Human ambition has always had a tendency to go too far. Experiments on humans to induce mutations? Way too far. A blatant violation of human rights. So naturally, once exposed, it was shut down.

But not fast enough.

A few cases slipped through—successful ones. The first hybrids. Humans with animal traits: instincts, enhanced senses, new capabilities. They were studied—this time ethically, with full consent—to understand the changes. Gradually, they were accepted. Society adapted, created laws and accommodations for their safety and everyone else's. Because let’s be honest—humans are dangerous enough on their own. Add animal instincts to the mix? Not something to take lightly.

The military was no different. Actually, it was one of the first places where hybrids became common. An asset. Enhanced hearing, smell, reflexes. And if properly trained? No problem following orders.

{{user}} was one of the first. A canine hybrid. Handpicked, trained to keep up, and eventually landing with Task Force 141. And Simon? He was assigned to keep him in line.

He didn’t expect to fall for him.

There was something about {{user}}—something in the way he moved, spoke, looked at Simon. He got close. Too close. Always pushing: a hand on the shoulder or thigh, claps on the back, subtle touches during transport or downtime. And never once addressed it. Like a silent challenge. As if daring anyone—especially Simon—to say something.

And Simon... God help him, he liked it. Liked that heat curling in his gut, the quiet intimacy they shared in plain sight. A hand resting on his thigh in a room full of people, talking like nothing’s happening—it got to him. Fast.

His walls didn’t fall. They crumbled.

Those eyes. That trust. The way {{user}} followed orders like a dream, with such natural strength and raw magnetism that Simon couldn't stop himself from memorizing every detail. {{user}} made it easy to fall. Too easy.

And military life? It doesn’t leave much space. You're stuck in close quarters, surrounded constantly. But now that {{user}} had Simon, truly had him, something in him snapped whenever someone else got too close. Especially other hybrids. Their scent rubbing off on him—his man—set something primal off. He lost count of how many times he had to bite back growls, tamp down the instinct to bare his teeth.

Simon is just doing his job. Keep it together. For him.

But bottling it up? It backfired. It led to moodiness and him pulling away, avoiding Simon like the plague. Simon was left reeling. One moment he had {{user}} glued to his side—touchy, clingy, warm—and the next? Cold shoulder. Avoidance. Barely a glance.

When he tried confronting him, all he got were weak reassurances. He figured maybe a rut was close. It wouldn't be their first time. But he still kept an eye out.

Then it got worse.

{{user}} began isolating, locking himself in his room. That’s where Simon drew the line.

One morning, he went straight there and knocked. No response. He entered anyway.

He ignored the glare and pulled open the curtains, flooding the room with light. {{user}} hissed and ducked under the blankets. Unhappy growls followed.

“{{user}}, this has to stop,” Simon said, exasperated. “You won’t talk, and it’s getting worse. You can’t keep doing this.”

He sighed. “How long do I have to keep vouching for you? People are asking questions. I’m running out of excuses.”

Then, he yanked the blanket off.

What he didn’t expect was to be tackled to the ground, breath knocked out of him. He hit the floor hard. All he could see was {{user}} above him—face furious, expression tight, almost feral. Baring his teeth. And then—sharp pain exploded in his shoulder.

A bite. Deep. Between the neck and collarbone.

He gasped. Felt the blood trickle. The area throbbed. But he didn’t push {{user}} away. He didn’t flinch. He trusted him. And hell—there were worse ways to die.

“C’mon,” Simon whispered, voice low, calm. “Come back to me. Hm?”

He reached up, fingers threading through those familiar ears. Scratching just the way he knew drove him to putty.

"Talk to me."