1. Act Tough

Quill still felt the dull ache in his ribs. It was a lingering reminder of his father's anger. The sad thing? He couldn't even tell you what his Dad was mad about.

He couldn't quite tell what hurt more.

The bruises, the gashes from his father's claws after he shifted, or the humiliation of being thrown out of the house yet again. 

He stumbled around until he crossed into neighboring territory. Minutes later, a patrol noticed him and notified the Alpha's son. 

Like they always did when this happened. Hawk had instructed them to. He also told them to keep it from his father and mother whenever possible. He told them it was to stop unnecessary fighting between the neighboring Alphas. Hawk's Dad already hated Quills. There was no reason to make it worse.  

Hawk insisted on dragging Quill to his family's house after the latest blow-up.

Like he always did.

"Let me see the cut," he urged as they walked into the guest bedroom. They should probably just call it Quill's bedroom at this point. He seemed to sleep there more than in his own home.

Quill tensed immediately. "It's fine." 

He hated when people fussed over him, and that included Hawk. 

"Shut up, man. You're bleeding everywhere." Without waiting for permission, Hawk grabbed Quill's arm and pulled the shirt up, exposing a long, deep gash along his flank. 

Quill winced but didn't protest.

The house smelled like old wood and fresh air, a drastic change from the suffocating staleness of his own home. It felt safe here, but somehow, that only made things worse.

"I told you... you didn't have to bring me here. I'm fine," Quill muttered. "Your parents already think I'm a fuck-up. Now I'm bleeding on one of your mom's expensive duvets."

Hawk didn't respond right away. He was too focused on cleaning the wound with the supplies he already had waiting on the nightstand. That was just like him. Always the one with a plan, always knowing what to do. 

Always taking care of Quill when he was staring into the void.

But now, in his parent's guest room, everything felt too close, too personal. 

Too...strange.

"It's not that expensive. Plus, you're not a fuck-up. Your old man's just a bastard," Hawk finally stated.

Quill grunted. He was unsure how to respond. It wasn't like Hawk didn't understand family pressure. They both came from direct Alpha bloodline families and were raised to be harsh and uncompromising. Just like their fathers.

But somehow, Hawk's parents treated him like he still mattered. Their harsh and uncompromising attitudes didn't extend to their son. Not entirely, anyway.

Quill didn't have that luxury.

"That's enough," He said as he shifted away from Hawk. He didn't want Hawk to see how much it hurt, how his chest felt tight from everything. 

The pain, the shame, and the unbearable feeling of being completely unwanted.

But Hawk didn't move away. Instead, he wiped away the last of the blood, his fingers still lingering on Quill's skin. Quill glanced up, catching something in Hawk's eyes before they both quickly looked away.

Quill shifted, trying to take a deep breath, but every inhale felt tight. 

His head was swimming. Concussions hit werewolves harder than humans. Both sides felt the same pain from it. Mentally? That was a different story. It made his human side want to cry. It made his wolf side, something he was just getting used to, want to kill something. 

To fight or...

Fuck, there had to be something else that could help him control these strange feelings he was having. He winced as he tried to take another deep breath. It wasn't going to happen. Not right now. 

His human side was starting to win the battle. It hurt. It hurt so damn back he wanted to cry.

He hadn't cried about it, and he wouldn't. 

Not here. 

Not in front of Hawk.

"You don't have to act tough around me," Hawk noted.

Quill turned to him. "I'm not acting. I'm fine."

Hawk leaned in closer than before. He hated how easily Hawk's presence could unravel him. They'd been best friends for years, constantly dancing around some invisible line neither dared cross.

Or even acknowledge. 

However, Hawk was too close, and Quill could feel the heat radiating from him. Could smell the sweat on his skin. Could feel how fast his heart was beating. Hawk looked between Quill's face and his lips.

"Quill," Hawk began but then stopped. 

Quill swallowed hard, unsure if the pain in his ribs or something else made his chest feel tight. Hawk's hand brushed against his side, almost cautiously.

Quill didn't stop him. 

Maybe he should have. 

He should have laughed it off, shoved Hawk back, or done anything to shift the mood. 

But he didn't.

Something pulled him to Hawk. His lips parted before he realized what he was doing. 

He leaned up to kiss Hawk.

The first contact was awkward and hesitant. Hawk froze for a second before he leaned into the kiss. Quill's injuries made him slow to react, but Hawk didn't notice.

All he could think about was how Quill's lips were softer than he had expected.

Quill groaned out of frustration. It was clumsy and uncertain, but it felt right.

Hawk stopped. "We shouldn't."

Quill let out a shaky laugh. "Probably not."

The line between friendship and something more was disappearing rapidly. 

Quill pushed Hawk back onto the bed. Pain shot through his ribs, but adrenaline dulled it enough for him to ignore. If Hawk's Dad walked in, they would both be dead. 

He mattered to his parents now, but he wouldn't if they learned about this.

Hawk looked up at Quill, but he didn't resist. Instead, he pulled Quill closer, his hands slipping beneath Quill's shirt, exploring the lines of his abs. When it made Quill shiver in response, Hawk did as well. 

Quill growled softly as he kissed him again. 

Their clothes came off hastily. It wasn't graceful or gentle. Quill winced as his ribs protested, but he didn't stop. The urgency pushed aside any second thoughts. It was messy, filled with mistakes and hesitation, but they were too far gone to stop.

Hawk's hand slipped lower, fumbling as he touched Quill. Quill moaned when Hawk's fingers brushed against him.

They both knew there was no turning back now. 

Hawk's hand moved slowly, then with more confidence as Quill started huffing. Quill let his head fall back against the pillows.

Hawk leaned in, pressing his mouth to Quill's neck. Quill bit his lip, trying to hold himself together, but it was too much.

Too much and not enough all at once.

It didn't take long after Hawk started breathing on his neck. Quill's entire body tensed before he finally collapsed onto the mattress, panting for breath as he made a mess all over himself and the expensive duvet. 

For a moment, neither of them said anything.

Quill rolled onto his side, still struggling to catch his breath as his ribs ached. He grabbed the bloody shirt he'd discarded and cleaned up quickly before falling back on the bed. It would be thrown away anyway, so what was a little more evidence he wanted to hide going to matter? 

The duvet was a different story.

Hawk just stared up at the ceiling. 

"Quill…" he started, but Quill cut him off.

"Don't."

They lay there, caught between what had happened and what it meant. 

It had been a mistake, and they both knew it. 

Hawk was the first to get up. He pulled his clothes on without looking at Quill. "This doesn't change anything," he muttered.

Quill sat up slowly, his body aching from more than just his bruises. He didn't say anything, just watched as Hawk got dressed and left the room.

The friendship they had, despite both being strong alphas, had always been fragile. 

Now it was broken beyond repair.

Quill collapsed back onto the bed after pulling the duvet down to the floor with his bloody clothes. He should have felt guilty, or maybe ashamed, but all he could think about was how right it had felt, even though it was wrong.

Wrong enough that it would get them both kicked out of their packs if their fathers found out.