Full Moon

Cassandra came home tired, and with aching feet, and sick of her job.  There was one of the homeless vampires hanging around the door to her building, calling out that she should go with him and he’d give her something nice.

“I’ve had my shots,” she said, and pushed past.

That biter had been there for a week, and never seemed to remember her.  Since vampires had been outed, and Pfizer had been selling silvered immunity boosters, vampires had been have a rough time.  Being a biter had really gone downhill the last few years.  Now the only ones you saw were raggy and half-starved.

Cassandra went inside.  She was looking forward to seeing Timmy, but he wasn’t in the lounge.

She stopped at the door, and looked around, and had a horrible sinking feeling.

She went through to the bedroom, and found him there.

Shifted, curled into a ball, in his basket.

It was the full moon.

She’d couldn’t believe she’d forgotten to keep track of the days again.  She always forgot.  While she was thinking of dates, she went and checked the bathroom cupboard and made sure she had tampons.  She did.  She could remember those, but not her boyfriend’s moon-shift.

Sometimes she wondered where her head was.

She’d been reluctant to get involved with a wolf.  Not because of the uncontrolled shifting, though.  Because she didn’t like hairy men, and she didn’t like bullying assholes, and you just sort of heard that wolves were always both.  She’d never minded the vamps as much, though.  She wasn’t prejudiced against the supernatural.  Just against men who wanted to push her around.  A vamp boyfriend she could have kept in his place.  She’d had her shots, so it burned vampires to touch her blood.  It burned them to touch her saliva too, or have sex with her, so a vamp probably wasn’t actually that much use to her as boyfriend, even when that had been trendy a few years ago.

But still, she’d never thought she’d have a wolf.

Then she’d met Timmy and found out that everything she’d heard was wrong.

Wolves were dogs.  Actual dogs.  They weren’t wild any more.  They’d been living with humans for ten thousand years, and been bred and crossbred and trained, just like dogs had.  They were tame and yappy and alarmingly needy.  They ached for someone to love, and to be bossed around, and, like dogs, they were obedient and mostly loyal if you made sure to spend enough time with them.  They made good boyfriends, if you weren’t out at work all the time.  Once you got used to a few days every month with your man like this, curled up in the bedroom, whimpering.

Cassandra went and got a steak out the freezer, and defrosted it in the microwave.  She took it to Timmy.  It was after sunset, so he was stuck like this now.  He wouldn’t be able to shift back until dawn.  She patted him, ran her hand though his fur, held the meat for him while he ate weakly.

He started to look better.  Less morose.  He sniffed at her crotch, and then licked her hand.

She knew where that was headed.

Later, he’d probably want to fuck, because he always got horny on his moon nights.  It was a bit gross for her, what with his snout and hair everywhere and him trying to stick his dog tongue in her mouth, but she’d try.

He was still him, even when he was a dog.  She loved him, so she always felt she ought to try.

Even if his breath smelled of raw meat.

It was unpleasant, but Cassandra had learned to be grateful for small mercies.  Now she was with Timmy she had couple-friends who were in human-wolf pairings.  She’d heard others’ stories of the moon-time horniness.

Some wolves actually wanted to fuck when they were shifted.

Timmy didn’t, and for that Cassandra was unspeakably grateful.  The idea of actual penetration was icky enough it made her feel sick.  She’d never been able to overcome that, even if it made her an awful person.

Fortunately, all Timmy usually wanted to do was to hump her leg, and that she could stand.  It was over quickly, and wiped up easily enough if she was careful what she wore.

Not that she had to.  Not that anyone in a relationship with a wolf had to do anything.

If she didn’t feel like it, she could always tell him no.

She could tell him no, in a stern voice, and he’d listen, completely, because tonight he was a dog as much as person.

She always felt bad doing that, though.  It seemed unfair.  And it seemed wrong to reject him, when it wasn’t his fault he got horny once a month.

She felt like she ought to try, even though it was unpleasant.

Because of love.  Because it was him.

After a while Timmy went back to sleep, and she got up to make herself dinner.  She had frozen meals for one for nights like this.

Later he’d perk up, and want to hump, and she would probably let him.

It was a nuisance.  She had a busy day at work tomorrow and had hoped to be able to sleep.

That was the way of it, though.  His inner dog again.  Wolves always seemed to end up couple with very successful people.