Brightening – he hadn’t been sure if the lycan would give him permission – Nafan shuffled over and gazed down at his new patient with enthusiasm.

“Can I take off your robes? And inspect… you know, down there?”

Khyriel’s back shook with an irritable snarl.

“I said do whatever you want. Don’t ask me again.”

“Aha, okay, okay…”

Chuckling forlornly, Nafan took a few deep breaths to gather his courage, then reached carefully for the lycan’s robes. He peeled them back, and to his slight surprise, Khyriel helped him – shifting his body and moving his arms so that his robes could be easily slid off. Folding them, Nafan placed them carefully beside the boy, then took a moment to plan out his treatment.

The skin of Khyriel’s back was beautifully pale and flushed with healthy luster… but it was also laced with scars. Some of them were small, dark slivers from cuts that he hadn’t taken care of properly, but a few ones slashed across his muscle, hinting at the horrible wounds they must have once been.

Sadness welled up in his throat, and without thinking, Nafan touched a particularly disfiguring scar along the lycan’s shoulderblades.

“… Oi.”

Khyriel tensed, then turned his head with a disgruntled huff.

“That’s not where my wounds are. Did you not hear? They’re in my ass. My ass.”

“Oh – yeah. R-Right –” Flustered, Nafan made to pull away, only to stop and frown when he caught sight of a strange ripple in the lycan’s shoulder muscles. “Whoah, wait.”

Overcome with instinct, Nafan acted without thinking again. He grabbed the boy’s shoulders and gave the muscle there a firm knead, huffing incredulously as the flesh pushed back against his palms with impressive force.

“You are super tense. Are you always like this?”

“Like what?” Khyriel glanced over his shoulder with an indignant glint in his eye. “Wary of perverts like you?”

“No, I mean, your body is practically screaming with stress.” Letting habit take over, Nafan began to perform a familiar massage technique on the young lycan’s back. “Your muscles have been so tight for so long, it’s restricted the natural flow of your chi. There are parts of your body completely stagnant of energy. I’m amazed you can still move at all, really – aren’t you in pain?”

“Ngh…”

Khyriel had burrowed his head in his arms again, so Nafan couldn’t see his expression – but from the strange noise he was making, the lycan was probably feeling the effects of the massage.

“So what… ngh… a little bit of pain is… ugh… nothing…”

Working his way through the neck, limbs, and back, Nafan shook his head and sighed loudly. Few things irritated him, but a careless patient was one of them.

“Alright, well… this should ease your discomfort a bit. I’ve loosened some of your muscles and guided your flow of chi into the stagnant areas, but it’s not something that can be fixed so easily. You’ll need daily –”

“Enough already,” Khyriel growled, reaching back to slap Nafan in the arm. “I don’t understand a word you’re saying. Just hurry up and treat my wounds, then leave me alone.”

Caught up in his work, Nafan almost forgot what had prompted this interaction in the first place. He blinked at the young man for a moment, then slowly lowered his gaze to Khyriel’s exposed buttocks.

Oh. Oh, right…

Oh, shit. What was he – what was he doing? He’d gotten so swept up with habit that he forgot this was a lycan. How dare he? How dare he…

“… Well?”

Impatient, Khyriel glanced over his shoulder again, revealing the flush coloring his face.

“Are you going to do it or not?”

“Ah – ah, um, yes. I’m – I’m doing it now.” Fumbling with his vial of oil, Nafan uncorked it nervously and nearly spilled the entire thing over Khyriel’s back. Heart pounding with terror, he soaked his trembling fingers in the cold fluid, then set it carefully aside.

“I’m, um, I’m going to, to inspect –”

“Yeah yeah.” Khyriel scoffed and tucked his head exasperatedly back into his arms. “Stop freaking out, it’s not like I’ve never had a man’s fingers in my – ah?!”

Khyriel’s muffled yelp echoed over their heads.

Nafan froze. He completely and utterly ceased all movement of any part of his body, including probably his heart, at least for a few nervous seconds.

In an attempt to find the wounds, he had pushed the young man’s pucker apart and slid a cold, oil-covered finger carefully inside. It was at the first knuckle where he felt the abrasive texture of the wound… and it was about there that Khyriel suddenly uttered that strange noise.

“S… Sorry…? Does it sting really badly?”

Nafan didn’t really know what to apologize for, besides, well, everything – but when he tried to withdraw, Khyriel’s insides clamped down tightly against him.

“… Don’t.”

Khyriel’s voice had grown deep and breathless. The young lycan propped himself up on his elbows, his entire back trembling as he lowered his head and huffed thickly.

“Don’t take it out. Keep going.”

“Oh, um… okay…”

Nafan’s heart was throbbing so wildly that he was worried it would actually explode out of his chest, but he wasn’t about to disobey. Gulping, he tried to suck in a calming breath and focus on work.

He was doctor, treating a wound. That was all.

… Even if his patient was making strange noises, and thrusting his hips back, and squeezing his fingers in deeper.

“Uh, can you…” Nafan trailed off, grimacing as his voice turned out so hoarse that it was barely audible. “Can you hold still for a second? It’s kind of hard to uh, to apply the ointment in the right place.”

“It’s fine…” Khyriel mumbled breathlessly. “Just put it everywhere. Fill me up with it… use more of your fingers… shove them deeper…”

“Eh? Uh, uhh…” Nafan glanced at his rapidly disappearing vial of oil, wondering if that was actually an order or not. His mind was scattered, and though he was trying to pretend like he didn’t understand what was going on, his groin betrayed his awareness. It was pushing up against his robes, stretching them dangerously far, and as ashamed as he was, there was nothing Nafan could do about it. Not with Khyriel moaning indecently against him like that…

“Ahh… fuck…”

A tremor rippled through the young lycan’s back and he faltered for a moment, only to recover and frantically quicken his pace. Throwing himself haphazardly against Nafan’s fingers, he lowered his head and groaned with luxurious wanton until abruptly, he came with a violent splurt of fluid.

… It took a long while for Khyriel’s convulsions to settle. By then, the last echoes of his voice had faded, and Nafan had managed to shove his own erection back to a passably virtuous size.

“… Ah. Fuck.”

Khyriel pulled away and collapsed onto his stomach in the grass, not seeming to care about the puddle that he’d made there. His entire body heaved in a massive sigh of gratification, and – Nafan noticed with a pang of satisfaction – his muscles no longer seized up with that strange, stressful ripple.

He looked relaxed, now. Utter serenity had finally made its way onto his face, and his breathing had become deep and steady. It even seemed like he might just fall asleep, right there and then… but Khyriel pulled himself together with an abrupt gasp.

Sitting up, the lycan grabbed his robes and dragged them around his shoulders in a sudden display of modesty. He turned to Nafan with a glare, entire face – no, entire body – turning a rosy shade of red as he spluttered.

“Y-You – how did you do that?!”

“D-Do what?!” Startled, Nafan echoed the boy’s flustered cry. In his frantic search for an answer, he grabbed his vial of oil and lifted it up. “This?! Was it this?! The oil?”

“I don’t know, w-was it?!”  

“Well, um, it might have felt a bit minty, so if it stung, then –”

“No, it felt good! I can’t – I can’t fucking believe how good that felt!” Khyriel cast his puddle of seed an incredulous glance, then turned his disbelieving stare back to Nafan. “Did you use some sort of magic?! Some sort of spell, or –”

“I don’t think so?” Nafan frowned doubtfully. “I don’t think I’m capable of magic? Does magic even exist?”

“Then how the fuck – I mean, I’ve literally never – I can’t believe I came from just your fucking fingers –”

“Um – great? I-I mean, is that good?”

They spluttered together like that for a little longer, exchanging broken dialogue that no longer really made any sense, until eventually Khyriel ran out of gibberish. The lycan fell silent, pink and curled up within his robes, staring at the grass between them with amazement in his eyes.

“I don’t like you.”

“Eh?!”

Nafan reeled back in shock and dismay. He couldn’t understand how that had ended up being the outcome to their conversation.

Struggling to his feet, Khyriel recomposed himself with a deep breath. He closed his eyes, flung his robes over one shoulder, then struck a dominant pose and shoved a finger down at Nafan.

“You’re a demon,” he declared matter-of-factly. “You’re definitely a demon, whether you realize it or not.”

Nafan cringed, though he was more confused than anything else. “I’m… I’m sorry…”

Uttering a pompous hmph, the lycan lifted his nose to the sky and turned away with a scoff.

“I’m going to hunt. Don’t leave this town without me. I’m keeping an eye on you from now on.”

“Oh, okay…” Baffled – so did Khyriel like him or not? – Nafan nodded meekly in agreement. “Wait, so do I still need to pay you, or…?”

Already a few steps away, Khyriel skid to a halt. After a moment of apparent thought, the young lycan huffed and darted away in a sudden fluster.

“O-Of course you still need to pay me, damnit…!”