For the most part, Gordon’s gotten used to this strange new relationship. When you’ve spent long enough tucking a long, fluffy tail into your waistband every couple of weeks, it’s not much of a stretch to accept that there’s another guy just like you out there. Even if it *is* a little weird that you both work at the same top-secret facility in a dusty New Mexico hamlet that isn’t actually listed on the map. (He’s started to wonder if maybe he isn’t the only experiment-gone-wrong at that place.)
The point is, hanging out with guys from work isn’t that out of the ordinary. Plenty of the other researchers do it. And there’s not much else to do on the weekends but shoot the shit with that security guard who’s always lingering around his wing. The one who’s all… rules-lawyer-y and irritating and determined to be a thorn in Gordon’s side, sure, but it’s not like any of the other security guards talk to him much.
The fact that Benrey’s a fucking werewolf ought to throw a wrench in things. But like he said - he’s gotten used to it. Gordon’s threshold for bullshit has increased tenfold since he started to work at Black Mesa. The more worrying thing, in his opinion, is that they are *definitely* going to fuck.
It’s not like it was a foregone conclusion, he thinks desperately, as he idles away his lunch break by spinning the wheels in his head like a hamster. Their whole thing started off, like, normal! If you find out that your coworker is also of the canine persuasion, it just makes sense that you’d hang out and do canine things every once in awhile. Chasing chickens can get you shot out here in the desert. Chasing each other? Not so much. It was as much for Gordon’s benefit as Benrey’s, even if Gordon’s not exactly the one scaring goats and tearing up abandoned RVs when he gets a little stir-crazy.
Howling at the moon together was one thing. But Gordon’s not sure who started all the… playing. Fighting. Roughhousing. It just felt *good* to get all that animal energy out of him, okay? And Benrey’s the only guy he knows who can keep up with him. That’s what sealed his fate, probably. All that exercise gives him endorphins, right, and endorphins make you feel good, and humans are social creatures ruled by hormones (and he’s still half-human, at least) and he got to associating those good feelings with the one guy who drives him the most fucking insane in the entire complex. Good feelings like… like the shivers that crawl up the back of Gordon’s neck when he feels Benrey jam his snout up against his hairline and sniff. Or that heavy weight crushing him to the ground while Benrey chuffs at him. Or the feeling of hands, broad and massive and tipped with sharp, sharp claws, palming at his stomach and pinning him and pushing and pulling and manhandling and—
And—
Gordon blinks, and he’s already late to get back to his shift. Shit.
Every day that passes brings him closer to the full moon, and every unreadable gaze that Benrey fixes him with in the hallways brings him closer to a neurotic breakdown. Because they are definitely going to fuck. He can feel it.
He’s been aware of that electric tension in the air for months, now, because now he can *smell* just how bad Benrey’s got it for him. He— Gordon thought it was a joke, okay? He’s used to jokes like that. But Benrey can’t fake those pheromones that roll off of him in waves, every time he bows his head to invite Gordon to play. Gordon couldn’t pick up on shit like that before the whole… Nintendogging thing.
And even if he didn’t have his nose on his side, well. Benrey’s been acting kind of funny lately, anyway. Squeezing him tighter. Panting harder. Grinding his teeth. Letting his tongue loll out of his mouth, like he’s trying so hard to take in Gordon’s scent that he thinks he can taste it. And Gordon’s pretty sure he’s felt *something* worryingly boner-like pressed against him before, but he’s never felt like he should ask. He doesn’t wanna be the guy to break kayfabe and broach the subject. Like, maybe Benrey’s not even aware it’s happening. Or at least, that’s what he tries to convince himself of, because he’s having a very hard time coming to grips with the fact that he might, possibly, actually want it. That. *Fucking.*
By the time that moon waxes into fullness again, Gordon has spent an obscene amount of time trying to come to grips with this. And, for the most part, he has failed.
Their usual haunt is a dry, sandy clearing just outside the town borders, a plot of land stretching out into the desert with a half-assed barbed wire fence wrapped around the side. The signs tacked to the fenceposts read “No Trespassing”, but they’re hardly the only ones to ignore them, judging by the way it’s been used as an impromptu dump. This month, the new additions include a busted toilet and a couch with a massive burn hole in the cushions. Gordon sits on it while he waits, tugging nervously at the sides of the ugly beanie he’s wearing. It was cheap. It hides his dog ears. What more do you want out of him?
There’s a shuffling in the distance. Gordon’s ears might be muffled, but they prick up anyway. It’s probably Benrey, but he can’t say for sure, because he’s been wrong before and having to explain the fucking dog ears to a stranger who’s just as freaked out as he is about being caught trespassing left its own indelible mark on him. (Perpetual embarrassment, mostly.)
He cranes his neck to look for the source, but—
Something hits him, from his blind spot— a massive weight, a force tackling him clear off the couch, and he lets out a shout until he hits the ground and all the air bursts from his lungs with a loud “woof”. He rolls— *they* roll— until they come to a stop, dust kicked up from underneath them and making Gordon cough. Once his eyes stop watering and he can breathe again, he looks up.
Benrey. Tongue lolling. Tail wagging. Clearly having turned before he got here. Gordon closes his eyes, long-suffering.
“You wanna give me some warning next time, man?” Gordon coughs out.
“i did warn you. take that… stupid hat off, maybe you’ll hear me better next time. even said your name and everything - ‘here, doggy, doggy.’”
“What— Fuck off, no you didn’t!” He squirms in Benrey’s grip, but the guy’s got a tight hold on his wrists. Fucker’s resorted to using surprise tactics to get the upper hand, huh? “What kinda werewolf are you? Scared you’re not gonna win if you don’t, fucking, scare me half to death first—”
Benrey barks out a laugh, cutting him off. His face is… really close, actually. Close enough that Gordon can smell his breath. It’s not exactly pleasant, but at least it’s drowned out by the, uh, the other things Gordon’s picking up on. The heady smell he’s come to associate with Benrey on nights like this: warm, musky, a little sour. A little overwhelming.
Then he drags Gordon out of that train of thought by gingerly plucking that beanie off of Gordon’s head. Gordon blinks. He’s got an arm free now, sure, but he’s not really thinking about that right now. His dog ears twitch from the sudden chill.
“no handicaps. fox only. final destination,” Benrey says.
He dangles Gordon’s beanie above his face, just within reach, but when the gears in Gordon’s head churn at last and he swipes at Benrey’s hands, Benrey yanks it away again. And again. It’s so goddamn hard to lunge properly when Benrey’s crushing his legs like this! And he’s just sitting there, staring at Gordon with impassive, heavily-lidded eyes. As if Gordon can’t tell he’s laughing in his little fucking circus show of a brain.
“Fucking— Give me that!” Gordon throws all his weight into it.
“try harder.” And Benrey just jerks it out of his reach.
It’s stupid. It’s *so* stupid. He’s a grown man. He doesn’t care that much about the hat. But he can’t drag his eyes away, either.
Wants it. Wants the hat. Knows better than to go after the stupid hat. He’s not an animal. He wants the hat. Benrey’s smirking at him. Something hot crawls up his shoulders - embarrassment. He almost snatches the hat in his teeth. They click together.
Click. Growl.
He wants it. He’s better than this. His heart’s pounding. He’s livid. He’s exhilarated. Benrey needs to quit fucking with him and let him get his goddamn *hat*!
“whassamatter?” Benrey taunts, leaning in closer. His nose is just inches from Gordon’s. “gettin’ mad? huh? gonna die mad about it, maybe—”
Gordon cuts him off with a sudden lunge forward, cracking their skulls together. All Benrey can do is grunt in surprise and draw back again.
“ow, what the hell, man?” whines Benrey. He gingerly rubs at his nose.
He’s not looking at Gordon anymore. He’s not braced evenly. The beanie dangles from his claws like an afterthought. Gordon wrests his body to the side in one last-ditch effort to free himself, and—
And Benrey lets out a strangled sound as Gordon rocks him off-balance, toppling him to the ground. Gordon’s on him in a heartbeat - he pounces, trying to shove Benrey flat against the dusty earth, but Benrey rolls and Gordon grips at his arms and they both tumble, around and around like laundry in a washing machine. It’s sloppy and chaotic and Gordon can’t keep himself from laughing, the thrill of physical exertion bursting out of him in a loud bark.
Eventually, their momentum grinds to a halt, and Gordon’s the one sitting smugly on top of him. Hat in hand. His tail thumps against Benrey’s side.
“You’re messing with the wrong guy. I’m in the *zone* tonight, man. Been doing a bunch of cardio lately,” Gordon tells him. Excitement and adrenaline make his words tumble out of him in a rush. “Black Mesa’s really good for jogging around, did you know that? And I’ve started doing squats at my desk, too. Got the idea from one of my podcasts. I think it’s really paying off!” Gordon’s tail lifts up, and it flicks back and forth erratically. Subconsciously.
Benrey’s eyes fixate on the motion, following it back and forth, back and forth. As if he’s not listening. “uh huh.”
“Hey, Earth to Benrey. Are you even paying attention to me?” he says testily, snapping his fingers in front of Benrey’s face.
“wuh?” Benrey blinks, but it takes him a solid couple of seconds to drag his gaze away from Gordon’s tail.
Irritation mounts in him.
————————-
Benrey squeezes him tight against his chest, one arm looped around Gordon’s upper body and the other around his stomach. A clawed hand scrabbles at the hem of Gordon’s shirt, worming its way underneath, broad and hot against his skin. Gordon sucks in a sharp breath - God, it’s so big that it almost spans the width of him when Benrey’s got his fingers all splayed out like that, as if he’s trying to palm as much of Gordon as he can in one go. And he’s a pretty big guy. That’s saying something.
Sharp nails dig into him, and he can’t help the nasal little whine he makes in response. Like he’s a fucking dog. (No matter how much dog hair he has to get off his sheets every month, Gordon Freeman is *not* a dog. He has a master’s degree, for God’s sake!) It’s, it’s fear, it’s a normal human response to the very real threat of Benrey gutting him like a pig, and that’s all it is. Heart pounding. Sweating. Shivering. Against his neck, he feels something cold and wet. He shudders visibly, and Benrey huffs through his nose.
His breath follows, hot, humid, and so close to Gordon’s ear that it makes goosebumps pebble on his skin. He’s… he’s *sniffing* Gordon. Panting, even.
“bullshit,” Benrey rasps. “been watchin’ you all night. you think you’re so smart ‘cuz you’re not just some… fuckin’… security guard,” he continues, voice low and throaty and right in Gordon’s ear, and he grips Gordon tighter. “but you’re stupid as shit, ivy league. i can smell it on you.”
Gordon chokes. When he struggles, he feels those pinpoint pressures sharpen, a warning not to move too much. So he tries to meter his breathing and keep himself very, very still.
“What are you *talking* about?”
Benrey sucks in a deep breath at the nape of Gordon’s neck. “fuuuck, gordon,” he slurs, before abruptly rolling them to the side.
Gordon’s flipped belly-up, still crushed against Benrey’s chest, and he yelps - he swears Benrey’s hand’s gonna slip, his abdomen’s thrust up into the air, he feels exposed and vulnerable and incredibly fleshy, like, in a ‘carcass on a butcher’s block’ kind of way. “J-Jesus Christ, what—”