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packsbeforesnacks · 4 years

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A Case of the Moondays || Noah & Winn

TIMING: Monday, February 3rd, 2020, Evening LOCATION: Main Street Arena PARTIES: @noah-kalani & @packsbeforesnacks SUMMARY: Winn scents a boy on the first (not) date. Noah growls. WARNINGS: Boners.

Winn wasn’t a cruel coach.

He’d run the boys ragged on Tuesday, sure, but cancelling Monday’s practice was what a good bro would do — partly because teenagers couldn’t handle their baby hangovers, and partly because he knew they’d be behind on their work and could use the time to catch up. (Would they? As if. But never let it be said he didn’t try.) If he were in their position, he’d be nominating himself for Coach of the Year for that show of sympathy.

There hadn’t been too much carnage from the party, other than some (overly) concerned moms calling him up and asking why on God’s green earth their little Timmy had taken even one sip of the devil’s water. But Winn had spent half his lifetime charming the pants off of mothers, who were all too eager to forget his “transgressions” when they met his pearly whites and warm handshake and “aw, shucks, ma’am, those wily teens” routine.

He’d spent his afternoon meeting four or five moms at one of the back tables in the Arena’s bar area, and each came out of the meeting with a glowing review of their son and an afterglow from the thrill of talking to Winn Woods: Lady Killer. They didn’t need to know he wasn’t strictly bangable; it was like crushin’ on the pool boy. Would never happen, but it was nice to let ‘em dream. But, God, he needed a fuckin’ drink, and he knew exactly what twink to hit up.

He fired a text off to Noah and ordered the first of (hopefully) many drinks. The bar was dead on a Monday, so Big D was more than happy to make his tips off Winn’s wallet, and Winn was more than happy to talk to a pretty (if, and this was a goddamn shame, unattainable) face. Worst case scenario, Winn would have to lean into becoming the newest barfly.

It was safe to say Noah Kalani wasn’t exactly known for his “good ideas.” No, Noah was usually the first person you’d call when you needed someone with unprecedented durability who wouldn’t ask too many questions.

So, when the text came in from Winn asking to redeem the ‘one free shot between friends’ coupon that had been extended that weekend during the Super Bowl, Noah fired off a “sure thing” before even stopping to think about it. And, normally, he wouldn’t. It was just two bros doing bro stuff, after all. (Right? Yes, right.)

But this week there was a catch that made everything all the more difficult for Noah. Because this week was a full moon week. And maybe for a normal wolf that wouldn’t be such a big deal, but for someone like Noah? Well. He could feel it in his chest. The ache. The urge. The need to just fucking hit something. Not to mention he was already bracing himself for the immense change he was going to experience this weekend having a shapeshifting supernatural organ that was trapped in a body that wouldn’t, no couldn’t, accommodate it. But it was too late to think about that now, his body propelling him towards the only other lump in this bar.

“Hey.” Noah nodded Winn’s way, sliding onto the barstool next to the other man. And it was weird, how something about looking at Winn made Noah calm down, his (interesting?) scent soothing his already oversensitive nose, quelling the wolfy-ness lingering underneath his fragile human skin. “Soooooo I don’t usually drink on Mondays, but I did promise you a shot. So, here I am.” He flashed a cheeky smile at the other man.

Noah wasn’t taking forever to get over to the Arena, but it was long enough that Big D had started passing Winn glasses to dry off, ignoring Winn’s protests of “I am a paying customer” and cartoonishly mumbling something about kids these days having no respect for their elders.

His protests, as Big D knew from the weeknights after practice that Winn whiled away sitting at the bar and beating his head against his readings for class, were mostly token. There was an unspoken agreement between the two: Winn could loiter if he helped out occasionally, and Big D wouldn’t bug Winn once Winn got in the zone. After all, it wasn’t as if Winn had any place better to be.

Winn’s ears perked up a bit as he heard the mechanical whoosh from the glass doors, Noah bringing in a rush of midwinter chill with him as he entered the Arena. Something tickled Winn’s nose as he handed the last of the glasses to D, but he mentally shrugged it off — weird smells popped up in White Crest all the time, and, as he reminded his furrier half, Winn couldn’t chase down every mail truck.

Noah slid in beside him, making a token greeting and beaming at him. “Nice to meetcha sober, Noah. I don’t try to get smashed on Mondays, but a cooldown beer? Yeah, I fuck with that.” Winn laughed, a small rumble at the back of his throat, and clapped a hand down onto Noah’s back. “But you did say shots, and I hold a man to his word. What’s your poison?” He gestured broadly to the alcohol behind the bar — a pretty standard collection, as far as Winn’s experience went, though there was a bottle of Maker’s Mark near the top shelf that was calling his name. He had some manners, though. Boy buying the shot gets to pick the booze, least as far as the first shot went.

“Well, I guess by proxy I’m fucking with that too today.” Noah threw out with a smile, eyes already scanning the selection of alcohol behind the bar. He wasn’t a fancy drinker by all means. No, Noah was more of a “what can I get the most of for the least amount” kind of dude (his drink of choice could usually be described as piss water, but people his age rarely drank for the taste right?).

But Winn though.

Well, Noah scanned the other man for a few seconds, trying to figure him out. He didn’t look like he wouldn’t be able to hold his own with some ‘piss water’ of his own, but something inside Noah screamed at him to make a better choice. And maybe it was the fact that Winn was older than him that sparked this internal struggle, or maybe he just needed to grow up and order something nice for a change. Either way, he waved the bartender down, mind made up.

“Can we have two shots of Tito’s for starters Big D?” he asked, figuring vodka was a respectable choice for a shot, especially since it wasn’t Tequila. “So, what’s happened with you since I last saw you, like what… 24 hours ago?” Noah asked with a smile as he watched Big D pour the shots and slide them over to the pair.

“Aw, shit. Fuckin’ Tito’s? I haven’t had a swig of that in a minute. Solid choice, bro.” If Winn was being completely honest with Noah, he’d admit that he hadn’t had a shot of Tito’s since the last time he’d done body shots or, more accurately still, the last time his body had been used for body shots. Much as he felt no real shame for his days being the vessel for many a packmates first “legal” drink (was there a better way to ring in being legal than drinking a shot off your bro? no, there was not), he got the impression from his one-and-a-half interactions with Noah that that revelation might fry the younger man’s brain.

He paused as Big D slid them their shots, glanced at Noah, winked, and threw back the shot with practiced ease. Becoming a werewolf hadn’t fucked too much with his alcohol tolerance (if anything, Winn could hold his liquor better), but his enhanced sense of taste meant that the booze would always burn, just a little, even if it was the smoothest shit this side of the Mississippi.

He smacked the shot glass down on the counter, earning a glare from D (one time he’d asked, “What are you doing, kid, tryin’ to shatter them? Fuck’s sake.”), and considered Noah’s question. “Felt bad I didn’t have much time to chat last night, man. But I chaperoned this party, swiped some choice barbeque from another party, and then passed out in a food coma. Pretty lame, right?” He snorted. “Oh, and then today I got lovingly chewed out by the local MADDs for not keeping a laser sight on their sixteen year olds. I mean, I don’t know about you, man, but they’re lucky their kids aren’t more like me when I was their age. And, hey, least they’re involved enough to know when their kids’ve been drinkin’, I guess. How ‘bout you, dude?” He leaned his head lazily on his hand, eyes bright and attentive (he hoped) on Noah.

Noah couldn’t help but beam slightly at Winn’s praise. Even for all his hesitation, his choice was apparently paying off. Maybe this was a sign he should get the good stuff more often? Or at least he should buy Winn the good stuff more often. That is, if they were going to make this a regular thing… God he hoped this would be a regular thing.

Focusing on the shot set before him, though, Noah almost missed the wink that was aimed his way as the older man threw back his liquor, his motions taking a slight pause. It wasn't like this was the first time a man had ever winked at him (no, he’d been winked at a BUNCH of times) but this was the first time that… Well, it felt weird. But good? In a way that didn't make a whole lot of sense to him at the moment. Which was probably why he should just take the shot and go on with his life before he overalayzed it to death. Okay. Okay.

Downing the liquor in his glass, Noah placed his down (albeit more getly) next to Winn’s, waving at Big D. “Two more please,” he grunted out, the burn still tickling the back of his throat. “Don’t worry about it, dude,” Noah said with a playful shrug. “Sounds like you had a busy night, and a full belly. The lamest of lames.” It was punctuated by a smile, one of his nicest and most genuine ones. But it didn’t last long as Winn started talking about his experiences with the mothers of his players.

“Ooooohhhhhh yeaaaah, that sounds rough,” Noah started as Big D placed the second round in front of them, “but looks like they didn’t cut you up too deeply.” He nudged the other man as he took the second shot and downed it. “Been alright. Floated around to a couple parties after you left with the boys. Went to work this morning, helped the vet cut off some balls. You know, the usual.”

“Haha, yeah? They couldn’t withstand my charm, clearly,” Winn said, dry as a desert. He had to admit… It was nice to just grab a drink with someone again. Sure, he had friends… or, at least acquaintances. Blanche, for sure. Ricky, though not for nearly as long and… well. Miles was a wolf, so they were bros for life, obvi. But Blanche couldn’t go out to bars yet (and, ‘sides, she’d probably think he was uncool to hang with?) and any hangout with Ricky could be (mis)interpreted as a second date and he didn’t want to make things weird. Miles… Well, he seemed, like, busy?

Noah was a new face, and a chill one, and he was buyin’ Winn a second shot, so, y’know, no complaints. Winn downed that shot, licking the residual vodka from his lips before he started again. “You make it over to Ricky’s at all? ‘S where I got the ‘cue. Ricky’s got some great meat.”

He inhaled deeply, something catching on the back of his throat. His eyes darted for a second to the sliding doors, but, no. No one had come in. Exhale. Somethin’ was buggin’ him. It was the same smell that Noah had carried in with him, he thought? Another subtle inhale through his nose, trying to both pay attention to whatever Noah was sayin’ and run through the possibilities in his head of where the smell might be coming from. Or what it was, even. His eyes flickered around the bar, and back to Noah. No. Could he be? Winn leaned forward, “to listen better” he’d say, and inhaled again. Noah smelled fresh, in the most basic sense of the word — clean, mossy, a little bit woodsy? But there was something under all of that that Winn couldn’t quite put his finger on. If he could just get closer…

Ricky’s got some great meat. Noah couldn’t help but snort at that comment, middle school lizard brain still finding puns like that funny, and not like… true in, like, the really gay way. Because that was definitely a crisis for another night.

“Yeah, I made it over for a few hours, talked to all the guys for a bit. Saw you get some of your own Ricky Cordero special.” Noah winked at Winn. Because, yeah. He’d noticed. And it didn't matter to him that those two were close. Not one bit. Because he wasn’t like other jocks. He was a Cool Jock, okay?

Watching, though, as the other man went curiously silent, Noah cocked an eyebrow as the other inched closer and closer. Wait. Was Winn smelling him? Blanching a little out of embarrassment, Noah discreetly (or not so discreetly) raised an arm, nose instantly going to his pit. No, that wasn’t it. Not that it would have been anyway, he knew, Noah wasn't insane about hygiene but he at least had the common decency to shower off the sweat and the vet building smell before he came out.

Feeling his heart start racing, he said, “Don’t know what you’re smelling, but I swear I showered before I came, dude.” Noah raised his hands in his defense, Winn’s head practically inches from Noah’s tanned chest. And if Winn was any type of supernatural, Noah was sure he could heart his heart beating out of his long sleeve, button down, Henley-esque shirt. That he was now noticing was unbuttoned really, really low and my god he was showing too much skin for Winn, wasn’t he?

Winn racked his brain, trying to figure out what Noah could’a meant when he said that Winn got a “Ricky Cordero special.” “Oh, you mean when he slapped my ass?” Winn asked, nose twitching. Closer… “Ricky’s jus’ like that, bro, y’don’t gotta anythin’ to be jealous over.” He was not thinking about the words coming out of his mouth.

Noah smelled almost like… a wolf? Fuck, what. But he wasn’t a wolf. Trust Winn to know, he’d had to dude in his damn lap! He would know if he had a wolf in his lap, he’d had plenty there, and he knew how they smelled, and Noah did not smell like them. Or like Miles! But… But…

He leaned farther forward, dimly aware that Noah had noticed him leaning forward. But, shit, if he was a wolf, then the only person he really had to be ashamed around was Big D and, eyes darting to the left, yeah, D had gone into the kitchen. The barstool creaked as it started to come forward with Winn, Winn eyeing Noah’s neck and chest, where the scent was the most concentrated.

He could hear Noah’s heart beating fast — huh, save that observation for a later time — as Winn approached his target. And Winn could appreciate an admittedly nice chest, but that wasn’t his goal. His nose hit the base of Noah’s neck, Winn took a deep breath… and everything went to shit.

“Fuck,” Winn said, tipping forward and falling into Noah’s chest, into Noah, and off of his stool. Like a domino, Noah tipped back, and Winn barely had time to throw his hands out behind Noah’s head to prevent him from cracking it open on the tile.

“Damn it,” Winn said softly, but, well, since he was here. Deep inhale. There was something off about Noah’s scent. He knew it. There was something of the wild there — maybe he’d just been fucking around with a wolf for a while and didn’t know it yet? But, no, this smelled like… a part of him?

Not for the first time, Winn wished he could just ask César… and, fuck, Winn was still on top of Noah, hands behind Noah’s head, nose in the man’s neck, and, if he was being honest, his mouth on the man’s collarbone. Winn’s legs were astride Noah’s own, bodies lined up nearly one-to-one. And… well, shit, this was about to get awkward, wasn’t it?

Noah huffed at the assumption that he was jealous, eyes rolling playfully. Winn probably didn't know, but Noah could most likely get Ricky to slap his ass too. You know if he wanted to. But before Noah could even think to respond, a certain chain of events unfolded before him.

First, there was the fact that Winn was now so close that Noah could feel the other man’s breath on the skin of his neck as he fought to hold back a shiver. Something deep down within him wanted this, wanted this to keep going wherever it might lead. But again, now was not the time, nor the place, to be having a big gay crisis.

No, now was the time to have another crisis of sorts. One where he really just needed to know what the ever living fuck Winn was doing with his nostrils jammed so far into his neck he probably could smell what he had for dinner. But, wait. Was he… scenting him? The thought hit Noah like a freight train as the dark thing that lived down deep inside him howled with approval. Scenting. Pack. Fuck. That was a werewolf thing, right? Holy shit, did he just befriend an actual werewolf? All on his own?

Noah didn’t have time to really contemplate this singular thought as Winn tipped them both over with the force of his curiosity. And Noah had been hit before. Hard, some might even say. But there was nothing like having a huge, bulky man push you over on a barstool when you were least expecting it, especially when Noah’s own body absorbed most of the fall for the both of them.

“Shit,” he wheezed as he just laid there, mind focusing mostly on getting his breathing in check, his lungs feeling as if they’d had every ounce of oxygen knocked out of them. And this wasn’t the first time Noah had had a large man on top of him. Oh, no no no. Noah was a football player, and this thing was more or less normal in his realm. What wasn’t normal was the amount (or lack thereof) of clothing between them, and the actual press of flesh on flesh. Fuck, he really should have stuck with the cable knit sweater.

“So uh. If you wanted to, uh, get me under you, dude,” Noah started after a few more seconds of silence, still laying there stock-still, trying not to look at Winn (or, the top of his head). Or, you know, think about the fact that the man was basically making out with his collarbone at this point, “uh, there might have been better ways to go about it. Preferably one that didn’t cause me bodily harm.” Humor. It was the best Noah could do in the moment, and he hoped it was enough to break the thick tension that was now hanging in the air.

You know, thinking about it rationally, from his spot down here functionally making out with Noah’s collarbone, Winn could think of times in his life where he’d fucked up worse.

There’d been that time in the Chi Alpha mug party with the dick marshmallows when he’d been a sophomore. Or that time he’d literally fallen down the side of a mountain during initiation one year — and thank fuck for werewolf endurance or he’d probably be toast. There were plenty of times in his life that he could look back on now, lying on top of Noah, that, maybe, he should’ve felt, y’know, more embarrassed about at the time. Shame wasn’t a foreign emotion to Winn, much as he liked to joke that he was as shameless as they came.

But he was blushing scarlet now, especially when Noah joked about Winn wanting to get Noah under him. (And, really, again, Winn needed more time to think about the other man’s heart rate when he wasn’t scrambling for ways to explain why he’d been literally smelling Noah.)

“Uh,” he tried, “I’m sorry, dude. Guess my tolerance is a little lower than I remembered.” He huffed out a laugh, breath dusting across Noah’s exposed neck.

And, wow, this close up, he could really see the tendons in Noah’s neck. Curse the full moon, but Winn really wanted to bite into that neck right now. Not to hurt Noah, ‘course, but something a bit more… primal. And, alllllright, time to get up, before Winn started making his (secondary) intentions extremely clear to the other man — jeans or no.

But the thing was, the wolf didn’t want to move. He felt himself growl lowly, and no. No, like the dumb dog he was, he just stayed there, hands gripped tight in Noah’s hair (Christ), and took another deep breath of the man, once again left to wonder what the fuck was under the very, very human smell of Noah. He wondered, absently, if this is how some of his packmates had felt when he’d roughhoused with them, before they’d told him their secret, if there had been something different about the way that Winn smelled that had told them that he belonged with them.

And, dammit, down boy. Distract. He started talking, low, into Noah’s neck: “Okay, so, clearly I was lying about the drinking thing. I… don’t have a good explanation here for ya, man. Just gonna have to ask you to, uh, trust me that this isn’t as bad as it seems? And, like, I know it seems pretty bad, but I swear to you that I didn’t mean to hurt you or end up here.” He gulped, pushing onward. “But... I need you to do me a massive favor and push me off of you, ‘cause I don’t think I can get off of you right now? You’re gonna have to make the first move here, so. Please help me out here, Noah.”

He whispered one last, “Please.”

I’m sorry, dude. Guess my tolerance is a little lower than I remembered. Noah may have been a barely-there, C-passing jock at times, but good lord he was he not that dumb. There was definitely more to this. So, so, sooooo much more to this, especially as the other man turned an even deeper shade of crimson, grip starting to become tighter in Noah’s hair. (They’d have to talk about that little action in the future.)

Trying just to breathe, Noah laid there for a moment, irrational thoughts streaming through his consciousness as every second passed. The wolf in him wanted to growl at Winn, gnash his teeth, and bite whatever flesh he could find, a stiff payment for knocking him over and holding him veritably hostage.

But there was also a side of him that felt the rush of blood pooling in places it should not be, Winn’s hot breath on his neck bringing back those sexual feelings he sadly hadn’t given into in a long time. Feelings he shouldn’t even be having in the first place seeing as how it was a very male appendage that was making its appearance against him.

As always, Winn brought him back, the pleading in his voice distracting Noah from each and every shiver that was tingling down his spine. (God, he was going to need to work on being well, less, excitable in his neck area.)

The fucking asshole couldn’t move? What the fucking kind of fucking excuse was that? A lame one, his inner wolf growled. And Noah couldn’t help but agree, his anger fueling his next actions.

Because yes, in retrospect, he probably could have done everything a lot gentler, but Noah Fucking Kalani was no fucking pushover, that was for sure. Making the swift choice, Noah braced, the one season of wrestling he did in freshman year really kicking in as he swung his legs up. Bracketing them around the other man, Noah rolled them both swiftly and efficiently landing to where he was on top, his own hips pinning the other to the floor, Winn’s body hitting the tile with a soft but satisfying thud.

Sitting there (and ignoring the large dick in the room), Noah just let his breath come in a soft pant as he studied the other man, searching for words. But there was only one thing he had to say right now. He leaned down. “You’re a werewolf, aren’t you?” he whispered. His big brown eyes narrowing, almost daring Winn to tell the truth.

Winn winced as Noah flipped him, grunting softly at the roughness of the maneuver and the ways in which Noah was now pressing down on him. The wolf was shocked into silence, into submission, and, frankly, so was Winn.

He looked up at Noah, the other man panting, looking at Winn with a curious gaze, like he was waiting for Winn to say something, do something. But what? Winn whined slightly, before he got annoyed at himself for whining. C’mon, Winner. Do better.

His big “problem” throbbed unhelpfully in his jeans, but he could almost ignore that, especially when Noah said the w-word. And leaned in. And whispered. Alright, so, a healthy mix of everything, then. Great. So, two, maybe three, options here, right?

Option the first: Noah was a Hunter, which seemed… unlikely, though his dick had led him astray before in that regard. Hunter wouldn’t’ve let him get that close. Wouldn’t have even hesitated to put a bullet in his chest, a hand around his throat, whatever. Hell, coulda used the shot glass for it. He blamed Jules for at least one of those options ‘causing him to groan low, in the back of his throat.

Alright, option the second: Noah was a wolf. Vaguely unlikely. He knew what non-pack wolves smelled like, in the broadest sense. And even if he didn’t, the smell underlying Noah’s normal scent wasn’t fully wolflike. He knew that now, having been, well, immersed in it was probably the most accurate?

Third… Weird human?

He pushed his hips up experimentally, testing how tightly Noah had him down, and found it was firm — but not absolute. Winn briefly considered bucking Noah off of him, but didn’t want that to be taken as somethin’ it wasn’t, considering that would mean grinding up and into Noah’s ass.

Instead, he looked into Noah’s brown eyes, searching for an answer, before he slowly, calmly, nodded. There was somethin’ about the show of force, the calm sureness of Noah’s whispered “werewolf,” that made Winn want to bare his neck, offer himself up to Noah — stupid, he knew, that was barely a thing that his packmates had even jokingly done.

Even knowing that, he turned his head to the side slightly, neck on full display, an acceptance that he’d been beat. An acquiescence to answering Noah’s questions, if he had any. But Winn let out one growl, though, to let Noah know that Winn could still fight back, if he needed to.

Staring at Winn, Noah’s eyes were trained on the other, looking for even the slightest of movements, wolfy instincts he barely knew he had ablaze inside him. He wanted proof, proof he wasn't crazy. Hell, even proof Winn was a weird motherfucker who was just trying to seduce him so he could later stuff him in a hole and wear his skin like a robe (and on that thought, Noah probably needed to stop watching psychological horror movies before bed).

Feeling Winn test his grip, though, only made Noah tighten it, mouth set in a line. Winn wasn't getting out of this without answering the question. No matter how aroused Winn was, or how much Noah was thinking that if this was happening in different circumstances… but they weren’t. They were happening here and now, with Noah pinning down a guy he'd practically just met on the tiled floor of a bar and accusing him of being a werewolf.

To which apparently the answer was yes. Winn was a werewolf. Noah sucked in a sharp breath. Fuck. Winn was an actual werewolf. The moon was only a few days away and here he was, a puny slightly-powered human pinning down a full-grown fucking wolf. Fuck having the upperhand right now, because he was going to die tonight, wasn’t he? But then Winn turned his head, the soft part of his neck and consequently his jugular on display. There was something in the action that sent a tingle through Noah’s spine, the younger boy losing his grip a bit subconsciously.

Well, that was until he heard it, the low rumble that sent him spiraling back into the darkness. No, that deep animalistic voice spoke to him. No. This would not do. Tightening back to his original strength, Noah gave in and did something he'd never done before. He growled back.

Did… Did Noah just growl at Winn?

What… the fuck. What the actual, like, flying fuck? That was a wolf growl and, Winn sniffed the air as subtly as possible (hah, fat chance, Winner). Noah smelled… more like a wolf now? (And, alright, Winn would self-examine the way in which the growl nearly made him whine, again.)

“What… are you?” Winn ventured, eyes locked on Noah.

Which, of course, was when Big D, who had managed to stay out of the fucking room while this series of increasingly nonsensical events had occured, made his presence known with a loud cough. Winn, slightly too roughly—sorry Noah—shoved the younger man off of him and stood, grateful that the bar came up to hide his waist, and what was below it, and laughed uncomfortably.

“Big D, have I ever told you how grateful I am that you’re my bartender? That you let me stay here even when I’m not drinking? How I’d do anything for you?” The bartender quirked an eyebrow, gestured to the man still on the floor, gestured to Winn, gestured to the trays stack of damp glasses he’d brought in from the back. And, yeah, okay, Winn could get the message.

“I… think you should go, Noah,” he said, staring into Noah’s eyes with a calm surety, trying to transmit ‘Look, things are complicated, but we can talk about this later.’ with just his mind, knowing that there could be so many things going through Noah’s head right now, and that, in a way, it was Winn and his dumbass wolf’s responsibility to answer any questions, but… Later. He’d figure it out. Later.

And with a whoosh, Noah was gone.

#wickedswriting #para #Noah #A Case of the Moondays

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