repost- Arthur as a werewolf au

[thatrcooper]

Like, Arthur getting the job and going home, and flushed and out of it, restless in his skin. And he can’t eat, and he can’t sleep, and he can barely wait to go to bed before he’s touching himself, and that is not a good way to start his new job. He knows that. But the smell of smoke and male and Dr. Jones seems to linger in his clothing and it’s driving him crazy.

And he’d stumble into work the next day, exhausted and yet still twitchy and restless, to find Dr. Jones gone, but he left a list of things to do. And Arthur does them… and then does more… because the house needs to be put in order. It’s not *right* as it is. Something in his den is *wrong* and it’s only halfway through the day that he notices exactly what he is thinking, and on the heels of that he realizes that he keeps going past the couch and the study–the two places downstairs that smell the strongest of Dr. Jones.

His throat locks against a howl. Because this can’t be. It shouldn’t be. Dr. Jones is a dragon! A rich, famous, brilliant dragon! Dragons don’t have mates, do they? And if they did, it wouldn’t be a failed grad student and scrawny little werewolf! Oh god. Oh god. He has to be mistaken, this can’t be what it is! It’s just a crush, or something, or the distracting itch of the house’s magic confusing him.

But then the front door opens, and Dr. Jones comes sweeping in impatiently, obviously searching for Arthur, and when he sees him and his face lights up, a shivery, intense heat pools in Arthur’s stomach, and spreads beneath his skin.

He doesn’t know what his face looks like, if his eyes have gone fierce, but Dr. Jones pauses for a moment before continuing forward, and he clucks his tongue like a mother hen. “Darling, don’t be nervous. I know I’m a dragon, but there’s no need to look like that. I’d never hurt you, at any rate. I thought I made that clear yesterday when I hired you. I like you very much, Arthur.”

Arthur is panicking and Dr. Jones just goes on, “Have you been working all day? Marvelous. You truly were a find. Look how clean it is in here already.”
While Arthur is simultaneously dying and preening at the praise from his mate. “You seemed a touch worried yesterday when you fled–I mean, left before I could offer to feed you. Weres do like food, don’t they? As gifts, I mean. I’ve been hoping I’d get to cook for you, show you part of what I’m capable of giving you, but I thought it best that you have some time to think. Perhaps a task to settle your instin–your nerves. I see you’ve done very well on your own, but I missed you and couldn’t stay away any longer. You didn’t misplace anything, did you?” Dr. Jones is prattling. Probably to help Arthur calm down, and it’s working, although not for the reason he probably thinks. His mate’s smoky voice is light today, soothing, and he’s close enough now for his hazy, herbal scent to fill Arthur’s lungs.

The sight of him, elegant and careless and graceful, with those strong shoulders Arthur had seen bare only yesterday, and the column of his throat exposed as he slowly pulls his cashmere scarf away.

“You’re starting to look peckish, pet. Are you hungry, Arthur? I was thinking of making some dinner–you don’t have anywhere to be, do you? No plans for this evening? Perhaps with a boyfriend?”

Arthur twitches at the obvious, so obvious, leading question and shakes his head violently. Because no, no boyfriend. Not one anyway, and definitely not one now.

It is not his imagination that Bertie looks extremely satisfied with that answer. The room, where it doesn’t smell like Arthur’s spiking adrenaline and arousal, is filled with different emotions now; wafts of curiosity and interest, something salty and heavy on his tongue that’s close to lust, and something else, something sharp lurking at the edge of his awareness.

It makes him curl his hands into his palms to stop himself from shifting. It’s not panic this time, but it’s just as embarrassing.

Dr. Jones stops dead, less then five feet from him, and his black eyes gleam in the light. “So you’re staying, then?” he asks, his voice all smoke now, the air still and hot.

Arthur shivers and doesn’t answer–not out loud anyway. He can’t help what his body does.

The sharp scent, hunger, isn’t coming entirely from Dr. Jones. Arthur growls, just once, a short, high sound of warning. He has no idea what to do, but he wants.

And Dr. Jones smiles at his growl, and the floor shakes, and for the barest second, he gives the impression of being much taller, much bigger, than he is.

Arthur wants that too. It’s his, if his instincts are right.

Dr. Jones, when he speaks again, is closer than he was a moment ago. Arthur has to tilt his head back, bare his throat to look at him. “Arthur.” Dr. Jones’s voice is a rumble to crack the foundations of the house.

Dr. Jones bared his throat too, Arthur notices at last, he knows wolves. Arthur remembers the title of one of Dr.Jones’s books–the one on werewolves–and shudders at how obvious he must have been that the dragon knew before he did.

But Dr Jones is closer again, and growing so satisfied that Arthur can hear himself panting as he tries to breathe it all in. Mate-scent, home and lust and need. It can’t be real but Arthur wants, and presses his claws into his palms to keep from grabbing him, from throwing himself at Dr. Jones and whining until Dr. Jones’ teeth are at his throat.

Dr. Jones, so powerful that his scent makes Arthur dizzy, lifts his chin, and it takes everything Arthur has to raise his eyes from the sight of his neck.

But he wants.

Dr. Jones is bright and brilliant and dragon, and dragons don’t let go. If he is Arthur’s mate, then he will never let go. Arthur will never be forgotten. He’ll have a place, and it will be here, with him. And Arthur will be his wolf, his wolf, and he’ll guard him better than any magic.

The whine escapes, high and needy.

“None of that, Arthur, please.” His mate is gentle as he steps forward. He’s hot to the touch, and dangerous, but he curls around Arthur and rumbles when Arthur puts his nose to his skin. He scratches softly at Arthur’s hair. This is Arthur’s mate, and he feels so comfortable Arthur can close his eyes. He can breathe in the scent of him and rest at last.

“Please.” Arthur found human speech again, although he doesn’t know why he chose that word, or why tears are making his eyes sting.

“Of course, darling.” Dr. Jones sounds surprised. “No one in their right mind would reject a treasure such as you. Say it, and I’m yours.”

He’s smiling when Arthur finally lifts his head to look at him.

“Mate,” Arthur dares, holding his breath.

“Treasure,” Dr. Jones answers immediately, without looking away from him. “Arthur.”