Hour of the Wolf – Chapter 4

Baxter was tired of waiting. He had spent most of the day waiting for Calhoun to return from his trip to the Golden Hind to let Gideon know that Baxter was safe, and once again the apprentice hunter found himself inside the small cabin, lit only by the fireplace, waiting on Calhoun’s return. But this wait felt much worse; Calhoun was the beast and apparently, there was something else lurking in the woods, which he took upon himself to go face. Baxter heard distant howling immediately after the sounds of the heavily padded footsteps disappearing into the woods and then there were only the usual sounds of the night; insects, birds and the wind blowing across the forest and licking the thatch roof of the cabin.

Baxter sat at the edge of the bed, for a while, and then tried to pace around, but his twisted ankle quickly proved that to be a bad idea. While it was less painful and less swollen, it was still not comfortable to stand on, let alone walk with. So, he ended up leaning against the wall and waiting for a moment longer. He couldn’t say how long it was, in the end, before he finally gave up on waiting entirely. He was a hunter, after all, and if there was something dangerous in the woods - besides Calhoun - then it was both his job and his duty to meet it. A quick look around was enough to find his boots and he struggled to put them on his swollen ankle, but he still pushed through the pain, and then he tossed Calhoun’s musket over his shoulder and, despite his mostly undressed state, he took the woodcutting axe to use as an improvised cane, to prevent himself from resting weight onto his injured foot. He knelt afterwards, taking a piece of his own discarded clothes to wrap around a thinner piece of firewood and make himself an improvised torch. Armed with fire, a gun and an axe, Baxter still needed to take a deep breath before he walked out of Calhoun’s cabin and into the deep woods of the Briarwold proper.

The first thing he noticed as he walked through the door and down the single wooden step in front of it, was that, by a pile of firewood tucked against the side of the cabin, there were a series of discarded clothes, a shirt, pants and boots, that he could recognise as being what Calhoun had on as he left. Briefly, the image of a naked woodsman running through the forest flashed in Baxter’s mind, but he pushed it aside and focused on trying to guess a direction to go. The way the clothes were discarded, with the shirt first and the pants a little further ahead, suggested the vector of Calhoun’s departure from the hut, and while that was flimsy evidence, it was the best Baxter had at the moment.

The cabin was located in a sort of depression it seemed, with the terrain rising in inclination in all directions away from it, forming two ridges flanking the relatively flat clearing at the bottom, where the home had been built. This meant that but a few steps with his new axe cane and Baxter was already being forced to climb upwards, holding the torch in one hand and the other resting on top of the head of the axe to push his weight against it instead of his foot. The incline was gentle at first, and then not much, and the improvised torch didn’t provide nearly as much light as he was hoping for but it was better than stumbling about in the dark. The skies were cloudy that night, and even if the moon was as bright as it had been the night before, it was now hiding behind a thick woolly veil. With some effort, Baxter reached the top of one of the flanking ridges, and then he stood there, perfectly still, holding the torch aloft and listening.

The wind licked the flames and caused a strange fluttering roar from the fire, and the brightness dimmed as this happened. Baxter saw the darkness advancing when the fire flickered and his heart started to race, thinking about what he was doing, and how he might find himself almost naked and totally in the dark in a forest with not one, but two blood-thirsty creatures, should the torch give in. But it didn’t, and as he stood there, collecting his thoughts and listening, he heard what sounded like a distant ‘thump’ coming from his left.

That sound stood out from the rest of the nocturnal background noises, so Baxter headed towards it, all the while acutely aware of how precarious his only source of light was. Looking down to avoid another fall, he stepped over rocks, roots and fallen branches, and advanced towards where he thought the thumping sound might have come from. He couldn’t be sure though that he was going in the right direction, and he slowed down with each step, trying to hear for more.

At first, all he heard was the night symphony of the forest, but as his ears grew used to it, he could isolate something else in the background. Something less rhythmic and that happened in bursts. It was faint but it seemed to come from not too far ahead of him; growling, perhaps, or roaring, and some occasional sound of something dragging across the forest floor, rustling leaves. He moved towards those sounds, feeling the weight of the musket on his back and unable to see more than five to ten feet ahead of him, in an optimistic estimation, at all times. And as he did, the forest seemed to grow denser around him. Each tree that came into the ring of light that surrounded him seemed to emerge closer and closer to its predecessor, until he was walking in an area where there were no more than four or five feet apart between each of them at best, and their old roots seemed to be almost entangled beneath him. It was an oppressive feeling, which brought to his mind the sensation of walking on a corridor and feeling the walls sliding closer to each other, and watching the space around him become smaller and smaller.

But the sounds, which were at first faint and barely there, were now growing louder and more clear; two animals fighting, with bursts of violent gnarling and roars broken by intervals of quieter growling and stepping. And then Baxter reached what seemed to be the edge of a clearing. No more trees in front of him, just to his sides. But in the pitch-black night, he couldn’t see the opposing treeline. He couldn’t see the other side or even know how far he was from the centre of it. And the sounds of bestial fighting were far too close, but he could not see movement or their source. However, they moved, sometimes coming from his right and then suddenly, without warning, from his left.

And that was when a mass of black fur suddenly emerged from the darkness, moving towards him as if flung, and he barely was able to step back to avoid being hit by it as the massive form slammed against the two trees he was half hiding behind. They shook and pine needles fell. The mass of black fur moved too fast before he could confirm if it was Calhoun or not, but it was at least a similar creature, rolling out of the way and disappearing into the darkness, just as another silhouette flashed in front of him, lunging to where the first had fallen and jumping away as it found the place empty. 

Baxter was having immediate regrets over his decision to interfere in this matter, reckoning that it didn’t matter the outcome, he should be happy, as a hunter; one less beast in the world to prey on men and livestock. But he couldn’t quite bring himself to believe that. He wanted to protect Calhoun, and dropping the woodcutting axe, he stuck the torch into a hollow knot in one of the trees, lodging it there with some force to sling the musket around his back and drawing it forth. All he had to do was to line one good shot. The beasts could be powerful, but they were still flesh and blood. One good shot, to the heart or the lungs or the head, and he would take one of those down. His pained ankle throbbed. Even though he had moved with the axe being used as a cane and tried his best not to tax his injured leg, there was no doubt that his night hike had not been a good idea in his current condition. But he would worry about that later. His heart was beating fast though, and while he did feel the cold fingers of fear reaching through his back and clutching his heart, the thrill of danger was also doing something else. It was dulling his pain, at the very least. But there was something else, a sharpness to his senses that made it easier to follow the sounds of fighting coming from the clearing.

Even if he could not see with his eyes, in this mind he was starting to get some sense of the space of the fight, dragging back and forth all across the clearing. The two beasts weren’t simply clashing and seeking to tear each other apart; those intervals of growling, he realised, were the moments where they broke apart from the tearing and slashing and biting and sought to measure each other, pacing in circles. Soon after one of the creatures was flung at him, they reached another one of those lulls and, peeking forward, Baxter saw the silhouette of one of those creatures against the trees. It seemed like Calhoun, but he couldn’t really tell if it was him or not. It walked on its fours, hunched over and the eyes were fixed on something moving across from it in the clearing.

Then, another mass of fur, just as black as the other creature’s, passed right in front of Baxter, but it ignored the hunter to focus on the other beast. This one seemed slightly smaller than the one across from it on the other side of the clearing. And that was when Baxter fully understood that whatever these were, they were the same type of beast, and he wondered if, apart from the size, they had any major differences. How could he tell which one was the man who saved his life? And did it make any difference? Should he just take the first shot he could and then just run?

He held his breath as the nearest creature passed, not wanting to draw its attention, but he held his grip on the musket and resumed aiming as soon as it had moved. The circling continued, and soon the larger one was passing right in front of the Baxter while the smaller beast moved across the clearing. And then Baxter saw its head tilt and those red eyes reflected the light of the torch. And the beast stopped moving, fixing its eyes straight on him.

It all happened very fast; the second the beast’s eyes lined up with him, Baxter remembered the description of the farmer over the creature that had attacked his sheep, and how it was black in fur with bright red eyes. And then he remembered himself falling from the hayloft and looking up at the massive lurking form that had brought him down before Gideon took his shot. And those bright amber eyes looking straight at him. Calhoun’s eyes were also amber-coloured, he reckoned. And while this realisation, simple as it was, clicked within Baxter’s head, the beast started to charge across the clearing, not towards the larger counterpart but towards Baxter himself. And he squeezed the musket's handle and felt the trigger, but he didn’t pull it. A day before, he would have squeezed it and closed his eyes, and likely missed the shot. But now, he took more careful aim, even in the half a heartbeat that it took for the monster to cross the distance, and he exhaled softly to make sure he’d land the shot when it needed to go.

He stared with a cold and collected demeanour he didn’t know he had within him as teeth and claws lunged at him and then he squeezed the trigger slowly. The hammer with flint struck across the frizzen and produced some sparks, and as the frizzen was pushed up and out of the way, the sparks showered into the pan filled with powder. Smoke rose and… Nothing. There was a blink of a delay between pressing the trigger and the musket firing, but that blink passed and there was no plume of smoke, no flash of light and shot being ejected. And the smaller but vicious wolf-like beast charged towards Baxter. In less than a second he went from confident to sure of his own demise, and his eyes closed as he braced for his inevitable disembowelment.

And then he heard the stomping of padded feet and opened his eyes in time to see the two masses of muscle and claws collide. The smaller monster intercepted by the larger one and they snarled, slashed, bit and roared as they rolled away, on top of each other and out of sight from Baxter. He cursed the rusty musket not producing enough sparks to properly ignite the powder, and he opened the frizzen again and gave the weapon a couple of taps on the side as he pulled back the hammer, and then, wincing as he moved over his sore ankle, he took the torch out of its nesting on the tree and tossed it forward, towards the middle of the clearing.

It was a gambit, but it paid off, as the source of light didn’t turn off upon hitting the forest floor, and with the light in a more central position he could see as the two beasts locked in deadly fighting rolled around across the edges. Although smaller, the man-wolf with red eyes seemed to fight with the fury of a demon and ignored most of the larger one’s bites and clawing to sink teeth into the neck and simply not let go as they rolled. Jaws were likely biting into fur though, because Baxter couldn’t see the glisten of blood on the thick fur around the neck. Preparing the musket to fire again, he once again knelt and keep watching the struggle. He couldn’t get a clear shot though, as the two would roll around and change in position too fast and too often to allow him to aim at the smaller but frenzied of the pair. More than once, Baxter found himself having to duck and dodge out of the way of that furred ball of fury as it bounced around the clearing, leaving tuffs of black hair and blood in its wake.

At some point, size began to pay off again for the one Baxter assumed to be Calhoun, as he managed to kick off the smaller beast from on top of him and lunge towards it, landing a bite of fangs across its neck and causing it to whimper. Finally, it staggered, and Baxter dared to hope it was over, but the beast wasted little time in bringing claws forward and slashing against Calhoun’s face, and he flinched and retreated, shaking his head as the cut led to blood falling into his eyes. He snarled blindly and the small one jumped onto his back, an angle that didn’t allow Calhoun to reach with neither claw nor teeth, delivering several vicious bites to shoulder and hunch while claws sunk into flesh. Calhoun roared and twisted, trying to shake him off, but was unable. Yet as he turned his back towards Baxter, he exposed most of the other man-wolf to him. And that was his shot.

He trained the barrel against the middle of the red-eyed beast’s back and squeezed the trigger, and this time, for a fraction of a heartbeat, the whole clearing was illuminated by the flash of powder from the musket’s muzzle, and a plume of smoke rose, blocking any sight that Baxter could have of the results. The smell of burnt powder and lingering sulfur was thick in the air, but there was a loud whimper of pain and then Baxter saw the small beast being flung away, back hitting a tree and almost uprooting it, before it collapsed by its base.

Surprisingly, it was still not dead, but as it got up, it shambled and whimpered louder. The larger amber-eyed wolf snarled and snapped teeth at it, and he returned those gestures in kind but kept its distance. It walked backwards a few steps and then locked eyes with Baxter. Teeth snapping at him too, and the beast turned and ran, shambling and hitting a couple of trees in an awkward gallop, but disappearing into the night. Baxter's sense of triumph at that barely lasted, because as he turned his head, he was facing the amber-eyed beast again, watching it stand up in its hind legs and towering at least eight feet tall, as it had done in the barn, except now there was no Gideon to shoot it and prevent it from ripping Baxter’s throat open. With his swollen ankle, he stood no chance of running, not that he thought he would stand much chance even if his legs were in perfect health anyway.

The beast’s black fur had several spots where it reflected the light of the torch, glistening in a wetness that Baxter guessed was blood, and its teeth were coated in a crimson coat too. Musket unloaded and no backup weapon. But unlike the time the red-eyed beast charged at him, he kept his eyes open and decided not to flinch if he was to be killed by a vicious mauling. His last moments would be spent standing, with some semblance of dignity in the face of the reaper.

The beast growled, and from that distance, Baxter could almost feel the vibrations in the air coming from that massive chest while that terrifying noise filled the clearing. The smell of canine fur was thick in the air but mixed with a sweaty musk and the unmistakable iron-like scent of blood. It was nauseating, but in the face of deadly peril, Baxter found his stomach to be much less squeamish than it would be otherwise. But no mauling came in the wake of the growling, only the heat of the monster's breath as it brought its muzzle close to Baxter's skin and sniffed him. Across his neck, and then his chest and down across his stomach. Baxter winced back as the massive muzzle sniffed across his crotch much like a dog would and that was the moment he realised that he was still in his undergarments, as he had forgotten that fact in the heat of the battle, and, for reasons beyond his understanding, his manhood was half-hard. He blamed that on the thrill of the fight and took half a step back. Then he realised something else which had been forgotten in the fog of combat, which was the fact his ankle was still not healed, and the half step back ended up with him falling onto the floor, on his ass, and the beast lowered itself back on its fours to loom over him and continue to sniff, this time pressing his cold muzzle against neck and sniffing the top of his hair. There was a quieter, constant growl on the back of its throat but after the initial seconds of pure fear, when the violence failed to emerge, Baxter started to feel a lot more confident that maybe Calhoun was in control, and he found that fear vanishing and turning into something else. Tenderness and concern.

“Do you… Recognise me like this? Are you injured?” he asked

But the monster was either unable to understand him, or unwilling to respond, as it kept sniffing his neck, shoulders, and hair, and then delivering a single lick across his face. Baxter found himself chuckling, and using a hand to try and push the massive head just a little bit further away from him, as it attempted to lick him again.

“It’s… Stop that… Calhoun… Stop…”

The amber-eyed creature did seem to stop, after just a moment of persisting despite his protests, and then he winced, likely in pain from its many wounds, and began to retreat, first a few paces away, backwards, and then turning to walk slowly towards the treeline and disappear from sight.

Left there with his ass on the forest floor and resting his weight on his elbow, Baxter watched the torch flicker and knew even if he grabbed it back, it would surely die before he could make it back to the cabin. He wondered if Calhoun didn’t realise that and was making his way back there on his own, or perhaps had set on in pursuit of the other beast to finish it for good. But not far from where he was, he heard the sounds of the growls grow into grunts of pain and effort, paired with a noise that sounded like the cracking of many bones and something wet and stretchy being pulled apart, or maybe pulled together. It was a sickening combination of sounds and he winced just at the thought of it. But moments later, a very naked Calhoun appeared from the tree line, his hairy, muscular body with a slight softness to his thighs and belly, appeared from behind a trunk, and Baxter was glad for the low light conditions because even just the hint of all that bared skin against the weak light of the torch had caused his cock to pulse hard. But as Calhoun approached the light and more of his body became visible, bathed in the orange glow of the dying torch, Baxter’s arousal was replaced with concern.

He had a dozen slashes and cuts across his chest and sides, and almost as many lines of puncture wounds, and there was dry blood clinging and smeared against many parts of his skin. Even the sight of the thick soft member hanging between his legs wasn’t enough to distract Baxter from his saviour’s very obvious injuries.

“Calhoun… You are…”

“I’m fine…” he said as he knelt and looped his arms under Baxter's legs and arms, setting him in a bridal carry.

“What are you doing? You can’t carry me… You are bleeding still.”

“It will heal,” Calhoun said simply as he began to walk into the darkness, leaving the torch behind and carrying Baxter back in the direction of his cabin.

The warmth of his body against the thin fabric of Baxter's undershirt and small clothes was something the young hunter was keenly aware of as he was carried away, and the smell of human sweat and canine fur, mixing with the scent of blood, was hard to ignore. And after three or four further attempts to convince Calhoun to let him walk back, Baxter simply relaxed with his head resting on the strong, tall man’s biceps.

They walked in pure darkness for a long time before the light coming from the gaps in the shutters of the hut’s window was seen in the distance. And Calhoun carried Baxter inside, pushing the door open with his sides. And when his naked body was bathed in the light of the fire, Baxter swallowed dry and realised they were both covered in an unsightly amount of blood that had leaked from Calhoun’s wounds on their way from the clearing and back to the safety of the humble forest dwelling.

Calhoun placed Baxter on his bed and turned to close the door to the house, though he didn’t bother barring it. The fire was nearly out, and he tossed another log in there before he looked towards Baxter's bloodied clothes, and then down at himself and his nakedness.

“Sorry for that,” he said with a sigh and a gesture to his own naked and bloodied self.

“Nothing to be sorry for… You saved my life, twice now… A little blood on my garments seems like a diminutive price to pay for that.”

Calhoun smirked and nodded slowly.

“I suppose you saved mine too, tonight,” he commented.

Baxter blushed. There was something that felt really good in being told by such a big and strong man that he had saved his life. But now that things were calmer and the shock of seeing the wounds for the first time was washing away, he was growing increasingly aware of Calhoun’s nudity. Baxter shifted to sit on the bed and tap the side, to say in a more commanding tone than he would normally use:

“Come, sit here…”

“What?”

“Your wounds need tending…”

“Oh… Don’t worry about that. They will heal in time. It’s… Part of the curse.”

“Right… The curse. We should talk about that too, I suppose.”

“We should,” Calhoun admitted.

“But even if they don’t need patching, they need cleaning. Sit.”

“I r-“

“Stop being such a stubborn giant and do what I tell you,” Baxter interrupted the man, in a fashion very unlike himself, and catching that, he added later, sheepishly, “please?”

Calhoun grunted and moved his large body towards the edge of the bed, sitting there while Baxter limped his way to the bucket of clean water kept near the fire, and then he simply pulled off his undershirt, tossing it to a corner and tearing off one of the least bloodied sleeves to plunge it into the water and turn it into a washing rag. And Calhoun, while visibly not comfortable with the idea of being cared for, probably knew that it wouldn't be pleasant to let that blood dry and go bad while clinging to his skin. Baxter wobbled back on his good leg towards the bed and climbed behind Calhoun, to kneel facing the man’s back and he started the process of wetting the rag of his shirt and brushing over the wounds, wiping away fresh and dry blood both and revealing the pale skin beneath it. He didn’t have as many wounds on his back as he had on his chest, but still, the bites on his shoulder had bled down across his shoulder blades and all the way down to the firm cheeks of his ass.

Baxter bit his lips, grateful that the man couldn’t see him blush so vividly as he washed off his skin and wounds. Calhoun wasn’t lying about how fast he would heal. While the punctures on his neck didn’t seal yet, they had scabbed and stopped bleeding in moments, as once the already spilt blood was removed, the wounded didn’t look so bad. Except for the round one where Gideon’s shot had landed. There was a bump there and an ugly bruise. And Baxter pressed it to find something hard underneath the skin on a thin layer. The lead ball itself, he reckoned. Calhoun’s body was trying to expel it.

He stopped the wash for a moment, staring at the reminder that but a night ago, he and Calhoun were on opposite sides and trying to kill each other. Or at least he and Gideon were trying to kill him. Why was he helping this man? And why did he want to keep helping him so bad even facing that?

“What’s wrong?” Calhoun asked as Baxter had not been moving for a few seconds.

“Do you… Have a knife?”

“I… Yes, here…”

He bent forward and took one from the bench not far from the bed, handing it towards Baxter. And Baxter held the blade in appraisal. It was a sharp skinning knife, not great to fight but he knew that if it went inside from just under where the head met the neck, Calhoun would be dead before he realised what happened. He could kill him then and there, and yet Calhoun had handed him the knife without hesitation. For a moment, Baxter aligned the tip with the back of Calhoun’s neck, and squeezed the handle, knowing it was just a push and he and Gideon could claim their reward. Gideon would likely forgive him for missing the shot if he killed the beast anyway.

But Calhoun was no beast. He was a man, and that would be murder. And Baxter was no murderer. He lowered the knife and used it to slice open the bump in skin, and as he did, pressure from inside Calhoun’s body itself spewed out the lead ball, deformed by impact and a little mushroom-shaped, and covered in blood. Baxter produced it forward and Calhoun took the bullet from his hand, chuckling.

“Huh… That was still there, huh?”

“It was… But it’s removed now. I’m surprised it didn’t go through you…”

“The beast’s hide is very thick,” Calhoun explained. “And its muscles are very dense.”

Baxter nodded and, using the rag to clean the wound he just opened, he shifted aside. A moment to brace himself for what was to come next as he muttered:

“I should do your chest now…”

Calhoun didn’t respond to it beyond a grunt of acknowledgement, and then he scooted back into the bed, and leaned backwards, resting his weight on his palms and exposing his chest and neck for the much smaller man tending to him. Calhoun's eyes closed, and Baxter reached to brush against his hairy chest and pecks and down across the soft curve of his stomach. Every few brushes he dunked the rag into the bucket of water, which was already turning a faint shade of pink, and then continued to brush off the wounds. The slashes and bites were all no longer bleeding, and after doing the ones on Calhoun’s chest, he shifted down to his sides, and his stomach. And with his hand there, he couldn’t help but look at the member hanging between the man’s thick legs.

It was hanging soft, but even in that soft state he appeared to be rather thick, nestled in a thick patch of coarse hair, just a shade darker than the one on Calhoun’s head, and beneath it, a pair of orbs sagged and rested over the bed’s surface. Calhoun seemed to have no qualms about nudity, and Baxter felt guilty about how hard he was, watching his naked body when Calhoun himself seemed unaffected by it. But as Baxter's hands lingered further down his abdomen, the young man saw Calhoun’s manhood twitch and pulse slightly, and he near gasped in a startled and slightly excited reaction to the sight.

“Are we done…?” Calhoun asked as Baxter's hand had stopped where it was hanging.

“N-nearly done…” Baxter promised, trying to focus on the task at hand.

And then his hands continued to move across that area, and as Calhoun’s cock twitched once more and pulsed, hardening, Baxter dropped the rag, startled, and it fell between the woodsman’s thighs. He reached down, to grab it, but brushed against the warm and hardening manhood underneath and he pulled his hand back as if he had touched hot iron. He watched the rag drop to the floor and the cock hiding underneath continued to grow and rise, glistening now from the washing rag's wetness. And then Calhoun’s hand grasped Baxter’s wrist as he was pulling his hand back, and Baxter turned his head to see that the taller man was looking straight into his eyes, with a mix of lust and caution.

He knew what he was thinking, or thought he knew, because lust and caution were the same emotions rushing inside of him. He thought Calhoun was about to shove his hand away, but instead, he slowly brought it down, and Baxter parted his fingers to wrap them around Calhoun’s manhood as the larger man guided his hand there. And then, holding it, he did to him what he knew how to do. What he had done with himself, and began to stroke. Rapid motions at first, but as Calhoun pulled him into a kiss, holding the back of his head with one of his large hands, he shifted into slow and more tender movements. Feeling another man’s cock against his hand filled him with a furious burning from his cheeks to his groin, and he shuddered with each pulse he felt on the cock he was holding. Clear fluid dribbled from the large hole at the tip and then Calhoun moaned.

Baxter wasn’t ready for how exciting it would be to hear a man so much bigger than himself moan in pleasure. Because of him. It was empowering, like it had been to be told that he saved him, except to a much more primal and intense level. He continued to stroke and kiss, moaning himself as he tasted Calhoun’s tongue. It tasted like blood, but Baxter found that that didn’t disgust him anymore. He was a hunter, he decided. They both were. He would never again be squeamish about blood. And then Calhoun moaned again and suddenly he broke the kiss and moved to grasp Baxter’s hand and stop him from touching him.

Baxter closed his eyes, expecting some regret to be followed by a violent reprisal. But instead, Calhoun gently guided Baxter’s hand to his chest and nuzzled his neck, his beard scraping against soft skin as he muttered:

“Have you ever…?”

He didn’t finish the question, but Baxter could guess what he wanted to know. And the answer was, of course, no. He shook his head, closing his eyes and tilting it to give more of his neck to the large man.

“Do you want to?” Calhoun asked, shortly after.

Baxter took a moment longer to reply to that. Did he want to do it? He knew it was a sin for a man to lay with another. But more than that, he was a hunter and Calhoun was his quarry; it was one thing not to murder him, but to sleep with a monster? To lose his virginity to one… Did he want to do that?

And in his heart, he knew the answer, and it was a resounding yes. After the brief pause, he nodded, and Calhoun grunted, breaking away from their embrace to very gently hold Baxter by his waist and with some ease, raise him to lay him on his back on the bed. His hands touched on the plane of Baxter’s stomach; taut, flat and hairless in contrast to Calhoun’s own more pudgy and hairy belly, and from there, in a slow caress they slid down to his wet-patch marked undergarments, pulling on the drawstrings and undoing them, to then yank them down across his legs and expose his throbbing hard cock, glistening from the droplets of fluid it had been spilling in its hardness for a while now. The large hand grasped around it and stroked, gentle and caring, though there was some roughness there that seemed like Calhoun couldn't avoid. His own hand was calloused by the life of a woodsman, and some of those hard parts pressed against Baxter’s sensitive shaft. But that slight discomfort didn’t bother Baxter. If anything, there was something arousing in the slight roughness, and how masculine and strong that hand stroking him felt.

Baxter felt the pressure growing inside his stomach, like a tightness across his muscles that seemed to expand outwards and press against the base of his cock, and paired with a tingle down his spine, he knew what was about to happen. He gasped and reached for the edges of the bed, holding on to the frame on both sides as his manhood twitched. He closed his eyes and raised his back, bridging over the bed and feeling something pulling on his orbs, and finally, he came. A squirt of his seed flew straight onto Calhoun’s chest, and a weaker jet spewed upwards and splattered over Baxter’s stomach. Calhoun didn’t stop stroking him immediately though, continuing with softer motions, but milking every last drop out of him, before leaning forth and placing a gentle kiss on the middle of the young hunter’s chest.

“T-that was…” Baxter began, heavy of breath.

“I know…” Calhoun told him with a gentle smile.

And there was something different about his face, and his amber eyes at that moment. Something sweet that was always there, but had been hiding under the surface. A warmth that lingered beneath his skin.

“W-what about you, though?” Baxter inquired, looking down to see a very hard cock still hanging between Calhoun’s legs.

“Well…” Calhoun blushed, or at least seemed to blush, as his beard covered a lot of his cheeks. “If you want to try something… I promise to go slow…”

“I…” Baxter had an inkling, though not a certainty, about what Calhoun was proposing, and once again, he needed a second or two, but not more, to consider it. “Y-yes… I want it.”

“Are you sure?”

Baxter nodded, slowly, and to make his point, he slowly turned in the bed, facing down and feeling his still sensitive cock pressing against it, as he turned and slightly raised his hips. Two large hands held his sides and Calhoun leaned forth, until the slight curve of his belly was pressing against the small of Baxter’s back, and his large cock pressed between the young man’s rear. Baxter bit his lips in anticipation and a hint of fear, unsure what to expect from what was about to happen. The tip of that large member pressed against the tight ring of muscles of his rear and Baxter felt himself contract in an immediate reaction. He bit his lips and apologised for it, as it might seem to Calhoun he didn’t want it, despite his whole body craving it.

“S-sorry…” the young hunter said with a trembling voice.

“Nothing to apologise for…” Calhoun said gently and continued to maintain a steady pressure against the area. But then his hands moved to grab onto something next to the bed. The sound of a flask being uncorked was heard and Calhoun poured something slick and greasy feeling across the centre of Baxter’s rear. The cold liquid caused him to giggle a bit immaturely before Calhoun pulled back to smear the same across his own cock. The purpose became clear as soon as he pressed into the boy again. While the ring of muscles still contracted, as it relaxed, the surface had grown much more slippery and the very tip was able to slip inside him.

He was barely inside, but Baxter moaned in pained effort. There was a throbbing pain at first, but after a few moments, it became something a bit more dull and more like pressure, and the idea that another man, that Calhoun, was inside him, far surpassed the discomfort. After a moment, Baxter pushed his hips back, trying to encourage Calhoun to go deeper. The taller man held him in place though to remain in control, but slid forward just another inch, and once again, there was a sharp pain that came quickly and took a little longer to vanish, but in the wake of it, there was just a mild estrangement, a discomfort that was still, in an unusual way, pleasurable.

“C-curses…” Baxter grunted and wished he had something to bite on as he endured the slow penetration.

Calhoun ceased his movement and began to slowly pull out at those words, with a concerned voice as he asked:

“Are you… Hurt…?”

“N-no… I mean, it aches but… Don’t stop… Please… I want it,” he reassured.

And Calhoun grunted in pleasure and surprise and slowly he pushed forth again. It took them patience and several minutes until he could slide as much as half of himself inside Baxter and begin to pump with hips. At first, very slowly and gently, but despite his care for the smaller man beneath him, Calhoun seemed unable to maintain that pace for long. His fingers gripped tight with effort around Baxter’s waist and his cock twitched and ached for more. And Baxter wished he could tell him not to hold back, but he knew he wasn’t ready for that. He pulled the soft cushion that served as a pillow from the top of the bed and bit into it, and then with a forceful motion, shoved his hips backwards into Calhoun, forcing more of him inside and giving a wordless signal that he could speed things up.

And that signal was taken near immediately. Those large orbs swung close, almost clashing with Baxter’s own smaller stones as the thrusts grew more vigorous, deeper and quicker. The large woodsman was still holding back but the tightness of the young man seemed to be enough to push him past the edge. With hands leaving Baxter's hips to instead grab onto the headboard, and his skin growing red and glistening with sweat as he began to thrust in a more downward angle, his weight pushed Baxter’s hips down until he was prone on the bed. Calhoun continued to fuck him at a rough but restrained pace like that, growing slightly faster which each thrust. A harder throb of his cock felt by Baxter’s tight rear passage and then Calhoun moaned louder than before. His grip on the frame grew tighter and the warm sensation of something being spilled inside Baxter flooded him. It came with a strange warmth that spread to his neck, cheeks and shoulders at the notion that another man had fucked him. That he had been mounted like an animal and, especially, that he had loved it.

Three thick jets of seed flowed inside of him, and with each discharge, he felt the pulsing of the cock lodged inside, and the jerking of Calhoun’s hips, the tension on his legs and muscles. And finally, as he was done, he felt his own body help push his cock out of his ass before a soft slurping sound made him blush in an embarrassed, self-conscious way. But Calhoun made no comment of it, merely sighing and holding Baxter’s waist. And then he tossed himself on his side on the bed and pulled the smaller frame of the hunter apprentice against him. The curve of his belly almost perfectly fitting on the curve of Baxter’s spine. The bearded chin resting on top of his head and the large pectoral muscles pressing against his shoulders. The smell inside the hut was hard to describe; sex and fur, sweat, blood, gunpowder, fire and smoke. And a dense musk that lingered in the air in the wake of their encounter.

For Baxter, having the large man curl around him and pull him close felt almost stranger than being fucked by him. He had never had sex before, of course, but he also had never experienced any sort of intimate tenderness, and with a fluttering in the pit of his stomach, he felt an unexplained desire to cry, though not of sadness, or perhaps not fully of it; a bittersweet thought to all he had missed in life, and a deep gratitude for what he had found that night.

And after such a long day, and even longer night, his exhausted body finally relaxed and he let go, drifting into a very deep and warm sleep. Feeling strangely safe, despite being in the arms of the quarry he had come there to hunt.