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Shouta knocks on Toshinori’s door after patrol. He’s got too much energy pent up; a quiet night and too many school days packed together have left him itching for a fight. Shouta’s never been the kind of hero to go looking for trouble and, while he certainly can devise a devious training for the pack tomorrow, he also knows he can go to Toshinori for anything. Toshinori’s more than happy to be Shouta’s punching bag—and isn’t that a laugh, because Shouta’s never been able to beat the wolf in a fight unless he employs some very underhanded tactics.
The point is that Shouta wants some flesh to sink his teeth into and Toshinori is more than happy to oblige, even when it’s so late at night that it’s technically morning.
Toshinori opens the door with knowing eyes, and he’s already got his coat on before Shouta even asks. It has him tucking a smile behind a palm, as he plays it off as a yawn. It doesn’t fool Toshinori, but then, Shouta doesn’t ever really try.
“Are we running or sparring?” he asks, already pulling the door closed.
“That depends,” Shouta says, the evening stretching out in front of him like a highway. “Do you want to be chased?”
Toshinori’s stare in return is heated, his eyes flashing a bright cyan even as the blush on his cheeks belies his seriousness. Shouta loves worming his way under Toshinori’s skin, feeling the way it stretches to accommodate him, the ways Shouta can push Toshinori’s buttons until the man is falling apart underneath him.
Well, tonight’s not a night for that. Not yet anyway.
“Woods it is,” Toshinori just answers, and Shouta’s expression turns half-feral in reply.
The night is cool and dry and Shouta can smell the pine in the air the second they step out of the dorms. The half-moon is unobscured by clouds, hanging in an inky sky like a ball Shouta can throw to catch. He’s shifting before Toshinori has even fully closed the door, and the feeling of his paws on the ground, his ears ruffled by the wind, his teeth, free for biting, melts more of Shouta’s restless energy.
He turns, hopping a little, pushing his snout toward the ground in an invitation to play. Toshinori sinks a hand into his fur, and Shouta fights the urge to close his eyes, instead nipping at the hem of Toshinori’s jeans.
Toshinori shifts then and his wolf, massive and a brilliant creamy yellow, darts out toward the woods, encouraging Shouta to follow. Shouta does, losing himself to the feeling of damp earth under his paws, the scrape of his claws on the lawn as he gains speed and overtakes Toshinori.
They follow each other for a few miles, jumping over trees, circling paths and taking turns chasing and being chased. The heaviness in Shouta’s chest eases with every passed tree, with every easy swipe against Toshinori’s side, as he tries to shove him off course.
The last time he does it, Toshinori snaps at him in warning and Shouta slinks back as if chastised. They both know Shouta’s not sorry, even before Shouta barrels right into Toshinori on a turn and sends them both careening into a tree trunk, starting their sparring in earnest.
Toshinori is a skilled fighter, if not only because of his size and power, but also because he has a distinct awareness of a wolf’s weakness, and he’s willing to exploit them.
Shouta uses that to his advantage, pretending to leave himself open—by his throat, or in a turn, or, after a snap from Toshinori’s jaws—and punishing the other wolf for taking advantage of them. Shouta’s always had to be a smart fighter. He’s smaller than most wolves, lanky in a way they are not. But he’s fast and sleek, and his sable coat lets him melt into the shadows, especially when the moon is only half-baked.
Still, Toshinori beats him. Shouta blinks up into Toshinori’s bright eyes with his throat in Toshinori’s mouth. The hold is light, his teeth just a slight pressure in Shouta’s flesh, and its a reminder of the trust they have in each other.
That Shouta can push and push and push and Toshinori, when required, can put him back in his place. That Shouta can trust someone to reign him in without malice. That Shouta can let himself be as wicked or as prickly as he likes, and Toshinori knows how to sand down all his sharp edges.
Toshinori lets him up, and Shouta licks him on the side of the snout. Toshinori replies with a tongue in his ear, chuffing when Shouta cringes back, flattening his ear down.
They pick their way back to the dorms, sated on fresh air and companionship. The sun is conquering the twilight, making itself known in the muted rose tones of dawn. If Shouta’s lucky he can still get an hour or two to sleep before he needs to corral Class 1-A in homeroom.
They shift back at the edge of the woods, and Shouta pulls Toshinori into a heated kiss, pressing the larger man back into the bark of a large pine.
Toshinori's response is more laugh than kiss, but then there’s a hand at the nape of Shouta’s neck, a sharp tug on his hair, and another wave of rising yespelaseyoualwaysneedhere that has them leading each other back into Toshinori’s apartment.
Fuck a nap, Shouta thinks as they tumble past the threshold in the bedroom. Shouta’s got something even better to sink his teeth into.