Feral Northern Shifters 2

has sound?”
Bram let his eyelids fall in assent.
Ethan fought to turn full around to face Bram, fear in his expression, in his scent. “Doug has made it clear he will punish me.” His voice rose. “Doug—”
Bram cut him off with a kiss. Not very elegant, not like how Ethan had kissed him earlier, it seemed almost a fight, a clash of mouths, and Bram angled his body away to prevent Ethan from leaning into him.
But Ethan had to shut up.
Breaking the kiss, Bram met Ethan’s gaze and mouthed, “I’ll take care of it.”
“By fucking him.”
“Enough.” Bram glared. He should get out of here, but Ethan looked a little crazy with fear. Suddenly the cat turned away, sliding his sweats down as he settled back against Bram again.
Bram watched as Ethan brought his right hand down to his own hard cock to jerk himself off, and Bram’s dick turned to steel.
“Hold me while I get this out of my system,” murmured Ethan and Bram slung an arm across Ethan’s ribs and held fast. “I need this. God knows I need something.”
Ethan’s dick was weeping pre-come and he began to pump himself.
Bram couldn’t speak, he just breathed Ethan in and nuzzled the cat’s neck and didn’t let him go. He’d never held on to someone while they jerked off. In fact, doing so had never occurred to him though his skin suddenly felt electric, like that moment before he and Doug started having sex. However, this embrace was lasting longer, and Bram’s chest hurt with a strange weight—desire, longing, loss.
“Oh God,” Bram let out as Ethan picked up the pace. He was breathing harshly in Ethan’s ear. More blood pooled south and he wondered if he could come simply like this. His tension and Ethan’s rose in unison.
The cat’s throat vibrated, a kind of catlike pleading sound. Almost a purr, but there was a striving there too. A need. Bram leaned over to lick and nuzzle Ethan’s vibrating throat. In reaction, Ethan moaned long and low, then his back arched. He came in his hand, milky ejaculate pumped out to spill over Ethan’s fist as he gasped. Bram felt like he was breathing with Ethan, uneven, short breaths of wonder.
Ethan slumped in Bram’s embrace. The worst of his tension had eased and Bram liked holding this more relaxed Ethan. There was a kind of trust in this moment despite Bram’s own tension. His balls ached, his dick hurt with pleasure-pain and his brain couldn’t process the next step—because Ethan was turning around to reach for him.
Everything in Bram shut down and he balked. “Back off.”
Ethan froze.
“Doug can not smell you on me. It’s too dangerous. Back away and clean up.”
Ethan looked as dazed as Bram felt. “The camera—?”
Bram made a slicing motion. “I think I can take care of it. Just…go shower. I have to leave.”
“But you…”
Bram shook his head emphatically.
The expression on Ethan’s face was almost bereft, which made it worse.
Bram had to leave, before things got even more out of hand. “I’ll be back. I promise.” Ethan’s eyes were large and almost golden. “Bram,” he whispered.
“I am going to help you.” With that declaration, Bram fled.
    Ethan retreated to the washroom to have a long shower and tried to process what had happened. He wasn’t quite sure.
That went fucking—ha—well .
So much for sophisticated seduction. He’d jerked off in Bram’s arms, Bram had flinched when he’d reached for him, and mostly Ethan had pleaded with Bram to help him.
Gawd. He was screwed. To top it all off, Doug would probably come back in and pay Ethan a visit. The idea of which made Ethan’s skin crawl. Not only because of how Doug treated him, but because of Bram’s reaction to Doug. The alpha didn’t only treat cats like shit.
Ethan tried to step back from the confusion and think about what it meant. Thing was, wolves should yearn for touch as much as a cat who’d been feral for years. And despite the rather horrific past few days, Ethan could be sure of one thing—Bram liked touching him.
But not vice versa. The wolf’s jumpiness was frankly disquieting and made him seem even younger than he really was. Ethan guessed Bram was in his mid-twenties, a few years younger than himself. Of course it was hard to know whether or not he should count his feral years. Perhaps he was really twentyone.
He sure as hell didn’t feel twenty-one. He felt old and weary and overcome. Desolate too. His body had yearned for some kind of connection with the wolf and, in one sense,