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Mikey knew that being a werewolf was hard; he was willing to cut Pete a lot of slack because of it. He didn't mind that as the full moon approached Pete became more wolfy, eating barely cooked meat and wanting to fuck, like, all the time. Mikey could get down with that, and he liked his burgers pretty rare, himself.
But when they moved in together, everything changed.
They'd both been on their best behavior in the beginning of their relationship: Mikey was extra careful to chew with his mouth closed and pour the milk into a glass, while Pete tried (and failed) to rein in his incessant chatter and limit himself to texting Mikey only between the hours of 11 A.M. and 2 A.M. Now that they were living together, they let it all hang out.
They got into their first fight a week after they moved into their new house, a yelling match about Pete's habit of making light of important things. Mikey was angry and hurt; it felt too much like Pete was keeping secrets from him. And Pete didn't know how to fix this, how to make Mikey understand that Pete was just trying to protect him.
"I don't need your protection, Pete," Mikey snapped, and that had been it. Pete blurred into his wolf shape and lay down on the floor, head resting on his crossed paws, whimpering. Pete's wolf form was huge, probably three and a half feet tall at the shoulder, but he was giving Mikey the saddest puppy dog eyes. They were worse than Frank's, and Frank had spent a lifetime mastering emotional manipulation through the use of puppy dog eyes.
Mikey sat down on the floor next to Pete and petted him, rubbed his ears until Pete groaned and rolled over onto his back and let Mikey scratch his belly. "I'm sorry, Pete." It would be a few hours until Pete would be able to transform back into his human form. "Let's go take a nap and then we'll talk about this."
It was dusk when Mikey got home, the streetlights starting to flicker to life. He wasn't paying too much attention to where he was walking, and that was his mistake. Mikey went down hard, arms flailing, grunting when the air was knocked out of him. Wheezing, he lay on the ground and tried to figure out what the hell just happened.
After a few minutes Mikey managed to sit up and look around.
He'd tripped over a hole in the lawn, one that hadn't been there when he'd left earlier. Mikey pulled his foot out of the hole, and his ankle was sore and tender. Fuck. Did they have an infestation of gophers or moles, little rodents wreaking havoc on their nice, fancy lawn? There was a small pile of dirt next to the hole, damp and smelling of green things, and when Mikey looked into the hole he saw—
"Motherfucker," he muttered, gingerly reaching in and pulling out the rope toy he'd bought for Pete. It was damp with what he suspected was slobber and covered with dirt. "Gross." He noticed there were several other holes, sod and soil scattered across the lawn.
Mikey sighed and carefully got to his feet. He and Pete were going to have to have a talk.
Mikey was looking for his boots, the nice leather ones with the straps and metal bits. They weren't in the closet, like he'd thought, though he could have sworn that was the last place he'd seen them. He checked under the bed, in the linen closet, in the game room, and in the garage before giving up and asking Pete.
Pete was in the kitchen, sitting on a high stool, colorful magazine open in front of him. He was sipping coffee from a souvenir mug that Mikey had bought him when they'd first met.
"So, boots? My favorite ones, you know, the ones with all the straps and metal bits? Have you seen them? I can't find them."
"Did you look in the closet, babe?" Pete asked without looking up from the Cosmopolitan he was reading.
"Yes."
"Under the bed?" Pete turned the page and studied the newest hot accessories for the spring.
"Yes, Pete."
"How about the garage?"
"How about you look me in the eye and tell me you have no idea what happened to my boots?" Mikey knew all of Pete's little tricks, and this was a typical Pete delaying tactic. "Just get it over with, tell me what happened."
Pete sighed, shoulders slumping. "I was hoping you wouldn't notice."
"They're my favorite boots," Mikey protested. "Of course I'd notice them disappearing."
Pete opened the cabinet under the sink and pulled out a plastic bag. "Sorry."
Mikey opened the bag. "Wow." He reached in and pulled out the remains of a boot, awed by how it had been shredded and ripped apart. The other boot was similarly mangled, and there were bits and pieces of loose strappage collected in the bag. "I thought this was why we bought you chew toys."
Pete shrugged, and Mikey crowded him up against the counter. He wouldn't meet Mikey's eyes, and so Mikey grabbed his chin and pressed a kiss to Pete's lips. "That'll teach me to leave my favorite boots lying around when the moon is full, won't it?"
Grinning, Pete wrapped his arms around Mikey's neck and stole another kiss. "Yeah."
The back door rattled and swung inward, surprising Mikey. It was late, fuck o'clock in the morning, and light from the full moon was shining into the kitchen. He'd woken up with the munchies and had trudged down the stairs to raid the fridge. It was lonely without Pete, but it was only for one night a month, so Mikey didn't really feel like he could complain.
A giant wolf came around the counter, and for one long moment, Mikey was terrified of this huge fucking wolf, jaws open and exposing his fangs. Fear flashed cold through him, and then the wolf yipped and tackled Mikey to the ground, licking Mikey's face with his wet, warm tongue.
"Uh, gross, Pete, stop it," he said, trying to fend off Pete's enthusiasm and failing, mainly because Pete was bigger than Mikey in his wolf shape. "Down, boy, down, stop it—" Mikey sputtered. "Down."
Pete just wagged his tail and yipped again, keeping Mikey pinned on the ground with his paws while he licked and nuzzled at Mikey's face.
Mikey gave up and just went with it, patting Pete's shoulder. "Good boy."
Mikey was dreaming about drowning. He was trapped under water, and no matter how much he struggled, something was holding him down, keeping him from getting to the surface. He fought, kicking his feet, but it was like being trapped in molasses. Nothing was working and he was going to drown—
He woke with a gasp, and still couldn't catch his breath. Something heavy and warm was pressing down on his chest, squeezing all the air of out his lungs.
"Pete," he wheezed, trying to shift out from under Pete's wolf-shape. "Pete, dying, can't breathe—"
Pete whuffled in his sleep and moved, just enough for Mikey to draw in a deep breath.
Mikey reached out in the darkness and patted Pete's side, fingers tangling in his fur. He wriggled until the could rest his head against Pete, listening to his heartbeat and breathing, slow and measured. It made him feel warm and sleepy.
Being in love with a werewolf wasn't the easiest thing in the world, but Mikey wouldn't trade it for anything.
-fin-