Devlin: A Day in the Past
- N.J. Lysk
- 3 days ago
- 3 min read
Later, it would seem strange. Or perhaps that’s not right; it seemed strange then as well. The bright lights everywhere, the loudness of everything humans did, and the freedom.
I’d gone from my real life, surrounded by family and pack, contained but restrained by their love and expectations to freedom. At least that’s what I thought of most, that I was free, that I could do anything I wanted and for the first time in my life no one would judge whether it was fit behaviour for an omega or not.
Sex was already incredible on its own; the closeness, the mess, the shared laughter at how absurdly wonderful our bodies were. I’d indulged not just with Yang but with a couple of other guys before I met Dan. So by the standards of a young gay British man, I was barely experienced. The night we met, Dan surprised me by drawing things out when I’d become used to dirty proposals within minutes of chatting to someone. He was easy in his skin, like he knew what he wanted, and he kept showing me his throat by virtue of being shorter than me, or… My wolf thought it was submission. My wolf loved that it was submission.
I didn’t, or I didn’t want to. I wanted an equal partner, of course. Even if I wasn’t willing to bottom for anyone, it still made sense in my head—sexual positions and preferences didn’t change who you were as a person, after all. That was just alpha bullshit, and I knew it.
But it did something to me anyway, to have Dan looking up at me from under his eyelashes, beautiful mouth twisting into a half smile as he talked about attending the Pride March in little more than body paint. I licked my lips, inexplicably enticed by the image. I’d grown up in a world where nakedness was unremarkable—you didn’t look, but you’d seen everyone you knew naked at some point or another. But he made it sound daring—it was, for humans—and I liked his bravery, even if he was overcoming a barrier I couldn’t even see.
In the end, I’d been the one to step forward and cross the distance between us, placing a hand against the wall behind him to support myself. I’d look down at him, the heat of our bodies building between us and let my breath caress his face. His lips were parted, his eyes dark, fixed on me, his heart was beating wildly and when I put a finger under his chin and tipped it up, he slumped back against the wall. The soft skin of his throat was the first part of him I tasted, shuddering with him at the contact.
He gasped my name when I pulled back with a final lick, swallowing his flavour and inhaling his scent, musk, sweat and sandalwood. He was panting, flushed and pliant, looking like a feast I could devour at my pleasure. And I wanted, him, yes, but I wanted that as well. The ease with which he accepted what I wanted without questions or preconceptions, that he couldn’t even think to question the man I was.
Omegas didn’t exist in that room; they couldn’t come between us. They couldn’t take away who I was.
Dan didn’t know what any of it meant, or what I was, but why did that have to matter? He wanted me, and he loved what I did to him. What could be truer than that?
I plunged back in, taking his mouth deep and wet, a little rough perhaps, but his fingers were in my hair tugging me closer. There was approval in the arch of his spine, in his hard dick against my thigh, and the little hitching breaths I earned every time I rubbed against him.
He turned his face away first, laughing and gasping for breath, and when he looked at me, the wonder in his expression took my own breath away. “You should try swimming,” he joked, chest heaving against mine. “It’s like you don’t need to breathe.”
I swallowed and made a joke back, forcing my face into a smile. I had to be a little more careful, that was all, and when I had his dick in my mouth, he was hardly going to question my lung capacity, was he?
For Devlin’s full story, you can begin with book 1 of the Werewolves of Windermere trilogy.