Swivel, Tilt, Collapse: Out of control.

**Wirplex** · 01-11-2010 12:13 AM

Alright, its' three in the morning and inspiration decided to betch slap me and then kick me in the nuts a few good times. This is just a little starter vision or whatever that was in my head not ten minutes ago and I just had to get it down. This story will involve shape shifters, violence, and romance ( or rape, I haven't decided yet). Whichever way my mood swings, that's where this'll go. Total spur of the moment. I'm in a kind of craptastic mood right now so if the prologue weirds you out then don't come back to the story I guess. I admit it might confuse some of you but everything will be explained in the first chapter when I officially introduce the characters and whatnot. I'll post ratings and warnings before each section for content and whateverthefuck. Enjoy. Blah.

Chapter Rating(s): Maybe a T or T+
Content warning(s): Death, violence.

Prologue

Piercing.

A screech of pure agony.

Blinding pain.

Lack of sensation.

He was numb…everything…his arms, legs, neck. Nothing existed anymore. Was it over?

“ Do you think the trapped butterfly does not see the eight legs that bring death closer? He fights, does he not? Even in death his being rebels, curling toward the sky and inward, sheltering the sacred body beneath opaque wings.”

A surge of anger, rising like the deadly tip of a scorpions tail. He would not be the only one to feel pain, he was no weakling, no submissive fool.

Lashing out, swirls of crimson and black, rage and desperation no longer separable. A wash of gray, and then soft blue tinged with a sickening purple. An answering shriek of pain met his ears and he managed a tiny, malevolent sneer. The man, no beast, deserved it, deserved the pain he’d bestowed upon him tenfold. Another flash of red, brighter than before, drowned out the inky darkness.

He was no longer afraid. How he longed to gaze upon the anguish on the others’ face, it was too bad the world did not deem him worthy of such things. No matter, he could still hear the pitiful keening pleas, still inhale the sour musk of sweat and filth.

Still taste the rich, hot copper on his tongue.

Another vicious movement and wet warmth dripped from his cheeks, his fingers, his chest. It excited him. And above the overwhelmingly intoxicating odor of his enemies’ life dripping away he could smell that utterly sickening sweetness…what was it again?

Oh yes…

…fear.

It smelled like…salt, from tears he supposed, and metal…and…crushed berries. Ripe…sweet…black berries…they had always been his favorite. Such an odd odor for him to emit but he supposed it was just his subconscious making his revenge all the more enjoyable. Part of him wanted it to last longer so he could keep that delicious scent for himself but the other part, the dominant, instinctual beast that moved his body to action prompted him to end it. And end it he did, in a sickening wrenching, jarring, ripping, tearing, annihilation of flesh so horrendous it would have made the devil himself weep with joy, he ended it.

And he had never felt so good.

**Wirplex** · 01-12-2010 05:37 AM

Oh yay, chapter one. A recount of the prologue in another persons' eyes and more, just don't want to confuse anyone. Tiny changes to the prologue because i'm studying color/emotion associations and I wanna get them right. Enjoy.

Chapter rating(s): T+ or M
Content warning(s): Violence, death, gore.

Chapter 1: Oleander

Two trapped in a death struggle, a third, hidden amongst the ferns, observing with cat-like blue eyes.

The striking dance lasted only a few moments. Haunting silence, broken only by the occasional flutter as the dancers rushed to and fro, desperate to both make contact and to avoid. They communicated rarely, brief rumbles of jagged outcries emitted on the fly.

A misstep and a sound that wrenched his heart in his chest for reasons unknown.

One form, unfortunate, fell to its’ knees, the other observant and holding a dark glee, sending shivers down his spine. Again the haunting silence, and then…a snarl.

Clawed hands slashed furiously through the air, a blurred arc, and the man still standing wore bleeding stripes from hips to knees. He screamed, and his once-victim sneered before delivering another blow, slashing at his belly, gutting him like a bear would a trout before feasting.

Blue eyes filled with disbelief and then disgust quickly looked away. He could still hear them, the sickening sounds that instinctual rage prompted as the man, clearly the victor yet not satisfied, tore the corpse to shreds. When it was over the observer dared a glance and was greeted with the sight of the conquerors’ nude form littered with entrails, chest heaving, and despite the wry smirk just barely twisting the corner of his lips, his eyes were dead.

The man crumpled to the earth without as much as a gasp, a mocking pantomime of an unborn child, folding in upon himself like a fetus as his body came to rest in a puddle of blood and gore.

As he lie there, spattered in his enemy’s remains, the observer watched him. Or, rather, scrutinized. The unconscious man resembled an elf, the more virile western version of one, his form lean and holding an obvious power even in its’ curled state upon the ground. He didn’t stir, didn’t move even a fraction of an inch more and yet, the observer found himself inwardly trembling. Lying motionless upon the ground and in all his beauty… yet he could not bring himself to move forward in a kind gesture, could not bring himself to lift the inert body to a safer place before the beasts that were not of their own were drawn to the smell of death. Of blood.

He ran.

**********

The howls were what woke him, not the pain. Tiny sparks of red danced in his head. What had happened? He barely registered the fangs digging into his thigh as his sightless eyes opened and he twitched into consciousness. Deep, steady breaths, an attempt to rise. Heat, soft with an underlying layer of what felt like rock collided hard with his chest and his body uncurled, lay still beneath a weight that threatened to crush the air from his lungs and never again permit it to return. The throbbing pain in his chest prompted a wince and he sluggishly brought his arms up to free himself of the nuisance. Another set of fangs sinking into his shoulder forced him into quicker action and for the second time that day he was tossed headfirst into a ferocious encounter.

Rank, stale air filtered into his burning lungs. He was exhausted, even more filthy than before, but he was alive, the evidence of his struggles lying in rotting heaps about him. Scrawny wolves looking for an easy meal had stood no chance against the shifter and, despite his already poor state, he’d made quick work of them. Sore muscles protested his limping movements, claw tipped fingers digging into the flesh of the trees to hold him steady despite the drunken wagging of his head. His enemies were dead but that scent, rich and sweet and intoxicating, had not ceased to permeate his senses. How?

Nostrils flared and his feet gradually lost their weak shuffling, carrying him a bit faster through the brush and weeds at a more normal pace. His body was rebuilding itself, stitching back together, the gaping hole in his shoulder and gashes in his thigh and arm closing slowly but surely. The scent of blood died away but still the salty sweetness remained and for a moment he thought himself insane as it grew stronger and was accompanied by a familiar trickling. The soft babbling of a nearby stream.

**********

Breathless, gasping, wheezing and , ' Gods those horrid sounds, it must be over.'

He'd ran until his knees buckled and his lungs threatened to explode but he hadn't been able to escape those wretched sounds of death that seemed to echo with every step he took. Golden red flashed before his eyes but he did not brush it away, simply supported himself as best he could and shuddered.

Howling.

He should have helped, he should have at least dragged the man to safety. From what he'd seen of the fight the victor had initially been the victim. Even so what he'd done after he'd slain his enemy had yanked at something that he didn't even know he had. Annan had never felt such fear...such guilt. He was torn and shuddered again, clamping his hands over his ears to block out the feeding cries of the wolves. It was none of his business, he didn't even know the man, he'd done nothing wrong! Nothing!

Annan blinked, confusion clear in his narrow eyes, fingers gradually loosening their hold on his head, his hands slipping to his sides. Silence? Normally the wolves carried on for hours, what--?

A crackle of broken sticks, barely audible but easily picked up by his highly sensitive ears, and he thought his heart would burst. Were they coming after him?

More startled by the unexpected sound of twigs than anything he rose and wisely moved on. He knew he could handle a group of them if he needed to and wasn't entirely worried about their presence, though he'd rather not waste time fighting them when he could be continuing on to his destination. As quickly and quietly as he could he followed the crisp scent of water and began to make his way across the lazily flowing stream, the cool liquid somewhat of a relief to his slightly bruised feet. He was half way across when another sound met his ears and he sighed, breaking out into a run, knowing that once he hit land again he'd have no problem shifting into something with swifter feet than his normal form and outrunning them.

Not looking back was his mistake.

The grip that suddenly engulfed his arm ignited the panic he'd stored away before and he wheeled, a blur of claws and fangs. Annan had no time to think, only react; he barely blinked as his claws tore through flesh and blood sprinkled his skin. Going in for another swipe was his highest priority but something hooked around his ankle and tugged hard, preventing that. Pain exploded in his back but more importantly there was water in his lungs, clogging his nose and throat, and his heart rate increased to a thunderous gallop that seemed magnified beneath the surface of the stream.

He couldn't get away nor lift his head, not with the weight of his assailant crushing him to the rocky ground. Again he struck out and again, raking his fingers over something firm before he felt himself being lifted and slammed down again. The fraction of a second he'd been given for air hadn't been nearly enough. Darkness began to creep along the edges of his vision.

**********

The only thing that made him let up was the weakening movements of the man beneath him. He'd trailed him devoid of the intent to kill, curiosity and some other selfish motive driving him to confront his fellow shifter, but when he lashed out at him he barely managed to control himself. Anger swooped down on him like a hawk and he'd cracked the others' head against the ground a few times before he realized what he was doing. Their blood mingled in the water and even then he still seemed to contemplate stopping before he dragged them both to the bank.

He turned the man onto his stomach and pulled him to his knees, frowning slightly at the wet spatter as he rammed his palm between his shoulder blades. The man vomited, hacking up water and bile, sputtering pitifully. After some time had passed and his breathing began to return to normal he leaned closer, sniffing, only to snarl as he barely dodged another swipe.

" Do you wish for death?!"

**********

Annan couldn't have spoken if he wanted to. His lungs were on fire, throat burning. Even as he staggered to his feet and stumbled backward in the direction of the stream he suffered rasping coughs. The words that met his ears forced him to look up and he balked.

It was the man from before. The one he'd left behind. Memories of the bloody fight flashed before his mind's eye and tendrils of fear constricted tight around his heart.

**********

' He's injured you, caused you pain, kill him!', his body screamed at him and he was poised to pounce when a wave of dizziness hit him, powerful enough to send him back a few steps with a hand to his head. That scent! He'd heard the other take a few shaky steps back and then his senses had nearly been decimated by an explosion of color.

" So it was you. " Mild confusion, a wash of grayish black slightly lighter than coal amongst a sea of shockingly bright yellow accentuated the sharp tang of sweat that tickled his nose and he didn't attempt to hide his smirk. He was afraid, terrified and...that smell belonged to him.

**Wirplex** · 02-06-2010 02:00 AM

I might come back and edit this later, it's 5 in the morning and i'm tired. Excuse mistakes and plot holes or...wait, no this is my story! Bugger off if you don't like it! D:< Yeah, no, seriously though i'm tired. G'night. Ugh. e 3e;;

Chapter rating(s): T+ ( I suck at ratings. :3 )
Content warning(s): Just a little inappropriate contact ;3

Chapter 2: Feeling in Color

A light cough did nothing to dissipate the fog of tension that had settled on the man’s shoulders. Anything short of being out of the other’s presence would be absolutely obsolete in bettering his mood. He’d merely gone out on a hunt, needed to find food for his people, why, why did he have to run into him?

Annan wasn’t an easily intimidated man, was usually the one doing the intimidating in fact, but the shifter currently smirking up at him with his dead white eyes sent prickles of something dancing up and down his spine. Suspiciously enough the sensation reminded him of the caress of a millipede.

Coughing again he drew himself back a few steps more and straightened to his full height, a false display of confidence that the other didn’t even bat an elegant lash at. Annan faltered. The other shifter was smaller, paler, and just as intriguing as he’d been before, but having those eyes trained on him made his heart twist in his chest, a direct contradiction to the fancy he’d taken of gazing at the other’s alluring form. “ …,” he fought the urge to blink for a moment, completely unsure of what to expect from someone capable of killing so brutally before inhaling slowly, “ Who are you?”

Annan’s voice seemed to trigger a reaction of sorts and, though miniscule, it had him tensing even further. The elf-like shifter’s smirk had widened and he moved in the other’s general direction, a playful swagger accentuating his steps. Despite his apprehension Annan found himself standing his ground as he inadvertently switched his gaze between the other’s face and hands for any sign of danger.

“ I don’t think I’m inclined to give that information to someone who would leave me for dead.”

A light chuckle that caused Annan to flinch. There was no malice, anger, of any kind that he could identify. The smaller shifter walked straight past him and waded into the stream, traveling into it’s flow for a bit until it was deep enough to lap at his bloodied hips. He seemed to forget about the other’s presence and, for a moment, Annan was tempted to just leave. Too bad the moment he’d assumed their encounter was done he felt that gaze settle on his back.

“ Well you’re a rude one aren’t you? The least you could do is introduce yourself, especially after attacking me the way you did.”

The smooth voice licked at his ears and made his face burn. Arrogance in its purest and most infuriating form rolled freely from the man’s tongue, taunting him with lilting barbs. He turned, regarding the man bathing in the shimmering water with a displeased frown, the unease he’d felt moments ago overshadowed by the irritation that flared up with the words that drifted to him along with the subtle splashes of the stream. A part of him was surprised to see that the slice he’d given the other across the cheek was healed, but he was more focused on correcting than anything else at the moment.

“ If you’re looking for an apology you won’t find one. You grabbed me, I think you should be the one explaining himself.”

“ Hmmm~ a childish argument if I’ve ever heard one.” The pale man laughed lightly, straightening as the last of the blood from his fight was swept away. Annan had given an irritated huff but didn’t seem too annoyed with him. He did, however, tense when he was accompanied on the shore once again. Slender fingers gripped at long, silver blond locks and violently twisted, turning the flow into a crude rope, wringing out the water.

“ Bran.”

The larger man started slightly, giving an inquisitive glance. “ What?”

“ My name? It’s Bran.” The man sneered, shaking his head a bit, and the hair unwound itself, clinging wetly to his body all the way down to mid thigh. It shone slightly in the sunlight and reminded Annan of the wet rocks that sat at the bottom of the water only a few feet away, silvery grey with a definite flaxen tint. He balked a bit at his name, yet another reason to consider the man odd. It was a curse of sorts, a word used to describe bad omens, though, with that mocking look on the delicate face he didn’t quite believe him.

“ …and your real name?”

The man paused in cleaning his nails, flicking a tiny chunk of flesh at Annan’s feet with a snort.

“ Intelligent too?” The predatory lip licking that followed the low murmur didn’t go unnoticed. “ Keary.”

Annan shuddered. ‘ Father’s dark child? What kind of parent would name their child that?’

“ I see you know what it means then.” He regarded Keary silently. Why did he seem pleased? Annan suppressed a shudder, lips quirking into a false smile.

“ Despite what you may think, I’m not an idiot.” The answering snort prompted a twitch but nothing more. “ I’m Annan.”

Keary snorted again ( he seemed to be quite fond of that), and eventually broke out into a tiny laugh. He could feel Annan’s agitation rising but paid it no mind, cocking a brow instead as he settled into a crouch by the water, head tilting as if he were listening for something important.

With the crude blood spatter washed away Annan spotted markings on the other’s otherwise perfect skin. Tan stripes, two of them, circled each wrist like bracelets, a matching pair circling his body right below his navel. Standing out even more on his pale skin were the dark grey, almost black, expanses of skin that stretched from the second knuckle of every finger to the rounded tips, making the off white talon-like nails seem even brighter.

“ Tch, you must be from the tribe that frequents the mountain base. Let me guess…with a name like From the Stream you must have blue eyes. Your parents must be extraordinarily bright.”

Annan barely kept from hissing in response to the mocking tone. Instead he focused on keeping Keary at an acceptable distance. The pale man had inched toward him a bit, as if curious, and Annan followed suit by inching back, mimicking his crouch by the stream with more than enough distance to make himself comfortable. Something about his words, besides the disrespect towards his parents, didn’t quite seem right. Keary was looking right at him but…

“ What do you mean I ‘must have blue eyes’? It’s kind of obvious seeing as you--”

“ So I was right.” Keary’s childish grin caused Annan to give pause.

“ What?”

The dead eyes were on him again and the words that met his ears told Annan all he needed to know about his uneasiness regarding the man’s gaze.

“ I’m blind.”

**********

Could it have been any easier to get what he wanted? Keary nearly giggled like an idiot. The object of his current interest, Annan he'd said his name was, was so...susceptible. He was obviously smitten with his looks and if that hadn't been enough to keep him near, from the feel of things, he now pitied him. Not that he minded all that much; if it got him what he wanted then so be it. Annan could cry his eyeballs out for all he cared, as long as he was still within reach Keary was satisfied. He lifted a hand, tracing an imaginary pattern along his cheek and smirked inwardly, feeling the others' eyes on him. ' Yes, watch me~'

" I wonder..."

A subtle shift told him he had Annan's full attention and he let his expression fall, closing his eyes and letting his arms fall loosely about his bent knees, almost protectively. For someone who was blind he seemed to have an acute understanding of body language, having tested his postures in the presence of others for many years to see what reactions they caused. Keary curled in on himself a bit, tilting his head in the man's general direction and looking like a child, at once both curious and completely lost.

" What do I look like, Annan?" Uneasiness and sadness. He could really work that little pity streak to death if he played his cards right.

" Ah...well...you look...handsome?" Keary chuckled lightly; the poor man sounded genuinely confused.

" What's the matter, never had to explain to someone what they look like before?" The remark seemed to lighten his mood but he was still tense; perhaps the way in which the words had been said was still somewhat demeaning.

" No," Annan answered honestly, his brows furrowing as he turned to better face the other, " Well...you don't look like any other shifter i've ever seen. You're pale...and you have markings, natural ones from the looks of it...and white eyes."

Keary seemed to consider his words for a long moment. He'd been told what he looked like before and knew exactly what he looked like, if he hadn't been lied to that was. The truth was he was a vain being and having others gawk over something that he possessed pleased him to no end. Once, a long, long time ago he'd considered why he felt such things and supposed it was merely because he could not lay eyes on himself and craved the reassurance. With an inward smirk he put on a fake pout and tilted his face upwards, letting the sun warm his cheeks.

" What's white?"

**********

Tapered ashen nails dragged idly across a dirt encrusted knee, digging shallow trenches a hairsbreadth above the delicate skin beneath. It had been a couple of hours since their little rendezvous in the water and it seemed Annan was still wary of the smaller shifter though more tolerant now that he knew of his…disability. It had been unbelievably amusing, getting the man to indirectly admit his attraction to his appearance and forcing him to answer seemingly simple questions, but he'd run out of things to ask and now sat, bored and unblinking.

Annan was crouched a few feet away, somewhere to Keary’s left if the shallow breaths and crunch of gravel Annan’s clawed toes caused every time he shifted were any indication. Both heads were turned in the direction of the water though, even without sight, Keary could tell Annan was watching him. For him it was impossible not to notice; even with earlier tinges of fear and anger there was still an underlying aura of awe and curiosity about the man that, honestly, was starting to irritate him.

Keary stood from his crouch, turning, and he could practically feel the tension springing up to greet him. He progressed on Annan slowly and mentally commended and berated the man all at once; he was coiled tight as a spring and apprehension was rolling off of him in waves yet he hadn’t moved an inch. A hint of a smile skewed his thin lips, only serving to be as calming as a wall of creeping flame, and he felt strands like limp poppy stems slip through his fingers. Annan shuddered, inhaled.

“ What are you doing?” His voice was quiet. The kind of quiet a mentor would use to asses a pupil’s train of thought or to administer a warning before punishment. Keary simply allowed his smile to increase a fraction of an inch before reaching further past the protective sweep of the strawberry blond bangs to run the pads of his fingers over the man’s sun warmed face.

A soft cheek hemmed in by light sideburns that tapered off at the edge of a squared jaw. Firm and strongly set, Keary had no doubt there was serious power behind the man’s bite. He smirked to himself and ignored the confused pant of breath that ghosted over his forearms. His thumbs found Annan’s brows and skirted over them with a light pressure, the caress stopping and starting again between his brows and traveling down the bridge of his nose and outward beneath his eyes, the orbs involuntarily watering from the compression and closeness of the talon-like nails. The salty liquid went unnoticed as Keary dragged his thumbs up to Annan’s temples and pressed lightly again as if stamping the shape of the other male’s features into his memory.

Despite the closeness, the faint wisps of breath fluttering over his forehead like warm water, Annan had begun to relax. Sure, he was still wary of the blind shifter but he seemed to be out of whatever mood he’d been in earlier…if he could call it that. He could sense no danger and, gradually, his lids drooped, though no further than half mast. Certain habits he just couldn’t let go, or rather chose not to; even without ill intent others could still be a threat, he knew that well. Undeniable was the fact that what Keary was currently doing was, on some level, disarming. He could feel the nimble digits skitter back over his scalp as they seemingly lost interest with the contours of his face. For a moment the caress nearly felt like a massage, however a hiss of pain prompted the fingers to move elsewhere. Keary’s nail had caught a few hairs and needless to say the sensation of needles pricking his scalp was unpleasant.

Fretting over a few pulled hairs? Keary nearly laughed in the man’s face. Only a few moments had passed since he’d abruptly swallowed whatever space they’d had between them but the sudden silence that gnawed it’s way to the surface was thicker than any they’d shared thus far. The slimmer man’s hands had gone from slightly soothing to unnerving on the brink of cause for alarm in less than a second. In his quest to get more of a feel for Annan’s image he’d allowed his hands to venture upon even more skin, the closest to his initial location of the man’s head being his neck. If he didn’t know any better he would have sworn war had been declared between nearby neighboring tribes. The larger shifter’s heart had suddenly gone off into a catastrophic symphony of abused drums, the hammering sounding far too loud in his super sensitive ears. Keary was slightly put off a split second later when he noticed the absence of a rush of color; Annan was not afraid, merely on high alert. The odor he currently emitted was not one the blind man sought and he nearly lost interest in him until he quickly reminded himself of the heavenly scents he’d been graced with before.

Teasingly he allowed his fingers to curve lightly about the base of Annan’s neck, rubbing his thumbs experimentally in circles, and was not surprised to hear the beginning of a growl thrumming low in the other’s chest. Only half tempted to agitate him further he moved on to his shoulders. They were firm and broad as proven by a couple of curious swipes and squeezes. Keary noticed with a light snort of amusement that the man’s body tensed and relaxed depending on the proximity of his hands to his throat. So Annan was more of a fighter than he thought…or maybe he was just being testy? The pale shifter mentally shrugged and relocated his hands once more, crouching somewhat, growing tired of having to bend over to make contact with the still kneeling man. An amused brow rose slightly at the resulting intake of breath.

Delicate fingers skittered innocently over the expanse of Annan’s chest and lower, poking and prodding his stomach and sides, a curious rhythm drummed out on the skin of his thighs. He could feel warmth spreading over his shoulder as the smaller male leaned closer and felt over his back, seeming to pause for a moment before mischievously running over his rear and settling on his calves. Why the hell was he allowing Keary to do this? The only thought he could formulate was how much he wanted to return the caresses, never mind the fact that the man obviously had some devious streak in him that could cause him an infinite amount of trouble. His knees stung where they dug into the gravel and the sun was beginning to cook him but he sat obediently still, ignoring the smirk that seemed ever present on the other’s face.

Annan’s lips parted for a moment. Should he question Keary? Let him know that whatever the man was doing wasn’t exactly what he’d come down from the mountains for and that he was wasting his time? Shuddering, he gave a half hearted grunt of disapproval and frowned when all he earned was a tiny laugh. Keary knew he was bluffing and showed it by sliding a hand between his slightly muscled thighs. Blue eyes grew wide. A low hiss mirrored by a murmur of approval. Fingers curled and Annan trembled slightly, fighting down his body’s urges and watching Keary with a vigilant eye.

“ What are...you...doing?” Annan noticed vaguely that he’d repeated himself, reprimanding himself for sounding weak, but was relieved none the less when he was promptly let go of. Cracking open an eye he hadn’t even realized he’d closed he half heartedly turned his face away from the fingers that pranced along his lightly stubbled chin.

“ Just…getting a feel for what you look like.” The voice was soft, smug and low yet oddly reassuring. Annan reasoned, quite stupidly, that the man must do this with everyone he met. It was his way of 'seeing' after all. Right? The little tingle he was beginning to feel sure wanted him to think so.

Keary knew he was in control, the fact more than apparent from the way Annan's lip trembled beneath his questing thumb. It was warm and soft, slightly chapped, and responded readily to the minuscule amount of force applied immediately after initial contact. The strong jaw yielded for his finger and he suppressed the satisfied hum as his skin met the tender flesh of the others' tongue. Annan's eyes had fluttered closed and he no longer seemed to be thinking, focusing instead on the slightly salty digit that invaded his mouth with a gentle yet insistent caress against his tongue and teeth.

He could have killed him. If Keary had so wished he could have dug the rest of his nails into the soft underbelly of his jaw and wrenched it free of his skull, leaving him in blinding agony to bleed to death, but he didn't. But the fact that he could have was what made him stop. Annan, in his brief time knowing him, had already fallen under his spell. The pale shifter couldn't tell if the man was naive or just plain horny but he was satisfied in knowing that he could have him when he wanted him. He smirked lightly and let Annan claim his finger for a short while longer ( the man had actually began to suckle a bit), before pulling his finger up and letting the nail slide warningly against the roof of his mouth. Annan seemed to take the hint, his eyes snapping back open and his head jerking back, releasing Keary before any damage could be done. His face was red with shame and went even redder when he realized he'd been grateful the man was unable to see his embarrassment.

No words were spoken as the pair stood as one. For a moment Annan's stern features were twisted into a puzzled frown before Keary's back took the place of his face in his line of vision.

" Mmm~ From the feel of things you must be an Alpha male, am I right?" Annan was thoroughly confused by the tone Keary's voice had taken and was unsure whether or not he wanted to answer. He turned instead, four large gray paws bringing him to the wood's edge not ten seconds later as he regarded the other for a long, thoughtful moment and trudged on.

' This should be interesting,' was the amused sweep of thought that accompanied the second shifter's transformation as he traded bodies for one of a more lupine variety and followed the faint scent of blackberries into the trees.