What it Means to Have You

Slipping

Kine

Coming to my senses was a bit of a disappointment... but a huge fucking relief. Minus the F-word. Because that was definitely not happening. I would normally be snarling my head off because Nagol was still nudging at me beneath the blanket, but he did look really apologetic and was obviously trying to stop himself. His cat was probably not wanting to stop, though, which I could understand. My wolf was a bit caught in the moment as well. Thankfully, he knew better than to do what I told him not to.

As he was getting control of himself our eyes met. We were both panting quietly, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't aroused, but he thankfully broke eye contact and cleared his throat, then carefully got himself out of the bed. Looking over at the clock, I noticed that it was only four in the afternoon, but I still felt like a brick of lead, especially after the extra awkwardness of our previous activity.

"Oh crap! I'm gonna be late!"

Before I could question Nagol he was up and over by his dresser, yanking on a pair of boxers he'd just fished out of the top drawer. Pants and a shirt quickly followed, and judging from the attire, I deduced with little effort that he was going to work. I don't really know what made me say it, but before I could stop myself, I was asking if I could go.

Great idea. You're half asleep and half turned-on, not to mention your foot is still trying to piece itself back together, and you want to go with him.

"Not a chance."

I wanted to take back what I said, but the second he replied, I felt my wolf's hackles raise. We argued for a short time, but after I tried to stand and accidentally put pressure on my bad foot and nearly fell, I gave in. Well, at least for that night. Resigned, I spent most of my time after he'd left doing small chores around the apartment until I felt the need to rest more. That was basically how the next several days went. Each time I asked to go to work with him he would decline, claiming that my foot wasn't healed enough. After a week had past, I was done staying home. Werewolves healed far faster than normal humans and I was already putting pressure on it without too much pain.

"I'm going whether I have to hop there on one leg or not." I growled at Nagol as I sat on the bed, my fists scrunching the comforter angrily. If he let me take the cast off, I wouldn't have to hop... Nagol's brow furrowed in distaste at my words, and I could tell that he was thinking hard, trying to figure out a way to keep me home. He quickly gave up after only a few moments, however, which wasn't a surprise. He was frazzled and stressed from all of the work he'd been called in for that week and he was likely going to be late if he didn't leave soon. When he whirled around to me after tugging on his shoes, his mouth opened, probably to try and tell me that I wasn't coming again, but no words came out besides a few stuttered breaths. I took that as my chance and scooted to the edge of the bed, then looked back at him.

"Can I have a change of clothing, then my crutches? I only need one shoe since I've got this ridiculous cast on right now."

He sighed, exasperated, but didn't bother arguing and instead did as I asked. He helped me get changed into loose cargo shorts and a comfortable sweatshirt. It was still cold outside, but we were going to be inside so I could deal with the shorts. Besides, I wasn't going to fight my cast by trying to get pants on. No doubt I'd lose that battle, considering the behemoth fastened to my foot right then. When I was all ready to go he helped me up and handed me my crutches.

Once outside, I took a deep breath of fresh air and smiled while Nagol locked up behind me, then carefully scooped me up into his arms as I hung onto my crutches and we headed down the stairs. The street was unusually packed with cars, or at least more-so than I'd recognized in the few times I'd come and gone from the apartment.