Death Growl
Come check out the music they said. You’ll love the band. Zane always puts on the best shows.
What no one had thought to inform him of was that the show was interactive, and that Zane, or at least, Graham was certain the white wolf who’d pulled him up on the stage to dance was Zane, was the definition of sinful. The wolf had gone from belting out lyrics to gyrating with the mic stand, waist length white hair damp with sweat, those silver-blue eyes of theirs seeming to glow every time the strobe lights flashed silver. When the mic stand got boring, Zane growled into the mic, prompting the crowd to howl back. The energy in the room was electric, crackling like a live wire, revved up even more when the singer leapt, twisting to land in the crowd, the wolves surfing them around the room, which was how they’d come to land in front of Graham in the first place.
Androgynous, with high cheekbones, their features soft, like a shimmering sprite, ethereal and enchanting as all get up. This close up, he could see the dusting of glitter on their cheekbones, the khol around their eyes and the sparkle of purple lip gloss that was smeared from where they’d made out with one of their bandmates earlier in the show. Zane smirked, flicked their tongue out, rolled their shoulders and wiggled their hips, growling when Graham said to hell with teasing, yanked the singer into his arms and started to grind against them, being sure they felt the strength in Graham’s embrace. Grinning, Zane wrapped their arms around Graham’s neck, straddled his thigh, and howled, hips rocking like a fuckin’ jackrabbit in heat.
Someone grabbed Zane’s hair, tugging their head back until they were looking at the ceiling, the wolf’s midnight eyes holding a hint of challenge as he smirked at Graham before howling, the crowd and Zane howling with him while the guitars in the background raced on. On any other night Graham would have let go of the singer, conceding so this pack wouldn’t find out that their new doctor had a temper and a jealous streak that had gotten him in trouble in the past. Tonight though, with the way Zane fit in his arms, and the wild crackle of energy surrounding them, there was no way he was letting go.
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Grabbing midnight eye’s wrist, he found the pressure point, squeezing until the other wolf grimaced and released his hold on Zane’s hair. Snarling, Graham glared at him until he threw his hands up and backed away, leaving him with the lithe figure dancing in his arms. The look Zane was giving him, wicked, wild, and full of seduction, had Graham’s jeans feeling tight and his heart hammering like he’d just finished a three-mile sprint. Behind them the song wound down, but rather than return to the stage, Zane turned enough to shake their hand across their throat several times, telling them to cut.
Any other place he’d ever been would have erupted into boos and protests, but here there were good natured chuckles, lewd comments, and a reminder to come back in three days for another show.
“My place or yours?” Zane hissed, leaning in and licking the shell of Graham’s ear.
“Whichever is closer,” Graham growled.
“In that case, there’s an RV out back. Band knows better than to load out until it stops rockin’”
“Does it ever?”
Chuckling, Zane grabbed him by the hand and practically dragged him through the packed bar, downing a drink someone shoved at them, and catching a beer pitched in their direction on the way out the door. The ease with which they’d done it, automatic, flinging their hand up in the air without ever looking in the direction it was thrown from, told Graham it was commonplace.
The white-haired wolf had that beer open and sliding down their throat before they got out the back door, a large, dented gray and black RV parked beneath a bright streetlight.
“What happened? Play too rough?”
“Is that even a thing?” Zane replied, speaking voice as musical as their singing one. “I mean how can one play too rough?”
“Well, from a physician’s standpoint, I’d have to say that if those dents were made by your body, then whoever was helping you put them there might have been just a smidge rough.”
“Really,” Zane asked, opening the door and leading Graham onto the bus, passing a trash receptacle where they deposited the now empty bottle. “And if that’s what I asked for?”
“Was it?”
Snickering, Zane peeled their half-shredded t-shirt off and tossed it aside, leading Graham through to the back of the TV. “Nope, but now that you put it in my head, I’m gonna have to try it sometimes.”