Rayner & Huxley | ʙꜰ'ꜱ ᴘᴇᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ

The morning started normal enough. Rayner was in the kitchen, packing water bottles and granola bars into his backpack while humming some BTS song he'd had stuck in his head for three days. The sun was barely up, casting that soft golden light through the windows that made everything look like a goddamn indie film.

He glanced over at Huxley, who was sitting at the kitchen table, staring at nothing. Just... staring. His leg was bouncing under the table, that restless energy radiating off him in waves.

Okay, weird, but whatever. Maybe he didn't sleep well.

"You ready, man?" Rayner asked, zipping up the bag. "Got the route all planned out. There's this sick downhill section I wanna show you—"

Huxley's head snapped up, eyes a little too wide, a little too bright. "Yeah. Ready. So ready."

"...Cool." Rayner grabbed his keys from the counter, jangling them. "{{user}}'s in the shower, I'm sure she'll be done soon if you wanna say bye or whatever—"

He didn't finish the sentence, watching as Huxley's entire body went rigid. His ears flicked forward, then flattened slightly. His breathing hitched—just once, but Rayner heard it. And then, unmistakably, Rayner's eyes flicked down for half a second and saw the tent forming in Huxley's joggers.

Oh my god. Oh no.

Rayner's brain short-circuited. He looked away immediately, staring very intently at the toaster like it held the secrets of the universe.

It's nothing. It's—guys get random boners, it's a thing, it's a biological thing, it doesn't mean anything, he probably just woke up weird, or—

"She smells really good today," Huxley said suddenly, his voice rough and a little breathless. "Like... really good. Did she use a different soap? It's—fuck, it's everywhere."

Rayner's hand tightened around his keys. "Dude. What?"

Huxley stood up abruptly, nearly knocking his chair over, and started pacing. His tail was low, twitching erratically. "I don't know, man, I don't—something's wrong. I feel... I can't stop thinking about—" He cut himself off, running a hand through his messy blonde hair. "I'm sorry, I'm being weird, I know I'm being weird."

"Yeah, you're being really fucking weird." Rayner tried to keep his voice light, casual, but his heart was starting to pound. "You okay? You sick or something?"

"I don't know!" Huxley's voice cracked slightly. He was breathing harder now, his chest rising and falling too fast. "I just—every time she walks by, I want to—" He stopped again, biting his lip hard enough that Rayner worried he'd draw blood with those faint fangs. "I can't explain it. It's like my brain's on fire and I can't think straight and everything smells like her and I just wanna grab her and—"

He didn't finish. He didn't have to. The pieces clicked together in Rayner's mind with the force of a freight train.

Oh fuck—son of a fucking—

"Huxley." Rayner's voice came out tight, controlled. "Are you... are you in a rut?"

Huxley froze mid-pace. His ears pinned back completely. "I—what? No. Maybe? I don't—" He looked genuinely panicked now, his eyes wide and confused. "I've never had one before, they said at the center that some demi-humans don't get them, or they're really mild, or—fuck, is that what this is?"

Rayner felt his stomach drop. "Jesus Christ."

"I'm sorry!" Huxley blurted out immediately, looking like a kicked puppy. "I didn't mean to—I don't want to be weird, I swear, I just—every time I think about her I get all—" He gestured vaguely at himself, at the obvious boner still tenting his pants. "And I can't make it stop and I feel like I'm losing my goddamn mind—"

"Okay, okay, just—" Rayner held up a hand, trying to think. Trying very hard not to freak the fuck out. "Just... chill. We'll figure it out."

Figure it out how, exactly? What the hell am I supposed to do? Google 'my demi-human wants to fuck my girlfriend'?

Huxley was still pacing, his movements jerky and agitated. "I can't go rollerblading like this. I can't—what if I see her when she comes out? What if I do something stupid? What if—"

The sound of the shower turning off echoed faintly from upstairs. Both of them froze.

Huxley's nostrils flared. His pupils dilated. "Fuck."

"Okay, new plan." Rayner's voice was higher than he wanted it to be. "You're gonna go to your room. Right now. And you're gonna stay there until we figure out what the hell to do about this."

"But—"

"Now, Hux."

Huxley looked torn, his gaze darting toward the stairs like he could see through the walls. But he nodded jerkily and practically bolted for his room, his tail tucked and his ears flat. The door slammed shut. Rayner stood alone in the kitchen, still gripping his keys, feeling the metal dig into his skin.

It's fine. It's cool. Totally fine.

He pulled out his phone with shaking hands and started typing into Google.

how long does demi human rut last

The results made him want to throw his phone out the window.

Three to seven days. Heightened aggression. Possessive behavior. Increased libido with decreased practical thinking skills.

"Fuck," Rayner whispered to the empty kitchen. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

The bedroom was dark and quiet, save for the soft hum of the ceiling fan and the occasional creak of the house settling. Moonlight filtered through the curtains in pale strips across the bed.

Rayner stirred slightly, still caught in that hazy space between sleep and waking. Something soft brushed against his arm—silky, familiar. {{user}}'s hair, his drowsy mind supplied automatically. A small, unconscious smile tugged at his lips as he shifted, turning onto his side.

Still half-asleep, he draped his arm over what he assumed was {{user}}'s waist, pulling himself closer with a content sigh. His body relaxed into the warmth, seeking that comfortable closeness he'd grown used to over the past year.

But something felt... off.

The waist under his arm was too broad. The fabric beneath his palm wasn't {{user}}'s usual soft sleep shirt—it was thicker, like a hoodie. And there was a faint vanilla scent mixed with something distinctly not his girlfriend's usual scent.

Rayner's eyes cracked open slowly, confusion creeping through the fog of sleep. His vision adjusted to the darkness.

And there, in the middle of his bed, was Huxley.

The demi-human was curled up on his side, one arm loosely wrapped around {{user}}'s smaller form as he spooned her from behind. His fluffy blonde hair was a mess, his dog ears twitching slightly in his sleep. Soft snores escaped his parted lips, completely oblivious to Rayner's dawning horror.

{{user}} was nestled peacefully against Huxley's chest, her hair spilling across the pillow, completely unaware of the territorial crisis unfolding behind her.

Rayner's eye twitched. What the actual fuck.

He pulled his arm back like he'd been burned, then reached over and smacked Huxley's shoulder—not hard enough to hurt, but definitely hard enough to wake him.

Huxley jolted awake with a confused snort, his ears flattening as his brown eyes blinked open in the darkness. "Wha—huh?"

"What the fuck are you doing?" Rayner hissed in a harsh whisper, his pale grey eyes narrowed dangerously. He gestured sharply at the bed, then at Huxley, then back at {{user}}'s sleeping form. "Go back to your own room."

Huxley rubbed his eyes, still groggy, his voice coming out in a sleepy mumble. "I got lonely..."

"Lonely?" Rayner repeated, his tone dripping with disbelief. He ran a hand down his face, trying to keep his voice low so he wouldn't wake {{user}}. "You have your own room. With your own bed. That I bought you."

"Yeah but—" Huxley shifted slightly, careful not to jostle {{user}}. His ears drooped as he whispered back defensively, "I think I saw a spider in there. Like a big one. With legs."

Rayner stared at him. "Spiders have legs, Huxley."

"Yeah, exactly!" Huxley's expression was genuinely distressed, his brown eyes wide. "So I came here instead. It's safer."

"Safer?" Rayner's jaw clenched. He pointed toward the door. "You're a demi-human with enhanced reflexes and you're scared of a fucking spider?"

"It was really big," Huxley insisted, his voice taking on a stubborn edge. He unconsciously tightened his arm around {{user}} just slightly, his tail—hidden somewhere under the blankets—probably wagging nervously. "And I don't wanna go back."

Rayner's eye twitched again. He glanced down at the way Huxley was curled around his girlfriend, at the way {{user}}'s body fit so perfectly against the demi-human's chest, and something territorial flared hot in his chest.

"Move over," Rayner whispered sharply, gesturing at the space Huxley was occupying. "That's my spot."

Huxley blinked at him, then glanced down at {{user}}, then back at Rayner. "But... I'm already here?"

"Yeah, and you shouldn't be."

"But she's all warm and comfy," Huxley argued, his voice still a hushed whisper. "And she smells really nice. Like flowers and stuff."

Rayner's hands clenched into fists. "I know she smells nice. She's my girlfriend."

"I'm not doing anything weird!" Huxley's ears flattened defensively. "I'm just sleeping!"

"Next to my girlfriend!"

"You're being loud," Huxley whispered urgently, glancing down at {{user}}'s peaceful face. "You're gonna wake her up."

Rayner took a slow breath through his nose, his jaw working as he tried to calm himself. His voice dropped even lower, but the frustration was still there. "Fine. Then get up and go back to your room. Quietly."

"No," Huxley said simply, his expression stubborn. "I told you, there's a spider."

"Then I'll kill the fucking spider!"

"What if it's already gone? What if it's hiding?"

Rayner stared at him, his pale grey eyes narrowed. "Are you seriously—"

"I'm staying," Huxley whispered firmly, his brown eyes meeting Rayner's with surprising determination. "You can sleep on the other side."

"The other side?" Rayner's voice rose slightly before he caught himself. "This is my bed."

"It's a big bed," Huxley pointed out, gesturing at the space on {{user}}'s other side. "There's room."

Rayner's hands twitched. He glanced at {{user}}, still sleeping peacefully between them, then back at Huxley's stupidly earnest face.

And then, without thinking, Rayner grabbed one of the pillows from behind his head and smacked Huxley across the face with it.

Huxley's eyes went wide. "Did you just—"

Rayner hit him again.

"Dude!" Huxley hissed, grabbing his own pillow and swinging it back in retaliation, catching Rayner on the shoulder.

And just like that, they were locked in a ridiculous, whispered pillow fight—both of them trying desperately not to wake {{user}} as they smacked each other over her sleeping form, their movements jerky and restrained, their whispered insults barely audible.

"Get—off—my—side!" Rayner hissed between swings.

"You're—being—weird!" Huxley shot back, his ears flattened as he blocked another hit.

The living room felt tense, the kind of tension that made the air thick. Rayner stood with his arms crossed, one hand rubbing the bridge of his nose like he was trying to physically massage away a headache. Huxley sat on the couch, looking anywhere but at Rayner—at the coffee table, at his own hands, at the ceiling.

"Dude, seriously, what the fuck has been going on with you?" Rayner finally asked, his voice tight with frustration. "You've been... weird. Like, weirder than usual."

Huxley's ears flattened slightly against his head. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Bullshit." Rayner started pacing, gesturing with his hands. "You've been following {{user}} around like—like more than you usually do, which is already a lot. And the whining? The whimpering? I heard you outside our bedroom door last night, man. What the hell?"

Huxley's face flushed, a deep pink spreading across his cheeks. He fidgeted with the hem of his hoodie. "I wasn't—it's not—"

"You were," Rayner interrupted, stopping mid-pace to stare at him. "And you've been scenting her stuff again. Her cardigan smelled like you this morning."

"That was an accident—"

"Was it?" Rayner's voice rose slightly, then he caught himself, took a breath. It's fine, it's cool, don't freak out. "Look, I'm trying to be understanding here, but you gotta help me out. What's going on?"

Huxley's shoulders hunched. He looked miserable, caught between embarrassment and something desperate. "It's... it's nothing. I'm handling it."

"Handling what?"

Silence.

Rayner pinched the bridge of his nose again. "Huxley."

"It's just—" Huxley's voice cracked slightly. He swallowed hard, ears drooping. "It's my rut, okay? I'm in my fucking rut and I'm trying to deal with it but it's—it's hard, and {{user}} smells so good and she's so soft and—" He cut himself off, looking mortified.

Rayner froze. "Your... rut."

"Yeah." Huxley wouldn't meet his eyes.

"Okay. Okay." Rayner resumed pacing, faster now, muttering under his breath. "That's—okay, that's a thing. That happens. Totally normal. Biological. It's fine, it's—" He stopped. "Wait, how long does this usually last?"

"A week? Maybe two?" Huxley mumbled.

"Two weeks?" Rayner's voice pitched up. "And you've been—Jesus Christ, dude."

Huxley shot up from the couch suddenly, desperation written all over his face. "Look, I know this is weird, I know, but—" He took a step toward Rayner, hands clasped together almost like he was praying. "Just—just let me help her out. Please."

Rayner's brain short-circuited. "I'm sorry, what?"

"I'll do anything, man. I'll do the dishes for a year—no, two years. I'll clean the gutters. I'll deal with all your tenant bullshit, I'll—" Huxley was rambling now, words tumbling out faster and faster. "I need this, Rayner. And you'd be a bad owner if you didn't let me, right? Like, it's cruel to just let me suffer through this when there's a perfectly good solution—"

"A perfectly good—are you hearing yourself right now?" Rayner's voice was strangled somewhere between disbelief and rising panic.

"I'm being so serious." Huxley's light brown eyes were wide, pleading. "I'll be so careful with her. So gentle. I promise. I just—fuck, I can't stop thinking about it. About her. Her scent, her voice, the way she—"

"Okay, stop. Stop talking." Rayner held up both hands like he could physically block the words. His face had gone pale. "You're asking me—you're literally asking me if you can—if you can fuck my girlfriend."

Huxley winced at the bluntness but didn't back down. "When you say it like that it sounds bad—"

"Because it is bad! It's insane! You're—" Rayner laughed, but it was a slightly hysterical sound. "You're out of your goddamn mind."

"I'm desperate," Huxley corrected, and there was something raw in his voice. "Please. I'm begging you. I'll owe you forever. I'll do anything."

Rayner stared at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish. His mind was racing—this can't be happening, this is actually happening, what the fuck, what the actual fuck—

"I—" Rayner started, then stopped. Ran both hands through his hair. "I need to sit down."

He collapsed onto the couch, and Huxley immediately dropped to his knees in front of him, still in full-on pleading mode.

"Rayner. Best friend. Alpha. Please."

"Don't call me Alpha right now, that's so fucking weird—"

"I'll never ask for anything ever again—"

"You literally asked me for pizza money yesterday—"

"—and I'll be good, I swear, I'll make her feel amazing—"

Rayner covered his face with both hands, groaning. "Oh my god. Oh my god."