Ryan took off his shirt.
His physique, he noticed first, was nothing like Trinity’s. It was just a frank point; leaner where the other packed some muscle, he looked even softer by comparison, as though a king wrongly planted in the role in his hold. But his straight, proud stance indicated otherwise, even daring to act like it could loom over Trinity with all that muscle it called useless, somehow.
But for it to earn that name, it had to be noted.
It was noted in detail.
Ryan did see the piercing, first, his hands busy, removing clothing in a layer, after a layer, after a layer. He actually wasn’t wearing so many layers. Off came the top, long-sleeved, his necklace lifted along before slapping right over his chest in the given traipse back. He felt it as a mildly cool presence. He took it off. Then would come the jeans, their fly opened with cheek, like he dared to be compared to a performer just about to turn some sensuous music on, breaking into such a sinuous movement he’d learned it from belly dancers. It was an odd imagine, and yet the threat of it surrounded Ryan in a strange aura of colorful mystery; all red and golden, and firm like the look he was wearing. He looked down Trinity’s frame, noting the tattoos as well.
Noting the cock between his legs, once they were both naked.
It was a hard point not to investigate, no pun intended.
Soft and non-threatening, it yet earned Ryan’s strong, piercing attention for a second or so as though it were an armed weapon, dangling downwards with an impression of innocence it failed to carry off without flaw. Ryan couldn’t say he was a fan.
Neither was he a hater, seemingly admiring the shaven look thereof, the swell of the balls before lifting his gaze in a harsh jerk up as though this were a fashion show, actually, as though Trinity were a model, his future determined by the symmetry of his balls, the slit of his cock. He bent to shift, and Ryan didn’t immediately follow.
For as long as he’d been shifting, it’d be too quickly over.
He bent over in a sudden lurch, his body creating an elegant, but sharp arch and claws burst out his fingers, and fur rose out from his skin, wrapping around his body in an upwards motion from the point of origin until he was encompassed entirely.
It was over, minutely.
As quickly as he had suggested all this he was a wolf, then, tanned in color, pale-ish beneath the silver shine of the moon that he sort of hated being all round and dominant. It had a stronger effect on hybrids.
But beneath its reign Ryan became a different man. In the coat of the wolf, he became a beast of calm and cold, powerful control.
Sans any his ol’ sanity like it were a concept borrowed purely from the vampire.
His eyes stalked Trinity as he took off, and Ryan was quick to follow.
He started forward in a sprint that beat paws into ground and kicked tufts of grass about.
Trinity wasn’t so harried to escape.
It was a chase that, as it lasted, carried itself in a manner that indicated it was permitted. That it was a privilege, that it was a gift, and Trinity was speeding away only because Ryan let him. The moon bore down on both, casting their forms in its silvery glow. Ryan wasn’t slow.
He paced himself, feeling the rush of air in his face. The beating of his blood in his veins. The pounding heart in his heart, screaming like a song of an army marching to a war.
He heard it well.
His vision narrowed down on the other wolf.
Catching up to him, it was sudden, even abrupt as though it’d been this grant, actual possibility all along Ryan had teased himself with, whetting his appetite. He lunged for Trinity, rolling them on the ground.
They exploded the site they impacted with with dust, with broken strands of grass and bits of half-frozen, loose ground. And there Ryan picked himself up in a fast motion, rising up from a roll and shoving his weight forward into Trinity once more. He’d tussle him if necessary, otherwise keen to simply pin him. To press maw to Trinity’s throat and hold still.
Like he’d bite through and take the other’s head right off.
The threat, though present, seemed just a threat after all, spun of the want to frighten that was so natural to Ryan and Ryan’s kind it seemed like some blase, dull given he heeded only because he found some joy thereof. It suited him too. It fit him like a glove did a hand, assuming it was tailor-made; it had all the stitches where stitches need be, Frankensteined into a single piece until such a form it looked like the actual skin, too perfect to be anything but it.
It fit him as did what he did next, that weird nip he delivered, that yip of a sound surely just emanated from a combination of motions and not an actual desire.
He drew back suddenly, pacing away in a paddle of long, long legs that he managed as well as he did his cloying promises when a man. He sniffed the ground afar, standing parallel with Trinity, head lowered down but the act was cut short, gaze darting to Trinity and his calm, eerily so, and hypnotizing attention riveted on the other.
He looked golden, in the moon’s glow.
With his blonde mane, looking more tanned in the dark, but bright, and golden otherwise beneath any actual light. And his wise, and dangerous eyes far too silent in expression and otherwise.
You’d not have recognized who he was.
Ryan. It can’t have been him, his thespian ways considered.
This was pure wolf and intellect.