Chapter 1: flint and razor

Razor. Whenever he’d had a drink with Spike, Razor had always been there, just as enthusiastic as he had been for attention from Spike. Flint felt his tears fall faster when his hair was brushed from his eyes, too tired and aching to do more than flinch a little at the soft touch. He couldn’t shake the fear that came with being given to the pack. If Spike and the alpha had hurt him so terribly, what would the pack do, knowing what he had done?

As he was pulled up, he pressed his lips together, but still whimpered like some damned broken weakling, the entirety of his lower torso feeling as if it had been beaten, afraid that the liquid he felt stirred around and out of him with each movement was blood. It hurt enough. His legs trembled as he tried to walk, afraid of where they were going, but more afraid to stay in the bar. A common bitch. If he stayed here, others would be free to have their turn. He couldn’t take that, being fucked by so many. He really would die. Before this night the most he’d done was get Larentia off with his hand, maybe a few close mouthed kisses. 

The gentle voice Razor used made him sniffle, holding onto Razor’s shoulder as he was taken away. He could feel the alpha’s glare up until they were out of the bar. He felt like his heart was going to burst from his chest.

Razor walked through the crowd unconcerned by any looks he was getting carrying the bitch instead of dragging him. He couldn’t possibly do that to a present they had received from their alpha. Whatever Flint had done, no matter how stupid and disrespectful, he had been already punished properly by Hunter. Any further cruelty would be unnecessary. Taking care of this present would show their respect for their new alpha. 

A bitch for the pack? He was truly touched. It would have been easiest to just kill Flint for his disrespect, yet Hunter had thought of the pack. It really showed that him taking on the position of leader was not just a superficial act.

As he left the bar and carried the bitch to the apartment, he felt the hold on his shoulder. He still wasn’t convinced that Flint would just accept his drop in status. For now however he didn’t seem to be struggling or fighting. It made it easier to carry him through the apartment and into the bathroom. 

With one hand he lowered the toilet seat and placed the bitch on top. He let him sit as he finally had time to take in the sight of him. He had been punished alright… Razor sighed heavily as he crouched next to him, hands on both sides of his face, lifting it up to take in just how much his mind was still there. If he was hurt more seriously.

“Look at me.” he told him calmly.

How was it possible for everything he’d ever done to be taken away by one incredibly stupid action? His social life, his pack (which he’d already been working towards leaving, but that was unimportant), the woman he’d been trying to start a relationship with, and any small amount of respect he’d gained. Gone. All of it.

Flint didn’t see any point in fighting. He was already hurt, throbbing in pain at both ends. Any attempts to resist would be easily beaten down. He wasn’t a fighter. Just a tracker for his pack, and even that— 

He squeezed his eyes shut as he started quietly crying again. He’d wanted to help. But even telling himself that, he also knew the truth: that he’d wanted Spike as his bitch, had seen how attractive that body could be, and had lost control. He didn’t see Spike as just Spike, not after that display of the alpha’s power, not with those clothes.

As he was sat down, Flint whined softly, the sound strained and wheezing with his throat damaged from the alpha’s cock. His ass felt raw, as if it had been torn from the outside in. Even with the spit and slick from Spike’s come, it had been fast, hard, nothing to prepare him for so much being forced in. His stomach ached, making it hard to breathe as he tried not to put too much weight on his ass, but that was impossible. His legs were twitching, no longer trembling, but still weak. 

Sucking in a breath, he tried to move away from the hands reaching for his face, the skin around his jaw bruised, but moving just made him feel how raw his ass was more. He closed his eyes tight, lips trembling, before following what Razor said. He had to, didn’t he? He was a common bitch. Unclaimed. He looked up, green eyes wet, trying to make his jaw stop quivering.

“Why…” Flint breathed, unable to speak above a strained whisper.

“Making sure you won’t die or be crippled in any way.” he said just as calmly as before.

Razor had not dealt with injuries during the war, that was women's work and the job for those who weren’t fit to fight at the frontlines. Like Razor’s twin brother - Reagan. Despite the man being the same height, the same weight and build, Ray had been born with partial albinism. From what they had been told their mother had been completely albino. Ray’s eyes had been affected by it. Aside from their color being a striking blue he had serious problems with his visions - blurriness, inability to focus his vision, sensitivity to light and worst of all he had no wolfish vision. He could not see in the dark, nor did he had any glow in them to communicate, challenge or assert his dominance. 

That however had not been the reason why he had been held back from the frontlines. Ray had heightened senses that could compensate for his lack of proper vision and he had no problems with his physical condition. The decision had been made after an almost fatal injury. After Ray’s recovery Razor and Ben - the wolf in the pack that had raised the younger ones - had insisted on him being kept in camp, despite the other’s protests, especially the alpha. Spike was a firm believer of strength and he couldn’t tolerate any weaklings in the pack. But they had had a need of a medic at camp, someone to help with the domestic chores and intelligence gathering, so it was allowed with reluctance. 

So the best person to call to handle injuries was Ray. So he pulled out his phone and called him to come. The only thing he could do now was to examine Flint for anything needing immediate attention.  He was going to do his best, show to his alpha that he was reliable and that Hunter’s present was appreciated.

He could tell Flint's jaw had been dislocated, he was certain that Hunter had fucked his mouth. From what he had seen, his size was no joke. Hearing Flint able to still speak, even barely, was a good sign. Whatever the damage was, it was not irreversible. His eyes also seemed responsive even if they were completely red. It could have been because of the crying but there could have also been cum sprayed in his eyes. The irritation would also go away, bruises as well. More or less the bitch’s body was not broken beyond use. 

He stood up when he made sure that Flint didn’t have a brain injury and took a washcloth from the cupboard under the sink, running it through warm water before starting to wipe his face from the cum and blood. It would be harder to clean if it dried so he wanted to get it out of the way. As he worked carefully he couldn’t help thinking…

“Damn. You really went for Spike, tried to steal an alpha’s bitch? Had a death wish or you’re just straight up crazy?” he asked despite knowing that Flint could barely speak. It was too unbelievable. Even if Spike had been turned bitch everyone knew who he was, how strong he was. It only served to show that Hunter was stronger, not that Spike had suddenly become weak. He sighed pressing his lips together, knowing that perhaps he shouldn’t press the subject, with the bitch crying so pitifully. “You should be happy you’re still alive. You got lucky.”

Making sure he wouldn’t die or be crippled. That would be inconvenient. Flint had moved bodies during the war, one of his other uses to his pack. It had never been easy. Bodies were heavy, moved awkwardly when picked up, slumped and sagged unnaturally, unless they had stiffened up. 

Listlessly, Flint looked up as Razor made a call, blinking slowly, his eyes still stinging from all the come that had soaked through his shirt, nose burning from the semen he’d choked up before the alpha had let him throw up. He didn’t know who Razor was talking to, eyes slowly dropping back down. Someone else coming to look after him? Was it that serious? It felt serious, but he didn’t know, as he’d never been injured like this before. Nothing so deep feeling. Everything inside felt so raw, his ass throbbing, hot and… strange.

He looked down at his hands laying limply on his bare thighs, resting almost protectively over his bared, flaccid cock. He noticed he was missing a fingernail. Must have scraped it off during the struggle. He really had fought hard, used all his strength, his muscles ached all over from the strain. Spike had held him down as if he were a weakling, like he was some helpless cub, held him down, and shoved into—

Flint twitched back to the present as Razor approached again, now with a wet cloth. He sucked in a sharp breath at the first touch to his face, coughing as his throat was swollen and sore, holding still as possible. Even if Razor was helping, he was still a bitch now. No telling what that would mean. A bitch without an alpha to claim and protect him. That’s what life was now. Anyone could have him. Even if he tried to fight, they’d be in their rights to beat him into submission. He didn’t want to accept that, but he wasn’t good in a fight, he knew that, and he should never have tried to take Spike.

Hearing Razor echo his thoughts, he looked up, then snorted, laughing because it was ridiculous. To try that, he had to be an idiot. “So stupid…” he breathed out, feeling more tears slip down his face; he felt crazy, laughing, though his laugh sounded like a wet rag being scrubbed over a window pane, squeaking and raspy. “Rut’s… week away… So dumb.”

Flint tried to grin, but his jaw ached, his mouth swollen. It would heal, it would all heal, but he felt raw in more places than just his ass and throat. His mind felt shaken, as if Spike’s hips driving a cock rapidly inside him had shaken loose something in his brain. He pressed his hand over his stomach, groaning, cramping around something. He felt emptied out, yet also full, which made no sense. His ass was uncomfortably wet and sticky, a soft whimpering gasp parting his lips as more… fluid seeped out of him.

“What now…?” Flint whispered, finding that less painful than trying to speak.

Razor watched him as he wiped his face, folding the cloth instead of rinsing it off. It was quicker. He wanted to look at the wounds he was sure the bitch had, the heavy scent of blood stuck to his skin as much as the musk of sex. But he was aware that even if he did there would be almost nothing he would be able to do.

He tried to be careful seeing how frightened Flint was from even the smallest gesture. He knew what Spike used to do, he hadn’t expected Hunter keeping such a long leash on him. His alpha’s relationship with his bitch was one of the more unique ones he had seen. Submission yet not complete dominance. He was trying to understand his new alpha but it was difficult.

His hand paused as he heard the sound that came out of the bitch mouth. A soft snort.. A laugh? Well it was good he was still lively even if he could see the shock, hear it. No sane person would laugh so hard with their throat so raw.

“Poor bastard…” Razor muttered with a compassionate sigh. WIth rut so close that display of Hunter fucking Spike most definetly stirred him hard. Razor couldn’t deny it. He had never thought of Spike in a sexual way before this, but seeing him turn bitch.. It stirred something in him even when he wasn’t in rut. Their ex alpha was… a damn beautiful bitch. He had never seen a body so perfect, hard and yet soft. Curves so mesmerizing as he was taking cock. His hair, soft and impossibly long. He had not seen women with hair that gorgeous... 

Razor shook his head. Sadly he could see how it had happened.

Razor saw the bitch grip his stomach, aware that his ass needed to be cleaned out, yet he didn't know how it was done. Most of whom he had slept with wanted those parts of the process to remain a mystery so they wouldn’t mess up the mood. He had never had a relationship that lasted, never got close to anyone who would feel comfortable sharing that part of their experience with him. If nothing else he hoped gravity would do its job. He would research it later online since he could guess Flint didn’t know about it either. If he did then he would have tried to do whatever needed doing or at least told him. 

As he was done with wiping his face, Razor threw the washcloth away. He would need to wash it, clean out the bathroom or Zain would have his head. But he didn't need to think about that now. Now he tried carefully to remove the man’s shirt, unbuttoning the buttons that hadn’t ripped. The t-shirt underneath it however was glued to the bitch body, soaked in blood.

“Now you heal.” he said, as his eyes moved to his face. He was not sure what answer the man wanted. About his general situation or about what was happening right now. “Everything else comes later.” he didn’t know how shocked Flint was, didn’t know if he had understood his situation. For now it was best not to think about anything. Just focus on healing. “Just stay still. I’ll clean you up. When my brother comes, he will treat your wounds properly.”

As Razor cleaned his face and spoke, Flint’s gaze went glassy, staring off at nothing. Nothing about this evening seemed real. Not seeing Spike turned into a massive alpha’s bitch, not seeing Spike’s powerful body bent in pleasure, not the massive cock that had split open Spike’s ass and then his own throat. How could Spike turn bitch? Someone so proud. So beautiful. He’d never looked at Spike like that, but seeing the man again, after Spike had gone missing, all that hair and the lace, the leather pants left open, showing off that ass and groin— Even through the pain, Flint could still feel the stir of arousal from his approaching rut. He didn’t want that sensation now, not with the pain that throbbed low in his pelvis. He wanted to forget it all.

But tonight had happened. Every bit of it was etched into him, his mind still aware of it with startling clarity. He felt…dirty. Disgusting. His face was cleaner, but he could still smell Spike and the massive alpha all over him. Could still feel hands on him. How easy his jaw had been popped loose, his mouth then throat stuffed full, unable to bite down, unable to even breathe. His stomach still felt the echoes of Spike’s cock, fucking him mercilessly, and somehow, somewhere in all that pain, he’d felt something like pleasure. Had his first orgasm with another person. That made it worse, somehow. Made him worse. A bitch’s bitch. Could he even blame that on pre-rut? Or was he just that desperate?

He sniffled, realizing he was crying again. His eyes ached, sore from the come and having his shirt squeezed over them. After a moment he noticed movement, the feeling of light tugging. Razor was unbuttoning his shirt.

Before he could stop himself, he jerked back, his back hitting the toilet tank, sending shockwaves of pain along his body from the claw marks Spike had left over his spine, his body stiffening as moving made his ass clench and press harder onto the toilet seat. He cried out, the sound like a rusty hinge. 

“No, no, no…” he rasped out.

He didn’t want to be naked. He sobbed, not fighting, freezing up. He would have hunched over if his stomach didn’t ache, if Larentia hadn’t kicked him below the ribs, right where Spike’s cock had been only minutes before. He didn’t fight as his bloody shirt was carefully peeled off of him, eyes closed, breath coming in short, strangled gasps. 

Flint’s stomach and chest were bruised from being shoved against the sink, and later kicked. His shoulders both bruised, one bloody from claw marks, some bruising along his muscles where he had strained so badly. Blood was smeared everywhere. Even during the war, he’d managed to avoid getting badly injured; his body didn’t know how to handle what it had never known.

Slowly, he opened his eyes, looking at Razor. “Still…” he rasped. “I can’t hold still. Hurts.” He looked at his hands, his missing fingernail, his fingers bruised and bloody. “Brother… Ray?”

Someone else would see him like this, someone else he’d known before. He couldn’t fall further than this. Bitches didn’t get the luxury to feel shame, but Flint felt consumed by it.

"Shit..." Razor hissed as the bitch suddenly jerked back, clothes slipping out of his hands scared that he would tumble off the seat. Yet he couldn't just grab the bitch while she was in such a panic. "I have to clean your wounds, OK? Need to remove everything." he tried to explain. The bitch was scared, shaking like a leaf under his hands, despite submitting to him. 

Razor was starting to realize their new bitch might be more delicate than he'd assumed. Bruised so easily all over, visibly deep claw marks poking through skin... He had seen wolves with more serious injuries who had taken the pain better. 

"If you move, it will hurt more." he looked back into the bitch forest green eyes, then he exhaled, closing his own. "Stay." he said before getting up and leaving the bathroom. He returned with some medical supplies including a small bottle filled with pills. He placed everything aside and took a pill out of the small bottle, then filled a cup with water. He placed the pill over his closed lips. "Painkillers. Drink it or not. I won't offer again." holding the cup close if he decided to drink. It was a waste to use them for these kinds of injuries but... Flint was their bitch now and he needed to take care of him, help him recover and heal. “Ray will be here soon. He can do more to help you than I can, but the wounds can’t be tended to before they’re clean so you have to bear with it.”

It took a moment for the words Razor was speaking to settle in Flint’s mind. Moving did hurt. Being still was the smart thing to do, but he had hardly done anything smart tonight. He’d given Larentia an orgasm as she’d watched Spike being fucked, her eyes gleeful at seeing such a strong man reduced to a bitch; soon after he’d gone to try and claim that same bitch. 

Breathing in slowly, making sure to use his nose to try and give his raw throat some rest, he closed his eyes. His mind wasn’t gone. Not yet. He could at least try and keep aware that Razor was helping, that he wasn’t being held down, wasn’t going to be fucked. Not yet. That was probably part of the ‘everything’ which would come later that Razor had mentioned. There was no way a pack would keep a bitch that didn’t get fucked. A common bitch. Used by everyone. Before then, he would at least be tended to, taken care of. Razor had even called Ray, the twin brother he barely remembered. Reagan hadn’t seemed nearly as interested in impressing Spike, not joining them for drinks. Flint felt like such a fool for wanting to have some of that strength rub off on him.

He kept still, perched on the toilet, waiting as Razor left and came back. His eyebrows screwed up in confusion as a pill was pressed to his mouth. Painkillers. Others had used those during the war, members of Flint’s old pack, fighters all of them, doing their part to keep the war going. He’d never needed them, had never gotten so much as a headache, not until he’d been forced to swallow cock until his lungs burned. There was still a remnant of his headache now, getting better as he was able to breathe fully. His eyes looked down towards his mouth, then upwards, briefly meeting Razor’s steady gaze.

He parted his lips, letting the wolf slip the pill into his mouth. His tongue rolled it about, tasting the bitter coating, then sipping when the glass was pressed to his mouth. He swallowed, making a soft sound, reaching up to touch Razor’s hand on the glass. He leaned his head back as he tilted the glass, needing to keep the water coming. It ached going down, but he felt thirsty, drinking greedily. A few drops dribbled down the corners of his mouth as he drained the cup, his hand holding Razor’s a few seconds longer as he caught his breath.

Slowly, Flint released Razor’s hand, his fingers lightly wiping his chin. He glanced up, managing a very slight smile that faded just as quickly as it appeared. “Thank you.” The words were barely audible, breathed out, as his eyes dropped again. “Not… I’m not moving on purpose. I’ll be still.”

Razor didn’t say anything, but he was glad that even in this small amount of time the bitch was recovering from his shock - smiling, answering, being aware. It was more than he had expected looking at him crumpled on the floor back in the bar. 

Razor was relieved that he had a strong alpha again, even stronger than their last one - he felt admiration and awe. Despite his strive for strength Razor was aware that he was not made to be a leader. He thrived best under guidance and a strong alpha he could look up to. Spike had always been strong but he had never been a good leader. Not the kind of leader other packs had. Spike was simply strong, he had a strong sense of duty to follow the traditions. He valued strength above all but he still protected his pack. He was harsh and unpleasant to be around most of the time, seeing the world in a crooked way, distorted under his own perception. Nobody else could do that but Spike - live detached from reality. It was because he was strong and nobody could oppose him. Razor had wished someday to be able to live like that - completely free and selfish, admired by others for it. It had been just shallow jealousy for Spike’s easy life. Razor couldn’t see himself being that ruthless or unconcerned with others' wellbeing. He couldn’t see himself being so narrow minded - judging the value of everything and everyone by their strength…

Razor was happy to have a new alpha. One that seemed more sensible and not completely self-absorbed. He was also happy for this gift. It was a luxury to have a bitch for the pack, and a hassle to acquire one. Shared bitches weren’t as common as it seemed, despite the name they got called. If a wolf made another his bitch, the desire and instinct for ownership was too overwhelming. Claiming the bitch was only natural. Common bitches on the other hand were either those who were claimed multiple times by different wolves, committed a crime or unclaimed bastards who were hungry for cock and didn’t care whose it was. In a way Flint fit that description. Having a woman on his arm, yet still going after others. Even worse - those who were already claimed. 

Razor was glad to help nurse the bitch back to health, because he also planned to be the first to fuck him after. He couldn’t allow any of the others to do the honors of breaking the bitch in. 

That's what he thought about as he peeled off the cloth off Flint’s wounds. He cleaned the blood around the claw marks. The cuts were deep and jagged, no doubt the bitch had struggled, shredding his own flesh in the process. He cleaned them up, before noticing  there were more on his back, shallower and not so messy - they would heal faster. He covered them up so they wouldn't get contaminated again as he would wash the bitch. Ray would need to stitch them, that much Razor was able to tell.

Flint’s pants were still around his ankles, torn and covered in dirt. Razor took off the bitch’s shoes and removed the remnants of the pants and underwear, leaving Flint completely naked at last.

“Come on.” he muttered as he helped him up again, he needed to make only a step or two to get into the tub. It was a low tub so it was easy to  get into, even if Flint’s legs barely held his weight. He made him sit down as he pulled the shower curtain out of the way. Once again Razor was glad he had forced Zain to replace that ancient shower head with a handheld one. As he fixed the water’s temperature, he crouched down, washing away all the cum and blood that could be easily removed just by water.

Flint wanted to cry each time he was touched, eyes far away, vaguely looking towards the floor. It had been bad enough to be dragged in front of all those people after being thoroughly used, when his clothing, what remained of it, covered some of the shame he’d been forced to endure. Now every part of his assault, his punishment for trying to touch another’s bitch, was on display. The alpha had done nothing to control Spike, letting Spike do what he liked, even following the suggestion to fuck his mouth. 

Spike. A bitch, but nothing like any bitch he’d seen before; none of that strength and might Flint admired had been diminished. Spike seemed to only submit to one person, one massive, terrifyingly well built alpha. An alpha Flint had mistakenly thought Spike wanted to escape. That would teach him to try and help, he told himself, though at the same time it was hard to deny all the other thoughts and surprising desire that had been going through his head. He couldn’t blame it all on his approaching rut, wondering if, beyond just wanting to be as strong and powerful as Spike, to be noticed by Spike, he’d always also desired the wolf. It was a startling revelation.

He came back out of his thoughts again as Razor helped him up. His… lower regions… felt numb and hot at the same time, every movement reminding him of how hard and fast he’d been taken. Spike not even knotted him, shaming him further, yet as he’d never had anyone, or anything, inside him, he was thankful he hadn’t been further torn in half.

He clung desperately to Razor’s arms, his legs no longer shaking, but still weakened. His stomach tensed as he shifted, making him whine sharply, though the sound that came out was a soft, creaking noise. As he lifted each leg into the tub, more wetness ran down his thighs, most of it thin, though some of it startlingly thick. He imagined clotted blood, the thought making his eyes squeeze shut, not wanting to see. The water made him want to pull away at first as it ran over every bruise and jagged cut, but after a few minutes he was breathing more easily, hands slowly rubbing over the crud of blood and come.

He looked up blankly, watching Razor rinse him off. He couldn’t mistake this as kindness. Even if Razor’s hands were careful, he was, essentially, open property now for all these wolves. He’d admired Spike. This new alpha was like something out of a nightmare. The need to flee, to run away, made his heart race, but his legs were useless. Hopefully not permanently. He didn’t know how any of this… butt… sex worked. He was too afraid of the answer to ask.

While Razor rinsed him, Flint accepted a piece of soap wordlessly, cleaning himself off. He didn’t know what to do with… what had happened to his ass, red faced as he cleaned between his legs, avoiding looking at Razor as he whimpered softly. His ass felt strange, soft, puffy, and hot. Even through the pain, his pre-rut sent confusing mixed sensations through him, his cock responding weakly to more touching. That was horrifying. He didn’t want to associate pleasure with anything that had happened to him. He cleaned off the sticky leftovers of Spike’s come, glancing at his fingers, grimacing as he saw some blood, but not nearly as much as he’d feared there had been.  After rinsing off, Razor helped him up again, giving him a towel he rubbed himself down with, holding it protectively over himself.

Razor barely knew what he was doing - taking care of anyone injured was unfamiliar. The only other time he had done it had been when his brother had been injured and that had been a very long time ago. Razor however had experience with delicate things, even if the man in front of him didn’t outright fit that description. 

Flint was as tall as himself, perhaps not built as muscular but he looked nothing like the soft delicate bitches Razor was used to seeing. He was not used to seeing regular men, wolves, look so devastated and frightened, since they were always taught to tough things out, suck it up, don’t show weakness… Perhaps it was a characteristic trait to bitches? Was it a change that occured with their turning? Bitches didn’t seem to have any problem crying or being emotional, showing their weaknesses openly, exposing themselves. Even Spike had shown those traits… 

Their former alpha had been extremely emotional at times, prone to crying at almost every little inconvenience. Maybe Razor had just been blind. Seeing what a perfect bitch Spike had turned into, and so quickly too, perhaps Spike had always been a bitch at heart. Only problem was that nobody had been strong enough to claim him. 

With these thoughts, that only served to confuse and worry him, Razor cleaned Flint. He glanced from time to time at the man’s face. Despite the vulnerable state he was in, Razor couldn’t see him as anything but the man he used to know - injured and weakened. He wondered if he just needed time before he could see him as the bitch that he was. 

Bitches were not always pretty or arousing, some were simply used because it was convenient - a hole that can be fucked to relieve stress or just for fun. It was a lot more pleasant than just using a hand if the wolf didn’t have a partner to do it with instead. Razor knew personal bitches were different - they were specifically chosen, but pack and common bitches were something else. Anyone could become one - usually the weakest wolf. Small women and men most often. But not all weaklings were small and not all of them were desirable and beautiful. Most of them were instead outcasts, those that had lived harsh lives and had given up or had been easily beaten down. So most were unattractive scum. It was for that reason that Razor was thankful to their new alpha. The bitch that he had gifted them had a healthy body and clean features. It was rare to see a common bitch in such a good condition. 

Razor was being unusually quiet. It made Flint’s paranoia kick in, though he kept his eyes down, tried to remind himself that he wasn’t still the low ranking wolf he’d been just earlier this evening. He was scum. A wolf who had tried to claim another’s bitch, and not just anyone’s bitch, but a powerful alpha’s bitch. Razor’s alpha’s bitch. 

His legs were still weak as he stood in the bathroom, feeling the other wolf looking at him. What was Razor thinking? He glanced up slightly, wishing he could read minds. Was this just as weird for Razor as it was for him? They had been similarly ranked before, had treated one another on friendly terms, joked and drank and got stupid drunk sometimes. Now he’d been “gifted” to Razor’s pack, everything he’d been before ripped away.

He didn’t know how to be a bitch, despite seeing so many in his pack during the war. His own mother had been a bitch, stolen from some other pack, but even she had been valued for the ability to make more soldiers. Male bitches were the lowest, used by anyone. He’d seen… horrible things done to those unfortunate men, groups taking one at the same time, the bitch not even fighting as one cock was replaced with another, over and over again—

He blinked quickly, feeling fresh tears on his face, eyes hot and aching. How long had he been staring at the floor? He felt cold, shivering, naked and still damp. Swallowing back a sniffle, he rubbed the towel over himself, feeling ashamed and filthy.

Razor felt conflicted. He wondered how he should approach this. He had known Flint for years. They never hung out outside of group gatherings but otherwise he had found the man a pleasant company and they shared a lot of opinions. Strangely enough he hadn't felt this conflicted seeing Spike turned bitch. It had been confusing at first but he hadn't needed much time to see his ex-alpha as the bitch that he was. It almost seemed natural seeing the man spanked and fucked viciously, sobbing and moaning, needy like he had been taking cock his whole life. 

Flint on the other hand didn't feel any different than before. He had done something stupid and payed for it dearly, but Razor was having trouble looking at the man in a sexual way. Perhaps... he could see some features that he could find attracting. Like Flint's pretty eyes - forest green, freckles on his cheeks—

There was a knock on the bathroom door and before Razor could answer, the handle shook. When the door opened Ray was there, disheveled and clearly worried. He had ran back to the bar after having left earlier, when Hunter had started fucking Spike. Ray had found the display distasteful and unpleasant. He had never harbored warm feelings toward Spike but he believed nobody deserved to be forcefully turned bitch. 

Ray couldn't list the reasons why - there were just too many. He had seen the clothes Spike had been forced to wear, witnessed the shift in attitude from wolves that had previously respected the man or even been his friends. He saw the difference in attitude from their pack itself... And he found it appalling. Ray believed bitches shouldn't exist. It was a barbaric concept. The idea that someone can own another person and use them as their personal slave was baffling... Those however, were concepts deep rooted into all wolves.

When he peeked into the bathroom Ray was left shocked by the sight and the scents he could clearly detect. He could recognise the man who was injured - he was someone who had regularly hung out with his brother, their ex-alpha and others from the pack. The scents of fear, despair, sex, soap and blood were almost overwhelming for Ray.

"What happened?" he asked. His breathing was rapid, still trying to catch his breath from rushing back to the bar after Razor had called him. "Who did this?"

It wasn't difficult to piece together that the man had been assaulted. Anyone doing that in the bar would have been apprehended and dealt with. But there were some parts of this that didn't fit, he just couldn’t place them. The atmosphere in the bar had been more lively than it would have been if an incident like this had occurred and there were confusing scents lingering below the heavier ones…

At the sound of the knock and the bathroom door opening, Flint felt the sudden need to bolt. Someone else was coming and he wasn’t ready, wasn’t ready to be seen by anyone else, wasn’t ready to do… whatever it was they wanted him to. Would they even wait for him to heal before taking turns with him? 

Cautiously he looked towards Razor, then the window in the bathroom. He could try to leave, maybe. Flee into the night. But they would catch him. His legs felt nearly useless and he hurt everywhere, even with the pills dulling the pain some. Instead he took in a shaking breath, eyes firmly on the floor as the other pack member came in.

The scent was familiar. Similar to Razor’s, but different. Like the smell that lingered around bookcases and well kept desks. He looked up slightly, becoming aware that he was trembling in the cold, and from the strain of standing in the bathroom. His legs felt like jelly, like he would collapse if he wasn’t careful. The face of the wolf coming in was almost entirely like Razor’s, though the hair was different, the eyes—

Ray. Reagan, Razor’s twin with the weak eyes he’d always secretly thought were pretty to look at. He’d never stared for long, but he’d liked the pale color, appreciated the calm around Ray when he’d had too much to drink, or spent too long pretending to be someone he wasn’t. Ray was seeing him like this. 

Flint almost answered the question, mouth opening before he remembered himself. Bitches didn’t talk back. They had no right to speak to another unless they were directly being talked to. At least, that was how it had been in his own pack. Eyes down, never daring to draw attention to themselves, though his mother had certainly had plenty to say to him when he was still a pup. Flint held the towel more firmly in front of his groin, eyes on the floor.

Ray stared at the man that had stopped himself from answering and had moved his gaze to the floor. Reagan already had a bad feeling about this and this behavior almo confirmed his suspicions. He moved his eyes from Flint toward his brother. Razor looked back.

“This is Fl— the pack’s new bitch.” he explained watching as the worried expression on his twin’s face was replaced by shock and then anger.

“Which pack?” Ray asked with a stifled growl in the back of his throat. This couldn’t be what he thought it was. The Bloodhounds had never had pack bitches nor had they kept common bitches around. It was the only thing that Ray had ever been proud of from his pack. Despite others not agreeing with his opinion on bitches, none had participated in the madness and cruelty that other packs from the Hunt had enjoyed - kidnapping wolves from the other side and having their fun with them. They had even done it with wolves from the Hunt. Anyone who they had deemed weak. Breeding, filling the Hunt’s armies with new soldiers on the backs of bitches… Ray was appalled by it all.

“Our.” Razor answered with an amused scoff as if he thought Ray could only be joking. But instead his brother’s expression grew darker. Just as he was about to open his mouth again, Razor interrupted him. “Alpha gifted it to the pack.” 

“Gifted it ?” Ray’s teeth were sharp as he growled. “Is he a fucking object ?” He stepped into the bathroom, grabbing Razor by the t-shirt. “He is your friend! I know him. I’ve seen him—”

Razor pushed Ray to the door, growling back. He looked over his shoulder at Flint to make sure the bitch was not getting any funny ideas before he grabbed at Ray and shoved him out the door. “It doesn’t matter who he was!” he growled, eyes glowing. “He tried to fuck the alpha’s bitch without permision. You fucking know what that means—”  

The door slammed as if taking the argument out of the bathroom would do anything to hide what they were saying. They growled and obviously wrestled outside as there was thudding on the wall and furniture, Razor yelling about rules and the honor it was to have an alpha dedicated to the pack, putting aside his own offense to preserve Flint’s life and gift it to the pack. 

Reagan was furious that Razor would be happy about this, yelling about what a fucking bastard he had to be to do this to his friend. He tried to tell him quietly about his concerns that their new alpha was bad news, too scared to yell about it for anyone to hear. That it didn’t feel safe having such a violent traditionalist as an alpha. That the pack was changing already under his influence. For the worse. That Razor had to be ashamed for being a mindless follower, throwing away his morals if he even had any…

It. Razor had called him it . Flint felt something cold grow inside him, his heart thudding loudly in his head. Born of a bitch, made bitch by a bitch, thrown to the pack as a common hole to use. His mother had said many cruel things to him as a child, just one of many unwanted pregnancies she’d been forced into during the war. That he should have been killed for being weak, that he was doomed to become a bitch like she was. Unskilled, not strong enough for battle. He’d tried so hard to prove her wrong, had made it through the war without ever being turned bitch, and now everything he’d done— It really was meaningless. One slip, one major fuck up, and here he was, not even a person anymore.

Startled at Reagan’s outburst, Flint’s head jerked up, his mouth dropping open. When Razor growled and looked at him, his eyes widened for a moment before he dropped them quickly to the floor, tilting his chin up to show throat, flinching as the two left the room, the door slamming behind them.

Ray didn’t agree with this, him being a bitch. Called him Razor’s friend. He had been. He wasn’t now. Just a bitch, an it . Gender didn’t have meaning according to many when someone was made bitch. It didn’t matter what they had been before, as their purpose was to be a ready receptacle for whatever dick wanted to fuck them. He breathed in shakily, looking around the room as he heard the fight continue outside the bathroom, looking towards the window again.

He dropped the towel, going towards the window, nearly dropping to the floor as his weakened legs and aching pelvis protested the move. He sucked in a sharp breath, tearing up, as he looked outside. It wasn’t that far down. Just the second floor. Maybe he could… He could jump out. Look for help. 

No. That was foolish. If anyone who had been witness to his depravity and loss of rank was outside, they would grab him, probably rape him before turning him over to the pack. A common bitch who tried to run was just asking for abuse. He’d be disciplined, beaten, regardless of his injuries. He’d seen it. Did his best to never fall that far. But here he was, just some common bitch. His hands tightened on the windowsill as he trembled, heart battering against his ribs, whining softly as he made himself step away from the window, return to the towel he’d dropped. His legs finally gave out, and he barely caught himself against the tub as he slid to the floor, whimpering as his sore ass hit the cold tile.

The commotion outside of the bathroom ended abruptly with a crash and a growl. Razor talking with a voice shaking from anger for the insults his brother had said about him. Just because Razor liked the new alpha? Just because he looked up to strength and he believed in the rules? He was aware how different Reagan’s view on everything was, but he was furious that his twin would say those cruel things about him. So he told him to tend to Flint’s wounds and get the fuck out of his room. Then there was a slam of a door.

The bathroom door opened carefully, deliberately done so it wouldn’t startle the man inside. Ray stepped in, a bruise forming over his cheekbone as he saw Flint on the floor. He rushed to help him up, finally getting a better look at his injuries. The slashes on his back were deep, definitely in need of stitches with how much they were still bleeding. Reagan's face twisted, teeth clenching as he lifted the man up on his feet. His eyes stopped at the small swear of blood on the window frame…

“ I’m so sorry… ” he spoke, voice shaken. He felt ashamed that he was forced to be a part of this depravity, that he couldn’t do anything to stop it. The only thing that he could do was do his best to help the man heal, hoping he would be able to earn back a pack position when the yearly ranking came about. If he couldn’t stop this then he at least wanted his involvement to help the man in any way he could.

He led him out of the bathroom, away from those slippery tiles, and let him lean on him as they walked.

When the door opened, Flint was prepared for anything other than kindness, especially when Ray noticed the smear of blood his hand had left on the windowsill. He glanced at his missing nail, cursing inwardly, sucking in a sharp breath as he was approached, looking up in surprise as he was helped to his feet. 

He couldn’t help the soft whimper as his legs didn’t want to work, his insides still feeling like they were beaten and bruised like the rest of him, but he managed to stagger along with Ray’s help. Cautious, not sure what was going to happen now, not happy to be the reason the twins fought, but glad at least one of them hadn’t forgotten he was still a person, despite his new position in the pack, Flint looked at the wolf helping him. 

“He hit you,” Flint said, feeling stupid the moment he said it, his voice still raw and squeaky from his throat being fucked. “You don’t… You didn’t need to say—“

It was awkward, embarrassing, to be led, fully naked, away from the bathroom. He tried not to sniffle, to not show how pitiful he really was, now that everything he’d worked towards was gone. He knew the rules. He’d been loyal to the pack during the war, had served best he could, and followed every command. He was raised in the Hunt, he knew what happened when you went against the way of wolves. His face crumpled as he leaned on Ray, needing the support to even walk. At least he wasn’t leaking any more of that… He closed his eyes tight, preferring not to think just what had been left inside him.

“He was telling the truth,” Flint rasped, clearing his throat and wincing. “I tried to… You shouldn’t be sorry.”

It was always destined to happen. Son of a pack bitch, weakest of his pack, and now exactly where his mother always knew he’d end up. Too weak, too stupid, too caught up in his damn approaching rut. Even now, he could feel his body wanting to react to Reagan’s closeness, his body trying to respond, his stupid dick barely able to get slightly hard due to the pain.

“Don’t fight.” He whispered, giving his throat a rest. “He’s your brother.”

"Yeah I did. I had to say it." Ray said with a firm voice. He was still shaken. He couldn't believe that their pack owned a bitch... He felt disgusted to be a part of it. Frightened by the rapid changes and the alpha that was the cause of them. Seeing how swiftly Hunter had subdued Spike, it was clear - there was nobody who could oppose him.

For a brief moment Ray considered the option to leave the pack. He couldn't afford to be dragged into this conservative conversion... He wouldn't last if they went back to the old traditional Ways of the Wolf. He had been kept away from combat for far too long to be able to fight and climb the ladder of strength and power...

But he couldn't leave his brothers. He couldn't leave this new wolf. There had to be someone who looked out for him.

He let the man sit carefully on the bed. It was surprisingly clean, as if Razor had tidied up the place waiting for an inspection. His twin was not someone who kept things clean and orderly. Usually. So it was a pleasant surprise.

"That's what brothers are for..." Ray sighed, as he went to get the bag with medical supplies. "If I don't push him to be better… nobody would." Reagan looked weary and tired, the bruise on his cheek had grown darker but there was still no swelling. "Please lay on your stomach. I need to stitch your back." he said, offering a hand if the man needed it to move on the bed.

Even as he was treated kindly, Flint found himself wondering if he should trust this. If he should trust Ray to actually care about his best interests, or at least to keep treating him like the person he had been before. They were both raised pack, both knew what was expected. He knew his own pack had been more extreme, one of those actively breeding and training new soldiers to fight, and many of the members still held those ideals. The Bloodhounds seemed to be more lenient, as were a few others of the strike packs.  But he’d seen what happened to bitches who trusted what seemed like a friendly wolf, to return that trust, admit their unhappiness, then to be punished for not upholding the Ways. 

With everything having shifted and changed so quickly, however, he couldn’t help but want to let Reagan help, to feel like himself after being dubbed nothing but an “it” by someone he’d thought of as a friend. How was he supposed to adjust to this? 

Wordlessly, Flint looked at Ray, eyes briefly meeting those pale eyes, then looking down at the bruise already forming on Ray’s cheek. He accepted the help, taking the hand held out to him, breath catching and turning into a soft whine before he could stop it as he turned over. His ass felt raw as he shifted his thighs, every movement tugging at his hips, then pulling at the slashes on his back and shoulder. Shaking, he laid down on his stomach, letting out a sharp breath, coughing a little as his throat was aggravated. 

“Will they wait?” He rasped softly. “For me to heal before…” He closed his eyes, face screwing up.

He didn’t know if he could do this, any of this. How could he be a bitch? The worst that he’d always feared had happened. Tears caught in his thick lashes, spilling over before he shoved his face into the pillow, jaw aching.

“I don’t know…” Ray whispered. “I will do what I can to make them wait.” It was for everyone’s best interest. If anyone did more damage on top of this, it was almost certain that Flint might sustain permanent damages to his body. Ray hoped that at least his pack would let him be, if for no other reason, then as an investment in his body…

He examined the claw slashes on the man’s back. It was clear that they were not knife wounds by the jagged edges of the torn flesh... Ray knew this claw pattern. The distance between the fingers, the depth, direction and intent behind the wound. Ray couldn’t be completely sure but there was a big chance these were made by Spike?

“Did Spike do this to you?” Reagan asked, confused and concerned. These were not done by Hunter? What did that mean? Could Hunter allow Spike to act freely? Traditionally a bitch acting on its own wouldn’t be allowed. And judging by the pattern, the direction of the claws and the location of the wounds, Ray could imagine the position Flint had been held in. It all pointed to Spike raping this man…

The relationship between their new alpha and Spike seemed to be more unique than Ray had imagined. If that was the case then… Spike was free to dish out his cruelty even in the position of bitch. That made Ray’s skin crawl. It meant that instead of replacing one violent and dangerous alpha for another… now they had two to deal with.

As Ray examined him, Flint couldn’t help but tense up, his breath coming out in soft, unsteady puffs as it made the pain all over worse. He squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to calm himself, tried to relax. Ray was going to try to make the rest of the pack wait, had even fought his brother to prove he didn’t agree with the kind of treatment he’d gotten, and what treatment he was sure to get after. Even with that assurance, what could one wolf do? 

He turned his head away from the pillow to look towards Ray, wondering how Ray already knew what had happened. He nodded, wiping at his face with his uninjured hand. 

“Spike did. With Alpha’s approval.” Flint’s voice was like a rusty hinge as he spoke, his throat sore and dry. “Told me…” He paused, green eyes glittering with more tears as he looked at Reagan, then away. “Told me what a slut I was. That Alpha should fuck my mouth, that I was too shy to ask.”

He didn’t know why he was admitting what happened. It was painful, but it also felt like something would break further if he didn’t get it out. He rubbed at his dripping nose, wincing as his jaw ached worse with his chin shaking from the tears that needed to escape. 

“I wanted…” Flint hiccuped. “I wanted to help Spike. Saw what Alpha did. But it…how he looked, the smell… My rut’s coming and… I was so stupid. Couldn’t think past wanting him. Didn’t go in there planning to do anything, but I…”

Ray took a deep breath that he exhaled in a helpless sigh as he moved to get the wound cleaning solution out of the bag as well as the thread, needles and all else needed to bandage and finish the treatment. The act of taking everything out putting it properly aside where he could reach it - it served to calm him. 

“Of course…” Ray muttered bitterly. Of course Spike had done this. Ray wasn’t surprised in the least. He had done cruler things during the war. But to have done it without his title as an alpha… It seemed there was no way to stop that bastard. He couldn’t believe he had felt sorry for him earlier tonight. “Nothing good comes out of getting mixed up with Spike.” 

There was nothing he could say or do to make things better. Even Ray had pitied the former alpha. It wasn’t strange for someone who Ray had seen often in his company to want to extend a hand. But there was a huge difference in strength and apparently it had happened at the wrong moment. Prompted by pre-rut to do something stupid… “All wolves lose their reason around and during rut and heat… I’m sorry that this happened to you.” his hand brushed at the man’s hair on the back of his neck, so lightly perhaps Flint wouldn't even be able to feel it.

The only thing Ray could do now was stitch up those deep slashes. He used a topical painkiller and got to work.

Flint let out a breath, looking at Ray questioningly. The wolf had questioned the rules set by the Way of the Wolf, and now he was confirming what Flint wished he had known; nothing good came from getting mixed up with Spike. He had known Spike was dangerous, had even admired that once, the strength and how handsome Spike was. He should have been more rational, controlled himself better, but with the smell of Larentia on his hand, and sex so fresh on Spike, he’d lost himself.

“That’s… dangerous to say.” Flint whispered, managing not to flinch at the fingers stroking so very gently, his back relaxing a little. “First fighting with your brother over the Way, now…” He looked at Ray until their eyes met, his eyes still wet. “I… I think I agree, but how else are we supposed to live?”

He didn’t know. He’d been born to pack, raised to follow every rule, to embrace the wolf, and will away weakness. He’d continually failed, as he wasn’t strong, couldn’t keep up with his sisters and their eventual brutality, but he’d done his best to serve where he could. He was fast, faster than any in his pack, but that didn’t matter once the war between Nature and Hunt had ended. A war he’d been happy to see end, but life hadn’t been any easier. He didn’t have any skills outside of survival. 

The pain lessened, but he could still feel the odd sensation of being repeatedly touched in the same spots, occasionally a stab of pain from the needle. He gasped softly against the pillow, turning his face away again. His jaw and ass still ached, his insides feeling bruised and torn, wet and strange. 

“What will they want me to do?” He asked, voice croaking and squeaking. “I know how to clean. How to cook. My pack made me when there were no messages to run, no places to scout.” Flint hated the way his voice wavered, eyes distant and dull as he stared at nothing, trying not to flinch as the needle moved thread back and forth.

Ray couldn’t say anything, only his lips turned into a tight straight line as he focused on his work. 

“I’m a hypocrite.” he said with a sigh as his fingers fit the thread in the needle. “I only say these things when I know they wouldn't be repeated to Alpha’s ears…” his face crumpled into a frown. “I only advocate for change and criticize when I know there would be no consequences to my actions… I can only talk back to my brothers.”

Reagan couldn’t allow himself to become emotional, not now when it was important for his hands to be steady. So his expression was a cold emotionless mask as he started stitching up the slashes on Flint's back.

“I wish I could change things. But playing along… I’m too deep in it now.” he stopped his hand, worried that he might get a stitch wrong. With how shaken he was it was clear this ran deeper, something more personal than simply a dissatisfaction with the rules. “I wish I could help you out of this… but I’m a coward. I’m sorry …” his voice hitched, as he bit at his lip painfully hard. 

It didn’t matter what he thought if he did nothing. He might as well just let things be and there would be no change. The only thing it achieved was make him feel like shit and alienate others from him. Ray knew he was pathetic. Not only was he weak but he kept challenging authority enough to prevent himself from moving forward.

He swallowed down his disappointment in himself, pushed away all the helpless self deprecating feeling and focused back on stitching the wounds up.

“I’ve known them for a long time… I don’t think they would abuse you for the fun of it. That is something only Spike enjoyed…” Ray spoke with a hushed voice and a crease in his eyebrows. “Cleaning, cooking - whatever you do to aid the pack will be appreciated. We have never had a pack bitch so nobody will know what to expect from you… beyond your body for their pleasure.” Ray felt sick saying any of this. “As long as you don't anger them… they shouldn’t hurt you. I will talk to them. Make sure they know how you should be treated. Especially as a gift from the alpha. They should be more careful with how they handle you. Alpha might get mad if his present gets damaged…”

Ray hoped that would ease Flint's worries about getting hurt or abused… but none if this was right. Least of all the wolf being treated as an object, being assured he would be kept alive and well only because he was hanged to the pack by the alpha…

A small crease had worked its way firmly between Flint’s eyebrows, worried and scared at what would happen next to him. He breathed in deeply as Ray spoke, making himself stay still, listening to the small tremors of concern and something more than just the anger at the situation. Could he trust Ray? They both knew he wouldn’t repeat anything which was said, and even if he did, who would believe a bitch? He needed someone he could trust, depend on a little in this new life; even if Reagan couldn’t do much, Flint needed him. And, perhaps, Reagan needed him a little as well.

“I don’t know anything else,” he said, voice low, saving his throat from as much strain as he could— he healed decently fast, though he’d never been hurt so badly. Reaching out slowly, he rested his injured hand on Ray’s leg, eyes closing, feeling a little comforted. “I’m a coward, too. Don’t know how to live outside of the pack. I tried, but… I don’t know anything. At least now I…” He sniffled a little, squeezing Ray’s knee softly, not wanting to reopen the wound on his finger, now that it had finally stopped bleeding. “Now I know more or less what I’m going to do. It’s decided.”

He wanted to cry, but his eyes already hurt so much. He waited until Ray was rethreading the needle to shift again, folding one arm under his head, stretching out the other arm with its deep scratches so Ray would have an easier time. The pain medication was kicking in, making the deep throbbing ache all over seem a little farther away, easier to deal with. He hoped Spike wouldn't come near him again, that he wouldn’t be some toy for the alpha’s prized bitch to play with. 

“I’m used to being looked down on,” Flint whispered. “I know what people think of me. I’m sure my pack isn’t surprised it’s come to this.” Bitch of a bitch, born from a bitch. “I’ll…I’ll learn. Try not to make anyone angry. Try and…do what they expect from me.” 

His breath hitched, face screwing up. How was he going to live with himself, rolling over for whichever cock wanted to fill him? He tried not to cry, but he couldn’t stop himself, shoving his face into his arm and the pillow.

Ray tried to keep his hands from trembling but he was forced to take breaks between every stitch. He hoped since Flint had taken painkillers and he didn’t seem to be flinching from the pain that being so slow wouldn’t harm him further. There was no bleeding since the wolven regeneration at least took care of that no matter how heightened it was.

It was bad, being comforted by the wolf that needed comfort more than him. 

Being turned bitch… it could have happened for Ray. He was weak enough compared to others and eager to prove that he is strong enough to be recognized in the pack. Perhaps if there were no rules against turning a pack-member into a bitch, if he wasn’t forced to stay in camp and instead he had collided with other stronger wolves… maybe he would have been turned bitch too a long time ago.

Being weak. Being looked down on. Perhaps he wouldn't know the injustice of it if he hadn’t lived through it. But precisely because he knew what that felt like, he knew that the rules were unfair. Life was almost unbearable for those who didn’t fit in.

Spike was the very poster-boy for the stereotype that The Hunt held in high regard.

Ray had always disliked Spike. The ex-alpha had been the one most passionately insisting on getting rid of Ray in the past, freeing the pack from burden to make it stronger… Razor didn’t know about it. Ray knew how much his brother admired strength, it hadn’t felt right taking away his source of admiration and motivation for growth. He also knew that even if he, Carter and Razor would have stood against Spike - they would have lost. The bastard was not above killing his own to assert his dominance. Ray was afraid of losing his brothers, so he never said anything. Now he was happy knowing Spike was no longer their alpha. Delighted even to hear he had turned bitch - it was what the cruel bastard deserved… Though it was hard to believe. He hadn’t really seen it but Razor had. He had told him that the ex alpha had sucked his cock. It sounded like a joke. Like something Razor would make up, too impossible to take seriously…

Now however it was clear that even a man like Spike, who had lived his life according to The Way, who had been someone others envied, who had power and position - even a wolf like him was not safe from the cruelty of the traditions. If someone like Spike could be made bitch… then what did that mean for any of them?

It didn’t matter how a wolf lived, how strong he was, if he abided by the laws - there was always someone bigger and stronger. Someone who could take their life away on a whim. There was no way any of them could ever feel safe…

What Flint said - it was common practice to look down on. It shouldn’t be. Nobody had to get used to that. But it was the world they lived in.

“I will… visit. I’ll try to, every day. Give you a few hours of rest from the others.” Ray said as he was almost done stitching the deep slashes. “I won’t do anything to you…” he paused as he was sure there was no reason for Flint to believe him. There was no reason for any wolf to not take advantage of a bitch. “...I already have a partner. I don’t need anything from a bitch.” he tried to explain, despite his face crumpling as he mentioned his partner. Things were not going well between them recently, but he still hoped they could work them out.

Being reassured that he’d be given rest, be visited, didn’t make Flint feel better. It only served to make him feel more pathetic. He hadn’t even served as a bitch, officially, and he was already a whimpering mess, scared of being made to bend again, to feel that same shame and pain Spike had forced on him. The worst part was that some small part of him had found pleasure in being fucked over the sink. Even through the pain, feeling like he was being torn open, he’d ejaculated, coming all over himself.

What kind of person felt pleasure while being raped? His mother was right. He had been born for little else than becoming someone’s bitch.

Eyes red and wet from sobbing quietly, Flint rubbed at his face, looking back at Ray. He managed a trembling smile which faded quickly. “Thank you,” he mumbled, voice husky.

He looked at his back as well as he could, watching as Ray finished stitching him up. Flint had not really known Reagan before, more he had seen him in passing, given him a smile while drinking with Razor and Spike, been pleasant as Ray was Razor’s brother. Now he was clinging to the idea that maybe Ray would be kind enough to follow through on those words, that he would visit.

He swallowed thickly, throat aching, letting his head rest back on the damp pillow. He needed to rest, take advantage of the time he had before the pack expected him to begin his duties. His stomach still hurt, cramping up beneath the bruises, making his nose twitch. He tried to reassure himself, that he could survive this, that he’d been a bitch in every way but sexually, cleaning and cooking for the pack mate who had been kind enough to take him in when he couldn’t hold down a job. 

He would adjust. He always did. It wasn’t like he had any other choice. His eyes grew heavier, as he sank deeper into pillows that smelled like Razor, the smell of Ray on his skin.

Razor had been distracted as he went back down to help close up the bar. Enough to get a scolding from Zain… which frankly happened often. 

He couldn't help it, thinking back at that damn argument with Ray. Razor had only thought about impressing their new alpha, while also finding himself excited to experience having a bitch for the first time. It had felt strange, adjusting to the change in status to Flint - his friend, a man he had known for a years. No matter how hard he had tried Razor couldn’t attach the sentiment that he was supposed to feel toward a bitch - a disposable shiny new toy. And he could play with it first!

That sounded great when it was in his head… but when he looked at Flint, he could only see a friend he had been injured.

Razor was trying to let go of that old sentiment now, because it was false. He knew that if he did something, said something enough times then it would come naturally. Turn into a habit. He was also aware that Flint had gone against the laws. By trying to claim an already taken bitch it was natural for his pack to disown him, for his reputation to crumble and for his relationships to break. Because he was a piece of shit trying to steal a bitch. He didn’t deserve his name, he didn’t even deserve to be referred to as a person. A common bitch was an object…

But what Ray had yelled in Razor’s face couldn’t leave him alone. Not even when he had punched him in the face. It stayed with him as he was bussing the tables. And it made him upset! He knew the rules, he knew what was right and what was wrong. He also was aware of proper punishment and bitch treatment. He was aware he was right! And Ray was wrong.

But why did it feel like he was the one who was wrong? Why did it feel like he was doing something bad following the rules…

“I’m done.” Ray’s voice and the thump of the medical bag dropping on the bar made Razor almost jump, too immersed in his thoughts. Reagan was glaring at him, a fresh bruise already formed under his eye. Razor frowned back, feeling guilty that he had hit his brother but also righteously justified. “Give him some time to recover. At least a few days.”

Razor growled back. As if he was going to do what Ray told him to? Razor only obeyed the alpha.

“I’m fucking serious.” Reagan growled, stepping closer. “His wounds will reopen and he will need even more time to recover.” his hand was shaking, knuckles white as he obviously stopped himself from reaching toward his brother, shoving or punching him.

“...Fine.” Razor scoffed, looking away. He knew that he was being stubborn because he was still upset from before. There was no point in dragging this challenge on.

“Fine.” Ray repeated, exhaling in a small sigh, his tensed muscles relaxing as he moved past his brother toward the door. “I’ll be back tomorrow.” he added before he left.

Razor looked after him for a moment before he left the bussing tub and headed upstairs. He couldn’t let this be. He needed to make sure that he was doing things properly, that the bitch knew its place. He was responsible. Whatever Ray may have told Flint he needed to make sure that there was no stupid ideas about resisting or refusing… If for no other reason then because he could get hurt if he angered the wrong wolf by refusing to perform his duties. Freedom of choice and opposing the norms was all well and good until it got you killed. It was one of the reasons why Razor was constantly worried about Ray with his bizarre ideas and opinions. He needed to get with the program - do what wolves were supposed to do if he didn’t want to get hurt.

When he got up he found Flint in his own bed, aware that it would have been fine even if he had been left on the couch. However… It was better like this. This way he could make sure none of the other bastards would do anything to Flint before he recovered… and of course most importantly steal the first fuck from him. That was what he cared most about, right?... He had put in all the work - he deserved it. And his work kept him practically a minute away, so he could keep an eye on him while he worked, if the bitch decided to do something stupid, like try and run away…

Razor left him to sleep. Flint slept through the rest of the night. When Razor had to go work, he took small breaks every hour to check up on him, leave him food and water. 

This time however Flint finally woke up from his presence. Razor didn't move, just stared back, trying to figure out if there was something stupid going on in his head - like struggling and fighting back.

"Kiss me." Razor said. A simple order. Curious to see what  the bitch would do.

The smell of another was what woke him. Flint’s nose sniffed a few times before he opened his eyes, finding Ray—no, Razor, staring at him. When had he fallen asleep? He didn’t remember, just remembered being stitched up and feeling so tired. He’d only closed his eyes for a moment, and now he didn’t know what time it was, only that the room was lighter, and the pains all over had faded to a dull ache. His back was still sore, as was his shoulder, but at least his ass didn’t feel nearly as raw.

“…you… what?” Flint asked, feeling stupid the moment the words left his mouth.

At the order— it was an order, wasn’t it? —he blinked stupidly. A kiss? Razor wanted a kiss? Flint swallowed, meeting the man’s eyes briefly, forgetting himself for a moment, looking down quickly. He was supposed to submit, he had to. That meant no eye contact, right? He knew what was expected of bitches, but trying to remember what he was supposed to do, now that he was one,was difficult.

Nodding slightly, he looked at Razor’s mouth. He could manage a kiss. What kind of kiss? He’d only ever had closed mouth kisses. Breathing in, he pushed himself up, as he was still laying on his stomach. He paused, then placed a hand on Razor’s cheek, tilting his head as he leaned over to kiss.

It was soft, chaste. Flint didn’t know any other way to do it. He closed his eyes as he pressed his mouth to Razor’s, holding the position for a few seconds. He could feel a warm pooling of heat in his stomach, traveling to his groin, as his approaching rut made him respond readily. He gasped softly, lips parting as he kissed once more, before pulling back, his eyes still down, face growing red, making the freckles on his face stand out.

Was that all right? He didn’t know what kind of kiss was expected, didn’t even know how another kind of kiss was done, save there was a lot of licking involved. 

Flint let his hand slide away, pressing his lips together as he sat quietly. His brows drew together, confused that he wasn’t more disgusted by the kiss. That his body was instead responding, his heart rate rising as he felt a confusing sweat rise over his skin, anxiety mixing with arousal. He had kissed someone he’d once considered his friend, someone he’d never looked at as more than someone he could joke with and drink with. Someone he had once felt so comfortable around, and now only felt worried about upsetting. 

They both knew the rules, the Way. He knew how he must look in Razor’s eyes, that he was scum for trying to take another’s bitch, and not just any bitch, but someone they had both looked up to. Spike, Razor’s new alpha’s bitch. He wasn’t who he was anymore, not Razor’s friend Flint, he was just an it to be used. Even his body, in pre-rut, was responding like a bitch should, his dick rising slightly, turned on from just a simple kiss. Razor’s scent was all around him, and Ray’s scent on his skin. The twin scents, along with the kiss, was starting to make him feel lightheaded.

Razor tried to figure Flint out, figure what he was thinking as he blinked with a blank expression at him. Their eyes met, Razor staring down at the man. A challenge? But no. He looked away... he was almost surprised how compliant Flint was. Without making any fuss, without even looking like he considered fighting back. 

Flint looked down at his lips nervously, reaching and placing a hand almost shyly. Razor was surprised. He didn’t know what he had expected but this kind of submission and shy nervousness wasn’t it. Then Flint pressed his lips on his in a close mouthed soft kiss - inexperienced and innocent. It almost reminded Razor of his first kiss when he was still a teenager… As Flint dropped back down into the pillow, Razor inhaled the scent that lingered heavily on the man. Pre-rut. Heavy. It would come soon. Razor’s body couldn’t help but react to the scent. The challenge of another male getting his blood pumping. Different than the uncontrollable urge to mate he would feel in the presence of women close to their heat. It was a call for fight and violence and dominance. One that made his blood boil with confusing desire to claim and fuck.

"Alright." he said with a growl that he couldn’t contain. It was clear that Flint wasn't thinking of fighting. Perhaps he understood his place. That was good - he didn't have to worry that the other from the pack would hurt him. If he fought, Flint might not survive. For now this was acceptable— 

Razor plunged down and took the bitch's mouth hungrily. He could feel his own heartbeat in his throat - excitement, thirst and satisfaction mixing into one as he kissed deep, teeth nipping a bit too hard at soft lips until Flint parted them. He didn’t really know what he was doing. He was led by instinct, flamed by the scent of rut, desire for dominance and the knowledge that Flint was a bitch. Underneath it he could still remember that Flint had been his friend, that they had known each other for years… but he couldn’t help it. Once he knew this was a wolf open for taking, for using, the restraint in him had snapped. There was something more primal leading him, something more animal than human. A deep need for physical dominance and sex… Razor didn’t know if he had felt anything like it before. He had been around plenty of wolves close to rut and he had never responded to the scent in this manner. Whatever it was, he didn’t have the capacity to think about it now.

For a moment, Flint worried he’d done it all wrong, that Razor was expecting some kind of talent, which he knew he was lacking. Despite talking about breeding women with pups, he’d never gotten past heavy petting. It wasn’t for a lack of trying, but it was obvious to every woman he’d tried to court that he was trying too hard. He’d been told more than once that his attempts were clumsy and pathetic.

The growl in Razor’s voice made him freeze. He’d done it wrong, wrong— His eyes were wide as Razor dove down on him, a soft bark of surprise muffled as he found himself being kissed. The swelling in his lips had gone down while he’d slept so it didn’t ache when Razor devoured him whole. That’s how it felt, his mind fading away from surprise, followed by a raging inferno as he smelled Razor’s arousal, his pre-rut body responding in full. He didn’t know what to do, his mouth opening on a soft breath at the nipping, eyes sliding shut as he felt tongue, and mind clouding over as the need he’d been feeling, growing stronger as his rut grew near, completely overwhelmed his brain. 

His senses were telling him something was off about the scent falling over him as he felt pinned to the bed, hands grasping on Razor’s shoulders, then clutching at Razor’s back. Another male, aggression mixed with the smell of growing lust, sending a flicker of alarm through him, which was quickly swallowed by his own growing desire. 

This was Razor, a voice in the back of his head was trying to tell him, Razor! A friend, who was no longer a friend, someone who was now ranked so high above him he didn’t dare refuse the demand for a kiss, his head tilting back as he attempted to show throat, to submit, yet he also couldn’t help but struggle the slightest bit. The alarm at being pinned and confused was drowned beneath growing need, however, his squirming becoming an arching rock of his hips, cock fully erect, seeking some kind of stimulation against the body pressing him down.

Flint groaned, then whined, the sounds muffled and raspy in his damaged throat, as he attempted to kiss back. His tongue moved awkwardly, clearly unpracticed, but enthusiastic as the pre-rut burned through his hesitation. There was a sharp pain in his back and shoulders as he arched and clung, his wolf answering the demanding kiss, cock rubbing against the hot body above him. He had never been kissed like this, had never felt anyone’s lust answering his own, and his hormones were going wild, the heady scent of pre-rut and need breaking out over his skin as he started to sweat.

It was an open mouthed kiss yet Razor didn't shove his tongue in Flint's mouth brutally. He was still holding on to some of his reasons beyond the frenzy triggered by the bitch’s approaching rut. The tip of his tongue grazed Flints, went away and then came back with more power, still too little to feel violent, but enough to feel forcefully aggressive. Razor liked kissing, it was as much part of sex as everything else... 

His mind was getting fuzzy with hunger as the scent of blood mixed in with the scorching need pushing at him to fuck. Hands on his shoulders, gripping stronger than womens, moving, sliding and gripping over his back, holding him down. Not that he wanted to get back up. He growled as he pulled the blanket away, revealing a naked chest and the base of the bitch’s hard cock. 

Razor didn’t care how clumsily Flint kissed him back. It only mattered that he was completely willing. The bitch pulled at him, pressed himself into him, rubbed his cock into him, a drop of precum smearing over his shirt. The scent was growing heavier and Razor couldn’t focus on anything else—

He didn’t notice when the door had been opened, nor did he notice anyone enter the room. He only knew of it when he felt the hand, the nails digging in his neck as he was yanked back, slipping out of the bitch’s arms and stumbling back. Snarling as he looked up to see Reagen staring him down furious. Ray didn’t say anything; he roared at his brother and shoved him toward the door. Razor stammered back, slamming into the door before he fell on the other side. Reagan looked back for a second, at Flint, aroused and panting, reeking of rut. Ray grunted as he stepped out slamming the door behind. Outside, without the mind-muddling scent of rut he grabbed at his brother’s collar and lifted him up.

“What did I fuckin’ tell you?” he growled in his face. Flint had not been this far in his rut yet. He wouldn’t have been if something sexual wasn’t initiated. The scent of blood in the room must have been from his back since he could see Razor was still in his pants.

Razor growled back but a few seconds after the fog in his glowing eyes lifted enough for him to recognize what he was doing, huff in surprise and step back, smacking Ray’s hands away. Ray let go as Razor took another step back, huffing heavy breaths of air.

“I… shit… I wasn’t… I didn’t plan to.” he stammered with his words, still finding it difficult to think properly.

Ray exhaled heavy, dark shadows under his eyes visible behind his glasses.

Flint wanted. He wanted deeply, his body not registering the pain from his stitches pulling and ripping open as he clung to Razor, needing more contact, more heat, more of everything. 

When Razor pulled back for a moment, Flint tried to hold onto him, gasping harshly as the covers were pulled away, his eyes glowing slightly as he was fully exposed, looking up, then groaning as he was being covered by Razor’s body, mouth opening for more kisses, the moan in his throat catching and hitching as his bare cock met fabric.

Flint had experienced ruts before, of course he had, but never like this. Never with another body pressed to his, his senses filled with the smell of male and arousal, and loving that. He forgot any semblance of submission, kissing back as well as he could manage, rolling like a fish beneath Razor’s body, wanting whatever the wolf would give him, looking into dark eyes.

When the contact was suddenly pulled away, Flint clung to Razor, his sweaty palms losing their grip. The cold rushed in, jolting him, the haze slightly clearing from his eyes. What was he doing? His hips pumped up into empty air, whining softly as he watched Ray pulling Razor away, his mind having a hard time coming back to him. The door slamming was jarring in his head, making him flinch and whimper.

What had he…? His rut. Why was it so close? He still had a few more days until— Moaning pitifully, he rolled onto his side, face in the pillow, inhaling sharply as he felt the pain in his shoulder and back. His rut felt so much closer, like it was only a day or two away, hips twitching forward against the pillow he buried his face and chest into. What was different? Was it Razor? Being touched?

Razor. He’d nearly given himself over without any thought. And Reagan had come in, seen him like that. Flint tried to slow his breathing, throat aching as he huffed in shallow breaths. Barely two days as a bitch, and he was already thirstily grabbing at the first man to approach him. It was his rut, he knew that, but it didn’t help the wave of revulsion at himself. He’d never been kissed like that, touched like that, or had himself exposed in a sexual way.

Breathing slowly, he shifted his hips away from the pillow, looking down at his cock. No knot had formed, but he’d already felt so close to orgasm. Groaning, humiliated, he flopped his face back into the pillow, willing the erection away. Thinking how his sisters would have reacted to the sight of him now did the trick, though the tingle of need hadn’t fully left him. His rut would arrive sooner than he’d thought, and he was here, trapped with the Bloodhound pack. He bit his lip hard, scrubbing at his sweaty face.

Razor was breathing deeply. He still couldn’t process what exactly he had been doing and why. It was one thing to have fun with a bitch, and a whole other to lose his damn mind! He had never felt this out of control before even when he had been lost to bloodlust during the war. At least then he could still understand when to attack and when to retreat. Now however he had no control over himself. He couldn’t pull away even if he wanted to. Ray had come in the right moment, before he went too far. Razor felt terrible. He had wanted to wait until Flint was healed. Detecting the scent of blood - that wasn’t something he wanted when it came to having sex. He didn’t like to inflict pain, he didn’t like to be forceful. Sex for him was just about pleasure  - his as well as his partner. It wasn’t a battle that needed to be won and he didn’t care about breeding. It was all about pleasure…

But what he had been doing. What he had started to do - there had been no pleasure, just burning need and inflicting pain…

“Ray. I’m—m sorry.” Razor mumbled, managing to retract his claws and teeth, shaking the primal out of his head. “I— don’t know what came over me…”

“You should apologize to him, not to me.” Ray scoffed, the edges of the sound rounded into a growl. He was still on edge. He couldn’t believe his own brother had attacked his old friend, completely disregarding their past relations. Ready to mount him like an animal with no care for his injuries…

Ray finally swallowed his anger and looked at Razor, really looked at him. Saw how shaken he seemed. He didn’t know what was going on in his head but whatever had happened… maybe it had been prompted by Flints rut? He hadn’t known his brother to jump at anyone in their rut of heat but what could he know. Ray usually tried to steer away from the subject of sex. 

He sighed, the harshness of his eyes mellowing. 

“Go downstairs. Get some air. I’ll tend to his wounds.”

Razor’s mouth was in a line. His heart had shrunk small, worried about what he had done and about what Ray thought of him. But when he saw his brother's eyes soften, he felt like he could breathe again.

“...yeah.” he swallowed hard and ran his fingers through his short hair. “I’ll do that...” 

With his erection gone, and the cold air over his bare skin, Flint was slowly able to think a little more clearly. He was shocked and a little disgusted with himself. He’d thrown himself at a man. A man . And not just any man, but someone he’d considered a friend, someone he’d spent the years since the war getting to know. 

He groaned, the sound high and reedy, pathetic sounding. Like some bitch waiting to be filled. Yet, even with the disgust at what he’d nearly done, he couldn’t deny how nice it had felt. The heat of another body, the kissing , by Volden’s rotten corpse, the kissing. As a man he knew he shouldn’t want that, shouldn’t be disappointed that Reagan had interrupted them, while also feeling relief that he hadn’t performed his first duties as a bitch so soon, and while still injured.

Flint heaved a breath, eyes still a little unfocused as he stared at the wall. He was confused in so many ways. The disgust he felt was…not as strong as he’d been led to believe it should be. The way he’d heard his pack talk, he’d understood that a man wanting another man, especially to be fucked by another man, was wrong and repulsive. Men like that may as well be women, as they wanted to have sex like women. Men like that were meant to become bitches, to take whatever cock they could. Yet… 

It wasn’t gross. The feeling of Razor’s mouth on his was… It had been good. Almost gentle, then overwhelming in a way that felt strangely right. He didn’t understand that. Didn’t want to know what it meant, his stomach twisting as he feared that his mother had been right, that he’d always been destined to become a bitch. How had she known?

Feeling his eyes tearing up, his back and shoulder screaming with pain, and his stomach twisting around both confusion and hunger, Flint buried his face in the pillow. It smelled of Razor, of him, and some part of him really liked that. He didn’t want to like it. It made everything so much worse, just proving what his mother and pack had always known: he was deeply flawed in some way. 

Gasping softly, hearing the door opening, he looked up. Seeing Ray, he wiped at his eyes, looking away shamefully.

Ray waited enough so he could calm himself before entering the room. The last thing he wanted was to scare Flint as the man was obviously injured and taken advantage of. It didn’t matter if he was close to rut. It had never been impossible for Razor to control himself before. There were other wolves that got overtaken by their instincts but Razor wasn’t one of them. Ray knew that. He had lived with his brother almost all his life. Perhaps it was possible if Razor hadn;t had a chance to fuck in a while, riled up by the display of their former alpha getting bred in the bar earlier. Ray knew Razor enjoyed watching that…

“I’m coming in to check your injuries.” Ray said as he entered the room, leaving the door open. He hoped that would show he wasn’t planning on doing anything in private. He approached the bed but he didn’t make any move to touch Flint as the man kept his head away with a twisted expression. “I apologize if I overstepped but my brother didn’t seem to be in his right mind.”

The scent of rut was thick around the man, so much so that Ray was surprised he wasn’t already in it. He wasn’t as heavily affected by it as Razor had been. It was unsettling, like an itching want under his skin but he wasn’t sure what exactly that want was.

The tingling feeling of a close rut was under his skin, making Flint feel like there was a live wire jolting him every few seconds. His muscles kept tensing and twitching, his stomach taut as his breathing was difficult to keep relaxed. Even the scent of Reagan made him shiver and want to whine with need. 

Flint swallowed thickly, shifting onto his knees, pulling the blanket around his waist as he sat up. “Razor didn’t hurt me,” he mumbled, voice still hoarse from what the alpha had done, his eyes heavily dilated as he looked down, showing Ray his back and shoulder. “Just the cuts got strained. He didn’t do that either.”

His hair was a mess, getting worse as he scrubbed his fingers through the sweaty strands, sniffling through a red and puffy feeling nose. He didn’t want Ray to see him like this, broken down to nothing, and dizzy from a quickly approaching rut. It should still be a few days away, but the heat under his skin made it more than apparent to him that he’d be lucky to make it two days before he’d be under the irrational need to breed. 

“My ruts are…” 

He breathed in, not knowing why he needed to explain; maybe he wanted to defend Razor’s reaction, be a good bitch who took the blame, or maybe it was his stupid tendency to try and please everyone. 

“They’re strong. My pack used to say how bad I smelled. Kick me out to the woods to take care of it. My pack mate after the war, he’d kick me out of our shared room. Tell me to stop stinking up the place.” Flint closed his eyes as Ray examined him, shivering as he swallowed down his moan. “It’s not his fault. I wanted—“ His voice caught, making him cough, clear his throat. “I don’t know what I wanted.” He finished on a whisper.

It was frightening. If he was like this already, before his rut, what would he be like during it? What would the pack do with him, when the need to breed was so strong? It made him want to run, to hide until he was able to get through his rut.

Ray was biting at the inside of his cheeks trying to keep himself composed and under control. There was no use for emotions. No use to feel angry for what his brother did or what would inevitably happen with Flint. As the pack’s bitch he would be used and it was only a horrible stroke of luck that the man was approaching his rut. That would only escalate things and rile up the others…

He focused his attention on Flint's back and shoulder, reaching in the bag before he went to clean off the blood, disinfect the pulled stitches and inspect if any of them had snapped or had they just been pulled enough to make them bleed.

“I…” Ray hesitated. Did he really think he could do anything to protect this man? No matter how much he disagreed, he was one against many. He couldn’t fight off the pack especially if they were riled up by a bitch in rut… “I’ll try to keep them from hurting you.” he said, defeated. He couldn’t do anything more than that… “Fuck… You have such horrible luck…” 

He didn’t know what he was frustrated more about - how helpless he was or how unlucky Flint was.