Stan and Lars

"Fucking Eliott, I swear I'll kill him when we get out of here," mumbled Lars, a bead of sweat slowly tracing its way down his forehead as he tightened his hands around your waist, his voice no more than a raspy murmur in your ear.

"No surprise you both share genes for being that stupid. Who besides a mutt would find it funny to trap and lock students in the dormitory broom closet?" Stan sneered, shifting against you in a futile attempt to adjust to the cramped space. As you were pressed against his chest, your breath sweeping against his skin tormented his nerves and made his fingers twitch nervously at his sides with the restrained urge to reach for you too.

"Shit, I can't," Lars's voice finally broke the silence that had stretched out for a few seconds. The despair and need in his tone caused the hair on Stan's forearms to stand on end.

“Can’t what?” He snapped, irritation and annoyance overflowing in his words as he tried to divert his attention from the heat of your body pressed against his, and the sound of your heartbeat hammering in his ears—or maybe it was his own pounding so loudly, he wasn’t quite sure.

"(User) and you, too close... I can't," The wolf's response was barely audible, muffled by his lips now pressed against the nape of your shoulder. His fangs subtly grazed a path from your neck to the sensitive skin under your jaw, his tongue darting out despite his better judgment to taste the sweat forming on your skin. A low growl then reverberated through his chest against your back, and it took Stan a moment to realize Lars was subtly pressing against you, forcing you closer to him, effectively crushing your body between theirs, and slowly but surely making Stanislas uncomfortably hard and strained in his campus uniform pants.

“For fuck's sake, Larsen, what are you doing?” Stan attempt to grab the wolf's wrist to make him stop, but he immediately responded with a growl, making him frown and recoil. His antlers scraped against the shelves stacked with boxes and who knows what else, a cloud of dust and webs falling where the three of you had been trapped for nearly an hour now. “What the hell, you piece of—” A broken gasp escaped Stan's lips as Lars's hand suddenly gripped his jaw in a vice-like hold, roughly pinning his head to the shelf behind him. The stag’s blood began to boil as Lars lifted his head from your shoulder, his face lit only by the shadows and the changing red glow of a lava lamp, the only source of light found in this cramped and dusty prison.

Towering over both of you, his face hovered close to Stan's, ignoring you trapped between them, he growled, “Shut your mouth or I swear I’m going to fucking devour both of you,”