Fun, no-plot, sexy writing exercise

Totally inspired by Sherrilyn Kenyon’s DarkHunter universe.

Also, it seems most authors go for the big animals, the tigers and leopards and wolves. I wanted something else, a different mammal. Something mischievous. Otters and bears don’t usually interact. They avoid each other. Bears don’t prey on otters, but on documented occasions they have a snack …

Warning: This is an explicit writing exercise. Two guys. Sex.

High on sex pheromones, they tumbled into the moonlit cottage and sprawled ungracefully over the hearth rug. Briar, with his superior strength, had his lover beneath him a heartbeat later. His fingers were already in the belt loops of River’s jeans, tugging viciously, when River found his voice: “Not here. Briar! Get off.”


“They’ll hear.”

“You’re shitting me?”


“So what? I want to fuck you. You’re mine, and I don’t care who hears.”


“Fine.” Briar scrambled to his feet and marched off in the direction of his bedroom. He was back in River’s sight a moment later, gloriously naked and aroused, a bandana dangling from his outstretched finger.

River cocked a brow.

“Gag,” Briar explained.

River slanted him a look that spoke volumes.

“I’m going to fuck you with or without the gag. I’m serious, River. I don’t care who hears.”

River sighed and climbed to his feet. He was as horny as the were-bear. He wanted to rut as much as his lover. Unlike Briar, though, he was fully aware of the clan of predators outside the quaint cottage. He had no business being here; this was bear territory. They barely tolerated him as it was. If they decided they had enough of his trespassing, Brian wouldn’t be able to protect him against his clan elders. Not that River’s hormones cared. They jumped like fleas whenever the bear came near him.

Briar watched the play of conflicting emotions flit across his lover’s face and pressed his advantage. “Undress,” he commanded.

River’s scruples stood no chance.

The bear swallowed as one slender hand disappeared down the front of River’s jeans, popping buttons along the way. Oh, he held no illusions. He knew River’s obedience didn’t come naturally. The otter had been trained well. He responded to the order of a superior predator, not the request of his lover.

A smile tugged at the corner of Briar’s mouth when he noticed River wasn’t wearing the slinky new underwear he’d had spent a fortune on. He loved the small act of defiance. No, the otter’s compliance wasn’t an inborn trait.

River was naked a moment later and exactly what Briar had wanted to see. Even in the flickering light of the lone candle staving off the darkness he was beautiful.

He wasn’t overly tall. Slender, even a bit on the thin side, though Briar hazarded a guess that that had more to do with River’s recent ordeal than the otter’s natural build. They were tough creatures, otters. At the top of the food chain in their natural habitat, predators in their own right. In their human form, though, there was no room for fat on that slender frame, which made them susceptible to the cold, one of their few flaws.

Fine, highbred features. Large eyes. Ears that were just a bit too large to be entirely human. But they lay well hidden beneath the lustrous fall of cognac-colored hair that just barely brushed River’s shoulders. Not that they took an ounce away from the delicate beauty River wore with such disregard.

Not for the first time Briar wondered just how old his submissive lover was. His age was difficult to gauge. Weres lived longer than their human counterparts, matured differently. The man before him appeared to be somewhere north of eighteen but south of twenty-five. He’d likely look that way for a decade.

At the thought of River by his side for that decade, Briar’s heart leaped past his frenzied hormones. Unwilling to entertain the thought of such a permanent bond with a prey animal, though, Briar growled and surged forward.

River’s fight or flight instincts barely had the chance to kick in. Before the animal in him could take control, Briar impaled him and he was lost to the thrill of physical dominance. The clan of bears outside their cottage forgotten, he cried out. His back arched off the wool rug with Briar’s slow withdrawal. An involuntary and utterly sexy, low moan followed his cry.

His eyes closed. His hands searched for purchase, clawing the carpet, finding a strong wrist next to his hip, curling around the flesh there, feeling a frantic pulse beating beneath the skin. He loved the pain, and unlike Briar, he didn’t think it was a conditioned response. When Briar’s thick cock, aided now by the slick lubrication of blood, drove back into his bowels, he groaned.

He forced his eyes open to watch the bear working over him. Briar had his dark head bowed, chin on his chest, hair falling into his face, plastered to his sweaty skin. His eyes were open. Their feverish brilliance focused on the body beneath him.

“Move, River,” he growled, hooking his hand behind a knee, pulling his lover closer.

River obliged. He rocked his hips, changed the angle of his pelvis and crossed his ankles behind Briar’s back, forcing the bear closer, deeper yet. He struggled up on his elbows, lifting his face, licking, kissing, and suckling the chest right before his eyes.

When Briar came with a silent growl, River followed him with a hoarse cry.

The bear’s supporting wrist buckled and he let himself fall into the sweaty embrace of River’s arms. They lay there for a moment, panting or, in River’s case, gasping for air, with a racing heartbeat and thundering blood in his ears.

“I thought you didn’t want anyone to hear us,” Briar teased after a while.

“Fuck you.”

“Later.” He withdrew and swatted River’s hip. “Up. Up. On your hands and knees, boy.”

River complied with a grin. He had the playful, lighthearted nature of his animal cousins. Was an unrestrained and uninhibited, too, which made his kind a prize to the sex traffickers who specialized in weres.

Briar tried not to think of that. His hands on either side of River’s narrow hips, he arched his back and lowered his head to watch himself slide into the enticing depth of his lover.

Heat teased him, searing his engorged flesh, offering him ecstasy deep within the writhing form of a beautiful, utterly willing and oh so pliable River. Thrusting hard, he slid himself home. Clenching his teeth, the moan, an animalistic, guttural sound, still tumbled past his lips. Good god, he’d found heaven.

He slid his arms around River, pulling him up and off his hands, drawing him against his own sweaty chest – balancing them both on their knees. He set a pace as slow as it was relentless. Thrusting. Sliding and gliding within River whose slender body fit perfectly with the hulking form of the bear.

River’s hands clutched at the muscular arms supporting him. His head fell back and his cheek brushed against Briar’s face.

“God,” he gasped.

“I aim to please,” Briar managed breathlessly, his chin on River’s shoulder. His eyes closed as the orgasm washed over him. Seed, red-hot and boiling, poured out of him like molten lava. And with it River’s name, in a hoarse, unintelligible cry.

His pace slowing, he stayed inside his lover’s body until the liquid fire in his testicles cooled and relented. Then, they fell.

“Briar?’ Muffled, tired, from somewhere beneath their dark, spent bodies.


“Get off me.”

With a grunt, Briar rolled over. A heartbeat later the spent body next to him flashed into his animal form. The sleek, streamlined river otter disappeared in the shadows of the cottage, escaping through the dog flap inside the backdoor as Briar’s father stormed through the front door.

“Where is he? Where is that weasel?”

“Gone,” Briar sighed.

“One day,” his father warned, snatching River’s pants off the floor and throwing them at his naked son. “One day I will catch his peddling ass and then he’s going back in his cage.”

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