Ch. 06 Homecoming

Content warning: "Feminine" words are used to describe the trans man's genitalia. If this is not your thing please move on.

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It had been almost a month since Wolf first met Tristan. The days were longer now, heavier with sun and the smell of salt in the wind. Marseille was warming up. The dogs had started shedding in earnest, leaving trails of fur along the tile floors.

Wolf stood at the sink, sleeves pushed up, washing out an old terracotta pot. His camera bag lay open on the table behind him--he'd started carrying it again. Not just for comfort now, but because the light, people and scenry here pulled at him--it stirred something.

He'd begun shooting again, slowly at first, then with the quiet urgency of someone waking up. Intimate still lifes appeared around him like offerings: a half-eaten fig on a chipped plate, Anna's bra hung over a garden chair, the dogs curled together in late-afternoon light. He photographed their bodies, their home, the queer community that welcomed them like they'd always been here. Nothing posed, nothing precious. Just moments, tender and alive.

Anna had left early for a meeting at the museum. She'd kissed his shoulder, murmured something sweet, and disappeared in a blur of silk and worn denim. The soft click of the door had echoed through the quiet house like punctuation.

Now he was alone, up to his elbows in dirt and soap and sun.

It felt strange, how settled everything had become in such a short time. Strange and good. He wasn't quite sure what to call it yet.

The night after the playroom--Tristan hadn't said much. Just a look, a kiss to the back of Wolf's neck, and the understanding that some things didn't need to be picked apart immediately. And Anna... she still didn't know, though that wouldn't last. Not with the tape.

It was her, actually, who'd shown his photographs to someone at her gallery. Just casually, over wine, as she always did. And now there was an offer--a one-year residency in a shared atelier just outside the city centre. A real one. With a stipend, studio space, exhibitions, a monthly compensation coming from susbsidies. The kind of thing that didn't come by accident.

He hadn't said yes yet. But he hadn't said no.

What had really startled him was what she'd said after. "If you stay, maybe we could find a place. Something small, with a garden. The dogs would like it."

Like it was that simple. Like it could be.

A key turned in the lock. Wolf turned, heart ticking, expecting Anna back early. But it wasn't her.

Tristan stepped into the kitchen, sunglasses pushed up in his hair, curls wild, wearing a threadbare tank top and cargo shorts. He looked sun-drenched and out of place in the quiet. He held up a paper bag.

"Got the bread you like."

Wolf wiped his hands on a towel. "Thanks."

Tristan shrugged, grinned. "You looked like someone who needed carbs and a joint. And maybe to talk about the fact that you're turning into a domestic artist househusband."

Tristan shrugged, grinned. "You looked like someone who needed carbs and a joint. And maybe to talk about the fact that you're turning into a domestic artist househusband."

Wolf huffed a laugh, drying his hands on a tea towel. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

"It's not," Tristan said, already setting the bag on the table and pulling out a baguette, still warm. "You look good like this. Soft. Sun-kissed. Borderline smug."

Wolf raised an eyebrow. "Smug?"

Tristan smirked. "The kind of smug that comes from good sex and decent sleep and someone making your coffee just the way you like it."

He wasn't wrong. It showed in Wolf's face, in the way his shoulders sat lower now, less burdened. In the curve of his mouth when he smiled without thinking.

"You're not jealous, are you?" Wolf teased, leaning against the counter, watching him.

Tristan made a low noise, ambiguous. He pulled out a joint from his back pocket and lit it without answering right away. After a moment, he exhaled slowly, eyes flicking to Wolf's.

"Not of her," he said. "I like watching you become yourself."

That quieted them both for a beat.

Wolf looked down, the words catching in his chest, sticking somewhere tender.

"I don't know what I'm becoming," he said finally, voice low.

Tristan passed him the joint. "Sure you do. You just haven't named it yet."

Wolf took a long drag, letting the smoke settle in his lungs. The breeze stirred through the open kitchen door, carrying in the scent of jasmine from the courtyard.

"I might stay," he said, not looking at Tristan. "The residency. Anna found it for me."

"She believes in you," Tristan said simply.

Wolf nodded. "It's not just that. She said... if I stay, maybe we could find a place together. Something small. With a garden."

Tristan leaned back in his chair, one leg hooked over the other. "Do you want that?"

Wolf looked at him then, the question lingering longer than it should have. He didn't answer right away. Maybe because he already knew. Maybe because he wanted Tristan to ask again--slower, deeper.

"Yeah," he said at last. "I think I do."

Tristan didn't say anything right away. He just nodded, like he'd known the answer all along. He tore off a piece of bread, chewed it slowly, watching Wolf over the rim of his thoughts.

Wolf took another drag from the joint and let his voice go quiet. "And you? You've been... different since the club."

Tristan arched a brow. "Different how?"

"I don't know," Wolf said, exhaling smoke as he handed the joint back. "Lighter, maybe. Or like you're holding something close and not sure if you want to let it go."

Tristan gave a soft huff through his nose and looked away. The corner of his mouth tugged up, but it didn't quite become a smile.

Wolf leaned against the counter again, arms folded. "Is it Ilias?"

Tristan didn't flinch, but the way his fingers stilled on the paper bag said enough.

"He stayed last night, didn't he?" Wolf asked, gentler now.

"Yeah," Tristan said. "Couple times already, actually."

Wolf nodded, watching him. "You like him."

Tristan looked up, face open in a way Wolf rarely saw. "I do."

It hung there for a moment--bare, unguarded.

"He's got this way of looking at me," Tristan went on, voice lower now, almost thoughtful. "Like he sees through all the sharp edges and just... stays."

Wolf smiled softly. "Sounds familiar."

Tristan glanced up, their eyes meeting. Something passed between them--fondness, memory, the unspoken bond that still tied them together, however differently now.

"It's not like us," Tristan said. "Not the same shape."

"I wouldn't expect it to be," Wolf said. "But I hope you let it grow. He seems good for you."

"He is," Tristan admitted, quieter than before. "He asks questions I don't know how to answer. But I want to."

Wolf pushed away from the counter, walked over, and rested a hand lightly on Tristan's shoulder. "That's a good sign."

Tristan looked up at him, smile softening. "Yeah. I think it might be."

Tristan tossed his crust into the garden for the birds and brushed the crumbs from his fingers. "You've gotten soft," he said, teasing. "Domesticated. What would past-Wolf say?"

"He'd be too busy brooding in a field somewhere to care," Wolf said, smirking. He stretched his legs out under the table, his foot brushing Tristan's. Neither of them moved away.

"You really like her, huh?" Tristan said, more gently this time.

Wolf hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. I really do."

Tristan smiled, but there was a quiet weight behind it. "She's good for you. Doesn't mean I'm not still a little jealous."

Wolf's gaze sharpened at that. "Of her? Or of me?"

Tristan leaned back in his chair, arms spread lazily along the top rail. "Both."

That pulled a laugh out of Wolf, low and rough. "You're such a menace."

Tristan winked. "You wouldn't have it any other way."

Wolf stood, shaking out his shoulders. "I'm gonna grab something to drink--want anything?"

"Surprise me."

Wolf walked back toward the kitchen, barefoot, shirt clinging lightly to his back with heat and sweat. Tristan stayed behind for a moment, watching the sway of his hips, the ease in the way he moved now. Softer, but still sharp underneath. Still Wolf.

He waited until he heard the fridge open before getting up, quietly following the sound of clinking bottles and low music humming from the little speaker by the sink.

Wolf didn't hear Tristan approach until he was already there, stepping in behind him with quiet confidence, heat radiating from his chest to Wolf's bare back. A warm hand traced up his spine, settling between his shoulder blades with a soft press that made him shiver.

"You want another hit?" Tristan murmured, voice smooth and low like velvet dragged across skin.

Wolf parted his lips in anticipation as Tristan slid a joint between them. The lighter flicked, flame briefly catching the golden tips of Tristan's curls. Wolf inhaled deep, the smoke dragging him further into that soft, blissed-out haze he'd been floating in since the sun had started to sink.

As he exhaled slowly, Tristan's free hand skimmed down his side, then wrapped around to stroke the line of his ribs, his thumb grazing just under his breast. Wolf arched back into him instinctively, his ass grinding against the solid heat behind him. He could feel it--Tristan already hard, already waiting.

He let his head fall back against Tristan's shoulder, his mouth curling in a slow, wicked grin. "Yes please, daddy," he whispered, his voice sweetly filthy.

Tristan growled, quiet but sharp. "Such a needy little slut."

There was no rush--only the slow, deliberate movement of Tristan pushing Wolf's pants down just enough to bare him, to expose that wet heat between his legs. Wolf leaned forward slightly, bracing his hands on the low windowsill, exhaling as he felt the thick head of Tristan's cock pressing in.

The stretch made him gasp. It was slow--agonizingly slow. Tristan sank in inch by inch, one hand on Wolf's hip, the other spread possessively over his lower stomach.

"Fuck," Wolf groaned, eyes fluttering shut. The intrusion wasn't brutal--it was intimate, reverent, like Tristan was savoring every second of being inside him.

"I missed this pussy," Tristan breathed against the shell of his ear, moving with a pace that bordered on torturous. "I missed how greedy she gets. Look at you already clenching down like you can't wait."

Wolf moaned. "I can't. I need it."

Tristan fucked him with a maddening rhythm--slow, smooth, each thrust angled just right to make Wolf's whole body thrum. Wolf's arms trembled with the effort to stay upright, his lips parted in a constant stream of sighs and soft cries.

The orgasm built gradually, creeping up from deep inside, and when it hit, it rolled through him like a wave--long, warm, almost unbearably tender. He came with a breathy whimper, collapsing forward onto his elbows, muscles fluttering around Tristan's cock.

But Tristan didn't move. He stayed inside, still and thick and pulsing.

"You know what I want, right babe?" he whispered, nuzzling into Wolf's neck. His voice was low, reverent, intimate. "You know what this slut cunt's for."

Wolf's breath hitched. A lazy, seductive smile tugged at his lips. He gave a slow, purposeful clench around Tristan, then another, rhythmically working his walls around the cock still seated deep inside.

Tristan hissed through his teeth, fingers digging into Wolf's hips. "That's it. Milk me, sweetheart."

Wolf kept going, soft moans spilling from his mouth as he pulsed around him, coaxing the orgasm out of Tristan with obscene control. When Tristan finally groaned and thrust once, hard, coming deep inside him, Wolf could feel the heat of it flood his pussy, filling him completely.

They stayed like that for a moment, bodies locked together, breathing tangled.

Then, carefully, Tristan pulled out. He crouched behind Wolf, spreading him gently, admiring the slick mess. He leaned in, kissing the soft folds, then licked him clean with quiet reverence. Each kiss was slow, delicate, an unspoken thank-you.

What they hadn't noticed--lost in heat and rhythm and the quiet afterglow--was that Anna had come home.

She stood just inside the hallway, barefoot, one hand still wrapped loosely around the strap of her bag. Her breath was shallow, eyes wide and dark, lips parted. She hadn't meant to intrude, not exactly--but the door had been unlocked, the dogs out back, the smell of sex thick in the air the moment she stepped in.

And then she'd seen them.

Tristan crouched between Wolf's thighs, reverent, slow, his mouth soft with devotion. Wolf still trembling, bent over the windowsill, fucked open and slick, his flushed body catching the last light spilling in from the garden. The low hum of pleasure still clung to both of them, skin glowing with sweat and want.

She couldn't move. Couldn't look away.

Wolf shuddered as Tristan's tongue dragged over his sensitive slit, one last lingering kiss placed low against the curve of his ass. He sighed, a sound that was all surrender, all bliss.

Then he turned slightly, just enough to catch movement--eyes flicking up, breath catching sharp in his throat.

He froze.

Anna stood there, quiet, composed, cheeks a little flushed but eyes calm. Curious. Hungry.

A slow smile tugged at her mouth. "Don't stop on my account," she said softly.

Wolf flushed deep red, a thrill of embarrassment and arousal crashing over him all at once. "Anna--fuck--I didn't know you were back."

"I gathered." Her voice was warm, amused. She stepped forward slowly, letting her gaze drift over them both. "Did you two start without me?"

Tristan looked up from where he was still kneeling, licking his lips slowly. "Just keeping your boy entertained until you got home."

Anna set her bag down on the counter, deliberately slow, eyes never leaving them. "I could watch you all night," she said. "But I think I want a taste too."

Wolf whimpered, his knees nearly giving out.

Tristan chuckled, low and fond. "She missed you."

She crossed the room quietly, gaze moving over them with that familiar blend of curiosity and heat, but there was no judgment in her expression.

When she reached Wolf, she touched his cheek first, her thumb grazing the edge of his mouth. She leaned in, kissed his temple. "You look amazing," she murmured. "But you smell like sweat and sex. Come shower with me?"

Wolf blinked up at her. "Yeah."

She smiled again, brushing her fingers through his hair. "We can talk in there. I missed you."

Behind them, Tristan stretched as he stood, tucking himself back into his shorts without fuss. "I'll clean up here," he said, grabbing the towel from the counter. "You two go... rinse off the filth."

Anna gave him a look--fond, teasing. "Thanks. There's wine in the fridge if you want some."

"I'll make a spritz," he said, already heading toward the sink.

Wolf let Anna guide him gently by the hand, the low throb between his legs still tender, the heat of everything that had just happened still clinging to his skin. She didn't say anything as they walked down the hall, but her thumb kept stroking over the inside of his wrist.

Once inside the bathroom, she turned on the water, let it run warm. Then she began undressing him with quiet care, peeling his shirt away, easing down the rest. She didn't ask what had happened or why--she just touched him like he was something treasured. And when he reached for her, she let him undress her too, layer by layer.

The water poured in steady streams over their skin, the quiet hiss of it filling the small tiled space. Anna's hands moved in slow circles across Wolf's back, slick with soap, and he leaned into her touch like it anchored him.

"You seem different here," she said after a long moment, her voice low and reflective. "Lighter. Even when you're tired."

Anna studied him for a moment, brushing her thumb gently under his eye. "Have you decided yet?"

He didn't have to ask what she meant.

"I think I want to say yes," he said quietly. "To the residency. A year here. A studio, space to work... it's everything I was afraid to ask for."

She smiled, but it was tinged with something vulnerable. "And what about us?"

He stepped closer, hands smoothing over the curve of her lower back. "I want that too. You." He swallowed, eyes searching hers. "When you said we could look for a place... were you serious?"

"I don't say things I don't mean." Her voice softened. "I'd love to live with you, Wolf. A house with a little garden. Big windows. Books everywhere."

He smiled, the image blooming in his mind like something he'd been secretly craving. "And dogs underfoot."

"And Tristan three doors down, letting himself in uninvited."

They both laughed, leaning into each other.

Then quieter: "It's a big step," Wolf said.

"It is," she agreed. "But I want it, I want you."

The silence that followed was full of certainty. Wolf tilted his head and kissed her--slow, warm, without urgency. Just gratitude. Just promise.

When they pulled apart, he rested his forehead to hers again.

"Let's do it," he whispered.

Anna smiled, radiant. "Good. Because I already started bookmarking listings."

Anna reached for the soap again, but Wolf caught her wrist gently, guiding it away. His other hand slid low, trailing over her hip and dipping between her legs without warning. She gasped, hips twitching, and he just smiled--slow, cocky, warm with mischief.

"You're not the only one who can be in charge," he murmured, fingers gliding up to graze her clit, featherlight. Just enough to make her jolt.

Anna narrowed her eyes at him, but the heat in her gaze betrayed her. "Oh?" she breathed.

"Mhm." He leaned in, lips brushing the shell of her ear. "You've had your fun watching. Now it's my turn."

His fingers slipped lower, slow and deliberate, teasing her slick entrance before dipping inside--just two fingers, curling in a way that made her whimper, unguarded and beautiful.

He didn't fuck her with them. Just kept them there, letting her pulse around the intrusion, while his thumb returned to her clit, circling, then pressing, then retreating again until she whimpered in frustration.

Her breath hitched, body tensing under the warm cascade of water. She tried to grind into his hand, but he stilled her with a firm grip to her hip.

"Easy," he whispered, smiling against her cheek. "You don't come until I say so."

"Wolf--"

He cut her off with another slow swirl of his thumb, keeping her teetering at the edge, needy and panting.

And then, with his fingers still resting against that throbbing, slippery knot of her clit, he said casually, "Come on. Let's get dressed and have a drink with Tristan."

Her eyes flew open. "You little--"

He kissed the corner of her mouth, fingers giving her one last teasing stroke before pulling away.

"To celebrate," he added, grinning as he stepped out of the shower, completely unhurried, as if he hadn't just wrecked her composure. "The good news deserves bubbles."

Anna stood there a moment longer, stunned and aching, before muttering under her breath and grabbing a towel to follow.

"You're so dead," she called after him.

"Better hurry, then," he called back, laughing. "Wouldn't want to keep our girl waiting."

Anna chased Wolf out of the shower, her laughter echoing through the hallway. "Get back here, you smug bastard!" she called, eyes gleaming with mischief.

Wolf ducked around the corner, towel barely hanging onto his hips, water still dripping from his hair and beard. She caught up to him just as he hit the edge of the bed, tackling him down in a splash of heat and wet limbs. They tumbled across the sheets, laughing, slipping against each other's slick skin.