FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

1968.

In the balance of things, Markus liked London. He liked the gardens and courtyards of Kensington, he liked the snug little flat he had to himself, and he liked the English people. His father had warned him about accepting a study abroad program at the Imperial College, a lingering distrust stemming from fears of crime and drugs in the metropolis, mostly from his overcautious aunt's letters.

Still, he did have misgivings. How could he not, as a German? London was the Swinging City, emerging from decades of quiet Victorian conservatism, and such liberation often made Markus feel awkward. The riotous colors of the clothing, the experimental music, the drugs, and the undercurrent of sex beneath it all were often too much for him to handle, forcing him to stay late on campus just to get some breathing space. Doing odd jobs and helping grade papers into the 'wee hours' helped preserve his sanity for a time, but that was before the werewolves showed up.

Well, they didn't 'show up' in person so much as become the subject of gossip. Markus didn't believe in silly medieval superstitions like that, but he knew the conversation had to have come from somewhere. London by day was bustling, flamboyant, and safe, but by night it took on a truly sinister character. Even the pale, opalescent light of the moon got swallowed up by every grungy cobblestone and every smog-blackened brick, and that was if it pierced through the clouds. The streetlights fought off the night with stout determination but could never banish the darkness.

A howl echoed across the faces of rowhouses, sending an icy chill up Markus' spine. Just a dog, he reminded himself. Not even a big one, from the sound of it. He was an engineering student, for pity's sake. He was far too methodical to mistake the prickling along his narrow shoulders and long back for the raking of some dread creature's claws. A murderer's knife, though... That might just be real enough.

He pulled his hands from the pockets of his trousers and stiffened his posture, picking up the pace, the slim man's Chelsea boots clacking against the stones and pavers as he strode through a particularly murky spot on the home stretch. He looked over his shoulder once, twice, and again, his keyed-up ears picking something up, but the darkness did not give up its secrets, nor was he sure he really wanted to learn them.

At last, he thought, Queen's Gate: Home, sweet home. Catching his breath as he went, he plodded up the stairs to his flat and reached into his pocket. The warm glow of reassurance turned sour and cold when he realized that his keys weren't there. He checked his left pocket, back pockets, then plopped down and rummaged around in his leather folio case. He thought about where his keys might be, then realized that in his excitement to turn in the graded papers he'd left them in the professor's door back on campus.

He had three options: Repeat the entire trip in the dead of night, call a locksmith, or sleep in the hall. He was too tired for the former and too proud for the latter, so he trudged down the stairs, fidgeting around for two shillings, then stood in the doorway, staring out at the darkness. Now that he'd been indoors for a moment things were even inkier outside. His feet turned to lead as he stepped across the threshold into the night, verbally reprimanding himself for being so irrational and wound up. As with any attempt to reason with an irrational impulse, it didn't work.

Still, the red telephone box was just up the block. As he walked he could've sworn he heard footfalls behind him. In a bid to catch them on the back foot he walked normally, then spun around awkwardly while he had one foot off the ground. The night air went silent, the other pair of feet likely the echoes of his own footfalls.

Another howl pierced the silence, one not belonging to any dog he'd ever heard of. It was close, too, or it seemed to be. It didn't last long, but the timing seemed tailor-made to scare the living daylights out of him, as did the cascade of barking and baying it set off among the local canines. Trembling, he somehow managed to gather his composure enough to make it to the telephone box, its little incandescent light spilling through the familiar Georgian windows like a beacon of hope, the crown beneath the arch a symbol of stability. He slid inside and closed the door, two shillings in his hand, then set them atop the phone and parsed through the phonebook.

Footsteps. They weren't his own this time, not while he was standing in the telephone box. He looked up for a moment, then lost his grip on the hefty tome, causing it to slam shut under its own weight, losing his place.

"Scheisse," Markus cursed.

"Lovely night, innit, Fritz?"

A man stepped out of the gathering fog and under the streetlight, which caught his stiletto-toed winklepicker shoes first, then washed up his legs and arms, revealing a pair of drainpipe jeans, a striped, double-breasted jacket, a closed umbrella, and a masquerade mask with a lupine snout and cheek ruffs. His eyes carried a yellow glint, and he wasn't sure if they were part of the mask or the man. He was even skinnier than Markus, but that's not what concerned him. It was the two other 'blokes' that stepped up to either side, dressed in incongruous apparel but consistent in one respect: their wolf masks. In a matter of moments he was backed into the phone box, a hand holding open the door while three pairs of eyes ran up and down him like a beef carcass. The lead man opened his umbrella and held it over his colleagues as the fog coalesced into a light drizzle.

"Oi," The lead man said. "Y'speak English? I asked you, is it not a lovely night?"

"It is... Nice, I suppose. A little damp." Markus said hesitantly, his accent peeking through despite his fluency.

"Did you hear that? Nice, he supposes. A little damp," The lead man snorted. "I told you lot, we let Johnny Foreigner come in, roll out the red carpet for 'im, and wot's the first thing 'e does? Complain about the local weather."

"That's terribly rude!" One of his mates said.

"Quite," The lead man grinned, locking eyes with Markus, and pulled something out of a coat pocket. "Perhaps it's time we reminded this Jerry who won the war, eh?"

"If it's money you're after--" Markus started.

"Wot do you take us for, common street thugs?" The lead man asked with a sneer, breathing through his mouth. "We're werewolves. We don't concern ourselves with bread 'n honey. Which Germany are you from, then?"

"West Germany. Hamburg," Markus said, taking all his courage and concentration not to stutter or show weakness.

"Marvelous," The lead man licked his chops, flicking open the switchblade hidden in his free hand. "A hamburger would really... Hit the spot, though we prefer the term 'Salisbury Steak'."

There was a little squeal of rubber and the thrumming of an engine. A column of light tore through the telephone box and the nearby werewolf gang. Markus caught a glimpse of a pair of headlamps and a figure passing in front of them, the embers of a cigarette breaking his silhouette.

"Cocking nora!" The gang leader declared, shielding his eyes as his mates blinked and squeezed their eyes into slits.

"Right!" The mysterious interloper started. "Haven't you lot spent enough time at Her Majesty's pleasure? Is there not one iota of intellect between the three of you? You stab a foreigner, especially an exchange student, and you'll 'ave so many bobbies up your collective arses you'll be shitting silver buttons the rest of your natural lives in Newgate!"

"Camp Eddie? Is that you? When did ye get a car?" One of the goons asked with an Irish lilt.

The tall man stepped forward, revealing his mop top and thick-rimmed spectacles, all situated on an uncharacteristically stern looking face.

"If you three do not scarper this very instant, I will tear those ridiculous looking masks right off your faces and scream 'Fire' at the top of my voice!"

"I think he means it, Jasper," One of the two subordinates said in a dull voice.

"Hsssh! No names!" Jasper shushed, then locked eyes with Camp Eddie. "It's a fair cop. Let's get out of 'ere, lads. We've been made."

The 'werewolf' made a show of folding his switchblade, tucking it into his pocket before running into the night, the trio's shoes clapping against the pavers and cobblestones as they left. Still in disbelief, Markus emerged from the telephone box and got a better look at his savior. Now that he obliquely faced the headlamps of his car the exchange student got a good look at his unusually stiff suit and trousers, silk ascot, and a pair of leather slip-ons. His face had settled into a longer, more relaxed expression and his yellow-green eyes caught the light in a peculiar, luminous way.

"Evening, Markus. You alright? The werewolves didn't bite you I hope."

"No, I'm uninjured. Thank you, Edgar," Markus managed a smile. "What brought you over here to Queen's Gate, anyway?"

"No need to be so formal, china, just call me Camp Eddie, or Eddie for short! Everyone else does," Edgar took a drag from his cigarette, then exhaled slowly, contemplative. "I was on my way to Wardour Street in me new Jam Jar when I saw, or really heard that lot skulking about. They're, er, old acquaintances. I promised their mother I'd keep 'em out of trouble."

Edgar wasn't a close friend of Markus', but more of an acquaintance, a classmate. He was fashionable, mysterious, offbeat, and cultured, the kind of young man that carried himself with an easy confidence, whose style and appeal grew from within and didn't denigrate or shame others. For an awkward man like Markus, Edgar was a dangerous character, a fast friend who would seduce him away from his studies and contented routines and into a flamboyant, materialistic lifestyle. The other thing about Edgar that made Markus nervous was that he was gay, and everyone knew it.

Markus was about to remark on how Edgar's 'old acquaintances' ought to be locked up when the man spoke again.

"What brings you out to a telephone this late at night? Calling a cab home?"

"Oh, not quite," Markus admitted. "My flat's just up the block. I forgot my keys on campus and thought I'd call a locksmith to get back in."

"A locksmith? At this time of the night? Not bloody likely," Edgar snorted, then cocked an eyebrow. "You know, they'll never let you back in the college at this hour, not with all the antiwar protests and unrest swirling about. The night's young. Why not ride with me out to Soho? There's a very groovy club there with a big happening tonight. Live music. Fashionable company. Just enough sleaze to keep things entertaining..."

Markus sighed. His instincts wanted to avoid noise, crowds, and spontaneity, but he didn't like being impolite, especially to a man who'd just saved his life. Plus, Edgar had a certain animal magnetism to him. Perhaps he'd not given the man enough credit. They'd had pleasant conversations before. Was he afraid because the man was homosexual?

"This club of yours, is it one of those gay bars?"

"Certainly not!" Edgar scoffed. "I wouldn't take a straight bloke there, unless you wanted to go, of course."

"No, but... Shouldn't we report those three to the police?" Markus asked with a bit of a waver in his voice.

"You didn't get a good look at their faces, and the rozzers won't be keen to believe my eyewitness testimony. To them I'm just some poof," Edgar said bitterly, then softened into empathy. "I know you've had a nasty scare and that this is all rather sudden, but I don't know any better cure for what you've got than tearing up the dance floor."

"Alright," Markus gathered his courage, then nodded. "I suppose a few drinks and some awkward gyrations might work out this tension. I'm all tied up in knots."

"Good man!" Edgar beamed, moving toward the driver's side of his car. "Come along, hop in."

Markus stepped next to the vehicle, which only rose just over waist high to him but had a clean, smooth feel as he ran his hand over the candy apple red roof. It had little wheels that were cute as chrome-capped buttons with a floorboard that couldn't have sat more than 6 inches off the ground. He couldn't help but hold down a grin.

"Austin Mini, the new model," Markus observed. "Consider me jealous!"

"Don't be," Edgar grumbled, popping open the door and climbing in, with Markus following soon after on the passenger side. "A year ago, my father was fixing to get me a gorgeous Jaguar E-Type, the 4.2-Litre inline six with the skin top."

"What changed his mind?" Markus refrained from mentioning that his entire family, parents, grandparents, and siblings, only had one car between the lot of them.

"Well, my father's a barrister, and I was going to be one too 'til I changed to a literature major," Edgar explained with a hint of venom. "He said, 'Poets don't drive Jags', so here we are."

"Does this have a radio?" Markus asked excitedly, searching the dash.

"No, just an ashtray," Edgar shook his head, pulling out the tray and scuttling his butt. "The designer felt that music was an extravagance and smoking was a necessity. See, that's the kind of insipid, stodgy thinking I oppose on principle."

"The Jag had a radio, didn't it?" Markus asked, sensing there was more to it.

"Why, yes! How did you know?" Edgar replied with a hint of surprise.

"Just a lucky guess," Markus held down a grin.

The Mini was surprisingly spacious for its size but still snug, with Markus and Edgar's shoulders bumping into each other going around corners. As the cigarette smoke dissipated the young German caught the odor of Edgar's cologne, a heady mix of jasmine, patchouli, and something deep and dense he couldn't quite identify. The aroma was so potent that he was about to pivot open the window to let some fresh air in, but something about it was comforting to him and he relented, drinking in the scent. Without realizing it he became rosy-cheeked as the tension fled from his muscles and joints, letting him slouch back in his seat.

"So," Edgar started with a smirk. "Got any frauleins waiting for you back in Germany?"

"I used to, but she left me for another man about a month ago," Markus said, unsure why he was confessing this so readily. "It... Doesn't hurt anymore. We were childhood friends trying it on, then she thought I was cheating on her."

"Were you?" Edgar asked.

"No," Markus frowned. "But I can understand why she'd be suspicious. This is Swinging London, after all. Mary Quant has a new minidress out every week and each hemline is a little higher than the last."

"If you ask me, that bird was just waiting for a chance to fly the coop," Edgar shook his head.

"Actually, I'm glad for it," Markus laughed. "Back in Hamburg I was always pressured to get married, get a good job, to strengthen and dignify the family, the community. Here I have room to change, grow, stand out a bit."

"Well, you're in the right company for that," Edgar glanced over at his passenger. "Tell you what. Since you're on the market allow me to recommend a new look for you. Some folks will tell you, 'Markus, clothes maketh a man', but they'd be wrong."

"So I don't need new clothes?" Markus asked.

"Oh, you most certainly do, but as long as you have the right silhouette, just about any look will stick right to you. Your current attire is rather like a dull-looking sealed envelope whose contents are a grim mystery no one wants solved."

"Says the man who's in a suit made out of paper," Markus noted with a bit of revelation as he saw the crumpled crease lines where their shoulders had mashed together. "How can you wear this in a city with so much fog and rain?"

"Well, 'ere's the thing. Mary Quant gave us the Poster Dress, a single-use piece of ladies' attire, to keep up with the ever-faster tempo of the fashion cycle. Behold the masculine equivalent: The Poster Suit."

"That's... Ridiculous!" Markus declared, yet he couldn't keep a hand off it, or the firm and surprisingly developed arm beneath it. "An entire men's suit you wear one time and throw away?"

"Well, it only costs two bob, and you can get them in a pack!" Edgar reached to the back seat of the car and revealed a wax paper-wrapped parcel the size and shape of a drycleaner's sleeve, handing it to Markus. "'Ere, have this one, and don't worry about the generous cut of the garment. You won't be the only person wearing one."

"Hang on, you want me to put this on now? Seriously?" Markus asked with a grimace, looking at the paper suit inside.

"Deadly serious," Edgar grinned diabolically. "It's Soho, baby. Mod territory. If you don't have a blazer, you're not getting in."

Edgar gave him an insistent look, then turned his attention down to the parcel, then made eye contact again. Markus realized what he'd meant and unwrapped the 'Poster Suit', which had carefully been folded around a cardboard core to prevent creasing, then slipped the jacket on over his turtleneck, looking to his friend for approval.

"Is this acceptable?"

"A charcoal blazer with brown denim jeans? I should say not!" Edgar crossed his arms with a frown. "Go on, put on the trousers too!"

With a grumpy snort Markus tugged off his Chelsea Boots, then tried to slip the poster trousers on over his drainpipe jeans without success. Frustrated, he slid off his jeans completely and tossed them in the back seat, revealing his skinny legs and earning a lecherous peek from Edgar. Careful not to tear the surprisingly soft and conditioned paper apart, he slid the garment on and clasped it shut across his waist. It even came with a glossy woven paper belt with a cheap acrylic buckle which, along with the fly clasps and two buttons on the blazer, were the only non-paper items on the suit.

"How about now?" Markus asked with a measure of indignation.

"Hm," Edgar gave him a quick looking over. "It'll do."

If Londoners were supposed to be asleep, Markus would never have known it. Knightsbridge, Mayfair, Carnaby, Piccadilly Circus, and Soho were all lit up in one continuous spectacle of neon, painted murals, streetlights, and flashing signs. The red double-decker buses had gone for the day but in their place were swarms of beetle-black hackney carriages which, along with the narrow medieval streets lined with parked cars, slowed traffic to a crawl. The sidewalks were brilliantly lit and filled with men in suits and women in miniskirts, minidresses, jackets, and tights, people whose impeccable style contrasted with the grungy, trash-littered sidewalks and public squares. All along the way Edgar's peculiar cologne suffused the Mini's interior, awakening an odd confidence within him, a sort of Dutch Courage, only without the drunkenness.

By the time they arrived Markus almost didn't want to climb out of the car. Deep down his mind churned, obsessed with unraveling the mystery of what that scent was. Maybe it was ambergris or some exotic far-Eastern spice. It must've been expensive, but Edgar struck him as a bit of a toff. He imagined the man splashing the stuff all over himself willy-nilly provided his parents were buying. He appeared invigorated as he deftly parallel parked the tiny car on a narrow side street, radiant eyes catching the light off the street lamps and signs. He gave Markus an indecipherable, intense look.

When Edgar opened the door and stepped onto the street his cologne billowed out of the car, letting in some fresh air and prompting Markus to snap to. He immediately found himself wanting more, having never encountered such an alluring fragrance. He had to know.

"Eddie," Markus blurted out, surprised by his sudden loopiness. "That cologne of yours... It was a bit overpowering at first, but the scent is starting to grow on me. Where can I get some?

"You really dig it?" Edgar asked, growing encouragement in his tone. "It's not a big designer brand. Locally made. It'll be my privilege to show you sometime."

Satisfied, Markus followed Edgar around the back of the building. His heart began racing again as the darkness enveloped him, but then he saw the buzzing baby blue neon sign atop a short staircase: Club Selene. It stood out like a beacon in the grimy back alley, as did the queue of lean, fashionable men and women standing beneath its light, anxiously waiting entrance to the venue. People were still arriving this late at night?

The bouncer was dressed in a fancy lobster-red jacket with gold braids in the fashion of Sgt. Pepper, except that his massive shoulders and nonexistent neck gave the impression of an actual soldier. He carried a parade baton that he pressed against Markus' chest as the pair stepped to the front of the queue.

"Oi. It's a special event night, members only, and I 'aven't seen your face 'ere before," the bouncer said, lip curled into a suspicious sneer. "See, I've got wot the boffins call an eidetic memory when it comes to peoples' mugs. Your mate's a regular, but I don't remember you."

"How about I jog that eidetic memory of yours," Edgar intervened, pressing a bribe into the man's palm.

"Alright, Eddie, alright," the bouncer said with a bit of hesitation, glancing at the generous endowment before pulling back the velvet rope. "You better 'ope no one in there's Hank Marvin."

"Hank Marvin? Who's that?" Markus asked, following Edgar up the stairs.

"Oh, that's just another local idiom. It means, uh, 'in a foul mood'," Edgar replied in a manner suggesting that's not what it really meant.

The first thing that hit Markus when he stepped into Club Selene was the smell. The second thing to hit him was the sound. The thrumming psychedelic rock, the reek of hashish, the sweet aroma of spilled alcohol, the clamor of a boisterous, dancing crowd... It was exhilarating, and beneath it all was a heady bouquet of that deep, dense, mysterious aroma.

He drifted toward the dance floor, the apparent epicenter of the sensory experience, and just as Edgar predicted he saw a crowd of people dancing the Shake and the Twist to the music, most of them chasing that silly fashion trend and donning their poster dresses and suits. The theme of Club Selene was appropriately lunar, with white globes casting milky, bluish light through the joint, slowly spinning patterns casting crescent moons, half moons, and full moons over the patrons, some of whom openly puffed on joints or dropped LSD onto sugar cubes and played them across their tongues. The dancers' chaotic gyrations and silly attire were endearing, oddly comforting, and before long Markus was pivoting and waving with them, the live band's music flowing around and through his body, animating him. Despite the din the lead singer's lyrics were clear and captivating.

I know a path through the forest

where you can slowly wake up

or you can take your time

and let the seasons catch up

slip off your shoes

and feel the earth

your ears will start to ring

and life will sing...

You discover Spring in the path through the forest

Where colours can blind you

And everything finds you

It can drive you insane...

He'd found his groove. It really was just what the doctor ordered, a real freak scene. He ceased to be an awkward, analytical, overthinking man and just acted on animal instinct. He lost track of Edgar and didn't mind, his enthusiastic antics eliciting pretty smiles from the girls on the dance floor, smiles that were exceptionally bright and tidy. Come to think of it, didn't Edgar have a clean, pearly-white smile too?

The endurance of the crowd was too much for him, and he got to the point where he'd bail out, have a couple of drinks to catch his breath, and dive back in. He eventually got so sweaty that he worried his suit would get drenched and slough right off his body. As everyone else perspired and midnight approached that enticing aroma crescendoed into an animalistic stink. On the dance floor again, he found himself in the surprisingly strong arms of a pretty woman with flip hair whose attitude took a sudden, unpleasant turn as the dance went on. She abruptly stopped, pressing a hand to his chest.

"'Ang on!" She wrinkled her nose, sniffling. "You're a Norm! 'Ow'd you get in here, luv?"

"The bouncer let me pass," Markus replied, confused and out of breath, then felt a tug at his shoulder.

"Markus! Just the lad I was looking for!" Edgar declared with a smile, coming out of nowhere. "It's alright, Annie, he's with me."

"Eddie! Have you gone completely crackers? It's just a few minutes 'til, you know... That!"

"Don't worry your pretty head, baby. We were just leaving," Edgar replied, his composure a little frayed.

Markus felt himself being led from the dance floor just as the live band began packing up. There weren't any clocks to be seen, so he couldn't tell what time of the night it was. The moment he was back in contact with Edgar, though, the cologne hit him again.

He'd spent the last couple hours becoming more and more intoxicated by the aromas of the club, which he was starting to suspect was some kind of mild psychotropic substance, but despite the sensual dances, the revealing attire of the women, and even the soft, direct press of a lady's flesh against him on the dance floor he'd felt little more than a woozy sense of comfort.

This was different. Edgar's scent was incredible, the raw masculinity of it pushing past the patchouli and jasmine that he now knew were just camouflage for the real thing. Markus couldn't explain his infatuation, only that it was there and that it set his body ablaze, his face blushing fiercely. It was as if the desire had always been there, latent, repressed, waiting for something or someone special. It was novel, euphoric, and he wanted more of it.

"Eddie," Markus started with a mumble. "I don't know what kind of drug you gave me or how, but..."

Markus felt bold, confused, and most of all desperate. Lacking the words, he searched around for some nook to squeeze into, which wasn't difficult given the boudoir style of the club and its many curtains. He found a small private room with a chaise, then took Eddie roughly by the shoulders and pulled him into it, surprising the mop-topped man.

"You owe me an explanation!" Markus demanded, conflicted and enraptured. "You smell so... damned attractive!"

"Our bodies don't always want what society wants," Edgar explained, placing hands on Markus' shoulders. "Ever since the day we met in class, I've hoped for this reaction. Now I know."

"Know what?" Markus asked.

"That we're two of a kind, you and I," Edgar smiled. "You wouldn't have reacted to my... Cologne the way you did if you were only into birds."

Markus felt a little sick at the revelation, but he also felt something far more powerful and primal inside him, something id that drove his passion to a height he'd never known. Ever since he'd stepped through the doors of the club it was like a superhuman aura enveloped him and after a couple hours any defenses he had against it crumbled away like dry clay.

He couldn't just start snogging another man right here in this alcove... Could he? Markus' heart raced, terrified of the stigma and exhilarated by the brazenness. Homosexuality had only been legal in England for one year, and it was still illegal back in West Germany. Even so, he couldn't deny how warm, handsome, and damned alluring Edgar was.

Markus forced the issue, leaping forward and stealing a kiss. In response, Edgar gently brought a hand under Markus' jaw, tickling the hairs of his goatee and tilting up his chin. Markus closed his eyes as Edgar's lips pressed into his, breaths growing hot and heavy, steadily more insistent. He paused only to pull off his silk ascot, tossing it to the floor, then dove back in. The kissing was touch-and-go, sloppy, and tinged with the flavor of cigarettes, but despite not being the smooth and picture-perfect experience depicted in the movies his heart soared.

Edgar's whole body squirmed under Markus' embrace, muscles heaving and lungs pumping. He kicked and fumbled with his feet, tossing his slip-ons haphazardly to either side of the little room. Markus felt the tug of fingers against the back of his paper blazer's collar, followed by a sharp, powerful tug that tore the entire garment off his body, which wasn't difficult given how wet it had become. Hands wandered over his back, then down to the hem of his trousers. The process of ripping those off went much like his blazer, the chintzy stuff falling to the floor, two bob wasted. The rush of cool air against his sweaty skin reinforced the stirring in his loins, an erection tenting and creeping up his briefs. As if to confirm things, Edgar reached around and fondled him under the fabric, sending jolts of ecstasy up Markus' spine and prompting him to gasp, then exhale raggedly.

Edgar certainly was eager. His confident mannerisms and sophistication were gone now, replaced by animal intensity. He stopped his kiss and started nosing around, nuzzling at Markus' neck, pecking it, then playfully running a red-hot tongue against it. Shivers went up Markus' spine as he did so, despite his brain telling him that this was all getting out of hand. Edgar elicited a soft, growling sound as his own paper blazer tore open, Markus obligingly peeling the ruins of it off, then running his hands along a back that felt much stronger, big shoulders drawn tight against the confines of the shirt. His hands wandered up to Edgar's neck, finding a dense, curly mat of hair poking above the collar.

"I want you... Right here, right now," Edgar said with a growl, then nipped at Markus' ear. He was sure it was supposed to be erotic, but Edgar had surprisingly sharp teeth that nearly broke the skin.

With rough, strong hands Edgar spun Markus around, guiding him towards the raised end of the chaise and carefully bending him over it. The heavy, cushioned piece of furniture braced his body comfortably, and he was certain they weren't the first people to use it this way. Another loud tear announced the dissolution of Edgar's trousers. He was surprised to feel Edgar's sharp teeth brushing against his hip, catching the waistband of his briefs and tugging them down to his ankles while those hands slid down his thighs and calves, whisking through his body hair.

Those hands ran back up his legs, then cupped his backside and spread his cheeks apart. Markus relaxed as the little room quickly became steeped in Edgar's aromatic bouquet, then wrapped his arms around one of the large cushions he was doubled over.

"Does it hurt?" Markus asked.

"A little, at first," Edgar chuckled, his voice pitching a little lower. "Don't fuss, you're going to love it."

Edgar's foreplay intensified with every passing second, his hands reaching up beneath Markus' turtleneck and raking across his chest and belly, sharp fingernails occasionally scratching the skin. There was pecking, licking, and nibbling all over the back of his neck, and his nose must have been runny since every spot it swept across grew cold and moist. Every now and again he'd flinch, almost but not quite piercing Markus' skin with his fingernails, his tendons popping and snapping as if they'd been very stiff before they got started. All the while, something hot and moist ground between his buttocks, just above his tailbone. The skin was sensitive there and he could feel Edgar's manhood throbbing and sliding, something slick accumulating there.

The soft, hot flesh slid down towards his hole, then pressed against it. His flesh parted with surprising ease, but as the strangely narrow tip flared outward he felt its girth push more and more intensely as he went in. Since he'd never gotten a look at it, the sheer size of it surprised him. How was his body even able to take it all in? He gnashed his teeth and strained as Edgar pulled out, then pushed in, then pulled out, then pushed in, each time going just a little farther and opening him a little wider.

The hands working over his body retreated, the nose and tongue action losing its precision. In exchange, the bucking and thrusting intensified, something big pounding against his ring. Edgar's fingers wrapped around Markus' shoulders, nails pushing into his skin and locking him in place. Markus squirmed a little and started to come out of the lust filled daze, his difficulty breathing and the pain in his shoulders awakening him to his predicament. He turned his head and saw a hand almost twice the size of Edgar's clutching to his shoulder, trembling and tipped with black nails--no, claws.

The deep, intoxicating aroma and the constant massaging of his prostate bid him to stay put and enjoy himself, but even as he moaned and clutched at the cushion harder a panic began to rise. Edgar was reduced to a slobbering, growling, lust-filled beast, holding Markus in place as the man started squirming and whimpering in pain. Pressed down as he was, Markus couldn't get a good look at what was going on behind him, only that this big bulge of flesh kept squeezing against his aching hole. It didn't matter if it were the size of a tennis ball or a bowling ball, there was no way Edgar was squeezing it in there.

Markus gave up on naysaying altogether when the panting, snarling, powerful man behind him thrust his pelvis forward with the force of an express train. When the knot of flesh sank in it felt like Isambard Kingdom Brunel himself had inaugurated another insanely ambitious engineering project directly inside his rectum. Once it passed through his ring clapped shut around it with an audible 'pop', followed by a double explosion. The massive, pulsating bulge of flesh tickling his prostate pushed him over the edge, his cock gushing and spraying his load all over the side of the chaise and the floor. This paled in comparison to the flood of warmth spraying all over his insides.

Edgar's final, decisive thrust had thrown open his back door and was now bathing everything in warm, sticky seed, and it just kept coming. With the knot plugging the exit the fluid sloshed all over his insides and started to tingle and tickle in his guts. Along with the novel sensation came a feverish wave of warmth that quickly spread through his body and started seeping into his muscles.

"Haah... Haah... Haa-Awoooooo!"

The howl had come from Edgar, and if his prodigious strength, size, and libido were any indicators all those rumors of werewolves were true. The noise reverberated through the room and rang in his ears, filling him with adrenaline and causing him to snap out of it. He clenched and gnashed his teeth, stopping short of beating himself for being so dismissive and blind to the evidence. Edgar had used him as a plaything, a hot, juicy piece of game, and if he didn't start fighting now the beast would descend upon him with its fangs and snap him up.

Escape. He had to escape. He wouldn't be able to overpower the beast, but maybe he could surprise it. He spotted the glint of something metallic in the ruins of their stupid paper trousers: The keys to the Mini! The claws pressed against his shoulders concerned him, but he decided that injury was a small price to pay for survival. He ran through the steps quickly in his head: Slip out of the creature's grip, grab the keys, pull up his briefs, then bolt for the nearest exit.

He planted his hands against the chaise, then made a sharp, sudden push with his arms and legs. To his great relief Edgar didn't seem to expect this, tumbling backwards. The beast yelped in surprise as his unbalanced body weight lost control, tugging him towards the opposite wall. The only thing anchoring him in place was his inflated canine knot, which proved insufficient as his backward momentum painfully yanked him out of Markus. It wasn't a picnic for Markus, either, who got all of the pain of the sudden extrication with none of the pleasure.

As Edgar tumbled backwards his clawed hands tried and failed to maintain a hold on Markus, tearing right through his turtleneck's fabric and gouging parallel gashes into the man's skin. Pain like fire exploded through Markus' shoulders, hot blood seeping into and spreading across his sweater. He slumped to the side, crashing to the floor on one shoulder right next to the Mini's keys, sending another burst of agony through him. With an arm pressed to the floor by his own mass, Edgar reached out with his other hand and snatched the key, then rolled onto his belly and got to his hands and knees, bringing his hands to his ankles.

The entire motion, from that abrupt push to getting the keys in a hand and tugging his underwear up to his waist, was the work of two seconds. It still proved too long, however, as Edgar, clutching his genitals in pain and whimpering, sensed Markus' flight and lashed out, lunging and grappling the man. He got his hands wrapped around Markus' knees, nearly dragging him to the floor, but the adrenaline-filled, terrified man managed to slip free, kicking Edgar's nose with his heel on the way into the hall. Again, Edgar's claws dealt a Parthian blow, tearing nasty gashes into Markus' knees that started spilling blood down his shins.

Markus' head pounded, his body ablaze with a combination of pain, terror, and pure exhilaration. Naked except for his briefs but suffering mostly superficial damage, he took a step toward the front door when another werewolf, one with a beehive hairdo and a tattered poster dress, blocked his passage, pale eyes glowing in the milky ambience of the club's lunar-themed lights. Before he could get caught between two hungry werewolves, Markus spun on a heel and toe with the precision of a dancer, then bolted down the hall in the opposite direction. His eyes caught a glimpse of an exit sign, but as he bolted a man in a double-breasted, pinstriped coat and drainpipe jeans loitered near a telephone, a cigarette in one hand and the phone receiver in the other. Most notably, he had a costume wolf mask on his face. Him.

"We meet again, Jasper!" Markus seethed.

"Wait a tic, I recognize you... Oh, cocking nora!"

Markus' terror turned to pure, indignant anger as he realized what had happened. The werewolf 'attack' had been a ploy to get him in Edgar's car, some depraved werewolf sex plot. Well, he wouldn't let this toffee-nosed hooligan get the better of him again.

The 'werewolf' in a mask seemed to realize that a trouserless man dripping in blood was racing toward him, turning just in time to absorb the clenched fist to his face. The wolf mask cracked, then split apart under the impact, which sent the skinny man crashing into the dividers installed between the phones.

"This Hamburger just gave you a knuckle sandwich, arschloch!"

Markus regretted the taunt as soon as he'd blurted it out. Beneath the mask was the snout of a werewolf, hairless and ringed in dense, bristly fur, a rivulet of blood seeping from a nostril on his black nose. Jasper's wide-eyed alarm pivoted to anger as he snarled, then produced his switchblade out of nowhere. He swiped at Markus, who reeled back. A glint of silvery steel and a jolt of pain followed. He'd sliced open a gash just over Markus' left eyebrow, but even before the blood could drain into his eye Markus had his fingers wrapped around the wrist of the knife-wielding hand, holding it in place while pulling back his head and thrusting it forward, connecting with the werewolf's nose.

The soft flesh gave out under the impact of Markus' hard skull, spouting blood and proving that the man could give as good as he got. Strength and confidence Markus never knew he had resulted in a knockdown blow, the werewolf hooligan's knife slipping from his hand and his body falling to the floor, clawed hands clutching his nose as he howled most unhappily. Markus flowed around him, hand firmly wrapped around the car keys as he shoved through the door with a wounded shoulder, dripping everywhere.

As he descended the stairs he determined that he'd have to drive to a hospital immediately given how much blood he was losing. He didn't know the extent of his wounds, only that blood was everywhere. He ran like the dickens, paying no mind to little stones and bits of trash under his bare feet. The Mini was just where Edgar had left it, and he quickly opened the door and turned the engine over. Mercifully, it revved up right away, and it was a good thing too since he could hear the scraping of claws and low growls approaching. This late at night the streets were finally emptying out, allowing him to drive like a bat out of hell.

He'd barely gotten down the street when he felt a chill course through his body. His sweaty skin went clammy and he fretted about his current predicament. He'd really made a hash of it, hadn't he? All because he forgot his keys on campus, gotten a fright, and hopped into a car, this car, with a known deviant. He stopped short of condemning Edgar for his homosexuality, seeing as how he'd just willingly agreed to have sex with the man, but his use of that strange, mind-altering cologne and those accomplices made Markus feel cheated, violated. Now he was injured and puttering around in a stolen Mini. His hands quivered, and he wasn't sure if it was due to rage or the sudden chill gnawing at his bones. He needed to find a hospital, but in the tangle of London's streets he had no idea where he was.

As the shivers quaked through him he clutched the wheel with one hand while trying to rub some warmth into his body. He couldn't allow himself to pass out or he was a goner. He rubbed at his chest first, then his belly, then took his foot off the gas for a moment to rub his exposed leg. As his fingers wandered toward the lacerated tears on his knees, he felt bits of dried blood encrusted on his leg hair, but also noticed that the wounds hadn't just scabbed over. Rubicund scars had formed there, puffy to the touch and knitting together the wounds. Worried, he slipped his fingers through a tear on his turtleneck's shoulder. The fabric was dry, the blood coagulated, and with a bit of probing the scabs sloughed away, revealing fully developed scars beneath. It was even the same for the cut on his eyebrow. His blood loss hadn't been as serious as he feared, so what was going on?

The answer hit him as the chill suddenly vanished, replaced by torrid, unbearable heat. He'd been bitten, scratched, and penetrated by a werewolf. He'd done everything short of ingesting one's blood to pick up the curse, though it was clear from the persistent tingling around his undercarriage that he'd found a novel alternative. His heart pounded, blood washing over his eardrums in tidal waves, and his skin started to itch. One hand wasn't enough for the job, so he illegally turned the Mini onto a walkway that led into a park. He had the presence of mind to stop the car behind some hedges, putting it in neutral before reaching under the hem of his turtleneck and scratching furiously.

As he did a powerful, masculine aroma began to fill the car. This wasn't Edgar's cologne but it was even more powerful, dense, and woody. Without floral scents to conceal it, Markus realized that the heady, intoxicating smell was his own musk, a werewolf's musk. It carried his personal signature and seemed to awaken and enhance the residual scents left behind by Edgar. His scratching slowed, turning to self-exploration as the itching ebbed away and was replaced by a growing sea of hair follicles. As before, the smell of the musk relaxed his inhibitions and amped up his libido, but this time the lingering scent of a virile male prompted his body to pump out more of his own in reply, which again mixed into the air and set off a positive feedback loop even more intense than his coupling with Edgar.

His body tensed. He moved to pull off his turtleneck, but as his hands brushed against the fine hairs along his abdomen tingles of pleasure radiated through his skin. He brought his hands under the hem and started rubbing his hands over his belly and chest much like Edgar had, his body erupting with a riot of sensations. Every pulse of blood seemed to push out the fine hairs sprouting all over his skin. His fingers and toes felt and looked swollen, and his deep tissue from his bones to his muscles ached. Every time he moved he felt cracks and pops, wincing and whimpering as jolts of pain increased in number and intensity. He shouted in pain and squeezed his eyes shut as his collarbones surged in length, nudging and stretching his tendons, tearing open gaps in the muscle tissue beneath that quickly filled with new fibers.

Not long after that his spine stretched and his ribcage heaved outward, sending sudden, blinding bursts of pain through him that robbed him of his breath. How had Edgar been able to focus on sex through this agony? He trembled again, a sound like a piece of celery being mashed inside a fist erupting from the base of his spine, prompting him to reach back there to feel a novel nub of flesh sitting atop the cleft of his buttocks. His hair, or fur as it was quickly becoming, exhibited the start of a new pattern. Little white hairs dusted his hands, and as he pulled up his sleeves he noticed the same color all along his forearms, a mix of silky and coarse hairs already starting to form a dense double coat. As he inspected his arm, soft tearing sounds and lances of pain at his fingertips heralded the growth of claws, which sprouted beneath his dying fingernails and ripped them right out of his cuticles. The claws carried the same pale white color as his fingernails, extending a quarter inch or so past his fingertips before tapering off to sharp points.

Those hands twitched and swelled continuously, maintaining their human shape but becoming hefty and strong enough that each would easily overwhelm his face, the steadily thickening fur relenting when it came to his palms and the undersides of his wrists, leaving those bare. With longer, thicker bones to cling to, muscle tissue started bulging all over his body. It ought to have terrified him, but instead he felt an idle fascination while studying the changes. On the other hand, the pain was getting to be too much to bear, and the confines of the Mini were starting to assert themselves. The air around him was rich and moist with masculine werewolf musk, and since he wasn't as straight as he initially believed the sexual frustration was driving him off the wall. His testes were the size of hen's eggs now and ached incessantly. Looking down at his briefs, the shape of things seemed to be a little different than before.

He idly reached down and stimulated the growing bulge, which strained against the fabric and left a wet smear at the tip. Each touch sent little splashes of ecstasy around his prostate, warding off the pain for a few moments. Starting to understand, he pulled down the waistband of his briefs.

A cloud of his powerful musk whacked him in the face, as did a few droplets of precum as his throbbing, swollen cock sprung out of its fabric cage like the arm of a catapult. The cool air tingled along the slick, veiny, coral pink organ. His scrotum was now coated in dense, fine, sensitive white hairs that prompted his balls to clench as he ghosted his clawed fingertips over them. His penis was a couple inches longer than it had been before, but it was the shape that struck him the most. His foreskin had been drawn back to a short, furry sheath, and out of the sheath pointed an organ with a pointed tip that flared outward into a distinct glans, then led to a swollen, bulbous knot where it met the sheath. That last quirk made him a little queasy as he recalled having that bulge forcibly squeezed into him.

He needed to fuck. He needed release, and it didn't really matter how. He carefully touched the tip with an index finger, sending a blast of endorphins through his body as a reward, prompting him to go further. The flesh was incredibly sensitive, like the sweet spot on his glans but across the entire surface of the organ. This sensitivity also made it vulnerable, so he gingerly began stroking himself off.

Another growth spurt hit him, mashing his head and shoulders into the roof of the Mini. This vehicle barely accommodated the typical person, but as his body swelled his firm muscles kept finding knobs and hard edges to bump and squeeze against, driving him to lose his temper and contort his body around to try and make room. At one point his legs got so thick and long that they stripped the bolt threads that anchored the steering wheel and ripped it off. The car was starting to creak and strain, and as he struggled to un-wedge himself from his awkward position his clawed hands tore straight through the vinyl upholstery and left scratches everywhere. He grunted and growled, finally managing to flop free, but not before accidentally disengaging the parking brake. The Mini was parked on a slight incline and started inching backwards at first, getting a little faster with each shake. The shocks sent little jolts through the car as it crossed over the paved walkway, then continued rolling down the hill toward a swan pond.

Markus bunched up his knees, still able to feel the scars poking out of the fur, then flopped his legs over to the passenger side as a squishing, crunching sound saw those feet lengthen, his toes changing shape. His big toes became little dewclaws while his feet grew and took on chunky lupine paw shapes, frosted in white fur except where it thinned out on his toes and soles. That nub of flesh squashed into the back of the car seat as it grew and fleshed out, a constant reminder that a tail was growing back there. Some of his hair retained its deep brown color, some was overtaken by white fur, and some took on a gray-brown color somewhere in between. Through all the growing muscles, bones, and follicles his turtleneck sweater, shaken but not stirred, clung to him and stretched to fit his increasingly macho physique.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the rear-view mirror, noting he still had his steel blue-gray eyes. The hair that now covered his entire neck in a shaggy mane floofed over the neckline of his sweater, white in the front, brown at the back, and gray-brown transitioning between the two. His nose had started changing color as well and felt cool and damp.

Through all the rocking and lurching of the little car his erection raged, his need unfulfilled. He'd get a hand around it and start stroking when all of a sudden some bump or some growth spurt drew his hands elsewhere. Frustrated, he reached his long, muscular arms under his legs, tugging them upward and pulling his cock towards his face. He appreciated the humor that he was going to try and suck himself off inside a car, a literal autofellatio. He panted, his abnormally long tongue sliding over abnormally fierce teeth, then pushed his feet up against the roof of the car, pushing the metal outward and tearing open the cloth lining with his clawed toes. The sudden expansion of his skeleton also meant he was more limber than before, allowing him to just about reach it.

The Mini jerked violently and tipped as it tumbled into a shallow swan pond. Water splashed all over the exterior, then started gushing in through the doors, but the force of the impact was enough to double over Markus just enough that he suddenly had hot, smooth flesh in his mouth, exploring it with his tongue and huffing his stink right from the source. He couldn't fathom what possessed him to do this and he didn't care; he just wanted more. A pressure built up in his jaw, so much so that he started to get dizzy and his eyes were filled with stars, but when the pressure released with a crunch and a pop his face surged forward into the beginning of a muzzle, fangs inching out and teeth drawing to menacing points. His big, long, strong tongue and his lengthening snout allowed him to draw in more and more of his cock, the steam of his exhalations combining with the sliding and massaging of his tongue to heighten the pleasure even further.

He slowed the pace, holding himself on the edge even as the water rose inside the car, picking up bits of trash accumulated on the floor, but his lustful, animalistic body reasserted itself and he rumbled, swallowing as much of himself as he could, burying his nose in his own fuzzy balls. Whimpering, he squeezed shut his eyes and flattened the ears that had crept to points on top of his head. He felt his balls clench and churn, his wild, intense new body radiating with sexual ecstasy as he gushed forth, his jism spilling over his black lips and dripping from his chin. After satiating the beast he licked himself clean as best he could, then unfolded himself.

The still rising water came up to seat level, the icy cold of it seeping straight through his fur and dousing his butt. He reflexively jolted, banging his head against the roof and leaving a dent in it, then sought out the door handle as he worried the car would keep sinking into the pond. He found the driver's side door handle, wrapped a hand around it, and tugged, snapping the metal off instantly. Dismayed but still determined, he wiggled and sloshed his way to the passenger side and, carefully using two big, clawed fingers, worked the door lock. The door didn't open.

He shoved against the door with all his strength until it occurred to him that he was pushing against the weight of the entire pond, a futile endeavor. Instead, he pressed himself against the pivot point on the side window, wrenching it loose and popping the window off, flinging it into the drink. He poked his head through the resulting opening then wiggled and contorted his way out of the Mini while a perturbed swan looked on. The swamped Mini sank further into the pond, then stopped when it found the shallow bottom. To avoid the muck Markus climbed on top of the roof, standing atop it on two wobbly digitigrade feet, testing his altered legs for the first time.

He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the water, especially his bright blue eyes and the little circles of gray-brown fur around them. He brought a big, white-fuzzed hand to his face, running his fingers along his snout to confirm that the face he saw was his own, conflicted over whether to feel horrified of or thrilled by what he'd become. The power coursing through his body was exhilarating, and in a moment of wild impulse he threw back his head and howled, just to try it on.

As an answer he got a low growl.

"You bleedin' idiot!" A voice grumbled. "You thievin' oaf!"

Its owner crested a nearby rise and silhouetting himself against the moonlit silhouette of a pale, familiar neoclassical building. Markus finally realized where he'd driven in all the confusion: Saint James Park, right next to Buckingham Palace. As the figure approached walking on tiptoes Markus recognized the thick-rimmed glasses and the luminous yellow-green eyes behind them. The real giveaway, though, was the silk ascot neatly tied around his neck.

"Eddie."

Markus felt his hackles rise, his blood going up. He crouched, ready to pounce, and puffed out his chest and shoulders by instinct, curling his lips into a snarl. This didn't dissuade Edgar, who made a similarly guarded approach.

"That was a brand-new car that you nicked! Now look what you've done with 'er!" Edgar's eyes fell upon his car, a look of genuine distress on his lupine face.

"This never would have happened if you hadn't ensnared and turned me! That was assault!" Markus growled, surprised at how intimidating his voice came out.

"What?" Edgar paused on the shore, tilting his head in perplexity. "Is that what it was to you? You came on to me, you didn't ask me to stop, didn't struggle--"

Markus displayed the scars on his shoulders and knees, unconvinced.

"I doubt the magistrate will look at these and say the same," Markus hissed, recalling the pain.

"If you hadn't jerked away so suddenly, you'd never 'ave been hurt," Edgar's voice softened as he looked to Markus' knees. "As for your legs... I was just trying to stop you so I could explain things. It was thoughtless of me to grapple you like that. I really lost control of myself back there. I'm sorry."

"Oh, no, don't you give me puppy-dog eyes!" Markus stuck out his chin and stiffened his body, breaths quickening. "Your 'acquaintance', that hoodlum who pulled a knife on me, was at the club too! Is he a friend or a lackey of yours? Were you sons of bitches fixing to form a conga line and have a go at me one at a time before tearing open my throat and eating me like a bloody piece of game? How desperate and depraved do you have to be to hire people to terrify a man just so he climbs into your car?"

"That's it! I've had it up to here with these ridiculous denunciations!" Edgar snarled, wading into the pond.

"Come one step closer and I'll tear out your throat!" Markus shouted, dropping to a crouch.

Edgar said nothing. Instead, he reached up and untied his ascot, wadding it up in one of his big werewolf mitts. He then raised his chin, keeping his arms at his sides, and took a step forward, meeting Markus' eyes.

"Do it, then," Edgar said quietly. "You may as well if that's the story you're going to tell the judge. I'll be smeared all over the papers, thrown out of university, barred from shops and clubs, cast out of the pack. I'd rather die than live in that nightmare. If you're so sure about your version of events, then strike me dead where I stand. I won't even kick up a fuss."

Markus tensed up. Edgar had taken away his virginity, his humanity, and turned his whole life upside-down. Vengeance was his right, and this powerful, deadly body was apt to carry it out. It would be the work of a moment, ravaging that exposed neck, and if the werewolf myths were true it might even cure him of his current condition. All that sat between his claws and Edgar's throat was Markus' conscience. He focused his sharp eyes on that vulnerable target, drawing back a hand, tensing his fingers as low, rumbling growls escaped from his throat.

Edgar squeezed his eyes shut and waited. Then waited some more. He quivered, pulling his commissures back into a grimace and taking shallow breaths. His pointed ears were flat against his head and his tail was tucked between his legs. Markus realized that the werewolf was terrified.

"I can't do it," Markus slumped to his hands and knees on the roof of the Mini. "I've never been so angry in my life, but I still can't do it."

Edgar exhaled, then gulped in a few deep breaths, slowly blinking open his wet eyes. He cautiously reached up to his neck and wrapped his ascot back around it, face neutral, eyes focused on nothing yet averting Markus' gaze.

"It wasn't a conspiracy," Edgar started. "I intervened to stop a mugging that would get a classmate and a fellow werewolf in trouble. I see it was stupid now, but I took you to the club because I wanted to make sure you didn't go to the police. The rozzers wouldn't stand a chance against us, but I don't like having blood on me hands. Well, that's not the only reason I took you there."

"I know. You took me there to turn me," Markus said.

"No," Edgar shook his head. "I like you, Markus. I really like you. I got similar signals from you well before tonight, but I couldn't dare take it further until you knew what I was. Some things are easier to demonstrate than explain. When you pulled me into that alcove like you did, I should've held back for just a few more minutes. You got me so hot and heavy, though, that one thing led to another, and..."

"And we arrived at the present misunderstanding," Markus sighed. "What about your packmate, the one going around wearing a wolf mask and sticking people up? He was right there, talking on the phone."

"And you gave him a real bloody drubbing," Edgar laughed. "Serves 'im right, I say! He was at the club for the same reason the rest of us were. He's a werewolf, the kind that doesn't want to mope around in a cellar all night, chained to a post. We're young, we're Mod, and we're allergic to staying indoors on a Friday night. If you'd stuck around, I'd have explained the whole thing. The gang would've loved you!"

Markus didn't say anything in response. Edgar had allowed his spontaneous nature and his bestial lust run away from him, but hadn't Markus let his terror and indignation do the same? He got off his hands and knees, bringing his legs under him and sitting comfortably atop the car, dipping his does into the water, the chill sharpening his focus.

"Grr, it's all gone so bloody pear-shaped," Edgar said ruefully. "I'm sorry, Markus. I don't have much to make it up to you, but... I do have an idea."

"Oh?" Markus pricked his ears.

"Follow me, if you dare," Edgar cocked his head toward a little island with so many willow trees it looked like it would sink, then started wading toward it.

Markus was still suspicious, but he wasn't the thin, frightened man he used to be. He followed the werewolf, the tug of the chilly water against his leg fur a novel sensation. The two stepped out on the other side, then shivered and shook as though possessed, spraying the water from themselves. Markus half expected the nasty odor of wet dog to hit his sensitive nose, but none came. Instead, that horny brain of his caught Edgar's musk and started stirring things down south again.

Beyond the ring of thicket surrounding the island was a well-kept English garden with a cute Swiss chalet built at the center. Edgar plodded along a moonlit pathway, then hopped into a flower bed, a look of mischief in his eyes. He turned his back to Markus, strutting his taut, muscular legs and lifting his tail with a playful wag.

"Markus, as penance for aforementioned transgressions, I 'ereby volunteer my body for community service," Edgar waggled his furry eyebrows and ran his tongue over his chops. "Granted, it's a very exclusive community: You and me."

"Won't the flowers object?" Markus asked coyly.

"Of course not!" Edgar said with a wry grin. "These are lupins."

Realizing he didn't have anything to lose, Markus stepped into the flowers and stood face to face with Edgar. The clever man-wolf was using his dark cheek ruffs to hold the glasses to his face. His goofy mop top was gone now, blended into his luxuriant, voluminous mane. Unlike Markus his snout was bare, and he noticed that places on his chest, the undersides of his arms, and between his thighs also thinned out dramatically and exposed the skin beneath.

The mixture of garden herbs and flowers, combined with the nuanced aphrodisiac of their mingling musk, quickly prompted them to pull each other close, nuzzling and licking. Hands explored each other's bodies, ghosting gently over the fur before digging deeper and ruffling through thick coats running down their backs. Pressed against each other like this, Markus finally realized how much brawnier he was than Edgar. Markus' broad shoulders and bulging pecs gave him the look of a knight or a warrior while Edgar's slimmer, lankier build was reminiscent of an Olympic swimmer. Their mass and raw physicality made it a little easier to be incautious, murmuring and growling while they played their fangs and claws across each other's hides, raking the flesh without piercing it.

Within a hot minute Edgar had his snout under the hem of Markus' turtleneck, nuzzling and pecking at his abs. He then worked down to Markus' tingling sheath, an awakening pink tip sticking out. Edgar nuzzled at the fur around it, his insistent sniffling tickling at and stimulating the downy fur in the area. A long, well-practiced tongue started working it, pleasure rocketing through his body and pounding at the doors, demanding he come out.

Before long, blood gushed into his half-lupine cock, which tugged out of its sheath and was instantly met with a flurry of licking and sucking. Edgar looked up, making eye contact, then cupped Markus' testes with a big hand, reaching his fingers around the back of it and gently scratching at the fur along his taint, a fun little trick that prompted Markus to tense and moan, his cock rising to full attention, his knot gradually gorging itself.

Pleasuring himself had been one thing, but Edgar's deft ministrations were, for lack of a better word, groovy. It was a testament to his skill that at no point did Markus feel or worry about the meat shearing, bone crushing teeth in that mouth, his tip rubbing against the ribbed roof of Edgar's mouth and pushing back to the hot, soft tissue of his throat, constantly massaged and stimulated by that long, broad tongue. Horny to the point of desperation, Markus lost control and started bucking his hips and thrusting into Edgar's mouth, shoving himself over the edge and releasing another hot, generous load of cum that seemed to go on even longer than what he pulled off in the car.

Good grief, that was his third time tonight and his balls still ached for more. Edgar gulped down Markus' seed but he was a messy eater, generous amounts of the stuff splashing out of his mouth and glazing his chin and chest. He caught his breath for a few moments, wiping off a few gobbets of Markus' cum with his fingers and sucking them clean one by one. The sight of the messy twink werewolf with his silly glasses and silk ascot lapping at himself while on his knees made Markus ever question why he'd been so terrified before. Edgar's exposed, pale pink cock stood at attention now, dribbling pre and surprising Markus with its size. Compared to the wolf-man it was attached to it looked positively huge. Markus would find it a tight squeeze even now. How'd he ever managed it as a human?

Edgar made it clear that he didn't intend to take advantage of Markus again, rolling over and flattening more of the flowers, scrunching up and pushing his rump into the air, wagging and swirling his tail. Following his sensitive nose, Markus slowly approached Edgars back, taking in the musky scent coming from his ass. He licked his chops before pushing his wet and cold nose into the cleft of his rump. Pushing deeper with his long muzzle until the tip of his snout unit it rested at Edgars exposed and twitching hole. With his long tongue, he started to lubricate the rim, teasing it and preparing it for what was to come.

With greedy enthusiasm, Markus firmly gripped Edgar's thighs and pulled himself close, then guided his cock into the hole. Edgar made a curious mix of growling and moaning sounds as Markus pushed in, exploring with the tip at first, then thrusting in halfway, drawing back, thrusting in a little deeper, then throwing caution to the wind and pressing himself right up to the knot, pounding over and over.

Already stimulated and still dripping from his last rut, his passage got smoother with every thrust, though it amazed him how the flesh squeezed at his cock and seemed to pull him in. Lost in the motion and enshrouded with a cloud of hypermasculine werewolf musk, Markus grunted and growled with every thrust until he was a battering ram trying to squeeze his knot inside. Some part of him refused to cum until crossing that threshold, and no matter how quickly and insistently he pushed, that ring arrested his movement, teasing but not satisfying him. The slutty moans and whines emanating from Edgar just pushed him further, as did the clear pleasure plastered all over his face, with its big, open-mouthed smile and the tongue dangling every which way.

He finally arrived at the right conclusion, stopping his pounding for just a moment to press his body slowly, but steadily against the ring. Now that he was on the other side of the experience, he found that Edgar's sphincter felt just as restrictive and uncomfortable on his knot as Edgar's knot had been against his anus. Despite this, he plunged in with a little thud, Edgar's sphincter drawing shut behind the base and sending the signal to let things rip now that the back door was locked.

Edgar grabbed fistfuls of lupins and tore them out by the roots, clutching a few stalks between his teeth as Markus emptied his balls into him. After cumming three times this evening, this fourth wasn't as productive but it was every bit as incredible as when Edgar coupled with him for the first time. The smaller werewolf's cock erupted not long after, an impressive display of cum spurting forth and decorating the garden with ropes and strands of hot werewolf seed.

The two laid on their sides in the thoroughly ruined flower bed, panting and locked together in a tight embrace. Every now and then Edgar would shift a little, or turn his head and start licking at Markus' muzzle, the titillation hardening his cock again and keeping the couple stuck together just a little longer. They eventually emerged from their lustful haze enough to form words instead of primal, bestial sounds of delight.

"How's that for an apology?" Edgar crowed out with a smile.

"It's a promising start," Markus replied, exhaling raggedly.

**FIN**