Copyright © 2013 Naoko Smith
Many thanks to Bramblethorn, who has survived the gay werewolves in an alleyway chapter and agreed to continue editing.
Please leave comments and feedback for me so I know what works and what doesn't as I write up the rest of this story.
This series has two kinds of chapters: story chapters, called '(story)' in the blurb and sex scenes, called '(scene)' in the blurb. The sex scenes will be diverse. You can choose to read them all or, if e.g. hetero sex isn't your thing, to skip some and only read the story chapters and e.g. lesbian sex scenes. You should be able to identify which scenes have what kind of sex from the tags and sometimes the category the chapter is uploaded into.
All characters in this story are fictional. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Chapter 05 -- Red (Max/Rex)
Col the worse for wear (story)
Red sat up in the bed with a start. Someone had slammed the front door. There was the noise of furniture being knocked over and a horrible yowling. Red's shoulders were bristling, she snatched at the leather collar on the bedside table and buckled it hurriedly on. People were running down the stairs. She dragged her trousers on and followed.
As she came into the kitchen, she saw Max standing by the table. He was saying: "He wouldn't let me call Bryony. I think they've split up."
Rikki was right behind Red, he gave a shocked howl in her ear. She could feel the emotion bristling off him against his collar. Rob had changed. He was running around the kitchen after Col who was staggering about on the other side of the table. Rob's claws were slipping on the flagstones, he was whining and attempting to shove his tousled blond body up against Col's legs.
Rex stood by the kitchen range, Christa hovering uncertainly beside him -- a cup of tea was not going to be enough in this situation. Rex was wearing only his jeans and leather collar, his arms folded across his chest.
Col blundered up and down the kitchen, shaking his head on his stocky shoulders and making that nerve-jangling yowling sound even though he was still fully dressed and human with his collar on.
"What's the matter with him?" Rikki cried.
"He's drunk," Max answered. "Your brother's out in the yard in his cab. He wouldn't come in but he said he'd wait ten minutes if you want a word with him." Rikki hesitated then turned and went out.
Max had had a difficult time getting Col away after Col had stumbled on him and the lads in an alley. Col was at the belligerent stage of drunkenness by then. The lads had buggered off as soon as they realised Col was too drunk to recognise them or figure out what they were up to with Max in a dark alley behind a dumpster. Max didn't feel happy about just taking Col back to his flat, or to Col's flat, when Col was clearly in such trouble that he had gone out on a Sunday night and got completely off his face instead of getting on Bryony's face. When Max tried to call Bryony, Col swore about her in language that was disgustingly abusive even by Col's standards.
Max's Aston Martin was up at the farmhouse. He had no idea where Col's Alfa Romeo Spider was parked. He wasn't hopeful of getting a taxi willing to take them all the way up into the Valleys with Col looking like he would throw up as soon as the cab started moving. Luckily when he got Col to the taxi rank, Rikki's older brother was there in a black cab on the night shift.
Rikki's family had always said that children were a gift from God, however different they might be to other children, but much as they loved him they inevitably struggled with Rikki. They had a town house with no garden and there were several smaller siblings who weren't sufficiently respectful of his tail and ears to make Rikki the wolf a safe playmate for them. Rikki's family were grateful to Rex for taking Rikki into the pack, and to Col who employed Rikki in his business. Rikki's brother was not impressed of course at the state Col had got himself into but Max promised to pay for cleaning the cab if necessary. Once they'd persuaded Col to sit on the seat with the seatbelt on instead of lying on the floor of the cab, it was a reasonably peaceful journey. Col only said: "Foock off," when Max tried to ask him what was wrong so Max left it.
As Col stumbled round the kitchen table, he tripped on Rob's bumbling anxious body. He aimed a kick at Rob; he was so drunk Rob dodged it easily, but Col lost his balance and nearly fell over.
Rex stalked suddenly through the kitchen and grabbed Col by the collar. He dragged Col to the scullery, shut the door and started pulling Col's clothes off him, cuffing him round the head when Col tried to fight him off. Because Rex was the pack leader, Col only put up a token resistance to make it clear that he was an Alpha too. It didn't take Rex long to strip off his muscular stocky body and unbuckle his collar.
He watched the thick dark fur burst out down Col's spine and pour out over his body. Col fell to all fours and raised his lengthening face to open what was now a snout in a howl. Rex opened the back door and let Col out into the garden. Col's nails scrabbled on the slippery lino floor as he threw himself out.
Rex had no shoes on but he walked a couple of steps out onto the path round a muddy patch of grass. He curled his toes off the freezing cold ground, his arms wrapped around his hard-muscled bare ribcage.
Col was whining and howling, dashing around in the darkness, flinging his thickset furry body at the rough stone walls around the garden.
Rex gave a heavy sigh. "What the bloody Hell have you done now?" he said softly. He added even more softly, "son."
~#~
In the morning, Col came into the kitchen while Red and the cubs were having breakfast. Max had driven back down to the city much earlier. The cubs worked for Col. They would normally have eaten and gone out with him long before this. In the circumstances, Christa let them lie in.
Col looked terrible. His chocolate brown eyes were sunk in his head. There was a blueish-black unshaven fuzz over his chin. He had a number of cuts and grazes and some dried blood on his face where he had slammed it along the rough stone wall in the back garden the night before. He still smelled of alcohol and his dirty white cotton shirt was lopsided; he had buttoned it up in the wrong buttonholes.
