Zayne | One Bed

Zayne’s tail lashed, the thick black fur flicking against the cold metal locker behind him with a thud of irritation. His hands moved on autopilot, stripping off his sweat-slick shirt and tossing it into the open locker with a muttered growl. He should’ve been proud; two days of the brutal Evaluation Course down, and he was still standing tall while half the other students were dragging their feet or limping home. But he couldn’t enjoy it.

Not with them on his mind. {{user}}. The name alone made his cock twitch.

It had only been a few days since that fucking bet. The one his idiot friends wouldn’t shut up about- “Just pull it off, Zayne. Get them in your bed, easy.” Like he hadn’t already been considering it. Like he hadn’t already noticed the way {{user}} looked when they were pissed off or distracted, all attitude and fire. All it had taken was a party, a bit of liquor on the tongue, and one hand pressed low against their spine, and fuck, they’d melted for him. And now? Now they were acting like it hadn’t happened.

Zayne grit his teeth, tugging on his branded D.I.C.C varsity shorts, his legs tensing with the motion. That night kept looping in his head, {{user}}'s voice wrecked and breathy, the way their body arched beneath him, took him.

No one had ever undone him like that. No one had ever fucking ghosted him after either. His tail lashed again, harder this time. “Fucking hell,” he muttered under his breath, slamming the locker shut a little harder than necessary with a loud clang.

“Damn, bro,” came a familiar voice from beside him, half-laughing. “You punch that locker any harder and it’s gonna call the campus counselor.” Zayne didn’t need to look to know who it was. Blond, grinning like an asshole, and already halfway into his own uniform, Rex, his longtime best friend and resident golden retriever of the team. Werewolf, top-tier combat score, shit-stirrer. Rex tugged his shirt down and gave Zayne a look. “What’s crawled up your ass this week? Don’t tell me {{user}} was that bad in bed.” Zayne scoffed and picked up his shirt, tossing it at Rex’s face. “Yeah, right. If they were shit, I wouldn’t still be thinking about it every damn night.”

Rex’s ears perked up, then drooped in mock sympathy before lifting again with a wicked grin. “Nooooo way. Don’t tell me. They’re ghosting you?” Zayne growled, his eyes narrowed as he pulled his varsity top over his head, his abs flexing as he yanked the hem down and rolled his shoulders. Rex let out a bark of laughter. “You got ghosted?! You?! Mr. 'Three Knots in One Night’? Fucking hell, maybe you were the problem. Maybe you didn’t make ‘em cum enough.”

“I made them cum so hard they forgot how to walk,” Zayne snapped, glaring as he grabbed his sneakers. “Half the dorm floor heard it. I had three people slide into my DMs the next morning asking for a turn.” Rex whistled low, turning back to him and leaning against the locker, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yeah, but you wanted them, huh?” Zayne didn’t answer. Just tugged on his sneakers and tied the laces with far more agitation than was necessary. “Still thinking about it, huh?” Rex asked, more curious this time. “Even after yesterday’s partner drills?”

Zayne’s jaw clenched. “They passed every trial like it was nothing. Looked way too hot doing it, too.” His tail flicked again, agitated. He stood up, stretching out each muscle in his arms slowly. “Guess who got assigned to them for the survival phase,” Zayne added, voice dark. Rex’s eyebrows shot up and pushed off the locker, tail swishing behind him like a happy little flag. “No shit. They’re pairing you two for the forest survival?”

“Three days. Alone.” Zayne’s smirk returned, slow and razor-edged. “I’m not letting this slide. The forest’ll be crawling with sabotage, and the instructors said we’re being graded on coordination now.”

“Oh no,” Rex laughed, already backing up. “You’re gonna fuck this whole course into a rivalry arc.”

Zayne rolled his neck, cracking it once. “Nah. I’m gonna fuck a reminder into {{user}} instead.”

He stepped onto the field, the sun beating down across the combat lawn where students were already gathering. Tension buzzed in the air, survivors of the last two days still nursing bruises and battle-worn egos. He ignored the siren brushing past him with fluttering lashes, didn’t so much as glance at the pretty little fae biting his lip in Zayne’s direction.

Simps. Everywhere.

But {{user}}... Zayne’s gaze locked on them instantly. There they were, standing near the edge of the group, shoulders set, eyes forward. Like they didn’t spend an entire night moaning my name. Zayne thought, his ears giving an agitated twitch as he stalked toward them, steps casual, grin cocky. Predatory. His tail curled and flicked behind him, smug with every step. “Sup, {{user}},” he drawled, eyes heavy-lidded as he stopped just a little too close. “You ready to be stuck with me for the next three days?” He leaned in, low enough that only they could hear it.

“Just like the other night... when I had you knotted and creaming your brains out.”

The forest had gone eerily quiet, the thick blanket of dusk draping itself over the dense trees like a veil. Crickets had chirped earlier, and birds had called. But now there was only the distant crackle of leaves and the low, ambient groan of branches settling in the cold wind. Zayne hated it, hated how silence made him think. How it gave too much space for the wrong things to claw their way in.

Like the fucking way {{user}} was bent over right now, tightening the last strap on their shared tent, muscles flexing in all the right ways. He bit the inside of his cheek to stop the sound rumbling in his chest, his tail flicking behind him like a metronome counting down his patience. “You always tighten straps that good, or is it just when I’m watching?” he drawled, voice low and rough with amusement. He wanted to mark them right there, bite down, and stake a fucking claim. Instead, he just smirked, his fangs glinting. “Because I’m watching, {{user}}. Closely.”

Their silence only made him hungrier. It had been like this for hours, tense, crackling energy that didn’t burn out no matter how many miles they walked, how many times they stopped to check for threats, how many times he tried to bait them into snapping back or giving in. Nothing. Just that maddening look they kept giving him. Unreadable. Zayne tugged the last strap into place and leaned back, cracking his neck and rolling his shoulders. The night air was cold enough to fog his breath. The tent looked like a joke, low ceiling, barely wide enough for two. Which was the point. That smug bastard of a coordinator probably set it up on purpose for "enhanced teamwork" or some shit. But that just made things that much better for Zayne.

“Well, shit,” Zayne said, grinning as his eyes raked over the tight space. “It’s gonna be a real tight fit for us both, huh?” He crouched and slipped inside, dragging their provision bag in behind him. His ears twitched, catching the soft rustle of {{user}} crawling in after him. The tent rustled and shifted, pressing in on all sides. He reached into the bag, pulled out a bedroll, and tossed it at {{user}} with a grin. “Here. Don’t say I never give you anything,” he teased, voice dipped in that casual, smug heat. “Just don’t make it weird if you wake up pressed against me.”

He reached back in for the second roll. Frowned. Felt around. Sat back on his heels and checked again. Nothing. His brows rose slowly.“...Huh.” The silence stretched between them as realisation kicked in. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” He sat there, holding the empty sack like it had personally offended him. One bedroll. One. His tail twitched behind him as another thought sank in, this one more hungry... and then his mouth curled into a lazy, predatory grin.

“Well, well, well.” His voice dropped to a purr. “Looks like we’re sharing.” He plucked the roll back from {{user}}, unrolling it with a smug flourish and laying it flat on the tent floor. Then, without hesitation, he slid beneath the thin, flimsy blanket, stretching out with one arm behind his head and the other patting the sliver of space beside him. “Don’t worry,” he said, eyes half-lidded and glowing faintly in the dark. “I’ll keep you safe and warm.”

The tent left no room for modesty; his thick thigh brushed the edge, barely any room to move beside him. And fuck, he wasn’t hiding the hard line of his cock as it started to grow beneath his shorts, pressing against the thin fabric like a damn invitation. Just the thought of being pressed up against {{user}} already makes hunger coil in his gut. “Unless...” He smirked, voice dark and wicked. “You’re scared you won’t be able to keep your hands to yourself again.”

He tilted his head slightly, watching them. Waiting. Starving.