#wolf billy is just a big cuddly baby

[weird-an]

Steve heart hammers in his chest.

It's a full moon, hidden behind dark clouds, but Steve knows it's tonight. Billy has warned him for days now. There's a wolf in his backyard. Fur a molten caramel, ears with dark tips.

Billy told him to stay away. Billy told him he was dangerous, that he'll bite, that he's not a fucking dog to pet, Harrington.

The wolf whines. He puts his paw against the window, staring at Steve with big dark eyes, too human, too pleading.

Fear and sympathy make Steve's hands sweaty. He turns the door's handle. He can't keep Billy away, he can't lock him out. Not when he's coming to Steve, when he's seeking him out, not avoiding him.

He hesitates. The wolf growls. It sounds annoyed. Steve snorts and opens the door.

Within seconds, the wolf jumps him. Steve stumbles backwards.

Oh shit, he thinks, for second fearing that he's been dumb to not listen to Billy.

The wolf licks across his face.

"Ew," Steve says, wiping his forehead.

The wolf huffs, as if offended.

Steve sits up, which is tricky with a lap full of a wolf. His hand finds Billy's fur. It's soft. Billy tilts his head. His eyes are still blue, Steve realizes.

He scratches the wolf behind the ears. Billy closes his eyes and pushes himself against Steve's hands. Like when he's asleep and doesn't know he's doing it, like when he's drunk and will deny it forever. The wolf doesn't seem to be afraid of affection. He seeks it.

"You... want to cuddle," Steve says slowly, thinking of all the times Billy left after sex or scoffed at Steve's arms around him.

He's pretty sure wolves can't roll their eyes, but Billy does.

Steve hugs the wolf. "You're my idiot."

Billy barks, bumping his head against Steve's hand. Because he slowed down with the ear scratches.

"You'll be so embarrassed tomorrow," Steve tells Billy.

Billy bumps his wet nose against Steve's cheek.