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It wasn’t unusual for shifters to take mates outside their own kind, especially in the smaller villages of Albion, where finding another of the same species was rare.
What was unusual was a pairing that crossed the predator–prey divide. Instincts clashed, mating practices conflicted, and most such bonds burned out before a season passed.
And yet, Arthur and Merlin made it work.
No one in Camelot quite understood how, but the wolf and the rabbit found balance, figured out how to meet each other’s needs.
Well, most of the time, anyway.
Merlin bolted through the woods, bare feet pounding across the damp spring earth. The sharp morning air stung his lungs as he leapt over fallen logs and ducked the whipping branches that tore red lines across his skin. His ears stood tall atop his head, twitching with every sound, straining to catch any sounds that didn’t belong to the forest.
They did this every year, but it never failed to make his blood sing with terror and want in equal measure. He was being hunted through the woods like the prey he was, pursued by his mate.
He splashed through a shallow stream and scrambled up the opposite bank, bare chest heaving. Rabbits were meant for short sprints of incredible speed, not prolonged chases, and he was wearing out.
Merlin paused, pressing an ear high, listening for any sound of his pursuer.
Nothing.
Merlin’s heart hammered in his chest, the silence somehow worse than the sound of footsteps crashing through the underbrush.
He knew Arthur tracked him by scent, not sound. He’d never gotten away from Arthur, and he couldn’t hide, not really, but his prey-instincts demanded he try anyway. A twig snapped somewhere to the left of him. Merlin jolted and sprinted to the right, weaving through trees and trying to leave an unfollowable trail.
Several minutes of running passed before his lungs finally gave out, and he had to pause. He leaned on the far side of a thick tree, peering backwards the way he’d come as he panted for air as quietly as he could. The bark tore into his naked skin, but the slight pain helped ground him a bit, so he pressed back harder.
Nothing emerged from the woods behind him, and his pulse slowly lowered as his breathing cleared. He sagged against the tree, faintly trembling, and turned back, facing the way he’d been heading.
Every muscle in his body locked instantly.
Through the brush, not 10 meters away, a shadow with a pair of yellow eyes peered back at him.
His ears pressed down flat to his skull, and his shoulders hunched, brain going blank with the ancient, useless hope that if he just stayed still, he’d go unnoticed — he’d be safe.
The shadow took a single step forward, and the spell broke.
He bolted.
Branches tore at his arms, his thighs screamed, and his lungs burned in overworked agony. Still, he ran. He had to.
But it seemed his pursuer had tired of the chase.
Thundering footsteps closed in fast — far too fast to escape — Merlin tried to dart to the side, into a thick grove of trees.
An arm caught his waist, wrenching him down. They crashed together into the soft grass, Merlin’s fall broken by the arm cushioning his waist, and another preventing his face from hitting the ground.
Still, he thrashed, uselessly trying to throw off the larger body caging him in.
He stood no chance.
His wrists were easily caught in an iron hold, tugged above his head, and trapped there by a hand wrapping over his wrists.
Arms captured, Merlin writhed, kicking out with his legs.
A rumbling growl sounded above him, and hot breath ghosted over his neck. Then teeth sank into the sensitive skin at his nape, and he instantly crumpled, crushed flat on his belly.
Merlin couldn’t hold back his quiet whimper — a small, frightened sound that wasn’t part of the game.
His wolf stilled instantly, hands gentling on his wrists and waist, petting across the exposed skin softly. The growl transformed into a quiet rumble — as close to a purr as a wolf can get — and the bite eased, jaw unclamping from around Merlin’s nape.
“Shhh,” Arthur murmured against his neck, licking soothingly at the fresh mark, “It’s only me. You’re safe.”
Merlin’s chest heaved, but the prey-terror slowly faded as Arthur nosed along his throat, licking softly instead of biting.
His wolf soothed him until Merlin’s long ears perked up and he started squirming into, instead of away from Arthur.
His mate rumbled in satisfaction before the weight on Merlin’s lower half retreated, and his hips were tugged up, hoisting his ass into the air. A firm hand gripped his cotton-ball tail, giving it a possessive squeeze before lifting it aside to bare him.
The press of Arthur’s heavy cockhead at his entrance made Merlin’s spine arch, slickness smearing as the blunt head rubbed insistently at him.
A broken sound escaped his lips when his wolf pressed in, slowly but unrelentingly, until he was split wide around the thick length.
“Ah— Arthur!” Merlin gasped, his voice a thin, reedy sound.
He knew he wouldn’t tear — Arthur had taken great care when prepping him earlier, cautious even in the haze of pre-rut — but it still felt impossibly big, wolf-thick where rabbits were made to take something smaller and longer.
His body trembled, muscles twitching as he tried to accommodate the intrusion.
Arthur groaned above him, the sound turning feral and raw as he bottomed out, buried to the hilt. He paused, gently grinding his hips, to give Merlin a few precious seconds to adjust.
Merlin panted into the grass, fingers flexing helplessly where Arthur held his pinned wrists. The burning stretch of his ass slowly dulled into something far more pleasurable.
Arthur began to move, small, measured thrusts at first, but quickly growing into a pounding rhythm that would have sent Merlin crashing to the ground if he wasn’t being held up. Each thrust forced air from Merlin’s lungs, drawing an endless whining cry from his lips.
Merlin could only lie there and take it, to feel as every inch of that thick cock slid past his overstretched rim.
He pressed his forehead to his arms, panting and whining. “Please—”
Arthur growled in answer, leaning down over him to sink his teeth into the meat of Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin yelped, jerking against the sharp sting, even as it rapidly faded to pleasure.
His wolf increased his pace again, hips slapping against Merlin’s ass, heavy balls swinging forward to smack against him. Merlin couldn’t help the squealing whine he released as the stretch grew deeper, Arthur’s knot beginning to inflate at the base of his cock.
Merlin cried out each time Arthur bullied the swell in and out of his rim. He couldn’t help but try to squirm away from the unbearable pressure, but Arthur just held him firm, body pinning Merlin’s smaller form down and jaw locked around his neck.
Merlin keened, full to the breaking and body convulsing as pleasure-pain traced burning paths up his spine. Arthur ground into him, forcing his knot deeper and deeper until it finally finished swelling, locking Arthur deep inside Merlin.
The knot pressed directly into Merlin’s sweet spot, sending sparks of overwhelming pleasure into him with every tiny shift and pulse of his wolf’s cock. Merlin spilled onto the grass beneath them, sobbing out Arthur’s name as his walls fluttered helplessly around the knot holding him open.
Arthur rutted through it, relentless little thrusts that kept Merlin teetering on the edge of too much, as he came hot and thick inside. The weight of his wolf pressed heavily on his back, his low growls vibrating against Merlin’s bitten skin.
It went on and on, until Arthur’s hips finally fell mercifully still, and his bite switched to licking soothingly at the numerous angry fangmarks dotting Merlin’s neck and shoulders.
Still locked together, Arthur rolled them onto their sides, arms curling protectively around his trembling mate. He nuzzled into the velvety soft rabbit-ears, nibbling gently along the edges.
Merlin — limp, spent, and panting — let himself be cuddled close to his predator's chest.
Arthur groaned as Merlin sank down on him again, tight heat engulfing his cock. He wasn’t sure what round this was — five? Six? — but his bunny showed no signs of slowing down.
Merlin's thin thighs flexed as he bounced, skin slick with sweat, and ears drooping with a determined exhaustion. His body worked Arthur’s cock like his life depended on it, hole squeezing down mercilessly but so slick that Arthur slid in and out with obscene ease.
Arthur dug his fingers into Merlin’s hips, trying to slow him, but his bunny smacked his hands away. In revenge for his misdeed, Merlin snatched up Arthur’s long sweeping tail and brought it to his mouth, biting down on the fluffy tip.
Arthur winced and swore under his breath, letting his hands fall away from Merlin’s body.
“Merlin—” His voice was half-growl, half-plea.
Merlin ignored him, clutching at Arthur’s tail like a lifeline as he worked himself up and down, chasing a finish that wouldn’t be enough. His little cock bounced between them, flushed and slick from too many orgasms but still standing stiff, never satisfied.
Arthur clenched his jaw and tried to hold out, but it was impossible. Merlin’s fluttering hole milked at his cock as he came with a groan, spilling inside his mate. His body slumped back against the sheets, sweat beading at his brow, and wincing as Merlin’s motions didn’t slow.
Merlin whimpered when he felt Arthur begin to soften inside him. He lifted his head, mouth and nose twitching in obvious frustration, and then growled — the sound absurd on his lips but no less demanding for it — down at his mate.
Arthur tolerated Merlin’s continued bouncing as long as he could, but eventually he had to return his hands to his rabbit and lift him off his cock, wincing at the wet drag against his oversensitive flesh.
His bunny bared his teeth at him and kicked out, smacking him lightly in the hip.
“Arthur! I need—!”
“I know, I know,” Arthur flipped them, dropping Merlin back on the bed and settling himself between his bunny's thighs, “You’ll get what you want, just hold on.”
Merlin flopped back against the bed with exaggerated petulance, his thighs splayed wide and slick hole fluttering open in invitation. Arthur swallowed, and his cock made a valiant effort at filling again despite his body’s protests. His biology was not made for this — wolves needed long, intense chases, not endless rounds.
But Merlin was in need, and Arthur refused to deny him.
He put one bracing hand on Merlin's twitching thigh and then slid four fingers from his other hand directly into his bunny's hole, not bothering to be gentle.
Merlin gasped, eyes slamming shut and ears stiffening. His back arched up, body quivering as Arthur pistoned his fingers in and out.
“That’s it,” Arthur murmured, watching the way Merlin’s body greedily swallowed his fingers, “I’ll give you what you need.”
Merlin rolled his hips once, twice, and then let out a choked sound, thighs clamping down on Arthur’s arm as he came again, spilling across his belly. Arthur knew better than to stop. He worked his fingers faster, twisting and spreading them until Merlin’s hole spasmed and he came again, clamping down on Arthur’s fingers like he could pull him deeper.
Merlin shuddered, a fully body wave that left him whimpering, ears pulled down flat again. His bunny's lips trembled, and tears gathered in his eyes. Every time Arthur’s fingers pressed in, he flinched, plainly overstimulated. But he didn’t push Arthur away. His hips kept tilting up, silently begging for more.
Arthur, wrist and forearm cramping, gave it to him. Another orgasm. Then another. Until Merlin finally sagged back into the furs, body spent, chest heaving, and shied away from Arthur’s working fingers.
Arthur carefully pulled free, wiping his sticky fingers on the sheets. He crawled up the bed to wrap Merlin in his arms, tugging him close. His bunny was pliant now, snuffling into Arthur's neck, ears flicking weakly against his jaw. Arthur stroked them gently, thumb rubbing at the delicate skin until Merlin shuddered with a little whine of pleasure.
He pressed his face to the top of Merlin’s head, taking the opportunity to shut his eyes and doze for a while, exhausted but happy.
He woke to a hand shoving at his shoulder.
Arthur cracked one eye open. His bunny was sitting up, pushing at him insistently until Arthur obediently flopped onto his back.
“Merlin…” Arthur warned, voice hoarse.
Merlin ignored him, climbing onto his thighs and stroking at the irritated skin of Arthur’s dick until it stood stiff.
Arthur groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes as Merlin clambered up, straddled his hips, and sank down with a needy moan.
“Merlin, you’re going to be the death of me,” Arthur muttered into his arm.
Merlin's only answer was the slap of skin on skin as he began to bounce again.