Work Text:
"You’re different from the other 'bosses' I’ve worked for. Most of them just want to see the world burn for a profit. You... you’re trying to build something,”
Wulfgard murmured, voice raw and unguarded for what it felt like the first time in ages.
He didn't do trust , not after what happened to Luca, not after Giovanni.
Yet something felt different with him, there was mutual respect and a partnership built on a contract, a mutual interest, work – because survival also meant to engage with other people, no matter how much of a lone warrior one really is – and to Wulfgard, who signed contracts smeared with blood, joining a party meant more than he would ever let on; but when it came to the Endministrator he could feel the shift in his chest, an invisible string that pulled him toward the other male, a force that could not be seen but that he could perceive way too clearly – the rational part of his mind warring against this unexplainable feeling that echoed through his mind, a not so subtle chant of ‘trust, trust, trust’ that was giving him more headaches than he would like to admit.
He did not know what was about the other man that compelled him to let him in, behind the carefully crafted walls he had built around his heart, the defenses meant to protect him from experiencing all the ugly feelings that once broke him, rendering him the Lone Warrior, all business and very few connections.
Despite everything, as missions forced them to stay in close proximity he had found himself studying the raven haired man more often, from the corner of his eyes - the way he spoke, the way he acted, his words, his thoughts, his scent – wait, what?
For someone as attuned to nature as he was, the Endmin’s scent had become a constant problem, engulfing his senses and posing a distraction that he could not afford to have out there - he was his claws and fangs, people relied on him for protection, for action, to handle things that they were not accustomed to and most definitely not ready to face alone, so why was that cedar and woodsandal scent clouding his mind with how good it felt?
Safe. Warm.
A breath of fresh wind.
He should have stopped.
He needed to stop.
He was better than that.
He didn’t do distractions, nor feelings, he was meant to guard, to protect, but to not have anyone close - the wound still too deep to heal, Giovanni’s betrayal–
But blood didn’t run thicker than water, not since then.
His contract with the Endmin had been the earnest bond he had formed since then, no blood involved, no loyalty to the Pack, just a man trying to build something good – a man that would not backstab him at the first given opportunity, someone that actually cared and saw him as the person behind the tool, someone who was not a means to an end but someone to walk a path with; someone he trusted.
And that had thrown him off balance, cracking a shield that he wasn’t even aware that could break; but somehow that man had done it, and since then he had started looking at him, really looking at him and… He could not deny the fluttering feeling in his chest whenever the other man’s scent enveloped his senses in something that looked suspiciously close to safety.
"Giovanni... he isn't the person I knew anymore. He’s looking for a version of the Pack that only exists in stories. It’s a dangerous kind of nostalgia."
Wulfgard confessed, because in the end he could not help it, he let the Endmin in, he let him know… Everything.
He would’ve blamed it all on Rossi and he partly maybe he did but, at the same time, he was grateful for the chance to have someone to share the burden weighing on his mind.
Watching the Endmin made him realize a lot of things, and most importantly, that maybe a Leader isn’t the one who carries everything, that maybe having someone to trust, someone close to share your mind with is not so bad, after all the Endmin actually listened.
Never judged.
Simply offered the comfort of his presence, raw honesty and wise words.
Wulfgard made a strangled noise at the back of his throat as his nose pressed against the Endmin’s pulse point, an involuntary reaction to that soft scent that made his thoughts fuzzy with confusing feelings he didn’t dare to name - and despite the Endmin being anything but a soft fragile flower, he still smelled like something worth protecting.
His tongue darted out, grazing against the warm flesh of his neck, savoring the salty taste of sweat mixed with musk and something else that was unique, that was him; and despite his instincts yelling to mark, he didn’t let himself succumb to such thoughts, he had no right to stake his claim on someone that owned his very soul, quite the contrary, and he mentally cursed himself – how did he go from not trusting someone to willingly thinking about let them stake their claim on him?
Bonds were a dangerous thing, he could not lose himself to whatever instinct screamed to be acted upon.
He groaned softly as he reluctantly withdrew his tongue from his skin, ready to take a step back and apologize, maybe, for crossing the line; but when he tried to pull back he felt the strong grip of the Endmin keeping his face right there, buried in the crook of his neck, as if it belonged there, as if Wulfgard was worthy of such a fragile yet honest intimacy.
“Do not be afraid,”
The Endmin whispered, fingers gently toying with the wild strands of Wulfgard’s hair, hovering close to his sensitive ears but not touching, never touching, respecting their unspoken boundaries, the newfound connection that was slowly growing in something they could not define yet.
And for the first time Wulfgard did not feel fear, instead, he pressed his mouth back against the Endmin’s skin, basking in the glow of a connection that should’ve frightened him but that in fact, made him whole again.