The Year of the Cat

“... so then he said I should check underneath...”

“... ohmygod, Jesse totally asked me to the....”

“... wouldn't want you to think...”

Bits and pieces of conversation slipped into Wesley's ears as he sat in the far corner of the dining hall, picking at his lunch. Most days he could barely swallow more than a few bites, but today his tray was just as full as it had been when he picked it up, although slightly mashed and pushed around from him playing with it. It was distracting, though, having to hear everyone talk at once, and while it might seem like a bit of an exaggeration to say he heard everyone at once, it really was the truth that he could distinctively pick out each voice in the room.

He had a wonderfully heightened sense of hearing to thank for that. As well, his sense of smell was even beyond that. He recognized people more by their scent than their voice or their looks. Although, as the teenager he was, he had absolutely no control over his abilities. Those combined—the heightened senses, more than average reflexes—into what he really was, what he became on those long nights of the full moon or even at just the smell of fear and blood and food. The wolf inside him grew restless and hungry all the time.

Because of that, Wesley didn't have any friends. Even here, in a place where two tables over sat a girl who could shoot fireworks from her fingertips, and next to her was a boy who could look into your head and know even your deepest thoughts if you weren't prepared for it. It was an institute of freaks, much like in comic books and fantasy stories, except a bit more tame, and a bit more violent, as much of a contradiction as that made. And just as stereotypical as the next high school.

Wesley couldn't remember a time where he fit in. He'd arrived back when he was just eleven, barely an age where you weren't accepted by your peers, and yet he'd managed to scare every single one of them his first night there. It was a memory he rarely looked back on, one he shuddered to even begin to think about.

It explained why he sat alone at his table. He was always given a very large amount of personal space, and the halls usually smelled faintly of fear, and sometimes loathing, as if just his presence was enough to make someone angry.

It made sense, of course, considering he was the first and only werewolf in this particular school. There were a lot of people who had never even seen a werewolf, or even heard stories about werewolves or... anything of the sort. Somehow, though, the idea of someone who transforms into a powerful, vicious, wolf, and who has no control over that transformation, is enough to send chills up and down their spines.

When Wesley transformed he was very nearly unstoppable. Ordinarily, he was just barely over six feet tall, but after he changed he towered at a good eight feet, all covered in thick gray-brown fur, a huge chest, and a muscle structure that could leave bodybuilders envious. Still, he was just a very scrawny, very pale, teenager who looked completely awkward in his own height and body.

He never ate much, and so ended up leaving the dining hall after only bothering to take a few very forced bites of his food. Normally, he might as well just not eat at all, but he knew Alaine was watching him with her hawk eyes now that the full moon was edging closer again.

This was the worst time for him, right on the edge of a full moon. He couldn't bring himself normally to eat any kind of meat for what the taste and texture brought to mind, but other foods didn't hold much interest for him either, so more often than not he starved until the full moon came and he transformed to devour copiously unhealthy amounts of raw meat in his other form.

But because he starved himself, sometimes the scent of certain things triggered his transformation despite the full moon, and not eating usually left him too weak to fight it.

The walk back to his room from the dining hall was a short one. He was kept away from everyone else, and the only place that could be was down a secluded hall, where the only other rooms were storage. Needless to say, he didn't have a roommate, like so many others did. Not that he could handle having one, anyway.

Whoever he was roomed with, he would most likely be hated by them or feared by them, or both. He could imagine making a fool out of himself in front of his roommate, or even worse... being alone with them, and turning... attacking them.

It was scary to think about. Hurting another human being just because he couldn't control the beast inside him, because he was too weak to control it.

His hands were shaking.

Actually, his whole body felt like it was shaking, and he was even beginning to feel a bit dizzy and...

Out of the corner of his eyes he caught something, brown and gray and white, darting down the hall. The smell of animal fear was sharp in his nostrils. Rat. He sniffed. Injured, bleeding.

Before he even knew what he was doing he had the fat creature in his hands and he was crushing the life out of it, digging his teeth into its flesh, swallowing whole chunks of fur and meat and he was surprised to realize he hadn't swallowed a bone at least, but then he was surprised, and disgusted, that he'd picked up a rat from the hall and just ate it like that.

He dropped what was left of the carcass on the floor and stared for a long time at the ruined little body. It was obviously a pet, someone's baby.

He wiped his face with the back of his arm and tried not to look at the smear of blood, vibrant, brilliant, red against the white-pale of his skin.

Nearly tripping, he bolted for the nearest bathroom, slamming open the door, he stumbled into the sinks and, with his hands bloody and shaking uncontrollably, he turned on the faucet after great difficulty, and only after making a huge, crazy, mess of blood all over the porcelain.

He scrubbed his hands and his arms, then brought handfuls of water up to his face to wash the blood away, but it seemed like he'd never get it all off him, and it was all over his shirt, too.

And then a few minutes into this he heard a noise. A distinct noise, actually. A gasp. A small breath in the other corner of the bathroom.

Wesley's head snapped to look and for a long moment his eyes locked with those of what looked like a little red-headed boy, curled up on the floor, half-under a sink. His eyes were a chocolate brown, and something about that color was very soothing.

Still, Wesley could pick up his fear, and well, he turned to see his reflection in the mirror was crazed. His teeth were bared, although he didn't remember baring them, and his face and the front of his shirt was splattered and smudged in blood. His eyes were wide and yellow now, like a psychopath from a horror flick.

This kid was scared, unimaginably scared, and Wesley's thoughts became even cloudier, and the sound of the water from the faucet pounded against his ears and the back of his skull as he turned and stalked the other boy.

The red-head tensed, froze, his eyes as wide as saucers. Wesley couldn't even remind himself that this was bad, that it wasn't a good idea to hurt this kid, that his skin wouldn't feel great between his teeth and his blood wouldn't taste like the sweetest nectar any flower could produce. He couldn't even stop himself from grabbing him in his hands, couldn't stop himself from baring his fangs and sinking them inches deep into a creamy soft shoulder.

The red-head screamed and something pricked him on the back of his neck and before Wesley knew who he was again everything went black.

Wesley's first thought on waking up, besides how absolutely awful he felt, was that it was really over now. It was just like the last time, it was Melinda all over again, her arm between his jaws, teeth in right down to the pearly white bone. Blood everywhere. He'd promised it wouldn't happen again, and everyone had taken precautions to ensure that it didn't but...

If only he'd stayed in the hallway, or maybe made his way back to where someone could help him instead of trying to fix it on his own. If only he'd eaten all of his vegetables or drank his milk. If only he didn't stay up too late the night before, or read that whole book in one sitting. If only he wasn't a god damn freak of a werewolf that couldn't even control transformations off the full moon.

He was nineteen, and still... His parents told him they were able to control their transformations at will when they were only fourteen. They weren't disgusted by the taste of meat, either. Not like Wesley.

Wesley rolled over onto his side, flinching when a voice broke the silence of the infirmary. “Oh, you're... awake.” Wesley's head turned to the side to see... well the boy looked familiar. A mop of red hair, and deep brown eyes. But he just couldn't place it.

A smile wandered onto the other boy's lips, and Wesley was shocked such an expression was directed at him. “What's the matter? You don't even remember the guy you tried to eat?” Even saying that, though, didn't wipe the grin off his lips.

Wesley felt bad for it, though. Was this guy just trying to mess with him? Was he putting on a show so he could tear Wesley apart for trying to... tear him apart?

He couldn't bring himself to speak.

“Well, the least you could do is say sorry or something.”

Wesley just looked down at his sheets, his face going pale, and then red in shame.

“Can't you... say, like, anything? Hello or... “

“You smell like you're a cat,” he said. The words slipped out of his mouth before he was even aware he'd spoken, and he blushed furiously at how ridiculous he sounded saying something like that.

It was true, though. The red-head smelled more like... an animal than any human he'd smelled. And oddly enough, there was a strange sense of familiarity to the smell, something that reminded him of when he was younger, when he was...free.

He just giggled at that, though, and responded with, “well, I am. So I guess that makes sense.” Then his face brightened a bit and he leaned in real close to Wesley's face. Wesley just froze up as the red-head began gently sniffing his cheek, and then his neck and then pulled back, looking a little contemplative. “And you... you smell like you're a dog who doesn't even apologize for trying to eat people.”

Wesley frowned deeply, looking away again. “I'm s-sorry, I didn't mean to, I just... um... I...”

The other boy ruffled Wesley's messy brown hair to silence him. “Oh I know already. That woman... Alaine... she told me what you are.”

“Aren't you in pain?”, Wesley interrupted, seeing the dark wet spot that could only be blood leaking through the boy's shirt and bandages on his shoulder.

He gave Wesley this mysterious sort of grin and moved his chair right up to Wesley's bed. “I like it,” he began, his hand coming out to run along the inside of Wesley's arm. “You hurt me real good, even though all you did was bite me.” And Wesley could see his eyelids flutter, his mouth growing more serious as the boy's fingers got closer to his own fingers and then locked their hands together.

Wesley jumped, his heart racing, not sure at all what to make of the situation. Here, he nearly ate the boy sitting before him, a boy he'd never met before in his life, and he was saying... he... liked being hurt? He liked when Wesley nearly killed him? Not to mention the fact that he was the first person his own age--or maybe he was younger--he'd talked to in a long, long, while.

He spluttered, his face going completely tomato red. He couldn't even form proper thoughts let alone proper sentences, or even proper words. And just not being able to talk was making him that much more flustered.

He didn't separate their hands, though, still just a little afraid of the contact but wanting it all the same because of the moist heat of the boy's palm, the feeling of another pulse through layers of flesh. This was intimate, the most intimacy Wesley could even remember having.

“Do you like me too?”, the red-head suddenly asked, his other hand dropping down on the center of Wesley's chest, ghosting over his abdomen, and settling just above his crotch. Wesley had gone stiff, probably in more ways than one. He could have almost died right there of embarrassment or happiness or... just this strange sense of being overwhelmed.

Out of nowhere, after all those years of being avoided and ignored, suddenly... Suddenly someone had their hands all over him, right up in his personal space like...

“I... I d-d-d-don't even... uhh... even... even know your um, your n-n-name... I... I...”

The red-head laughed at that, louder than his previous giggles, pulling his hands away in the process of laughing, as if he had never been serious at all. “Chill out, dude. I'm Christian,” he offered. “And you're Wesley,” he added quickly when Wesley opened his mouth to respond in turn. “I already know, duh, Alaine told me.”

“I tried to eat you,” Wesley emphasized. “Wh-why are you... don't you think that's just a little... I mean come on...” He was embarrassed by his own inability to even convey his thoughts properly, and turned his head away so Christian couldn't see his face.

“I already told you, stupid. I like being hurt. It's why I think you and I are going to get to be good friends soon.”

Wesley wanted to disagree. There was no way Christian would honestly want to stay by him after what happened, and he also had to figure Christian was pretty new since he wasn't already aware of Wesley's reputation, but once someone else set him straight... yeah, then Christian would leave him.

After their initial meeting, though, Christian quickly took to avoiding Wesley. It wasn't that Wesley sought him out, but that Wesley was often in very common areas where, if Christian had wanted, he could have approached the other boy. But it didn't happen.

A week later, Wesley happened upon Christian in the lap of another boy, lips locked just as tightly as their bodies. He turned around and left, the sight leaving a bitter, angry, taste in the back of his throat.

Still, he knew he had no right to be jealous, or even bitter. He'd known from the start that Christian wasn't going to keep talking to him, not when no one else did, especially because no one else did. However, there was always hope, in the darkest of places, and Wesley had hoped for friendship, even an occasional companion, but Christian lied and then completely ignored Wesley. He would have even accepted a rare greeting, an attachment that withered away until it died.

It was nearly a month later, just a few days before the full moon again, and it was late at night. Wesley was feeling incredibly restless, all his nerves felt like they were on fire, his fingers tingled, and his feet ached to be moving. He'd been tossing and turning for hours, but it obviously hadn't helped him get to sleep.

And then in the silence, he heard the faintest whisper of a footstep, just outside his door, and when the door opened he couldn't have been up and on the floor faster if he tried.

It was Christian. Christian stood confidently in the doorway, the light from the hallway spilling in behind him and casting funny shadows on his face. Then he moved inside and shut the door, and it was dark again.

The smaller male stepped right up against Wesley, his hands grabbing the collar of Wesley's shirt in a surprisingly strong grip and pulling him down face to face with the red-head. “Hurt me,” he whispered, but their lips were just a hair apart, and the last thing Wesley wanted to do was hurt him.

Christian took Wesley's hand into his own and placed it on his chest. “C'mon, make me bleed,” Christian begged. It had to have been the most erotic sound Wesley had ever heard in his entire life.

Then the red-head raised his wrist to his lips and sunk his teeth deep into the skin, enough to break his own flesh and bleed. He raised that wrist up to Wesley's face, and Wesley was surprised to hear his own stomach growl with need at the smell of it. Christian rubbed his blood on Wesley's lips, smearing it across his cheek. Wesley took an experimental lick at his lips, already knowing he wouldn't be able to stop himself.

In an instant Wesley had shoved Christian down on the floor, holding him trapped under his weight as his mouth found purchase on Christian's shoulder again, his hands, which were rapidly becoming claws, dug into his arms.

Christian's skin parted like butter to a hot knife, and Christian moaned in ecstasy.

Wesley heard himself saying, “I'm gonna tear you to pieces,” but his voice was rough and it scared him.

The red-head bucked up at him as he said that, moaning pitifully, and Wesley didn't know if it was because he was in too much pain, or if it felt too good. At least, Christian's very real and very insistent erection lead him to believe it was out of pleasure.

He had at least enough control to realize what was happening, but not enough to stop it. It didn't take him long rip away Christian's clothes and turn him on his stomach. He already felt sick. If Christian didn't hate him before, he certainly would now.

Wesley held Christian hard by his hips as he fucked him, hard and fast, like an animal. He watched Christian's back shake for a long while before he bent over him and bit into the back of his neck. He wasn't trying to get away though, and unless Wesley was just imagining it, Christian was pushing back against him.

When it was over, Wesley pulled completely away and pulled his shorts back up. He couldn't look at Christian, not when he was such a mess.

He was bleeding all over, covered in bruises and... Wesley had just raped him. He wasn't moving, either, and Wesley had to watch him with baited breath to see if he was even still breathing. Just barely.

Wesley didn't know what to say. What could he say?

Panic began setting in. What would they do to him when they found out what he'd done? What if Christian died? What if they couldn't help him?

But then Christian slowly got to his hands and knees, shaking visibly. “C... come help me up,” he commanded, and Wesley was quick to help him to his feet. Christian just leaned into Wesley's side for a long while before he tried walking, something he still needed help with.

“Sh-should we go to the infirmary? You look...”

“No! I'll be fine,” Christian said as he forced a pained smile on his lips. “Just help me out to the hall and I'll be able to go from there,” but he winced right after he spoke, grabbing his side. Wesley didn't believe him for a second.

Sure enough, though, once Wesley brought him out to the hallway, Christian dropped down to his knees and sprouted black fur and a tail, and suddenly it wasn't Christian anymore, but a heavily injured black cat sitting before him.

Christian looked up at Wesley for a second before licking a bloodied paw and limping away.

That night, Wesley slept better than he could ever remember.

Wesley didn't know if Christian was okay until three days later, after the full moon. Not that Christian spoke to Wesley, of course. They were still not on speaking terms, even after... Wesley couldn't bring himself to call what they'd done sex. It was too rough, too violent. He hadn't even kissed Christian, and isn't that where you're supposed to start? Sex was supposed to come after kissing and touching, after getting to know your partner.

Not that Wesley had had any previous experience with sex. It was just what he'd learned through books and movies. It was just the way romance seemed to play out.

Then again, what was romantic at all about Christian sneaking into Wesley's room and demanding he hurt him? If anything... Wesley was just an outlet for Christian. A one night stand, probably because he couldn't find anyone else to be with.

But Christian was fine the next he saw him. At least, he was still alive, and with his friends he was smiling and laughing. Just the sight of him reminded Wesley of what happened, reminded his body, and this strange sort of hunger began to grow in the pit of his stomach.

It was torture just to think about Christian, remembering how his body felt beneath his fingers, how good it was to tear him up and then...

What he'd wanted, though, what he'd trade that entire experience for, was a chance to kiss Christian. He didn't want to hurt him, he didn't want to... to rape him. He just wanted to hold him in his arms and make him smile and kiss his mouth as soft as a whisper.

Not that he'd ever even get the chance to take it all back, not like that trade was ever even a possibility.

Wesley hadn't known, however, that a month later, Christian would show up at his door again in the middle of the night, a few days shy of the full moon. He had need burning in his eyes, but Wesley was sure he was still hurting from their first time.

Still, Christian pulled up close to Wesley and stroked his face, and Wesley was sure they were going to kiss. In fact, he began leaning in as if their mouths would meet but all his lips touched was the palm of Christian's hand. “No,” Christian began, “no kissing.”

But Wesley felt confident that he was low enough to accept that.

What Wesley had assumed was a once in a lifetime thing quickly became habit. Christian never spoke to Wesley outside of his bedroom, and more often than not just pretended Wesley didn't exist at all, but before the full moon, when Christian showed up at his door, Wesley owned him.

Wesley was free to release his jealousy on the basis of it, and each time it happened, Wesley grew more and more jealous. Jealous of the laughter that would never belong to him, the soft touches, the kisses, the love.

And while Wesley dominated Christian's body completely, it was Christian who dominated Wesley's heart and mind and thoughts.

It would be a year soon. A whole year of hurting Christian. A year of having to watch Christian flirt and kiss and hug other boys in front of Wesley while denying him those simple things.

But Wesley swore to himself that he would accept whatever Christian wanted to give him, and if it was none of those things Wesley could be happy with it. He could pretend he didn't want to trade everything he had with Christian now for just a single kiss. A single touch. Just one endearment from his voice.

It was almost exactly a year ago to the day that Wesley met Christian, but Wesley wouldn't have remembered that, and Wesley sat in the dining hall, picking at his food. He ate more now. Not much more, but enough to be able to fight the wolf inside him, and it was good enough.

He ate until he didn't want to eat anymore and then he got up and left, still just as alone as before. The hallway wasn't quite as alone as it had been. His hallway, anyway, as farther down he could hear voices, which was quite unusual.

“... don't get it do you?”, said the first voice, which Wesley immediately recognized as Christian's, and so immediately caught his attention. He decided to stop in the hall to listen for a while. At least, he was still quite a ways away, so he didn't look too suspicious in the hall.

“But c'mon, you've been sayin' that forever. If you were in love with the guy wouldn't you tell him or somethin'? I think you're just fuckin' with me cuz you don't wanna be with me like that.”

Christian remained silent for a long while. “It's not like that. He's just... he's way too good for me. And right now... I just have to take what I can get from him.”

Take... take what he can get from him? Wesley's head was spinning. Christian was... in love with someone. At least, for the longest time, Wesley had just assumed maybe Christian wasn't... capable. Or just didn't...

But he'd said it himself, he was in love with someone who was apparently too good for him, and something inside Wesley broke at the realization that Christian could honestly turn around and do the same to Wesley. That the red-head could sigh and croon over a lover he had to take what he could get from, but give Wesley absolutely nothing of what he'd wanted oh so badly.

He'd been so deep in his thoughts he missed the end of the conversation, and when he realized the hallway was empty again he began walking again, although the action was purely automatic. He'd had a destination in mind, but his legs moved of their own accord while his brain tried to wrap itself around the thought that all this time Christian had been intentionally breaking Wesley's heart.

Wesley stopped in front of the bathroom in the hallway, something catching his attention, a noise, and when he opened the door he found Christian leaning over the running sink as he held a wet paper towel to his eye. His lip was a little bloody, like someone...

“He hit you,” Wesley said, startling Christian enough for him to drop his quickly made compress, revealing the quickly building black eye.

“How do you...” Words died on his lips, though, as it dawned on him exactly how Wesley knew that specific “he” had hit him, and his eyes went wide before his face went red, probably in shame at being found out, Wesley thought bitterly. “You were listening,” he finally finished, as if accusing Wesley of something far worse than what he'd done to Wesley himself.

The taller boy had Christian backed into the wall in seconds, and the fear radiated off of Christian in waves. What was there to fear, really? It wasn't like Christian didn't want Wesley to hurt him. Or was it only okay at night? Was it only okay in his room, where no one else knew who was putting those marks on Christian's beautiful body?

He gripped Christian's shoulders and lowered his lips to Christian's for a kiss, but the red-head began struggling, pursing his lips, turning his head away. That was all Wesley needed.

Wesley had been holding him so hard that when he let go of him he caused the red-head to drop to the floor. “Don't... don't come see me anymore. I...” He wished he were strong enough to not have a huge knot in his throat, to not be on the verge of tears at ending the best and worst thing in his life. The only thing in his life. He swallowed hard, and tried to keep his face a mask of emotions, but was sure he was failing. “I can't... take it anymore. I'm too much... I... am in love with you.” He sucked in a sharp breath. “And I can't stand that you're... you feel that way for... for someone else while... while you're with me.”

Christian was silent, and Wesley tried to search his wide eyes for the words he wasn't speaking, but he couldn't read Christian's expression, couldn't read his face, and each passing second of silence made Wesley hurt more and more inside until finally he couldn't take it anymore and left the bathroom.

He only made it a few feet down the hall before Christian burst out from the bathroom. “Wesley, Wesley, wait!” And when Wesley turned around Christian sprinted the short distance between them and launched himself at Wesley's chest, his arms tight around Wesley's neck.

“It's you, it's you, Wesley.” Christian was sobbing now, his whole body shaking in the effort to talk and cry at the same time, and his grip tightened on Wesley's neck and Wesley wasn't even sure what was happening.

And then something amazing happened. Christian leaned up and pushed their lips together and suddenly everything made sense. His arms came up and held Christian tightly around his waist, keeping him from pulling away too soon, before Wesley could get enough of how soft and sweet Christian's lips felt against his lips, how warm and wet his tongue felt inside his mouth. Wesley felt like he could kiss Christian forever.

He pulled away, though, and began babbling again, his words frantic and a bit jumbled. “I love you, I love you, Wesley, I... I'm in love with you... I just... you're just...” And as he tried to explain himself he began crying at his inability to voice his thoughts and all the stunned Wesley could do was hug Christian tighter, and try to make out what he was trying to say.

Wesley felt like liquid, though. Like pure happiness. Christian was in love with him, and that was all he needed to know. That was all he needed to die by.

Christian pulled away from his embrace, though, and pulled out a letter from his pocket, the envelope worn and faded. “This, here...” And he placed the letter in Wesley's hand, and only then did he see that it had been addressed to... to Wesley.

The letter itself had been written by his parents—a letter from home was a rare gift and... Christian stole that away from him? He was only a little angry, though, sure he couldn't be angry at all after Christian said he... he was in love with him.

Further on into the letter, his mother wrote about an arranged marriage, something about a photo attached, but the photo was gone, and how he needed to write back and tell her what he though of the girl.

But what did it explain? Other than that his parents followed too closely to old traditions. Werewolves only ever married other werewolves. His parents had been setting him up since he was sixteen, but he'd always avoided the subject.

He turned then on Christian. “Why... what does this...?”

Christian turned his warm brown eyes up at Wesley, his face bruised and tear-stained, but he held Wesley's gaze. “We knew each other before, when we were little,” he started, slowly. “You were... a werewolf and I was... I was a cat. And I fell in love with you.” He leaned into Wesley then, his face pressing into Wesley's chest as he continued. “But I knew that... you'd have to leave me. If we were ever together. You couldn't love me. Werewolves... only love other werewolves. I'd never... I'll... I'll never be good enough.”

It was a lot to take in. So they'd known each other once. It explained why Christian made him think of fields of flowers and sunshine and being young. And Christian had been a cat back then, a black cat. He remembered the story, but the memories were faded and fuzzy and felt entirely foreign in his head, just to remember them right that second. It was enough to almost make him cry. Did Christian follow him here? Did Christian only show up because of... because Wesley... He was still reeling at the depths of Christian's emotions, if he really loved Wesley that much to track him down years later and hundreds of miles away.

He gripped Christian tighter, buried his face into the red-head's hair. “I'll marry you,” he said definitively. “I don't care about anything else.”

And while there were still things left that needed to be said between them, Wesley was content to hold Christian in the silence of the hallway, content to kiss his mouth soft and deep and gentle, like true lovers. And Wesley figured Christian was just as content as he was by the faint purring in the back of Christian's throat.