Chapter 41: Can You?
The stale quiet of the apartment pressed in, a marked contrast to the frantic energy of the past week. Liv and Michelle were gone—a two-day trip to consult some hedge-witch upstate about containment symbols. The emptiness felt vast, charged. Scott watched Luke from the kitchen doorway. He was meticulously cleaning a disassembled pistol at the coffee table, his movements economical, precise. A part of Scott still saw the officer from that night, the one who’d emerged from the blood-smeared hallway of the halfway house, his face a mask of grim purpose.
“Does it hurt?” Scott asked, his voice too loud in the hush.
Luke didn’t look up. “Cleaning? No. It’s maintenance.”
“Not that. The change. When you… become the other thing.”
Luke’s hands stilled. He set down the barrel he was oiling. “No. It doesn’t hurt. It feels like… exhaling after holding your breath for six years.”
Scott walked over, sitting on the edge of the couch opposite him. He picked up a spring, rolling it between his fingers. “You’re bigger. In that form.”
“Yes.”
“Stronger.”
“Yes.”
“Do you… I mean…” Scott’s heart hammered against his ribs. He felt feverish. “You have all the… necessary equipment? In that form?”
Luke finally looked at him. His grey eyes were unreadable, but a muscle twitched in his jaw. He was completely still. “Why?”
“Just curious.”
“That’s a lie.” Luke’s voice was flat.
Scott swallowed, the spring digging into his palm. “I want to know. I have a right to know what you are. What I’m… involved with.”
“Involved with.” Luke repeated the phrase like he was tasting it. He leaned back, the couch groaning under his weight. “Yes. I have the necessary equipment. In that form. More than necessary, some might say.”
A hot wave of shame mixed with a thrill of pure adrenaline washed over Scott. He looked down. “Forget I asked. It’s stupid.”
“It’s not stupid.” Luke’s tone shifted, softened into something dangerous. “It’s a fucking fascinating question. It just surprised me.”
“Because it’s grotesque?”
“Because I’ve thought about it,” Luke said, the words leaving him like a confession dragged from a deep well. “The idea of taking you like that. Holding you down with that kind of strength. Knowing you couldn’t get away even if you wanted to. It’s not a… clean thought.”
Scott’s breath hitched. The shame evaporated, burned away by a need so sharp it was painful. “I don’t want to get away.”
They stared at each other across the gulf of the coffee table, littered with the sterile components of the weapon.
“You trust that?” Luke asked, his voice a low rumble. “That thing? It’s not just me with sharper teeth, Scott. It’s the part of me that liked killing those things in the warehouse. The part that doesn’t think, just acts.”
“I trust you,” Scott whispered. “The part of you that saved that family. The part that came for me in the bathroom. You wouldn’t hurt me. Not even that part.”
A shadow moved behind Luke’s eyes. Something dark and hungry stirred to life. He stood in one fluid motion. “You’re playing with fire, little rabbit.”
Before Scott could reply, Luke crossed the space between them. He didn’t kiss him. He bent, hooked an arm under Scott’s thighs, and hoisted him over his shoulder in one brutal, effortless movement. The air left Scott’s lungs in a whoosh. Luke’s hand came down on his ass, a sharp, stinging smack that echoed in the quiet apartment.
“Fuck! Luke!”
“You asked,” Luke growled, his steps heavy and purposeful as he carried Scott to the bedroom. “Now you get the full tour.”
He dumped Scott onto the bed. Scott scrambled back, his eyes wide, his cock already straining against his jeans. Luke stood at the foot of the bed, a monument of contained force. He held Scott’s gaze.
“Last chance,” Luke said. His voice was already changing, thickening. “Say the word, and I make us coffee. We pretend this never happened.”
Scott shook his head, his mouth dry. “Do it.”
Luke closed his eyes. A tremor ran through him, starting deep in his core. It wasn’t a movie transformation—no cracking bones, no screams of agony. It was a ripple, a wave of something dark moving under his skin. His shoulders broadened, the fabric of his shirt tightening until the seams whined and split. He grew taller, his head nearly brushing the ceiling. Corded muscle piled upon muscle, veins standing in stark relief under skin that seemed to darken to a granite grey. His hands thickened, his nails thickening into short, black talons.
When he opened his eyes, they were pools of obsidian, no white, no pupil, just void.
Scott’s mind emptied of everything but awe. Luke was already massive, but this… this was a giant. A myth. His chest was a wall, his thighs like tree trunks. The coarse hair on his body seemed thicker, a pelt covering impossible strength. And between his legs, half-erect against the denser thatch of hair, was his cock. It was a brutal, thick thing, heavier and longer than Scott had even imagined, the veins pronounced, the head a swollen, dark plum.
A sound escaped Scott—a whimper of pure, wanton need.
The monster that was Luke tilted its head. The voice that came out was Luke’s, but deeper, layered with a subsonic growl. “Still sure?”
Scott could only nod, his throat too tight for words. He finally found his voice, thin and reedy. “I… I read romance novels. Fantasy ones. With orcs and… stuff. I always wondered what it would be like.” He let out a hysterical little giggle. “To be the one.”
A rumble started in Luke’s chest, a sound that shook the floorboards. It took Scott a moment to realize it was laughter. “You’re a monsterfucker,” Luke rasped, the black eyes somehow gleaming with dark amusement. “All this time, that’s what this was about.”
“Shut up,” Scott breathed, his own laughter bubbling up, a release of insane tension. He spread his legs on the bed, an open invitation. “Just… come here. Please.”
Luke moved. It wasn’t the careful, controlled movement of the man. It was a predator’s lunge. He was on the bed in an instant, the frame shrieking in protest under his new weight. He covered Scott’s body with his own, not resting on him, but caging him. The heat radiating from him was intense, animal.
He didn’t undress Scott. He shredded the clothes. The talons were shockingly careful, snicking through fabric without scratching skin, until Scott lay naked and trembling beneath him. Luke leaned down, his muzzle-like jaw nuzzling Scott’s throat, inhaling his scent with a deep, rumbling sound.
“Mine,” the beast growled.
Scott arched, offering his throat. “Yours. Daddy. Please.”
The word did something to Luke. The black eyes flashed. With one hand, he flipped Scott onto his stomach. Scott gasped, burying his face in the sheets. Luke’s taloned hand gripped the back of his neck, holding him down with negligible pressure—enough to remind Scott of the power differential, that he was utterly at this creature’s mercy.
He heard the sound of a bottle, the slick pour of lube. Then, the blunt, massive head of Luke’s cock pressed against him. It felt bigger than before, hotter, impossibly wide.
“Breathe out,” Luke commanded, his voice vibrating through Scott’s bones.
Scott exhaled shakily, and Luke pushed forward.
The stretch was immediate, overwhelming. Scott cried out, a raw, ragged sound muffled by the sheets. It burned, a white-hot blaze of sensation that tore through any last shred of civilized thought. Luke didn’t stop. He pushed deeper, an inexorable, stretching invasion that felt like it would split Scott in two. When he finally bottomed out, Scott was so full he could feel him in his throat, pressing against every internal boundary.
Luke went still, buried to the hilt, his body trembling with the effort of restraint. “Okay?” The growl was laced with concern.
Scott nodded frantically against the mattress, tears of overwhelming sensation leaking from his eyes. “F-fuck… so big… Daddy, you’re so fucking big…”
The praise snapped Luke’s control.
He pulled back and slammed forward, setting a pace that was purely animalistic. Each thrust was a piston drive, snapping Scott’s hips forward, rocking the entire bed into the wall with a rhythmic, thudding crash. Scott was reduced to a series of punched-out gasps and moans. He reached back, his hands finding Luke’s monstrous thighs, the muscle iron-hard and trembling with force.
“Take it,” Luke snarled, his grip on Scott’s neck tightening possessively. “Take all of me, you perfect little slut.”
The filth, the brutality, the sheer impossibility of it sent Scott hurtling toward his edge. He was babbling, nonsense and worship. “Yes! God, yes! Fill me up, Daddy, breed me, make me yours!”
Luke’s thrusts became erratic, powerful slams that stole the air from Scott’s lungs. With a roar that seemed to shake the very walls, Luke buried himself deep and came. Scott felt the hot, surging flood inside him, an impossible volume that made his stomach feel full, his senses reeling. Even as Luke finished, pulling out slowly, another few thick spurts painted Scott’s lower back, hot and slick.
Luke collapsed beside him, a mountain of heaving, grey muscle. Scott lay ruined, gasping, feeling Luke’s release begin to leak out of him. He was utterly spent, every nerve fried.
Then, a rough hand turned his head. Luke was looking at him—his face a mess of tears and sweat, his lips kiss-swollen, his body marked. The black eyes tracked the tears, the leaking come, the helpless sprawl of his limbs.
The softening, monstrous cock against Luke’s thigh twitched. Hardened. Grew fully erect again in seconds.
“You look too good,” Luke rasped, his voice thick with renewed lust. “Wrecked. Used. Mine.”
Scott couldn’t even speak. He just opened his mouth in a silent ‘O’ of shock and want.
This time, Luke pulled him up onto his hands and knees. He entered him again in one brutal thrust, making Scott scream. The pace was just as furious, but now Scott was more sensitive, every movement a painful overstimulation that tipped straight back into pleasure. Luke fucked him like he was trying to brand him from the inside, his monstrous hands gripping Scott’s hips hard enough to leave bruises that would last for weeks.
Scott came untouched, his orgasm ripped from him with a sobbing gasp, his vision whiting out.
Still, Luke didn’t stop. He kept pounding into Scott’s oversensitive, twitching body through the aftershocks, chasing his own release again. Finally, he pulled out. Scott slumped forward, boneless. He felt Luke’s hand in his hair, yanking his head back.
“Open,” Luke growled.
Scott obeyed, letting his mouth fall open, his tongue lolling out. He looked up, dazed, into the void-like eyes of the monster.
Luke fisted his own enormous cock, stroking it twice, three times. Then he came. It wasn’t a gentle splatter. It was a hot, thick stream that hit Scott’s face, his lips, his tongue. Scott swallowed greedily, the taste salty and musky and profoundly primal. Luke kept coming, painting his cheeks, his forehead, his closed eyelids, marking his face just as thoroughly as he’d marked his insides.
When it was over, Luke released his hair. Scott collapsed onto the sticky sheets, gasping, covered in sweat and seed.