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It's remarkably easy to smuggle a wolf into Monaco, Charles finds.
But that might just be because the police officer that stops Charles on his way back doesn't even write the damn speeding ticket he should have received. Instead, the man stares at him for a solid 20 seconds with his eyes wide as giant saucers.
The officer is entirely ignoring the soft unhappy rumblings coming from the backseat of his Ferrari. Charles doesn't know what deity he should thank, but this has to be divinity, for the man to simply ignore the huge wolf that is staring daggers at him.
"I'm sorry for stopping you, Monsieur Leclerc," the man says, a bright blush spreading over his cheeks. "I think my speed-o-meter must be faulty. No worries."
"Thank you," Charles grins, trying his hardest to ignore the wet snout pressing up against his elbow where it rests. "Well, if that is everything-"
"I would hate to-," the police officer responds, voice small and hesitant, nothing like the smugness when the man first appeared next to his window, "-but my son is a big fan. Would you mind terribly-?"
The fuckass speeding ticket blog is held out to him like it is the most precious possession the man has. There's a low growling sound from beside him that is much more aggressive than the unhappy rumbling from before.
"Oh," Charles brings himself to say, taking the offered pen to sign his name as quickly as possible, "Not at all. I hope your son enjoys this."
"My- oh, yes, yes of course," the man stutters, pulling the blog back and clutching it to his chest. "Well, have a nice day, Monsieur Leclerc."
"You too," he replies quickly, his lips quirking into a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. The window rolls up automatically, and the growling beside him quiets down, being replaced by a wet sensation as the wolf licks at his elbow insistently.
"Mon Dieu," he sighs in exasperation, turning to the backseat, even though the police officer is still standing beside his Ferrari, watching him through the window. "Can you behave for a few minutes, maybe? You're literally an illegal immigrant right now, so shut up before he kicks you out and gets you shipped off to animal control."
The wolf huffs petulantly, but sits back, its body coming to rest on the backseat again. Its eyes are stuck on the man outside of his window, though, narrowed as if it is calculating how to get rid of the officer as quickly as possible.
"Hey," Charles calls the wolf's attention back again, "He doesn't matter. You're coming home with me, so that means you have to behave. No growling at strangers, and no endangering your safety, yes?"
The wolf's head lowers onto its front paws, its bright eyes staring up at him - there is definitely something human about them, as if the wolf understands him. But the puppy dog eyes do somewhat work on him, still. His heart skips a single beat as he stares back. Slowly, he extends his hand to scratch the wolf's head, watching as its ears fold back, ready to be pet.
"Perfect, that's good," he finds himself humming happily. "Now, we're driving home. Then you'll be sweet for me so that we can smuggle you past the doorman and then you'll get to meet Leo. If you don't get along with him, you'll have to sleep outside, though. Leo's special."
He finds that he keeps talking nonsense for the rest of the drive.
—
His door man sends him an anxious glance when the wolf jumps from the backseat of his Ferrari.
"Evening," Charles forces out, as calmly as he can, a small smile on his lips, even though his hands are shaking violently. "Any news?"
"I- uhhhh-…" the man stares at the wolf, his face growing more and more unsettled as the big golden animal approaches. Should have bought a leash somewhere on the way back, Charles thinks dejectedly, already resigning himself to the fact that he'll have the cops called on him again. "I mean, no, Monsieur Leclerc, there was no mail for you, and only Monsieur Gasly stopped by to see you."
The man's eyes are still stuck on the wolf, even though Charles can tell the older man is holding himself back, as still as possible to seem non-threatening. Finally, the man's gaze lifts up, anxiously glancing away from the beast, and trying to catch Charles' attention, instead: "I did have to tell him that you were unavailable, Sir. But I am sure he caught up to you."
"He did reach me, yes," Charles swallows hard, at the not-so-subtle reminder of how his best friend had found him. Below him, he could swear the wolf lets out a smug sounding snort, though. "Thank you, Marcello."
Even though his door man still stands motionless, frozen in what Charles supposes to be some sort of survival reflexes, the wolf boops its snout against the man's hand. It almost looks like a dog asking for pets, if-
It clicks in his brain rather quickly.
The wolf is intelligent.
Obviously, it is. It somehow tricked Charles into running into the woods. It somehow unlocked the bolts on the cottage's front and sliding door without issue. It somehow dragged him back to the cottage and laid him down in a nest made out of his own clothes. It waited for Pierre to arrive and leave again, before following him to his Ferrari and jumping into the backseat.
"Connard," Charles mumbles under his breath, as he watches, entirely entranced. There's the distinct feeling of a slow smile spreading over his face, as he watches the wolf nudge Marcello again. In his chest, he already feels the truth, that he'll play along. Louder, he says: "I adopted a new dog, he's harmless, not to worry."
"Ah," his door man breathes out, barely a finger twitching, face stoic. "Of course."
"Come on," Charles says, forcefully loud and cheerful, adressing the wolf at his feet who seems to derive pleasure from aggravating the poor door man, "let's go up to meet Leo."
The wolf whines, still playing docile, and not showing an ounce of how much of a feral beast it truly is. Connard, Charles thinks again, but he finds himself sounding oddly fond inside his own mind.
"Have a good day, Monsieur Leclerc," the door man says, barely moving a muscle still. Somehow, Charles has no doubt that the wolf enjoys the smell of fear radiating off the poor older man.
"You too, Marcello."
—
The way up the elevator is entirely too calm for Charles' liking.
Obviously, the wolf is intelligent, but it's also unnervingly calm. So different to what Charles would assume is a wild animal. It's almost human, how the wolf stares straight ahead, as if deep in thought, no sign of anxiety when the elevator lifts up, towards Charles' apartment.
"I know what you did out there," he finds himself saying, mostly just to chatter on and fill the silence, not to entertain the wolf as much as he does. "You're smarter than people give you credit for, huh?"
The wolf's head turns slowly, a self-satisfied twinkle in its blue eyes. It looks directly at Charles, and the expression on its face cannot be described as anything but smug, before, for only a moment, the wolf lets its maw drop open, its tongue loll out in a perfect imitation of a panting dog, just returned from a morning run. Then, the docile expression vanishes as quickly as it had come, leaving Charles behind with a reeling sensation at the pit of his stomach.
"Soooo," he draws out the vowel, not in the least prepared for what is about to come out of his mouth: "You are domesticated, then?"
The wolf huffs, amusement glimmering in its expression, before it simply sits down on the cold metal ground of the elevator, staring at Charles as if it expects him to come over and try to pet him. Just for good measure, there's a low rumbling sound coming from the wolf's throat, that doesn't sound threatening - rather, it is inviting.
"Oh," Charles laughs, "You do understand me, then. That's good to know. Anyway, let me tell you about Leo. He's my dog, he's a little dachshund and he loves-"
As he talks, chattering on to his captivated audience that is stuck in the elevator with him, he watches as the wolf's head drops to a 45° angle, its brows drawing together as if intensely concentrating on his words, taking in every detail. Subconsciously, he notes that his own hand wanders without his explicit consent, fingers landing in the soft fur behind one of the wolf's ears and scratching absentmindedly, as he keeps spitting fact after fact about Leo.
"I think you'll like the food that Leo gets as well. I heard you're supposed to give raw meat, and add fruits and veggies to it, so it shouldn't be too different from your own diet, I guess."
A tiny chirping noise escapes the wolf at that, its eyes growing pleading, the tiniest drop of saliva gathering at the corner of its mouth.
"Oh no," Charles laughs, "you are worse than Leo on this."
The elevator dings once, right as the doors slide open to reveal the hallway to Charles' apartment. Before he can even take a single step in the direction of his front door, the wolf has already shot off down the hall, its nose close to the ground, definitely sniffing out any last traces of Charles' scent that he might have left behind as he was leaving on Friday afternoon.
The wolf is off down the hall and around the bend, all the way to his front door before Charles has had a moment to consciously realize it, so he quickens his steps and runs after the overgrown lapdog.
If his elderly neighbors see the beast, he's sure they'll have a heart attack, anyway. So he hurries to the door, unlocking it before anyone can spy him or try to distract him into a conversation.
"Okay, wait," he tells the wolf through heaving breaths as he comes to a stop in front of his apartment's door, bending down slightly to rest, hands coming to lay on his thighs. The wolf doesn't seem perturbed, instead its tail is wagging the slightest bit, as it's sitting and waiting almost patiently. "Please don't hurt Leo. Whatever you do, he is more important to me right now - just so we're clear! He's my baby."
The wolf's head angles to the side once more, as if in thought, taking in Charles' serious expression. It lolls out its tongue, just like it did with Marcello downstairs, just waiting for Charles to open the door.
"Donc, you understand then. If you hurt him, I will not hesitate to throw you from my balcony," Charles whispers, leaning closer to the wolf, even as he's aware he's probably lying straight through his teeth.
Before he can react at all, the wolf rushes forward, its long tongue slobbering all over Charles' cheek where it is trying to lick all over his face. The entirety of the experience takes barely a full five seconds, but the wet sensation sticks to his skin, making the hair at the back of his neck stand on edge.
"Ew, yes, okay, I understand," Charles forces out as he's trying to lean back, even as laughter bubbles out of his throat, "You are being a good boy, yes, of course."
The wolf's licking immediately becomes ten times worse, enthusiasm in every swipe of the animal's tongue, as its tail wags even harder, hitting his door in a rhythmic thumping. There's the faintest whining sound echoing from the wolf's throat.
"Okay, enough stalling now," he laughs once more, delight rushing through his veins. "Let's go inside."
The key fits into the lock perfectly on first try. Charles feels like he should be anxious, should be shaking in his metaphorical boots, his fingers should be trembling, but there is just a sincere knowledge at the back of his mind. That he's doing the right thing.
Before he can talk himself out of it, the door swings open, revealing the hallway to his apartment. He's frozen on the doorstep, waiting for something to happen - he can't tell what, but the wolf beside him seems stuck in place as well. Its bright blue eyes are stuck on the dark, also waiting.
It takes a moment where nothing happens, silence spreading between them and into the apartment. But then, from the darkness at the back of the apartment, a tapping sound erupts, followed by the tiniest yip Charles has ever heard.
Leo runs into view, the claws of his paws hitting the hardwood floor with tiny tip taps that echo around the hallway. Charles' entire attention is called to the tiny dachshund, so much smaller than the huge wolf still standing frozen beside him. Another excited yap rings out from Leo, happy to see Charles again.
"Coucou, bébé," Charles coos, already leaning down to greet the tiny dog with a hug. Something behind his sternum loosens. Somehow, in the last three days, he had been convinced, he'd never return from the cottage, living the rest of his life in the nest with the wolf cuddled up to him and keeping him warm and safe. But seeing his baby again, it is like a door opening inside his chest, his heart jumping out as it is finally reunited with his purse dog. "I'm back and I brought a friend for you."
Beside him, the wolf has straightened, every muscle in its body tensed up. When Charles turns his gaze from Leo to the wolf, he finds the beast sitting perfectly still, its blue eyes stuck on the tiny form of his golden hound.
For the first time since he's returned to the cottage after… well, after, he is afraid of the wolf's instinct, of what it is going to do when he turns around to leave again. When it is only the beast and Leo, all alone. A lump gathers in his throat, when he tries to check his breathing, his hands suddenly clammy as they wrap around Leo's body. Leo, who is wriggling free to greet the newcomer.
"Wait, Leo-," he chokes out, only for the tiny body of his dachshund to crash into the huge paws of the wolf. A single second passes in which Charles fears the worst, fears that the wolf will bite down, forget its innocent and intelligent act and react irrationally.
But the second passes, and the wolf's tail starts hesitantly wagging from side to side, slowly gliding over the carpeted hallway floor. Its big snout it still closed, staring down at the small figure of Leo, bunched up against its legs. Its eyes have grown big and round, though, and if Charles didn't know any better, he'd say the wolf has just fallen in love.
But Leo continues yipping excitedly, going on and on, stumbling against the wolf's steady figure again and again in his excited hops. It almost looks like a child running up to its parent, chattering on about their day without taking a breath in between.
Charles has to stop himself from reaching out and pulling Leo back, to establish a little bit of distance between the two animals. It would soothe his fraying nerves, but he doesn't think either of the canines would appreciate it much.
So, instead, he simply watches, as the wolf's paw comes up slowly, pinpointing the perfect place to sit itself upon Leo's backside to push the tiny golden pup into a perfect sitting position. Leo, God bless him, Charles thinks, sits down right away, staring up at the much bigger wolf curiously and waiting, until the wolf leans down, its tongue brushing gently over the space between Leo's ears.
"Aw," Charles can't help but let out, as the wolf continues to lick all over Leo's face and head. "I can already tell you're going to be the best of friends."
Internally, he's vowing to himself to pull the wolf aside as soon as they're inside. Maybe it won't be a shovel talk, but Charles feels the need to tell the beast again that it can under no circumstances eat Leo. Even if it looks cute like this.
"Come on, you two," he finally brings himself to interrupt, bending down to scoop up Leo's body, pressing it against his chest to alleviate his thundering heart. "Inside is much better than this cold hallway. And I know both of you are probably starving."
—
It takes him until he has deposited Leo on the couch, and the wolf on the plush carpet below that that something occurs to him.
"I don't actually have enough food for both of you," he hums, rummaging through his cupboards. There's one overripe banana leaking onto his counter, and a mostly empty container of raw meat in his fridge that wouldn't even feed Leo, let alone a wolf.
A wolf that he hasn't seen eat in several days. So, a starving wolf most likely.
"I googled how much a wolf dog eats," he continues, even as he closes the fridge door, whirling around to face his two companions, catching their eager stares, "and judging by the size of you, mate, you'll eat up my entire salary in 3 months."
The wolf's ears fold back, twitching slightly, as if trying to figure out what Charles means. But its big eyes stay glued onto him, until the wolf deflates with a heavy exhale, its big head landing on its front paws. Its stare seems almost mournful and apologetic, and Charles feels only slightly dumb for interpreting so much into his-… dog's expression.
It makes him stutter though, his heart skipping an entire beat.
The thought, his anything, the wolf as his. He doesn't know where this possessive streak comes from, but it feels… it feels right in a way. The wolf is as much his to claim as he is the wolf's. Ever since he returned to the cottage, the knowledge has been sitting at the back of his mind.
The bite mark on the back of his neck itches slightly at the reminder.
"Pierre is going to kill me," he sighs when he realizes that only one person in the world will listen to his confusing inner monologue on the topic. "Alors, he is my best friend. He signed up for this bullshit."
There's a huff of breath, as if the wolf laughs, even as its big eyes stay round and pleading, following Charles' every move. Leo, in the mean time, has curled up, having gone back to sleep on the couch, tiny snores rattling his body. Even the tiny dog's paws are twitching, as if he is running in his dreams.
"Okay," he sighs once more, the word more breath than vocal sound. "Donc. You," he points at the wolf, "are keeping the apartment safe, while I'm heading down to the Carrefour on the corner. I'll get you both some food, maybe throw in some dog-safe ice cream, and when I'm back, we'll all have dinner, okay?"
The wolf doesn't react, but it also doesn't actively try to run off, so Charles counts it as a win nonetheless. Instead of leaving right away, he finds his feet carrying him over to the sleeping dog and the huge wolf guarding it. Before he can talk himself out of it, he bends down and presses the tiniest of kisses to Leo's forehead, before stepping back and repeating the action for the wolf.
The animal lifts its head slighty, its eyes squinted closed in pleasure and contentment, as it releases a relaxed sigh.
"Get some rest, chéri," Charles mumbles, "I'll be back soon."
—
The trip takes him 25 minutes.
And that is only because the elevator is slow on the way down and back up again. Marcello is still outside, looking terrified that a wolf behaving like an overgrown puppy is about to slip out from behind Charles and attack the poor man. But Charles simply smiles at him and continues on his merry way to the store.
When he gets back, Marcello even opens the door for him, as his hands are occupied with two large paper bags, containing everything from ground meat to fresh fruit - mangoes, because Charles can't resist sneaking some when he feeds the dogs - and there's even a pint of vanilla ice cream that he's sure will last all of 5 minutes with two dogs and him around.
"I'm baaaaack," he yells, as the door swings open.
He's barely two steps in, when something occurs to him. There's no sound in the entrance, nothing ringing out from further into the apartment. There's just silence.
"Leo?" he calls out hesitantly, when not even the tiny pitter-patter of paws on the hardwood floor echoes out. He fights hard to swallow around the lump in his throat. "Bébé?"
With quick steps, he rushes further into the apartment, into his open-plan living room, where he left Leo and the wolf. Oh no, he thinks panickedly, what if something happened? A thousand scenarios rush through his brain, what he might find in the back of his apartment. Pictures of blood splatter and feral animals runs in his mind.
He's so distracted by the idea of either Leo or his wolf being hurt, that the man standing in his kitchenette doesn't even occur to him as something strange.
Until his brain rewinds, and his eyes stay glued on the man. He is only slightly taller than Charles, wearing sweatpants that look like the ones Charles keeps at the back of his closet, and a shirt with suspicious stains on it that Charles could swear was balled up on the bottom of his laundry hemper.
The man looks up, his eyes a brilliant shade of ocean blue that lock in on Charles immediately, even as they are slightly hidden by the blond hair falling into the man's face. It takes a second to compute in Charles' brain as the man's lips lift into a wide smile, genuine happiness to see him come back.
"What the fuck?"
"You're out of cereal," the blond man huffs, his hand still deep in the box that was on Charles' counter until he left for the store 30 minutes ago. He hadn't even noticed that the man was chewing on the dry treats.
"Who the fuck are you?" Charles' voice climbs a full octave, but if anyone ever asked him about it, he would deny it until the day he died.
"Max," the man - Max - simply replies, as if there is nothing wrong with what Charles has just walked in on.
"Max," he repeats, just to have something to say to fill the silence. "How did you get in here, Max? And where is Leo? Where's my-"
He trails off before he can stutter out the word wolf. Even though he is one hundred percent sure that if his wolf was still around, there wouldn't be a strange man in his living room, but there's still a queasy feeling in the back of his guts.
"Leo's sleeping on the bed. He didn't like the couch," the man sniffs, his eyes sneaking back down to stare into the now empty cereal box. His hand moves around a little longer in the rustling plastic packaging, before he pulls his fingers back, throwing the box back onto the counter. "He said he was having weird dreams whenever he isn't in the bed. So I let him into your bedroom."
"You let him-" the words die on his tongue, as something else registers in his brain. "Did you just say he said?"
"Yeah," Max nods as if it is that easy.
There are a million things Charles wants to ask, wants to retort, sarcasm sharp on his tongue, but there's nothing coming forth. There is just him staring at the strange blond man, still holding his groceries.
"Did you bring the ice cream you were talking about?" Max perks up, shoulders drawing back and for just a single second, Charles has a picture in his mind: of Max with little triangular ears on his head - ears that perk up and twitch and fold back when he wants to be petted.
God, he needs to call Pierre. Or his therapist.
"Yeah, I-," again, he trails off, lost for words. "How do you… know that?"
"Mate, you were talking to me the entire time. Obviously, I was listening," Max says, as if it's obvious. As if Charles' world isn't just being rearranged right now. "You left us here all on our own, of course I talked to your pup."
Your pup. Not puppy. Not dog. Pup.
The contents of Charles' stomach want to come back up again.
"I'm an idiot," he finally rationalizes.
Of course, his wolf was smart. Of course, his wolf knew how to play dumb like a dog. Of course, his wolf understood everything he was saying, taking it in attentively.
"Nah, you couldn't have known," Max reassures, taking a slow step into his direction, "I like spending time as a wolf, it's calming and people are usually nice enough. I'm sorry I scared you back at the cottage, but Charlie-," a deep growl follows, sounding so strange from a human throat than from the wolf, "your scent. It was calling out to me."
"You are an idiot," is the only thing Charles can think to reply. His brain has gone empty scarily fast, especially since he can now smell the man before him. There's something alluring to him, something that calls out to him and ensnares him. "Why didn't you say something?"
"I prefer being a wolf," the blond grins, and if Charles had any more synapses firing at all, he'd call it wolfish. "There's only so much you need to do as a wolf. I can follow my instincts, do the things I want to do," another, more lewd grin, "chase my mate around the forest, until his legs give out."
A shiver works itself down Charles' spine, the implications are hard to ignore. His voice sounds as wrecked as his brain feels when he finally whispers: "And then?"
"Then," Max draws out, leaning close enough to grab the grocery bags from Charles' hands. With quick work, he puts them on the counter, ignoring the slowly melting ice cream. "Then, I knot him as many times as I can possibly manage."
An inhuman sound is ripped from his throat, somewhere between a whine, a moan and a gasp. It shouldn't turn him on like this, to have the blond man towering over him, describe what has happened to him over the weekend like…. like it is enjoyable. Something to repeat as often as possible.
Yet, it does. His cock twitches valiantly in his jeans. Even though his hole is still abused, still raw from the weekend, he'd take it all again. Let his mind become completely empty and devoid of anything that isn't Max and his broad shoulders, and his long hair that Charles' fingers will bury into, and his thick cock.
"Hgn," leaves him involuntarily, which makes the other man chuckle, voice deep and raspy and so close to Charles' ear.
"I assure you," Max whispers, conspiratorially, as if sharing a secret only between the two of them, "the knot is there in human form as well."