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Will takes his job very seriously, it comes with the territory, having to keep his wits about him is a must against the ferocious creatures he faces.
He’s normally called out by mayors, leaders of towns and settlements, but sometimes he catches wind of something and makes his way there for himself.
Pay is what keeps him going, keeps bullets in his gun and food in his belly, but he is sated by putting a bullet or stake in a monster's heart, helping townspeople, not just himself.
He lives around his work. It is his everything.
His home is a small, horse-drawn wagon, his trusty horse Ginger taking them all around the country, just him and his meagre belongings, but he doesn’t need much. It may be rickety but it is a space he treasures.
He catches wind of some goats and chickens being taken, that’s normally how things begin, then the livestock becomes larger, pigs, cows, all gone with only a gory mess of blood left behind.
The small population then becomes understandably scared, not just for the danger of what the culprit could do to them, but because besides a small holding of produce they rely on the animals to survive, living in a rural setting.
Will directs his small home to the location, following his dog-eared map astutely.
He reads a book on the way, occupying one hand with the reins in the other. He’s flicked through those pages more times than he can count, able to recite it practically word for word, but the universe within the worn cover still draws him in nonetheless.
The clacking of Gingers hooves against the cobble, or the protesting creaks of his home add a soundtrack to the journey.
When they reach the town he tugs on the reigns, one last groan sounding from the wheels. He heads inside and places his book back onto its spot on his shelf, grabbing extra ammunition, his shotgun settled on his back attached to a shoulder strap, sharp blade made of silver on his hip, just hidden by his long coat.
He pats Ginger, the horse shaking her head, trusting her to stay put.
The ground beneath his feat crunches as he walks, covered with gravel and the last frost, winter giving way to spring.
He takes stock of the situation within the village, and it’s worse than he last heard, another full moon passing between correspondences, the remaining animals scared of his approach, and the hens no longer laying eggs out of fright.
He knocks on a few doors, gaining knowledge and all of the townsfolk seem overjoyed at his arrival.
There has yet to be a human victim, which is rather unusual for the merciless nature of a werewolf’s hunger, but he is thankful for it, hoping that once the creatures slain they’re able to get their livestocks number back to a sustainable amount once again.
He makes his way into the brush surrounding the town, the tree-line thick, but as he spots some damage to an old pine he slides his gun into his hands, the scratched up metal familiar in his palm.
From there it seems to be fairly simple to follow the path the creature's destruction has marked for him, just out of sight for those not looking. There are scratches on trees, then more obvious with the remains of a deer, flies feasting on its damaged skull.
Will tracks remains at different stages of decay, feathers from chickens, bones and flesh in the vicinity of a small wooden cabin, slightly weather worn, with lichen and moss ingrained into the wood.
It’s just hidden enough to appear as part of the landscape, and he moves carefully as he approaches the door, his finger resting over the trigger of his gun, ready to shoot at a moment's notice, because this checks out perfectly for a supernaturals hiding spot.
He’s more emboldened by the same scratches etched cleanly into the wood, brown blood crusting at the edges of the marks.
The door opens slowly, the handle slightly stiff, and he finds the lock thankfully broken, bolt bent beyond repair.
Though he does have experience with forcibly breaking down doors it certainly isn’t the stealthiest approach.
He spots a man crouched over a crackling fire, prodding at it with his back facing him, a comfortable cream sweater covering the skin.
Will steps through the threshold, the creature stiffening up, his lycan hearing sharp, then turns swiftly, still holding the metal poker.
He looks rightfully shocked, his dark features painted with fear, though he’s trying to push it down as he raises his hands, and at Will's pointed gaze he hesitantly drops the fire iron.
“I don’t know what you’re looking for but-“ the creature pipes up, and he must have a whole lot of guts to say such a thing with a double barrel gun pointed at his head.
He’s tall, slightly intimidating without the gun between them, a short covering of facial hair over his face, and dark slightly wavy hair messily falling over his forehead.
“Now, don’t say somethin’ so stupid, you and I both know that you’re exactly what I’m lookin’ for,” Will grits out, looking at the blood spatter on the wolf's sweater, the other blanching when he too spots it. “You better not try anything, because I’m more than happy to put a silver bullet through you.”
“I haven’t- I don’t kill people, only animals,” he tries, somehow still able to open his big mouth and protest, despite the warning, but at least he hasn’t tried to lash out, smart enough to know better.
Will laughs mirthlessly, his grip on the gun tightening, not going unnoticed by the other, swallowing harshly. “And I know that that won’t last, werewolves aren’t exactly the best with self restraint, so give me a better reason before I put you in the ground.”
The taller gulps. “If, when this next full moon comes I don’t kill anything, anything at all, no animals, not even a chicken I get to just keep on living, I’ll move somewhere without people. But, if I do kill then you have every right to stop me, ‘put me in the ground,’ no fight, I promise,” he bargains rather boldly.
He’s probably stupid to consider the deal, but the idea of being able to converse with a werewolf to further his hunting ability is too great to pass up. And even with the others' stature he’d easily be able to overpower him in his human form, used to dealing with creatures exponentially stronger.
“And until then?” Will says, wary but the deal would be easy to carry out, sure the other won’t be able to control himself, just biding his time until this can all be finished.
The broader one seems happy that he’s even considering the deal at all. “We wait.”
Will stays with the creature, James he now knows him as, not wanting to be anywhere other than the cabin, monitoring him 24/7, with his weapons close by.
He would be much more comfortable in his own little home, a tense air around constantly all the while Will spends time in the cabin, both incredibly wary of each other, expecting things to turn.
Unusually the younger also has a cat named Otto, and Will is surprised the feline has stayed alive for this long, when its owner could easily make a meal of it when shifted. It is rather doted on in fact, well-fed and comfortable.
Mornings are the height of domesticity, both of them just groggy enough to feel more comfortable until they remember their arrangement.
James looks rather rumpled of a morning, a glaze of lingering sleep over his dark eyes, attractive in a way, his form bulky yet soft. Will has to remind himself of reality, of not only his mission, this man is a werewolf damnit, but his own heterosexuality.
He shakes himself, returning to the professional facade he's perfected, not wanting to give James an inch, knowing any vulnerability he shows would be abused.
Their exchanges are pleasant, and Will finds that the other is rather quick with his humour, not put off by Will's muted reaction, laughing at his own jokes regardless.
He’s.. odd, with his crass nature and sarcasm, but not crazy, like so many others become when they’ve been turned, the killing and mostly solitary life driving them to the brink with their evil.
He thought that was what happened to everyone, it’s what he expected, but no snap comes, and he just can’t figure it out, constantly writing in his field notebook.
This experience has been as useful as he hoped, but it’s made him ponder his perception of the species as a whole, one single werewolf somehow making him question things.
James has no qualms going about his normal business in Wills presence, walking around in his boxers half the time, unashamed and comfortable, even though Will has a knife in his pocket, the heavy weight of it going mostly unnoticed.
He could think that James is lulling him into a false sense of security, acting nice and waiting until Will is vulnerable, but Will somehow doubts this, considering he hasn’t yet been smothered in his sleep.
James also likes to cook, adding foraged ingredients and stewing them over his hearth.
James comes in and takes his foraging side bag off his belt. “Found some new stuff, thought it might add a bit more flavour.” Will only hums in agreement, then gets up to help prepare them.
Will spots the leaves of wild garlic and when James turns his back to begin prepping the pot he simply grabs the handful of them and stuffs them in his coat pocket for later disposal, knowing that eating them in the meal would bring him out in rashes.
Will has seen his scars, broad and irregular across his stomach, matching with the bites and scratches Will himself has experienced seeing.
One day James notices Will watching him, chopping wood for the fire in only a pair of worn trousers, lines of sweat trailing down his torso. “You like the view?” James smirks, an eyebrow cocked in curiosity.
Will pulls himself together, his game face slipping into place. “Just- did you get those scars with..” he fades off, not knowing how to phrase it, hoping he doesn’t come across too brash.
James falters slightly, his probably pre-prepared flirty retort washed away.
“Uh, yeah,” he says, putting his axe down, looking at the raised skin peppering his belly, his fingertips tracing the whitened marks. “I’d been kinda wandering, homeless, whatever you wanna call it, but I was surrounded walking through some woods, could just hear the rustling going on around me, then one struck and the rest followed, easy to say I could’ve died, but I probably got more than enough wolfy shit in me to be able to survive by that point.”
Wills taken aback by Jamess openness, but the supernatural is just made to surprise him at this point. “How… What does it feel like to be a werewolf? Sorry, I’m just- it’s a first being able to actually talk to one.”
“Yeah, can’t imagine many were down for a conversation,” James chuckles. “It feels good in a way, so much more, of everything, all your senses just get heightened, strength is just off the charts, not like I wasn’t ripped before.”
Will allows himself to laugh at that one, almost wishing he could dictate this conversation into his notebook, but that would be rather invasive, and he’s not going to take this opportunity for granted. “What’s your sense of smell like?” Will questions, curious to see if it’s the same as when a lycan is shifted.
“Oh, god I can smell everything, like I can tell you how many bunnies are in a den 100 yards away. I used to get kinda overwhelmed by that,” James gripes, then pauses, his expression thoughtful, as if deciding whether he should say his next words or not, and that would certainly be a first. “And uh… you- you smell- I don’t know, like, good, better than most humans I come across.”
Wills brows furrow heavily. “Meaning what?” He doesn’t mean to make his voice as hard as it came out, but he was quite blindsided by the youngers words, and couldn’t reel his emotions back fast enough.
“Well- you know what mates are right?” James pushes out hesitantly, and it feels like Wills being taught about the birds and the bees all over again.
”‘Course I do, where are you going with this James?”
James' normally forthright nature has been toned down with slight shyness as he says, “well my wolfy brain thinks you’d make a good mate, so uh… I don’t know what you could make of that exactly.”
It’s fair to say that the words shocked Will to his core, but underneath all that is a flicker of hope, brief before he forcefully shoves it down into whatever recess of his mind he stores his attraction towards James, because at this point the other has his own file in the depths of Wills mind.
At Will's lack of response James tries to backpedal. “Well I mean, I haven’t been around people, like at all, maybe it’s just the way everyone smells and I haven’t noticed it,” it comes with a forced joking air, and it just doesn’t feel right to Will, James trying too hard at it.
But Will only hums, deciding to let it go for now.
In the days leading up to the full moon James's demeanor changes slightly, becoming somewhat guarded and pulling away. Some of the comfortable closeness Will’s been used to easing back which he somehow misses, and at this point he couldn’t deny any longer that he likes the other much more than he should.
After that realisation he’s naturally beginning to reciprocate the physical affection, before he even realises it, sitting a bit closer, instigating touch and flirting back as good as he gets, which makes James's face become coloured with confusion, then something warmer, like he’s been given the green light and he’s just so much more touchy, genuine with it rather than the normal joking facade.
The light has dimmed, leaving only firelight to brighten and warm them and James has gotten tired of strumming his weathered guitar so they just sit together, James stroking Otto on his lap.
Will leans more closely into James while sat by the fire, a book from his wagon in Wills left hand and his head against his shoulder, probably pushing his luck this close to the moon with his pale expanse of neck shown, but he only gets a shaky breath from James, not making a peep lest Will pulls away.
This close Will can smell James the most, musky and warm, and he knows that James is taking him in just the same.
“Y’alright Wil?” James rumbles, Will actually feeling the rasp of the words in the other's chest.
Will only hums, hoping that James won’t push him away. The lycan does the exact opposite, his arm extended and sliding down to rest at Will's back, the others scruffy jaw against the top of his head, nose buried in Will's soft hair. Will's breath hitches, feeling James's larger fingers slide into his own, his knuckles prominent against the calloused, well-worked skin, with Wills own soft yet worn with scars.
James’s laugh rumbles in his chest at Will's shocked silence, softer and more intimate than his usual. “You better not get used to this,” Wills says, his voice quieter than he wanted.
“Oh, don't you worry darling, I won’t,” James grins.
The day of the full moon leaves James restless, checking everything is in order, raw meat stocked like he always tried to before he turns, it’s just his boundless hunger that normally gets in the way of that option, craving, needing something fresh.
The last addition to the supplies are a bundle of clothes, left just under the porch. “For the mornin?’” He questions, knowing that the shift can often tear garments.
“Mm, I normally shift naked so I don’t ruin clothes but, uh,” he takes a quick glance to Will and the older gets the message.
He had some heavy chains, fixed by a stake in the ground, that got locked in place around his neck, as well as both ankles.
Will walked around with him, an extra pair of eyes to make sure things would go smoothly but when he saw the manacles he said, “we both know you’re gonna hurt yourself on those.”
“That’s kinda the point, I wanna stay safe, keep you safe,” James said solemnly, resolute in his precautions. Will's heart breaks slightly, James so desperate to keep himself from hurting others, putting measures in place to control the naturally uncontrollable nature of a werewolf. “I’ve tried all sorts of shit before, some of it managed to be broken, but thankfully all that thrashing about takes a lot of energy, that’s normally enough to sleep till morning, so I’ve only gotten free and… fed, a handful of times.”
So even the extreme measure of a collar at his windpipe is a precaution, and Will cringes at the thought of James choking on air, struggling and whining, alone.
He somewhat pities the beast itself, shackled and held when surrounded by a sprawling woodland, but James' right mind prevails in his measures despite knowing his most primal half will suffer these nights.
James gets locked into place as soon as the sun fades over the tree line, Will helping, and the younger looks uncomfortable with the weight of the bonds, sitting on the ground. “Do not, under any fucking circumstance, try and get close, free me, whatever, no matter what.”
“I’m sure it’ll be sound, I have my gun just in case.” Wills voice wobbles on the word gun, hating the idea of using it against James, and it would probably be the only time since his younger years he would hesitate or altogether refuse to press the trigger.
“Good, you might need it,” James nods, eyeing the glinting metal from where it rests on Will's hip, alongside his knife.
A short while later James becomes restless, noticeably straining against his bonds, and Will doesn’t need to look to the sky to know that the moon is starting to shine over the horizon.
James holds his head in his hands, pain radiating throughout his body, panting harshly as his bones start to rearrange, muscles and skin stretched over changing anatomy.
Will feels a great need to help, but there’s nothing he can do, getting to his feet and watching uselessly as James groans in pain, fangs and claws forcing their way into place.
The creature feet in front of Will sits, heavy breaths blowing clouds into the cold air, drained and defeated. He looks injured, unmoving so Will becomes concerned. “James?” He breathes, stepping a bit closer, which makes the other still, those recognisable brown eyes shooting up to bore into Will's own.
James whines brokenly, straining against his short chains, wanting desperately to be free, hungry after such a taxing transformation, smelling such tempting prey close by, rabbits in a burrow, knowing he could dig, it would be effortless with his sharp claws and even sharper senses.
And god what is the smell coming from that human, Will, though normal humans don’t smell so good, the scent cloyingly sweet on his tongue.
He thrashes, the manacles tight against skin, needing out, needing food, needing his Will, to get closer to the intoxicating sweetness. James gives him the best pleading eyes he can muster, but Will keeps his distance.
He really hopes that the wolf stays in place, praying on a boring night of watching him sleep, but he never gets what he wishes.
Suddenly James rushes him, hunched and on all fours, growling and crazed, and Wills hand twitches for his knife, but he doesn’t use it, the werewolf racing towards him with such force as he reaches the end of his chains, making them splinter. “James!” Will cries, the others' teeth bared as he goes in, wanting to tear and bite, and Will accepts his fate.
James takes lungfuls of pure Will, tongue laving over his neck, tasting him, his teeth grazing over his pulse point, wanting to bite, tear, eat him whole, sure he would taste even sweeter than he smells.
There’s a sudden shift in the air as James' form removes itself from over his body, his neck still wet. He sits up and opens his eyes, not remembering when he even closed them.
The penny seems to have dropped for the werewolf, his ears pinned back submissively, low to the ground with his tail tucked, rather scared to have handled his mate in this way. Especially with the scent of silver weapons, his golden eyes and fangs on display.
Oh…
It seems his fangs dropped at having James neck so close during his scenting, potent honeyed blood pumping through his veins, just tantalisingly out of reach.
It’s been so long since he’s allowed himself to show his true features, that it’s especially painful to retract his fangs back into his gums, the gold blotting away from his eyes again.
Will gets to his feet and James tucks himself even further to the dirt. “James… I…” he doesn’t get a chance to speak any further as the wolf darts away, the overgrown brush shaking as he disappears.
Will has the urge to follow him, knowing he could track that scent easily, but he lets him go, loathe to see that fear reflected at him again.
He takes care of Otto, fastening the locks on the door behind him lest he escape and adding water into his bowl, then dejectedly retires to bed.
His belly is far more full than he deserves, but he’s still hungry, gritting himself at the thought of James' blood, his mind flashing between that scent and the fear in the lycanthropes' eyes.
He should’ve put himself down a long time ago.
Will startles as the door to the cabin clicks shut, reflexively waking at a slight noise as has been conditioned into him, at any moment he could be needed alert.
He must’ve put on the spare clothes that were left out, but he’s shirtless and his haired torso is spattered with blood and dirt.
“What-?”
“I didn’t kill anything, it’s just mine,” James defeatedly tells him, drawn out and wane.
There’s no blood around his mouth, and Will certainly can’t smell any other blood on him, not even from a mouse. It’s no mean feat for a werewolf, but he kept to the deal as promised, even free to roam as he was.
Will's heart pangs that he can technically help James on his way, drop him off somewhere remote and carry on to his next hunt.
He can’t think that now, and is going to get a damp cloth as James pulls out a chair at the table. “Let me uh, I’ll clean you up,” Will shakily asserts as he leaves the room.
“There’s alcohol in the bathroom,” James informs, all the usual self-sufficient fight gone from him.
Will patches James up, the air thick. He can’t hide the way his hands shake as he brushes James' skin during wrapping bandages.
“Why didn’t you shoot me?” James quietly questions, and Will's work comes to a stop. “I told you, if I got like that you had to do it, I could've killed you Will!”
“Would you have shot me? I’m a fuckin’ monster James, I’m a vampire! I could’ve drained you dry even when turned,” Will argues, his face hard. “You’ve never killed shit! I have! I’ve killed creatures like me, like you!”
James spins to sit sideways on his chair, looking up at Wills closed face defiantly. “No, no I couldn’t! And one of those crazy bastards probably turned more humans than either of us ever will, they were too far gone.”
“You were scared of me, you can’t tell me you weren’t,” Will insists with his voice breaking, looking the other over and imagining what he could’ve done, what he wouldn’t have, if he had snapped like he feared.
“I was scared of myself, you’re my mate and I’m meant to protect you, but just for a moment I wanted to fucking eat you, and that’s a moment too long,” James asserts, voice wavering.
Will sets the bandages down on the table without a word, then cups James' jaw, tilting his face up towards him and leans down. James presses into him as he stands, never breaking their connection and instead strengthens it as he holds the back of Will's head, his fingers twining into his messy hair.
“Let me see, please?” James implores as he pulls back, desperate to have a clearer image of Will with his true features rather than the fragmented one from his turn.
James carefully cups his jaw, pushing his top lip up with his thumb. Wills canines lengthen, and James supposed that they were always on the side of a bit too sharp, but so were his.
“I might have a bit of a lisp, ‘cause I don’t talk with ‘em much,” Will shyly tells him, and James finds it all the more endearing.
He just kisses him soundly, pressing all the words he wants to express into him.
He leads James to his little home, Otto in his arm and a bag of limited belongings in his other hand, kept out of sight. Then Will walks into town, assuring them that their werewolf problem was rectified with a sure smile that he doesn’t have to fake.
He then tacks up Ginger from where she’d been kindly stabled by the townsfolk, and they’re soon on the well-beaten road out of there.
Wills well connected enough to find someone willing to sell their modest but remote plot of land to him. It has a small cottage, which the owner doesn’t describe as completely sufficient but he and James can happily begin the restoration process together while living in Will's travelling home.
They spend a few months in the admittedly cramped space, but when they have each other and Otto they don’t struggle for warmth come nightfall.
James will never have to shift chained again, he can instead run as free and far as he wishes, though he’s never far from Will's side even as an instinct-driven wolf.