Work Text:
Life working in government policy was knowing that people failed every day. At least, this was the motto of Nate's boss. This led to countless battles that Nate had to fight in his boss' name, defending poorly worded clauses and sloppy implementation. On good days, Nate saw the result of his work when he walked down city streets and he'd feel that glow of a job going right, a job well done. On bad days, he saw the homeless, he saw the sick and wondered what he was doing blocking the flow of the river when the dam had already exploded.
One of the perks of his job was a decent salary, enough so he could (just barely) afford a decent apartment in a central location in the city, where the standard of living was outrageously high, but the life possible in the center was worth it. There was a huge park close by where he ran every morning, sometimes on nights on those days when he had to go to work early. The subway stop was about a ten-minute walk away, and Nate didn't need to own a car because the subway could get him everywhere he needed to. He missed his car though, an old junk heap that carried him across the country while he was in college, but he gave it up without regret.
Nate woke up on a Thursday morning and had a gut feeling that today was going to be bad. This required no precognitive abilities, only the training to see how incompetence slid downwards like an avalanche. It was 6:45am and he was already planning to go to work. There'd be no time for a run today.
He went to his kitchen and put a sliced bagel in the toaster, got a container of cream cheese and some hot peppers and constructed his bagel sandwich. The coffee was percolating, the smell of it a soothing tonic for the headache already building. He turned on his TV to see a local news show (the woman was pretty, the guy handsome in an accessible way, like a golden retriever) and left it on the background, paying attention to bits here and there as he ate his breakfast.
"--lina Jolie adopted another baby girl today, this time a baby said to be from the slums of Rio de Janeiro--" Nate remembered the files he brought home last night and went to his bedroom to get it, flipping through it as he brought it to the kitchen with his breakfast.
"--kovic has just made the quarter finals in the Tournament of Champ--" His coffee was ready. Nate grabbed a cup.
"--nimal attacks in DeLoires Park, where witnesses report a large dog-like animal has been terrorizing--" Nate grabbed the remote control and shut it off, focusing on the documents before him.
***
He walked out of his apartment at 7:00am sharp, the subway schedule a memory he could recall with no effort. His second cup of coffee in his thermos was still boiling hot, just the way he liked it. The sun was already out, but it did nothing for the bite in the air. Winter was approaching fast, but if the city was lucky, the city would have at least another bit of summer-like weather before all the leaves died.
A horn honked for his attention, and Nate smiled at the familiar face inside the car.
"You're going to work pretty early," Brad said. "That moron you work for being extra special, or is it just another Thursday?"
"Extra special," Nate admitted.
"Why do you work where you work again?"
"Same reason you do."
"Misplaced sense of justice? The idealistic thought that we could somehow change things and make it better? They advertised dragons on the TV and it looked cool?" Brad's expression was knowing and his delivery came via the best deadpan Nate has ever witnessed.
"I saw The West Wing and the dragons," Nate said, playing along.
"That show was nothing but a piece of liberal trash with people who wouldn't shut up," Brad said, raising an eyebrow in challenge.
Nate laughed, conceding the game without any effort towards winning it in the first place. Too much Brad at too early a time in the morning made for a depressed Nate trudging through his hours at the office. Nate was a smart man who knew his limits when it came to forbidden things.
"As much as I'd love to continue, work calls," Nate said.
"You miss your run then, Nate? You know you'll be climbing the walls at work," Brad said.
"Didn't have time. Maybe tonight." Nate walked to the subway station. "See you on Saturday," he called out, turning back to see Brad smile. He got the feeling Brad watched until he disappeared into the stairs leading down to the subway.
***
Nate was helping to arrange the security for one of the mayor's speaking events when he met Brad six months ago. Security wasn't one of his responsibilities, but working for Schwetje soon made Nate realize how lucky he was that he liked multitasking, that he wasn't afraid of new challenges. He was working quietly with Brad, figuring out the exits and entries to the venue when Schwetje called, demanded to be put on speaker phone, and asked Nate to arrange the mayor's speech to be held at the City Hall.
He saw Brad's eyebrows shoot up after hearing the request, his ice blue eyes going slightly larger in surprise. "Sir," Nate said, injecting as much patience in his voice as he could muster, "the hall was considered unsuitable due to the security risk. The roof still has the massive hole -- it hasn't been fixed yet."
"City Hall, Nate. Make it happen. Schwetje out."
Nate turned off his phone and tried to present this to Brad, who had already spent hours mapping out the other venue.
"So shit rolls downwards for you too, huh?" Brad asked. Nate barked out a laugh.
"Doesn't it everywhere?" Nate said.
"The shit's easier to handle on my end, I guess," Brad said. "I follow orders. I patrol my beats. Easier to get away for me."
"Lucky you," Nate said in a fit of unprofessionalism. "Shit," he muttered. "Sorry about that."
"He's not my boss, Nate," Brad said. "I don't care what the fuck you say about him."
"Doesn't do me any good."
"I could say shit about one of my old bosses that could peel paint off the walls."
Nate looked at the documents he and Brad had been looking at for the venue. It started to swim before his eyes. He looked at his watch and saw that it was late, that he'd kept Brad out for far longer than he thought.
"This is considered overtime," Brad said. Nate looked up to see Brad looking at him intently. "More money for me -- this isn't a bad deal."
After a moment, Nate smiled and thanked him. Brad shrugged the gratitude off.
"Feel like a beer?" Brad said. Nate said yes without hesitation, and a somewhat odd but dependable friendship developed from there. Surfing day trips to California, where Brad was a natural and Nate a small step above or below mediocrity, depending on the day. Paintball games with Ray and Walt, good friends of Brad's. Conversations about the value of an active armed forces, Nate's agnosticism and Brad's atheism, their belief (or lack of) in the supernatural, childhood memories, Brad's belief in the benefits of living a regimented life, the legalization of prostitution -- conversations that occurred in Nate's balcony, in Brad's backyard, in long car trips to California, over phone calls at work when Brad was off and Nate was bored, all merging together to form a safety net that Nate didn't know he wanted or needed until he saw it waiting below, ready to catch him.
***
Brad was right. Nate was climbing the walls because he missed his morning run, which made him feel off for the rest of the day, his body missing the adrenaline high that came from his self-imposed mini-marathons, the feeling of having nothing to carry him to his destination apart from the pump of his heart and the motion of his legs. The minute he got home (8:00, he noted with dismay), he stripped off his jacket and untied the noose-like tie on his neck as he went to his bedroom. He got an old college hoodie and put it on without a shirt underneath, changed into his sweats, and slipped his feet into his battered but comfortable running shoes.
Running made everything melt back into the background. The first few minutes of the run were hell as always as his body adjusted to the physical activity; even after years of regular exercise, it took Nate at least ten minutes to get comfortable. He took a left from his apartment building to enter the route in DeLoires Park, the waning rays of sun providing enough light even as the moon was beginning to rise.
His body fell into its comfortable rhythm while running after fifteen minutes. His breaths were steady, bizarrely in time with Jay-Z dropping rhymes about brushing off the dirt off his shoulder blasting on his iPod. The winding paths and sloping hills of this park were a comfort, its familiarity a luxury he was thankful for every time he ran the route.
The attack was unexpected. One minute he was jogging up a hill, the next was a blur as someone tackled him from the side, trying to rip his iPod off his arm patch. Nate cursed his rustiness, letting an iPod take away knowledge of his situation, but he still had a few tricks up his sleeve.
He didn't get a chance to use them. A loud growl distracted him and his attacker, and when Nate turned to his right, he saw the biggest dog he'd ever seen. Wolf, his mind supplied, but that didn't make sense, not in the city. The wolf bounded towards them, its face curled into a snarl, its white fur gleaming in the dark. His attacker rolled away from him trying to get away, but the dog was faster. It grabbed his assailant by the arm and flung him towards the wooded area in the park like a chew toy, his attacker's scream a discordant note in the quiet night, the sickening thud of the body hitting the trees a distant echo.
Nate sat up and leaned against a tree as the dog turned to face him. He was trying not to panic, but none of his past training in anything has ever equipped him to deal with a giant wolf-dog who could throw humans around like a child throws away dolls.
His night got even stranger.
The wolf-dog folded its ears back on its head and walked slowly towards Nate with its head down, whining softly. It sat down near Nate's legs and looked at him, cocking its head to the left as it calmly observed Nate, as his panting making itself visible in the cool, night-time air.
It won't kill me, Nate thought in wonder. It's protecting me. Slowly, carefully, he reached out a hand, palm outwards as if there was food on it. The wolf-dog's ears perked up, and it licked the palm of his hand before nuzzling it. Nate laughed out loud, tickled in every sense of the word. He moved closer, smelled the scent of the forest and a strange, powerful musk on its fur and looked at its ice-blue eyes.
"Thank you," Nate whispered. The dog cocked its head and licked his face, once, twice before bounding away.
Nate walked back to his apartment in a daze, the adrenaline for once not coming from a long run.
***
Working as a policy advisor under the command of one of the most incompetent men Nate has ever had the misfortune to have as an employer was usually enough to start his day on the wrong foot, but that didn't matter when he woke up the next morning. He felt energized, open in some way that he couldn't define. Even when he went to the bathroom and saw the gruesome bruises on his side and on his arm didn't lessen the high.
I'm a rational human being, Nate thought. Despite all evidence that would mark it as contrary, a big wolf-dog saved his life last night. He was willing to consider that in between the panic and the fear that some details would change as he looked at the memory of it more closely, but some facts were incontrovertible. No matter what conventional wisdom said.
As he was walking out of his building, one of his neighbors called him over. There was a group of people craning their necks to look at the areas cordoned off by the police in the park.
"Nate, did you hear?" Evan asked.
"What?"
"They found a guy hanging in one of the trees in the park. He's hurt pretty bad, in critical condition."
Nate consciously put on his best game face. "Do they know what happened?"
"Not really," Evan said. "Police can't figure it out. From what I heard, it looked like the guy was thrown from a catapult."
"How do you always get this information?" Nate asked.
"Have my sources close to the ground, bud," Evan said, a twinkle in his eye. "Your friend's partner helped, too."
Nate rolled his eyes. Trust Ray to babble about a case not caring who was around.
"Gotta get to work," Nate said. "I'll see you later." Evan nodded and tried to get to the front of the crowd.
Nate walked the route to his subway station, but turned around to look for himself. Brad was tough to miss, towering over everyone, a tall line of slim black uniform and tanned skin standing guard near the police tape. Nate stretched a hand up to wave, and after a minute, Brad did a mock salute. Nate shook his head, and as curious as he was, he couldn't feel that sorry for the guy strung up in the trees. Any questions he had, he'd have to ask later and work it out between the lines if Brad chose to answer them.
***
The positive start to his day and the magic of the rescue the previous night lasted up to 10:30am that morning -- work was truly hell, about which the less said, the better. Thank God it was Friday. He missed his morning run again and decided to run at night for reasons he didn't want to examine. When he got home, the police had already cleared the area. Brad was a vault about any information when Nate tried to get some through e-mail, which was unlike him, but Brad always had good reasons. He did say the guy was OK, that the guy would recover from his injuries, which were serious but no longer life-threatening. Nate backed off.
He went for a run again, without an iPod this time, waiting for something to happen. About thirty minutes in, he admitted to himself that he was hoping the wolf would come back.
After forty-five minutes, he looked around to see if there were any runners or walkers along the route. "Wolfie?" he called out, and felt like a ridiculous little boy looking for a pet. He clamped down on his disappointment and ran the route around the park. He ran an extra lap just in case, with no luck. The walk back to his apartment was quiet, suffused with a lingering sense of doubt. Maybe I did imagine it, Nate thought.
His night was restless, filled with slippery dreams.
***
Early Saturday afternoons were a routine that Nate liked, as long as the weather held out and as long as Brad and Ray's schedules were open. The park had a basketball court, and the cooler weather meant that there wouldn't be as much of a crowd to play a game. As he walked to the park, Nate kept an eye out for a flash of fur, just in case, the tread of four massive paws stepping on dead leaves. He knew the odds were low, but just in case, he thought.
Ray, Brad and Walt were already there when Nate arrived, and Brad told him that he was on his team. Nate looked at Ray roll his eyes and knew that Brad ordered it, that the usual decision process probably went out the window. Ray was a surprisingly good basketball player who folded like paper whenever Walt made an aggressive move. Thankfully, with Nate and Brad on the same team, Nate didn't have to worry about Walt exploiting Ray's issues to carve out a win.
"How's that fucking fair?" Ray asked. "This retarded giant and you against me and Walt?"
"Steve Nash isn't that tall and he does pretty well for himself," Nate said. Walt scoffed at that and said, "Can we just get this beating over with? I want a drink afterwards."
Predictably, Nate and Brad did win, even with the bruises on Nate's side that made certain motions uncomfortable. Ray and Walt put up a good fight. Ray played dirty, and Nate, as appalled as he was, was just as impressed at how low Ray would go. Brad clearly expected it and just rolled his eyes whenever Ray groped him to get the ball.
"That's it," Brad said, after the game. "I'm fucking sick of being pawed at by this shit-stained trailer park piece of trash. Nate and me? We're going to his apartment so that I can purge the memory of your grime-infested hands all over my balls. You two fuckers can fuck off."
Ray and Walt high-fived each other.
"You're just pissed that I have a new strategy, Iceman," Ray said. "And what makes you think I won't be soaking my hands in Purel after groping your STD-ridden ass? Walt was lucky -- he only had to grope choirboy over there."
"I am not a choirboy," Nate said.
Ray and Walt looked at him with freakishly similar looks of disbelief.
"Whatever you say, choirboy," Ray said. He turned to Walt and said, "I torrented three porn movies last night. Wanna watch?"
"Jesus, Ray. No!" Walt said. "Can you download normal movies next time?"
"Porn is normal," Ray argued.
"Only in your fucking head," Brad said. He walked to get his bag. "Nate, you ready?"
"Yeah," Nate said. "See you guys next week."
"Yeah, yeah," Ray said. The last thing Nate heard him say before leaving was "How can you say no to porn titled Bang for Your Buck?" to which Walt replied, "Because knowing you, there might be an actual deer involved. Hell no."
Nate shook his head in amusement.
"They do liven up boring Saturdays," Brad said dryly.
Nate laughed. The walk to his apartment took about twenty minutes, filled with companionable silence. Nate could almost forget about the wolf, if he really wanted to.
***
"Take the shower first," Nate said the minute they walked into his apartment. "I have to check my e-mail anyway."
"Thanks," Brad said. He took off his shirt right there and Nate averted his eyes, seeing only a glimpse of a pale stomach with defined muscles. Stop it, he thought. You know better than this. He walked to his desk, his computer getting out of sleep mode automatically, and clicked on his e-mail program.
Schwetje. Ferrando. Schwetje. Griego. Schwetje. Griego. Wynn (thank God, someone with sense). Schwetje. Ferrando. Griego. If Nate was a weaker man, he would hurl his computer out. Just seeing the last names on the e-mails was enough to dampen the high of winning the game, the high of having Brad in his apartment.
"Your turn," he heard Brad say behind him.
"Thanks," Nate said absently. He took off his sweaty shirt and clicked off his e-mail program. When he got up, he saw Brad staring at him. He met Brad's eyes, those familiar Arctic blues, and smiled stiffly. Brad was wearing a faded police shirt and jeans, the shirt so old and faded that it was almost transparent.
"Want a beer?" Brad asked, his voice sounding deeper, rougher. "After your shower?"
"Yeah," Nate said. To get to the shower, he had to get past Brad. They negotiated the space awkwardly. He heard Brad inhale deeply after he walked past and tried not to read too much into it.
In the shower, he brought himself off with a few harsh and merciless pulls, doing it strictly for release and enjoyed so little of the process except the end, which brought some relief.
***
Nate put on an old t-shirt and raised the temperature in his apartment. His beer was waiting for him on his kitchen table. He saw Brad's head hidden as he was reaching into the deeper recesses of one cupboard.
"The popcorn's behind the cereal," Nate said.
If Brad was startled, he didn't show it. "Gotcha," he said. "Extra butter?"
"Yeah. I'll take care of that." Nate went into his fridge and got a slab of butter to melt in the microwave. Greasy popcorn was one of their indulgences.
Nate popped the dish with the butter into the microwave. He scratched his side and hissed when he hit the most painful bruise close to his lowest rib.
"Jesus, Nate. What happened?"
He turned and saw Brad's eyes flash with anger, at what, Nate couldn't guess.
"I got mugged last night. Or someone tried to mug me, anyway," Nate grimaced.
"Let me see," Brad said. Nate raised the hem of his shirt to show all the bruising on his side. Brad looked at it, the melange of blues and blacks and got noticeably angrier, his jaw clenching tight. He touched the biggest bruise with the tips of his fingers.
"Brad, I'm OK," Nate said, dropping his shirt. "I've had worse falling off bikes."
Brad met his eyes. Nate wondered if there was anything wrong with his Brad-radar today -- he seemed to be all over the map, quite unlike himself. He'd seen Brad like this a couple of times before, which Brad had always explained as needing to get fucked and drunk. He would disappear for a couple of nights, come back looking exhausted and relieved, and never bring it up again. Nate was about to reluctantly suggest that maybe another fuck and drunk session was needed when the microwave beeped.
"Butter's ready," Brad said. Nate nodded and retrieved it as Brad put the popcorn on the oven. "Are you going to report it?" Brad asked.
"No," Nate said. "I think the guy who did it was that guy you found in the trees."
"Punished enough?"
"Yeah, more than," Nate said. He looked up at Brad. "Are you going to ask?"
"Are you going to tell?" Brad countered.
Nate sighed. "I'm not sure what to tell you, to be honest."
The popcorn started puffing up, the pop and crackle loud in the silent kitchen. The air was charged, and Nate didn't know why. He got the beers and put them in the living room to wait for Brad to pick a movie he liked. That particular conversation could wait.
***
Brad fell asleep in the middle of a bootlegged copy of Salt, courtesy of Ray. Nate was about to drop off himself when he saw Brad snap awake violently.
"Jesus Christ," Brad said. "What time is it?"
Nate looked at him in confusion. "It's 7:30. Why?"
Brad swore so vehemently that Nate was caught by surprise.
"Brad, what's going on?"
Brad was pacing the living room from end to end, breathing harshly. "I don't have time to get out," he said. He looked at Nate, an uncharacteristic fear in his eyes that made dread settle in Nate's gut. "Jesus fucking Christ, why didn't I wake up?"
"What's wrong? Brad?" Nate said, injecting as much calm as he could into his voice. Brad's eyes were shifting in color, Nate noted distantly, turning yellow to blue and back again.
"I'm sorry," Brad said. "I don't have time. The way you smell, it's driving me fucking crazy." Nate jumped with surprise when Brad lunged for him and felt Brad's arms wrap around him, ferociously strong.
"Brad?" Nate asked, his voice shaking. Brad nosed into the juncture of his neck and shoulder, the spot behind his ears, the spot under his jaw. Brad's tongue licked a solid line from his Adam's apple to his mouth.
"The way you taste," Brad said, apologies and desperation clear in his voice. "Jesus Christ, Nate, I'm sorry."
Nate grabbed Brad's face. "You're not doing anything I haven't wanted you to do. For a long time now."
Brad was shaking his head. "Fucking typical of my luck," he said. "To have this and lose it in the same night." A constant pressure that Nate didn't even know he felt suddenly eased in his chest, even as he tried to soothe Brad's visible panic. "But not like this, though," Brad continued. "I didn't want it to happen like this."
"Then tell me how to help," Nate whispered furiously.
"Nate," Brad said, still shaking his head. "Do you trust me?" he asked.
"Yes. You know that."
"Then can you do as I ask? I'll answer any questions you have later, I swear, but can you just do as I ask?"
"Of course," Nate promised.
"Don't let me out of your apartment," Brad said. "I'm too sensitized, I don't know what I'll do. Promise me."
"I won't," Nate said.
Brad was panting at this point, hot breaths on Nate's face. There was a strong, musky smell permeating the room that made Nate feel dizzy. "Don't think any differently of me," Brad said. "Try not to."
"Brad, just tell me," Nate said, trying not to sound too pleading. Calm, Nate thought. Keep things calm.
"You'll see soon enough," Brad said, traces of anger threading through his voice. "God, I want you." He licked into Nate's mouth, Nate shocked into stillness. Brad drew back, still panting, sweat beading his forehead. Nate closed his eyes, raised his head, and kissed him back. Brad growled -- no other word for it -- a deep and rumbling sound Nate vaguely recognized. He lost himself as Brad took charge, his hands grasping at Nate's hair and holding him in place as Nate, in probably the only instance of his life, was completely dominated by someone who was exuding some sort of power that Nate couldn't get a handle on. Nate felt like a livewire, his skin sensitive to Brad's rough hands, his blood rushing to his head, to his cock. He felt his shirt being literally ripped off him, Brad's growling getting louder and louder and didn't want to stop it, wanted to surrender to the moment completely.
With no warning, he felt Brad push him back hard. Nate landed on the couch in surprise.
"Brad?"
Brad was convulsing in front of him. Nate went to him in alarm, but Brad just pushed him back. "Stay back, Nate. Please. Just trust me." Nate watched helplessly as Brad fell to the ground, then in stunned disbelief as thick, white fur started growing on Brad's skin, as Brad's nose and mouth started to elongate, teeth sharpening into fangs, blue eyes enlarging to globes on a face that was slowly turning into an animal.
Nate stared in wonder as the transformation completed, as his savior wolf-dog rolled up to stand, only to immediately lie down and put its head between its paws as it lay on the floor as if it had done something wrong. He knelt down and smoothed the fur on Brad's face, breathed in the woodsy scent in his fur. "Thank you," he murmured. He held Brad's beautifully large head in his hands, looked into those eyes and recognized the same shade of blue. Brad licked him, a reply on its own. Nate laughed out loud, whether in shock or whether he was losing his mind he wasn't quite sure yet.
He went around his apartment and locked the door, putting on the deadbolt. He checked all his windows to make sure they were shut. When he went back to his living room, Brad was sitting patiently beside the TV.
"I was thinking of having myself a movie marathon," Nate said. Brad wagged his tail in response. "Wanna join me?" He went to the couch and sat in the corner. Brad leapt up the couch and tucked himself into a tight ball beside Nate.
"We have a lot of talking to do tomorrow," Nate said. He reset the movie and scratched the spot behind Brad's ears. The full moon was bright, a seemingly magical orb hanging in the sky.
***
When Nate woke up, he felt warm, human skin covered with fine hairs surrounding him. He was between Brad's thighs, two long expanses of golden skin covered with blond hair. There was a pillow tucked behind his head, and Nate didn't let himself think of what was behind the pillow. Not just yet. He looked up and saw carved abdominal muscles, long sinewy arms, a sculpted chest and finally, ice-blue eyes, open and vulnerable like he'd never seen them before.
He reached out with his hand to stroke that familiar face and smiled.
"Welcome back," he said. Brad clearly didn't believe his intentions, if his face was anything to go by.
"How much explaining do I have to do?" Brad said softly, as if afraid to interrupt the silence.
"A lot."
"Have I lost my chance here?" Brad asked. They were both still whispering to each other. "Is this you being kind?"
Nate ached at the implications behind that question. It explained a lot, this key piece of information that slid into place seamlessly into what Nate knew of Brad.
"You want to know a funny thing?" Nate asked.
"What?"
"My first question has nothing to do with you being a werewolf," Nate said.
Brad's face was remarkable to watch. His eyes lit up, his mouth stretched to a wide grin for a moment, just before the hesitation, the instinctive defense that he put on dampened the effect. Nate could see through it now though, which was all that mattered. Brad leaned down, Nate rose up, and they kissed as the morning made itself known.
THE END