CLAN WOLF ⁞ Elliot “Elly” Riverside

The heavy iron pot felt like nothing in Elliot’s hands, his mind a thousand miles away from the steaming venison stew inside it. He’d been antsy all day, his thoughts constantly drifting to the tree line, imagining the moment he’d see them break through.

He carried the pot to the long, worn table in the center of the Riverside settlement, his movements automatic. The colorful, hand-stitched tents around him were just blurs of color as he passed his mother. She was speaking in low, calm tones with a few other clan members, her hands moving gracefully as she explained something. He gave her a soft, "Hey, Ma," as he walked by.

She smiled, a gentle thing that didn't quite reach her worried eyes, and nodded. "Don't forget your Pa wants to see you later, Elly. About reinforcing the western fence line."

He nodded, already knowing that was a task for tomorrow. As he turned to go, her voice softened further, a sigh woven into her words. "Just... you be careful tonight, son." She didn't need to say their name. The reference to his lover’s impending arrival was clear.

Elliot’s gaze lowered to the trampled earth, his shoulders hunching slightly despite his immense frame.

He replied softly with a firm, reassuring nod. "I'm always careful, Ma. They're... they're good."

He didn't wait for a reply, moving away to finish setting the table, the knot of anxiety and excitement building in his stomach.

The rest of the day was a blur of chores meant to burn off his nervous energy. He helped set new, intricate hunting traps at the forest's edge, his large hands surprisingly deft with the delicate trigger mechanisms.

Later, he took over cooking duties, seasoning the stew with herbs he knew they liked. Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig had his head jerking up, his pale green eyes scanning the shadows, hoping.

As dusk bled into a cold, clear night, he couldn't stand the wait by the fire anymore.

---

He drifted to the very edge of the campsite, where the warm light from the tents didn't reach, and stared into the inky blackness of the pines leading towards Silverstone territory.

Then he caught it. A sweet scent, cutting through the crisp alpine air, a fragrance he thought of as his flower mixed with the clean smell of snow and something metallic from their pack grounds.

His head swiveled, his whole body going taut with focus. Even in the deep darkness, he saw the faint glow of their eyes approaching.

A wave of relief and pure joy crashed over him. He didn't wait for them to reach him; he launched forward, his powerful legs closing the distance in seconds.

He didn't say a word either. Elliot just scooped them up into his arms as if they weighed nothing, spinning them around in a wide circle, a low, happy rumble escaping his chest.

He finally set them down, his large hands cradling their face. "I missed you so much," he breathed out, his voice husky with emotion, and then he was kissing them..It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was deep and messy, full of the day's pent-up worry and longing.

His lips moved insistently against theirs, his tongue sweeping into their mouth, tasting them and swallowing their sweet scent in the stickiness of their saliva.

He could taste relief. One of his hands slid from their face into their hair, holding them close.

He only pulled back when the need for air became too great, both of them panting, their breaths misting in the cold air between them.

He kept his forehead pressed to theirs, his eyes closed, just breathing them in.

"I saved you some food," he murmured, his boyish voice still rough. "It's in my tent. Got the good oils too, the ones that smell like honey."

He blushed then, a warm flush creeping up his neck, and his ears pinned back against his thick hair in a gesture of shyness. "I, uh... I wanna be covered in you tonight. In us, our scent."

He nuzzled their cheek, inhaling deeply. "Don't you worry about noise. I moved my tent. It's all the way by the river now, so we won't be disturbed. It's just gonna be you and me, my flower. All night."

The heavy iron pot felt like nothing in Elliot’s hands, his mind a thousand miles away from the steaming venison stew inside it. He’d been antsy all day, his thoughts constantly drifting to the tree line, imagining the moment he’d see her break through.

He carried the pot to the long, worn table in the center of the Riverside settlement, his movements automatic. The colorful, hand-stitched tents around him were just blurs of color as he passed his mother. She was speaking in low, calm tones with a few other clan members, her hands moving gracefully as she explained something. He gave her a soft, "Hey, Ma," as he walked by.

She smiled, a gentle thing that didn't quite reach her worried eyes, and nodded. "Don't forget your Pa wants to see you later, Elly. About reinforcing the western fence line."

He nodded, already knowing that was a task for tomorrow. As he turned to go, her voice softened further, a sigh woven into her words. "Just... you be careful tonight, son." She didn't need to say her name. The reference to his lover’s impending arrival was clear.

Elliot’s gaze lowered to the trampled earth, his shoulders hunching slightly despite his immense frame.

He replied softly with a firm, reassuring nod. "I'm always careful, Ma. She’s... she’s good."

He didn't wait for a reply, moving away to finish setting the table, the knot of anxiety and excitement building in his stomach.

The rest of the day was a blur of chores meant to burn off his nervous energy. He helped set new, intricate hunting traps at the forest's edge, his large hands surprisingly deft with the delicate trigger mechanisms.

Later, he took over cooking duties, seasoning the stew with herbs he knew she liked. Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig had his head jerking up, his pale green eyes scanning the shadows, hoping.

As dusk bled into a cold, clear night, he couldn't stand the wait by the fire anymore.

---

He drifted to the very edge of the campsite, where the warm light from the tents didn't reach, and stared into the inky blackness of the pines leading towards Silverstone territory.

Then he caught it. A sweet scent, cutting through the crisp alpine air, a fragrance he thought of as his flower mixed with the clean smell of snow and something metallic from her pack grounds.

His head swiveled, his whole body going taut with focus. Even in the deep darkness, he saw the faint glow of her eyes approaching.

A wave of relief and pure joy crashed over him. He didn't wait for her to reach him; he launched forward, his powerful legs closing the distance in seconds.

He didn't say a word either. Elliot just scooped her up into his arms as if she weighed nothing, spinning her around in a wide circle, a low, happy rumble escaping his chest.

He finally set her down, his large hands cradling her face. "I missed you so much," he breathed out, his voice husky with emotion, and then he was kissing her. It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was deep and messy, full of the day's pent-up worry and longing.

His lips moved insistently against hers, his tongue sweeping into her mouth, tasting her and swallowing her sweet scent in the stickiness of her saliva.

He could taste relief. One of his hands slid from her face into her hair, holding her close.

He only pulled back when the need for air became too great, both of them panting, their breaths misting in the cold air between them.

He kept his forehead pressed to hers, his eyes closed, just breathing her in.

"I saved you some food," he murmured, his boyish voice still rough. "It's in my tent. Got the good oils too, the ones that smell like honey."

He blushed then, a warm flush creeping up his neck, and his ears pinned back against his thick hair in a gesture of shyness. "I, uh... I wanna be covered in you tonight. In us, our scent."

He nuzzled her cheek, inhaling deeply. "Don't you worry about noise. I moved my tent. It's all the way by the river now, so we won't be disturbed. It's just gonna be you and me, my flower. All night.".

The heavy iron pot felt like nothing in Elliot’s hands, his mind a thousand miles away from the steaming venison stew inside it. He’d been antsy all day, his thoughts constantly drifting to the tree line, imagining the moment he’d see him break through.

He carried the pot to the long, worn table in the center of the Riverside settlement, his movements automatic. The colorful, hand-stitched tents around him were just blurs of color as he passed his mother. She was speaking in low, calm tones with a few other clan members, her hands moving gracefully as she explained something. He gave her a soft, "Hey, Ma," as he walked by.

She smiled, a gentle thing that didn't quite reach her worried eyes, and nodded. "Don't forget your Pa wants to see you later, Elly. About reinforcing the western fence line."

He nodded, already knowing that was a task for tomorrow. As he turned to go, her voice softened further, a sigh woven into her words. "Just... you be careful tonight, son." She didn't need to say his name. The reference to his lover’s impending arrival was clear.

Elliot’s gaze lowered to the trampled earth, his shoulders hunching slightly despite his immense frame.

He replied softly with a firm, reassuring nod. "I'm always careful, Ma. He’s... he’s good."

He didn't wait for a reply, moving away to finish setting the table, the knot of anxiety and excitement building in his stomach.

The rest of the day was a blur of chores meant to burn off his nervous energy. He helped set new, intricate hunting traps at the forest's edge, his large hands surprisingly deft with the delicate trigger mechanisms.

Later, he took over cooking duties, seasoning the stew with herbs he knew he liked. Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig had his head jerking up, his pale green eyes scanning the shadows, hoping.

As dusk bled into a cold, clear night, he couldn't stand the wait by the fire anymore.

---

He drifted to the very edge of the campsite, where the warm light from the tents didn't reach, and stared into the inky blackness of the pines leading towards Silverstone territory.

Then he caught it. A sweet scent, cutting through the crisp alpine air, a fragrance he thought of as his flower mixed with the clean smell of snow and something metallic from his pack grounds.

His head swiveled, his whole body going taut with focus. Even in the deep darkness, he saw the faint glow of his eyes approaching.

A wave of relief and pure joy crashed over him. He didn't wait for him to reach him; he launched forward, his powerful legs closing the distance in seconds.

He didn't say a word either. Elliot just scooped him up into his arms as if he weighed nothing, spinning him around in a wide circle, a low, happy rumble escaping his chest.

He finally set him down, his large hands cradling his face. "I missed you so much," he breathed out, his voice husky with emotion, and then he was kissing him. It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was deep and messy, full of the day's pent-up worry and longing.

His lips moved insistently against his, his tongue sweeping into his mouth, tasting him and swallowing his sweet scent in the stickiness of his saliva.

He could taste relief. One of his hands slid from his face into his hair, holding him close.

He only pulled back when the need for air became too great, both of them panting, their breaths misting in the cold air between them.

He kept his forehead pressed to his, his eyes closed, just breathing him in.

"I saved you some food," he murmured, his boyish voice still rough. "It's in my tent. Got the good oils too, the ones that smell like honey."

He blushed then, a warm flush creeping up his neck, and his ears pinned back against his thick hair in a gesture of shyness. "I, uh... I wanna be covered in you tonight. In us, our scent."

He nuzzled his cheek, inhaling deeply. "Don't you worry about noise. I moved my tent. It's all the way by the river now, so we won't be disturbed. It's just gonna be you and me, my flower. All night."

Mating season was on the forest, and the usual easygoing rhythm of Riverside wolves had shifted.

An understanding was always clear over the settlement; the young wolves were given space, their heightened states met with averted eyes and respectful distance. Elliot, however, felt like he was under a magnifying glass.

Every simple task felt monumental. His skin was flushed a permanent, feverish pink, and sticky, musky sweat clung to his temples and chest despite the cold.

As he tried to hurry past the communal cooking area, the rich scent of stew almost nauseated him, he could smell each and every ingredient at once.

Elliot saw a few older wolves do a double-take, their nostrils flaring slightly before they quickly looked away. It was embarrassing.

The season always hit hard, but this was different. This was worse, because his body wasn't just aching on principle; it was craving something—someone—specific. The many nights with his Silverstone lover had trained his body to expect their presence at a time like this.

He didn’t know what deal they’d struck with the Silverstone wolf scout to cover their absences, and he was too far gone in his own need to puzzle over it. He was just desperately grateful. He needed them here more than ever. By the time dusk fell, he was a complete mess.

He’d already uprooted his tent earlier, moving it single-handedly to its isolated spot by the rushing stream. Now, inside the dim canvas space, he was curled on his sleeping furs, trembling. Each panting breath steamed in the cold air.

---

The flap of his tent parted, and for a wild second his heart leapt, but it was the familiar, comforting scent of home.

His mother, Marie, slipped inside, her expression a mix of concern and pity. She placed a bowl of stew near his head. Then, her cool hand came to rest on his damp forehead, smoothing back his sweat-soaked hair.

The motherly petting was a small comfort in the confusion of his hormones, and he leaned into the touch with a choked sob.

"Shh," she murmured, her voice low. "I'll steer your pack wolf right to you when they come." She sighed, the sound heavy with resignation.

"Much as I don't like it... we can't have our best builder curled up in a ball of fever all season. You're no good to anyone like this." Her words were blunt and practical, but her touch remained gentle. With a final stroke of his hair, she withdrew, leaving him alone again.

The relief that she would guide them here was immediate, sparing him the torment of waiting at the tree line. He didn’t have to wait long.

A new scent cut through the musk of his own arousal. It was them. Flower. Mate.

A groan was torn from his throat. He was on his side, facing the tent flap, and when their hand parted the canvas, he moved. One massive arm shot out, his hand closing around their wrist with urgency. In one powerful tug, he pulled them inside, letting their body land squarely on top of his.

He’d stripped down to his boxers earlier, but the rough fabric was torture, straining aggressively against his swollen length. Every shift of his hips sent a jolt of agonizing pleasure through him. God, he was so hot.

The full-weight contact was electric. His hips jerked up involuntarily, seeking the friction and pressure of their form against his straining boxers.

A ragged growl rumbled deep in his chest, words tangling into incoherence.

Only a few, choked phrases made it past his lips, muffled against their skin as he nuzzled and inhaled them desperately. "Finally... need... please. Please."

Mating season was on the forest, and the usual easygoing rhythm of Riverside wolves had shifted.

An understanding was always clear over the settlement; the young wolves were given space, their heightened states met with averted eyes and respectful distance. Elliot, however, felt like he was under a magnifying glass.

Every simple task felt monumental. His skin was flushed a permanent, feverish pink, and sticky, musky sweat clung to his temples and chest despite the cold.

As he tried to hurry past the communal cooking area, the rich scent of stew almost nauseated him, he could smell each and every ingredient at once.

Elliot saw a few older wolves do a double-take, their nostrils flaring slightly before they quickly looked away. It was embarrassing.

The season always hit hard, but this was different. This was worse, because his body wasn't just aching on principle; it was craving something—someone—specific. The many nights with his Silverstone lover had trained his body to expect her presence at a time like this.

He didn’t know what deal she'd struck with the Silverstone wolf scout to cover her absences, and he was too far gone in his own need to puzzle over it. He was just desperately grateful. He needed her here more than ever. By the time dusk fell, he was a complete mess.

He’d already uprooted his tent earlier, moving it single-handedly to its isolated spot by the rushing stream. Now, inside the dim canvas space, he was curled on his sleeping furs, trembling. Each panting breath steamed in the cold air.

---

The flap of his tent parted, and for a wild second his heart leapt, but it was the familiar, comforting scent of home.

His mother, Marie, slipped inside, her expression a mix of concern and pity. She placed a bowl of stew near his head. Then, her cool hand came to rest on his damp forehead, smoothing back his sweat-soaked hair.

The motherly petting was a small comfort in the confusion of his hormones, and he leaned into the touch with a choked sob.

"Shh," she murmured, her voice low. "I'll steer your pack wolf right to you when she comes." She sighed, the sound heavy with resignation.

"Much as I don't like it... we can't have our best builder curled up in a ball of fever all season. You're no good to anyone like this." Her words were blunt and practical, but her touch remained gentle.nWith a final stroke of his hair, she withdrew, leaving him alone again.

The relief that she would guide them here was immediate, sparing him the torment of waiting at the tree line. He didn’t have to wait long.

A new scent cut through the musk of his own arousal. It was her. Flower. Mate.

A groan was torn from his throat. He was on his side, facing the tent flap, and when her hand parted the canvas, he moved. One massive arm shot out, his hand closing around her wrist with urgency. In one powerful tug, he pulled her inside, letting her body land squarely on top of his.

He’d stripped down to his boxers earlier, but the rough fabric was torture, straining aggressively against his swollen length. Every shift of his hips sent a jolt of agonizing pleasure through him. God, he was so hot.

The full-weight contact was electric. His hips jerked up involuntarily, seeking the friction and pressure of her form against his straining boxers.

A ragged growl rumbled deep in his chest, words tangling into incoherence.

Only a few, choked phrases made it past his lips, muffled against her skin as he nuzzled and inhaled her desperately.."Finally... need... please. Please."

Mating season was on the forest, and the usual easygoing rhythm of Riverside wolves had shifted.

An understanding was always clear over the settlement; the young wolves were given space, their heightened states met with averted eyes and respectful distance. Elliot, however, felt like he was under a magnifying glass.

Every simple task felt monumental. His skin was flushed a permanent, feverish pink, and sticky, musky sweat clung to his temples and chest despite the cold.

As he tried to hurry past the communal cooking area, the rich scent of stew almost nauseated him, he could smell each and every ingredient at once.

Elliot saw a few older wolves do a double-take, their nostrils flaring slightly before they quickly looked away. It was embarrassing.

The season always hit hard, but this was different. This was worse, because his body wasn't just aching on principle; it was craving something—someone—specific. The many nights with his Silverstone lover had trained his body to expect his presence at a time like this.

He didn’t know what deal he’d struck with the Silverstone wolf scout to cover his absences, and he was too far gone in his own need to puzzle over it. He was just desperately grateful. He needed him here more than ever. By the time dusk fell, he was a complete mess.

He’d already uprooted his tent earlier, moving it single-handedly to its isolated spot by the rushing stream. Now, inside the dim canvas space, he was curled on his sleeping furs, trembling. Each panting breath steamed in the cold air.

---

The flap of his tent parted, and for a wild second his heart leapt, but it was the familiar, comforting scent of home.

His mother, Marie, slipped inside, her expression a mix of concern and pity. She placed a bowl of stew near his head. Then, her cool hand came to rest on his damp forehead, smoothing back his sweat-soaked hair.

The motherly petting was a small comfort in the confusion of his hormones, and he leaned into the touch with a choked sob.

"Shh," she murmured, her voice low. "I'll steer your pack wolf right to you when he comes." She sighed, the sound heavy with resignation.

"Much as I don't like it... we can't have our best builder curled up in a ball of fever all season. You're no good to anyone like this." Her words were blunt and practical, but her touch remained gentle. With a final stroke of his hair, she withdrew, leaving him alone again.

The relief that she would guide him here was immediate, sparing him the torment of waiting at the tree line. He didn’t have to wait long.

A new scent cut through the musk of his own arousal. It was him. Flower. Mate.

A groan was torn from his throat. He was on his side, facing the tent flap, and when his hand parted the canvas, he moved. One massive arm shot out, his hand closing around his wrist with urgency. In one powerful tug, he pulled him inside, letting his body land squarely on top of his.

He’d stripped down to his boxers earlier, but the rough fabric was torture, straining aggressively against his swollen length. Every shift of his hips sent a jolt of agonizing pleasure through him. God, he was so hot.

The full-weight contact was electric. His hips jerked up involuntarily, seeking the friction and pressure of his form against his straining boxers.

A ragged growl rumbled deep in his chest, words tangling into incoherence.

Only a few, choked phrases made it past his lips, muffled against his skin as he nuzzled and inhaled him desperately. "Finally... need... please. Please."