and walked on. He never thought he would say this, but the faster he was out of Yellow Wood, the better.

He gasped.

He had stepped on a twig – the loud cracking sound sharp and crisp in the otherwise silent woods.

Fuck.

He inhaled deeply and furrowed his brows. Seven hells. Surprised, just from a twig? His fingers twitched around the handle of the woven basket he held, and he breathed out a long, frustrated sigh.

Then the skin on his nape prickled. That made him snap his head up in alarm. His muscles tensed.

He roamed his eyes around. Somehow, suddenly, he felt hunted – but that was bullshit, because there wasn't anyone, anything, to hunt him. If there was no predator, there was no prey.

He gritted his teeth, fingers grazing the handle of the dagger on his waist. The cool handle under his fingertips was a comfort, somehow. He continued on his way. He was so jumpy. It was frustrating. His footsteps became more aggressive out of his frustration, his jaw clenched, his grip on the basket tight.

“Fucking rumors—”

He gasped, back arching off of the tree he had slammed against.

It was all too sudden – one moment he had been walking and the next he was pinned to a tree. When he opened his eyes wide in surprise all he saw were bright, bright gold.

“Oh,” he heard, dazedly. Then the weight pinning him to the tree was gone, and he almost slumped over, but he didn’t – something held him up.

When he looked up someone was smiling down at him, dimples on full display.

“Hello,” that someone said, “It’s you.”

Minho glared – a person, not a wolf, thank god – as he straightened himself and pulled the arm wrapped around his waist off of him. He lifted his gaze to study the man, and oh, that someone had curly hair and a dimpled smile and—

Bright, golden eyes.

“What bright eyes—” Minho breathed out before he could stop himself.

Those bright, bright eyes crinkled up as the man smiled wider at Minho. “The better to see at night, I guess,” he said as he scratched behind his head. Then he frowned at Minho. “What are you doing here in the middle of the night? Have you not heard of the man-wolf?”

“I’m going to my grandmother’s,” Minho explained himself. He saw his basket splayed out on the ground next to him, and he bent to pick it back up. “She’s severely ill, and I need to bring her food and medicine.”

“Wow,” the man said. Then, “That’s a very detailed explanation. Too detailed. Has your mother not taught you not to talk to strangers?” The man chuckled.

MInho gave the man a lethal look. He brushed his cape aside, revealing the handle of the dagger hung on his waist. “I’m not a little girl. Strangers don’t scare me.”

“Ooh.” The man chuckled some more.

Then, Minho frowned. “Do I know you?” he asked, remembering the man’s words earlier.

“You had, I think.” The man hummed and looked up, rubbing his chin in thought. “But it’s been years since we played together.”

Minho’s lips parted. “It’s you? The boy with the bunny?”

“Yes.” The man smiled. “And it’s you, the bunny boy.”

“The bunny boy?”

The man smiled wider, stepping closer to him. Minho stepped back, although he didn’t know why – he just felt like he had to. It was back again, that feeling of being hunted. But that was bullshit – he and the man were the only ones here, and if there was no predator, there was no prey.

For some reason, though, Minho couldn’t pull his gaze away from those gold, gold eyes.

“After all these years, you still look like a bunny,” the man murmured, taking another step closer.

Minho didn’t know whether he should take that as a compliment or not.

“And you know what wolves eat?” The man gave him a wicked grin, and oh – what sharp teeth. ”Bunnies.”

“I don’t care what wolves eat.” Minho tried to glare at the man. Underneath his cape, he wrapped his fingers around the handle of his dagger. That prickling feeling at his neck was back again. He tried to step back more, but his back hit something hard – the tree, where he had been pinned to earlier. “That’s not relevant to me at all.”

“Are you sure?” the man said, and this time when he spoke it rumbled deep in his chest. “But isn’t there a man-wolf on the loose? Don’t you think he’d like to eat you, since you’re a bunny?” Those gold eyes glowed brighter, and it sent crying signals whirling around in Minho’s mind – run away, hide. But that was stupid. Why should he run? If there was no predator, there was no prey…

The man tried to take another step, but he stopped. Surprised, he looked down at his chest. The sharp point of Minho’s dagger pricked at him – at his bare chest, Minho realized. He had on nothing but a fur cloak and some ragged trousers. Was this man not freezing?

“I don’t appreciate being threatened,” Minho warned, digging his dagger just a little harder into the man’s skin. A reminder.

“But am I threatening you?” the man smiled at him. Then, slowly, every movement deliberately meant to hold Minho’s attention, he wrapped his fingers around Minho’s blade. The man twisted. Minho’s arm muscles tensed, resisting the man’s force. Effortlessly, though, the man flicked his dagger to the side.

Minho’s eyes widened.

It was so easy for the man to throw his dagger aside.

Before he could speak further, he was pinned back against the tree. He gasped, wiggling a little. Tried to push the man off, but to no avail. All the while the man just stared down at him, amusement swimming in the pools of molten gold in his eyes.

Minho was strong. He could hold his own in a battle of strength. He knew that. He had proven it countless times before. So why?

In his mind, Minho’s thoughts were racing – what was this unnatural strength? Staring wide-eyed at the man, he stuttered, “Your—Your arms are too strong, what the hell?”

The man chuckled, low and deep in his chest. “The better to pin you down with, huh?”

A sinking realization was starting to dawn on Minho.

Who in their right mind would go out in the middle of the night barely dressed? Who would have insane strength like this? Who would have golden glowing eyes?

Minho was sure those questions had a simple answer. One he should have immediately known the moment this man had sprung out of the trees so quickly Minho hadn’t known what was happening until a few moments after.

Oh, he was so, so stupid.

“Hey—”

Before he could say anything else, though, the man was opening his mouth, and oh – those teeth looked even sharper this close. The man brushed back Minho's hood, and it fell limply off of Minho’s head. Then he leaned in to Minho’s neck, brushing his nose up his skin. It made Minho’s knees almost buckle, but the man held him up securely, not letting him fall.

Not letting him go anywhere else.

Something like a mix between a chuckle and a growl rang right beside Minho’s ear, the man’s breath hot and wet on the shell of his ear. Minho’s hands held onto the man’s arms, which held him up and pinned him against the tree simultaneously.

Then – “Are you sure you still don’t know who the man-wolf is, Bunny?”

Oh.

Right.

The man-wolf.

That was what had been itching at the back of Minho’s mind since earlier.

Man-wolves were real, and—and there was one right in front of—

The man licked up Minho’s neck, a hot, wet drag up to his jaw, and then without warning bit down harshly on the juncture between Minho’s neck and shoulder. The sudden sting made Minho arch into him, made him dig his nails into the meaty flesh of his arms.

And before he could stop it, a moan tore out MInho’s throat.

At that, the man stilled. Then he chuckled deeply.

“Finally. I’ve been waiting for someone willing.”

Minho’s eyes widened. “I’m—”

Warm, soft lips were pressed against his, and the man – no, the man-wolf pressed closer, pressed his body harder against Minho’s. The man-wolf caged him in, and suddenly he was all around him, everywhere, omnipresent, and Minho couldn’t quite help but feel like a small bunny after all, tiny and trapped in the man-wolf’s arms. A slick tongue slipped in between his lips, and the way the man-wolf kissed it was almost like he was trying to devour Minho – which, as flashes of his grandmother’s stories of man-wolves and heats and full moons raced through his mind, Minho supposed he was.

When the man-wolf pulled away, Minho gasped in a breath. “The—The girl.”

The man-wolf raised an eyebrow at him. “What of her?”

“Did you let her go?”

The man-wolf looked at him intensely. “Of course I did. I don’t enjoy forcing others, regardless of the stories about my people.”

Well, that was a surprise. In all his grandmother’s stories, the man-wolf never let its victim go until they’d satiated their hunger for the night. In the stories, the man-wolf was always vicious, violent. Ugly in its ruthlessness.

What a lie.

Minho’s head spun.

“So,” the man said, “I will let you run.”

Minho looked at him in confusion. “What…?”

“I will let you run,” the man-wolf repeated. His eyes glinted, and he ran his tongue over his sharp teeth. When Minho blinked up at him, still dazedly confused, he growled out, “Stop looking so small and fragile, bunny, it’s getting harder to control myself.” He took a step back. Even Minho could feel how hard that had been. “I will let you run. So run away, and never come back.”

Minho stared at him. Then, slowly, steadily, he took a step back. The man-wolf’s eye twitched. His gaze trained hard on Minho’s every movement. Minho knew it was his hunting instinct – predators never let prey go. It was against the laws of nature.

Minho stood still.

“If you’re running, you better hurry,” the man-wolf warned, golden eyes dark as he stared deeply into Minho’s..

Minho swallowed. Then he took another step.

The man’s eyes widened. “What are you—”

Another step. Closer. On Minho’s neck, the single bite mark burned, as if calling out to the one who made it. Closer. This time, he was right in front of the man-wolf. A quivering inch stood between them.

Minho put his hand on the man-wolf’s chest, and whispered, “I’d always wanted to see a man-wolf.”

He heard the man-wolf’s breath hitch.

Slowly, shakily, the man said, “Are you sure, Bunny?”

Minho looked up, and then lifted his hand. He slipped his thumb past the man-wolf’s plump lips, ran it over his teeth. All the while, he stared into the other’s eyes, never broke away. “My, what stupidly big teeth you have,” he said, slipping his thumb in deeper and sliding it over the man-wolf’s tongue.

It sent a shiver of both fear and delight down Minho’s spine the moment he saw the man-wolf let go of his control – his golden eyes darkened, but at the same time seemed to burn brighter. He closed that bare inch between them, bringing them chest to chest. Pressed this close to him, Minho felt the rumbles in his chest when he spoke, and Minho’s breath hitched.

The man-wolf gave his thumb a single suck, before pulling it out of his mouth.

“Why, all the better to mark you with, little Bunny.”

And suddenly, so suddenly, the earth spun around Minho and he was pressed to the earth, and he was gasping out, hands clawing at the man-wolf’s back as he felt sharp, sharp teeth digging into his neck.

Minho didn’t know what to call the man-wolf, so he could only garble out broken noises as he felt his skin give way under the harsh onslaught of teeth. The man-wolf seemed to have noticed too, because he was growling out against Minho’s skin. “Chan,” he growled out..

Minho tried to focus, truly. “W-What?”

“Call me Chan,” the man-wolf said, and leaned down to Minho’s collarbones to start nibbling on the skin there. “For when you moan my name.”

Oh, the way Chan bit into his skin, Minho was sure the marks would last for days. Vaguely, he remembered a line from his grandmother’s stories – the marks of the man-wolf's hunger were painted vividly on their skin, and the man-wolf's howl was etched permanently on their minds. That thought made Minho shiver underneath Chan as the other slowly unlaced his shirt, revealing more of his skin to the cool night air. Then Chan trailed his lips and grazed his teeth lower, lower down Minho’s chest.

He hissed when he felt Chan’s teeth graze his nipples. And then Chan was biting down gently, teasingly, and Minho was arching, hands tangling in Chan's curly hair.

Minho could swear no inch of his skin was left unmarked and unbitten. He couldn't really deny how he loved the feeling of Chan's teeth breaking his skin, then afterwards Chan's tongue soothing the sting – a dizzying mix of cruelty and care. As he laid pliant for Chan, Minho couldn't help but think about how young Minho had been right – right about how his grandmother's stories had been faulty, and how laying with a man-wolf was so, so far from tragic.

Young Minho had always wanted to see a man-wolf. Young Minho had thought it would be an exciting adventure to meet one.

Young Minho had been so, so right.

Chan's tongue was warm when it licked up the valley between his pecs, up the column of his neck, over his chin. Then Chan was licking his bottom lip, and Minho opened up obediently so Chan could slip his tongue in his mouth.

Chan's hand was strong when it cupped Minho's jaw and tilted his head. Minho moaned against the sensual drag of Chan's lips against his, delighted in the slow way Chan slid his tongue over Minho's own. Chan tasted like fire and warm smoke, and his skin felt like that, too, when Minho ran his hands up his chest and around his neck. He swore he heard Chan growl once, a sound so wolf-like it sent shivers down his spine.

"Delicious," Chan murmured against his lips, making Minho give out a shaky sigh. When Chan pulled away, his golden eyes stared down at him hungrily.

Pinned under that hungry gaze, sprawled on the earth, Minho truly felt like prey.

Chan sat up, legs still straddling, trapping Minho on either side, then pushed his fur cloak off of his shoulders, letting it fall onto the ground. He was almost godly, with the way the meager moonlight revealed silvered patches of skin to Minho. The trees towered behind him, and a little above Chan's head the moon hung like some sort of crown – but brightest of all were his eyes, golden and bright and predatory.

Once Chan's cloak was gone, Minho saw the chain wrapped around his neck. He wrapped his fingers around the long chain hanging down Chan's chest, and then tugged, and Chan let out a small growl at that.

"Why do you have this?" Minho asked breathily, trying to grind up against Chan.

"I put it there," Chan said. "You think I'd let a human put this around my neck?"

"No." Minho gave the chain another tug, then let go of it in favor of wrapping his hand around the bulge in Chan's trousers, making the man-wolf throw his head back and hiss.

Slowly, he pulled Chan’s waistband down. Then—

Minho's eyes widened. "That's—you—"

Chan raised a brow at him, head still tilted back a little, revealing the smooth pale skin of his neck as his chest rose up and down.

"You—You're so big!" Minho stuttered out. He himself was not small by any means, but this—

Chan grinned at him wolfishly. A deep growl rumbled in his chest, as he slid his hands up Minho’s legs, up his hips, then—

"All the better to fuck you silly with."

And without warning, he gripped Minho's waist and flipped him over onto his hands and knees. Minho gasped, fingers digging into the hard earth beneath him. Something was shoved into his mouth, and when he saw red fabric Minho realized it was a corner of his cape.

"Hold your cape in place for me, Little Red Riding Hood," Chan ordered, and Minho shivered at the nickname, which was so familiar yet so foreign when it rolled off of Chan’s tongue. Minho's cape was still draped over his shoulders, but brushed over one of his shoulders so Chan could run his hands down his back. Even his shirt was still on him, but it was unlaced, so the night's chill still managed to graze his chest with its cold fingers.

Minho bit down onto the corner of his cape Chan shoved in his mouth. He heard Chan mutter a "Good bunny", and then big hands were running down his back and over his hips, and then his trousers were being pulled down his legs.

Chan tried to remove his trousers completely, but Minho's boots were in the way, and he heard the man-wolf give a small frustrated growl. He chuckled against the fabric in his mouth, then whined when Chan pulled his body back roughly and grinded his cock against his ass.

"Stupid boots," he heard Chan say, and then his boots were being pulled off. Goosebumps rose on his now bare legs as he felt the chill on them, too, but Chan immediately warmed them with his hands.

Chan called his boots stupid, but to Minho's surprise Chan put them back on his feet. When he wiggled in confusion, Chan only murmured, "They look pretty on you, bunny."

Minho rested his forehead on his crossed forearms, trying to calm his racing heart a little. Something hot and slick ran up the back of his thigh, and he realized it was Chan's tongue, sliding over his skin. Then sharp pinpricks of pain bloomed on the inside of his thigh, and he bit down harshly on the cloth in his mouth – fuck, Chan was marking his thighs.

"Chan—" he tried to gasp out, but it was muffled by his cape.

"Now everyone will know you're mine," Chan growled out against his thighs, giving one of his cheeks a firm slap, making Minho's body jolt in surprise.

He felt Chan's finger slide over his inner thigh – up, up, up until it prodded at his hole, slick with something Minho didn't know. It felt thicker and stickier than spit, and when Chan pushed inside the glide was smooth and hot.

"Do you like my precum?" Chan asked him. "It burns when the full moon rises. Burns with the fire in my blood, or so my people liked to say."

And burn it did – burned so good inside Minho, fiery against his walls as Chan fucked it into him with his finger. Chan added another finger, and every drag of his digits was heightened, sent lovely tingles running up and down the soles of his feet and clogging his mind with foggy pleasure. His toes curled inside his boots, and he pressed the tips of his boots into the earth.

Minho wasn't sure when Chan got to four fingers, but he did, thrusting four strong digits into Minho's hole. They pressed against a spot that sent Minho's eyes rolling into the back of his head and his teeth biting down onto the fabric in his mouth, gasping breaths slipping past the gag in his mouth and out the corners of his lips.

By the time Chan was done opening him up, Minho was a trembling, moaning mess. His arms had given up ages ago, too weak to hold his weight up, and he now had his chest pressed to the dirt, his face buried in his arms. Tiny rocks and pieces of twigs dug into his exposed skin where his shirt was unlaced, but he barely felt them when all he could focus on was Chan's mind-dizzying touch.

Then, after Chan had pulled his fingers out, something else was prodding at Minho's hole, running circles around his rim before finally lining up and pushing into him.

Barely an inch in and Minho was whimpering, eyes wide as he arched his back. He lifted his face from his arms and bit down harder onto the fabric in his mouth, nails digging into the dirt as his hips tried to get away.

Big. Big, too big, too big—

"Stay still, bunny," came Chan's strained voice, and then his big hands were gripping Minho's waist tightly and pulling him back against his cock, and Minho was crying out muffled cries, squeezing his eyes shut as Chan speared him wide open on his cock.

After a few moments, Chan bottomed out, hips flush against Minho's ass. Minho breathed harshly, chest heaving, his noises still muffled by his cape, feeling so full. Then Chan was running his hand through Minho's hair and pulling, and Minho had to tilt his head back, the slight pain of his hair being pulled so good on his scalp.

Man-wolves were impatient during the full moon – at least the tales and legends told that part true, as Minho found out when Chan started thrusting into him. No gentleness, no patience. Chan oozed raw hunger as he took what he wanted, and Minho loved it, loved the immediate bruising snap of his hips, loved the slight burn when his walls were forced to stretch around the shape of Chan’s cock even before they were completely ready.

Soon the trees and grass and shrubs in front of him were starting to blur together into one dark mess as his eyes crossed. Somewhere in the corner his basket was toppled, forgotten, some of the bread and cakes inside almost spilling out. Chan still had his hair in his grip, and Minho could almost physically feel the noises bubbling up his throat and into the now damp fabric in his mouth. The way he sounded so broken and wrecked sent a sweet, twisted tightening in his guts.

His palms and knees scraped against the dirt as his body jostled up and down roughly. He already knew he'd look so ruined the next morning, when he'd crawl out of the trees like the people in his grandmother's stories. Hunted. Ruined. Marked.

Chan sped up, fucked into him even deeper – hell, no human could ever match this pace. A slight change in angle, and soon enough Chan was abusing his sweet spot, and Minho couldn't stop the steady stream of noises clawing its way up his throat and past the fabric in his mouth, escaping through the corners of his mouth.

He became so overwhelmed with pleasure his mind wasn't able to handle it, and tears sprouted in the corners of his eyes and fell down his cheeks. He was going insane, delirious with pleasure, he couldn't even describe the feeling anymore because all his mind could babble was good, good, good.

"You're trembling like a good prey should, bunny," Chan growled out, hips unceasing and merciless. Chan leaned over him, and Minho felt his solid weight drape over his back. Then suddenly his hand wrapped around Minho, warm and slick and good, so good, it made Minho's guts tighten to the point of almost being too much.

The fabric was pulled out of his mouth, and his desperate noises became louder, ringing through the woods. "I want to hear you scream."

Then Chan sunk his teeth into him, sending sharp bursts of pleasurable pain coursing through his body, and he was cumming, cumming, screaming just the way Chan wanted, writhing underneath him just like a good prey would.

Once the blinding pleasure started to recede and fatigue was starting to flood into his limbs, Minho was flipped onto his back, and suddenly he was staring up at bright, bright gold.

He was startled by the feral look on Chan's face – his hair was even more dishevelled, upper lip curled over his teeth in a snarl. His eyes were dazed as he continued fucking into Minho, and Minho knew that Chan's mind was lost, had submitted to the part of him that was animal.

This was a man-wolf.

Minho wiggled a bit when everything started to become just a little too much, but Chan only growled out and pinned his wrists to either side of his head, curling over Minho. His legs were draped over Chan's shoulders, and when Chan leaned over him his knees were pressed against his chest, almost bending him in half. Fresh tears started to fall down his face when he felt everything starting to overwhelm him, mind shutting down as his mind buzzed between trying to get away, to come closer, wanting it to end already, wanting more.

He whined when he felt his stomach tightening again, toes curling inside his boots. Desperate ah ah ah noises were forced out his lungs with each of Chan’s thrusts. He tried to tell Chan that he was close again, truly he did, but all he could voice out in the end was a long, drawn-out syllable, shaky and stuttering as his body jostled up and down and up again on the dirt. His body felt so hot it felt like a fire burned him from the inside out, lickng under his skin.

He arched his back when he came once again, screaming into the night as the pleasure flooded so strongly that it made his mind blank. He clenched down tightly onto Chan, and that must have done something, because Chan was sitting up and pulling out of him, hand pumping himself furiously.

Then Chan threw his head back, face lifted up to the moon, and he gave a long, loud howl that echoed through the trees and into the night sky as he came.

Minho barely managed to close his eyes when Chan suddenly came, his cum thick and warm on Minho's skin when it splattered over him. Some landed on his cheek, so close to his right eye, and some landed on his lips and the bridge of his nose, but most of it splattered on his chest, warming his exposed skin and possibly staining his shirt. All the while, Chan's howl carried on – a long, animalistic sound that sent shivers all over Minho's limp body.

After a while, Chan quieted down and looked at Minho, who remained motionless on the ground beneath him. He brought two fingers and dragged it across the mess of cum and sweat on Minho's chest, before bringing his cum-covered digits to Minho's lips.

Obediently, Minho parted his lips. Chan slipped his fingers in his mouth, and Minho gave a weak moan, swirling his tongue over Chan's fingers, licking up his cum. When Chan spread his fingers apart, Minho made sure to dip his tongue into the space between the fingers so he could lap up the cum there and make sure he had cleaned Chan's fingers thoroughly.

After he was done, Chan pulled his fingers out. A string of spit dangled from Minho's lips to Chan's fingers, glimmering slightly under the moonlight before it broke when Chan moved his hand away too far.

Chan leaned down, and then, bright golden eyes staring into Minho's, he stuck his tongue out and slowly lapped up the remaining cum on Minho's chest. Minho ran his hand over Chan's hair as he watched him lick all over him, and then Chan was leaning up, and he was pressing his lips to Minho's.

They both moaned when Chan slipped his tongue in, pushing the cum on his tongue onto Minho's, before swirling it around, making sure to coat every inch of Minho’s mouth. Chan sucked on his tongue, before grazing his own over Minho’s teeth. Then he dragged his teeth over Minho’s bottom lip and tugged at it teasingly when he pulled away.

When Minho opened his eyes, he saw Chan’s bright golden ones shining with something like satiated satisfaction.

“Hello! Where are you?” Someone shouted, the words bouncing off of the trees surrounding them. Footsteps and crackling twigs crept closer and closer, and Chan’s body froze where it curled around Minho against a tree, muscles tense and on alert. Minho was just as tense as him, gripping his arms in alarm.

Villagers were here. They must have heard Minho’s screams earlier, along with Chan's howl. “We’re here to help you! Don’t be afraid!” they called out to him.

Minho would have liked a few more moments of peace and quiet with Chan, but he could see panic starting to creep into Chan's face, and he cupped the man-wolf’s cheek. “Go,” he whispered. Chan only hesitated for a moment, giving Minho a questioning look. Will you be alright?

Minho nodded wordlessly, and the warmth around him disappeared as Chan jumped up and ran back into the darkness in the trees.

Suddenly, the night’s chill seemed to bite deeper under Minho’s skin.

After a few moments, when Minho was sure that the man-wolf had run away, he called out. The orange light of the villagers’ torches glowed on the tree trunks, and they stumbled upon Minho leaning against a tree on the ground, dressed in his shirt and his trousers and with his red cape wrapped around him comfortably.

When Minho tried to stand, his legs fell out underneath him. A man dashed to catch him before he could fall, and Minho mumbled a quiet “Thank you,” before recognizing him. He was from his grandmother's village, a boy named Hyunjin; he was one of the very few people he’d felt comfortable talking to during his visits to his grandmother. The man gave him a small smile as he supported him.

Hyunjin was younger than him, so Minho was quite surprised to see him here. “They allowed you to hunt?”

Hyunjin shook his head as he draped Minho’s arm over his neck. “They didn't want to, but I was the first one to hear you, and I was already running off to the woods before they could even stop me.” He smiled. "Besides, they know I can handle myself."

“Oh.” Right. Hyunjin was a hunting prodigy. “Thank you.”

Hyunjin’s smile widened a bit. "Are you alright?" he asked, holding Minho close so that he wouldn't fall and adjusting Minho’s cape over his shoulders.

Suddenly, a low growl came from the trees. The villagers raised their torches and their weapons higher, shuffling restlessly. Hyunjin’s eyes widened a little, looking around and pulling Minho even closer to him.

Minho knew that sound. Minho knew what it meant. Why did Chan not run away farther? “Can we go now…? Please?” Minho requested. He didn't want these people to stay here any longer; Chan might show himself if provoked further.

A dark-skinned woman nodded and whispered orders to the others to get out of Yellow Wood immediately. Minho limped beside Hyunjin, the soreness in his ass making him hiss occasionally and grit his teeth.

The rest of the night was a blur. Hyunjin brought Minho to his house, saying that Minho’s grandmother was in no fit condition to take care of Minho in her current state, so Hyunjin would take care of him for the night. Minho barely had any energy to stand, let alone argue, so he just let the other sit him down gently on a bed and give him water. Hyunjin tried to rub some salve on the marks scattered all over his body, but Minho only shook his head, gently pushing his hands away. Hyunjin looked at him worriedly, an unvoiced question so obviously on the tip of his tongue, but he was kind enough not to pry any further.

After that, Minho fell asleep.

The sunlight from the open window slowly woke Minho up. Outside, a rooster crowed. Hyunjin led him to a table and gave him bread and cheese for breakfast, which Minho wolfed down – after all that had happened, he was starving.

Minho felt like he would be overstaying his welcome if he ate the man's food, but Hyunjin told him that no, Minho wasn’t, he was happy to help a friend, and he insisted that Minho eat breakfast with him because his brother Felix was out early and he had nobody to eat breakfast with, would Minho keep him company for breakfast? So Minho did.

After that, he thanked Hyunjin profusely, promising to pay him back some time. Hyunjin smiled warmly at him, and handed him the basket he had been carrying last night. He had found it lying on the ground, Hyunjin said, and had figured it was Minho’s.

Minho's grandmother’s house wasn’t exactly far from Hyunjin’s, so only after a couple of minutes he was already stepping through his grandma's doorway. "Grandma, I'm here!" he called out, wiping his boots on the rug and pulling off his red cape, hanging it on the hook beside the door.

"I'm in my bedroom!" His grandmother shouted, although Minho noticed it was weak and frail compared to her usual strong bellow. Perhaps Minho should stay here for a few days, make sure that his grandmother was being taken care of well. He could have some of the locals who planned to visit his village tell his mother about it – many elders from both villages visited the other often these days because of the man-wolf hunt, after all, and it wouldn’t be hard to pass on information to either village.

He placed his basket on the wooden table his grandmother loved to make pastry on. Then, with a gentle smile, he entered his grandmother's bedroom.

She looked happy to see him, and she was saying something to him.

Minho couldn't really hear.

Her words pushed into background noise, sounding so far away. Minho barely paid them any attention, frozen on the doorway.

There, sitting beside his grandmother's bed and holding a bowl of steaming soup, was a curly-haired man, staring wide-eyed at him before giving a small, dimpled smile when he realized it was Minho. He looked soft, warm, human – his eyes didn't glow gold, and his teeth weren’t sharp when he grinned.

But Minho and the aches all over his body recognized him all the same.