Warnings: M/M slash, dub-con. And talk of cannibalism LOL duh.

Notes: Thanks for reviewing guys. ILU btw, but you knew that. I'm both simultaneously trying to give this thing a direction and trying to get these guys back in-character but lord knows if I'm doing it right.

If the shifting tenses becomes an irritant I'll try and fix it a bit. Also feel free to report on glaring errors, or just complain in general.

Chapter 4

He awakens. He awakens, and it must be morning because there's light peeking out from behind the animal skins that have been affixed above the windows as makeshift curtains.

The first thing he registers is that he's not cold. One of the many benefits of the Wendigo is a higher tolerance of low temperatures, but at the same time he's more attuned to it. In many ways it's a double-edged sword - the ability to recognise slight shifts in temperature; knowing you're cold and yet simultaneously recognising that your body can withstand it doesn't lessen the sensation at all, it merely makes it easier to ignore. Or perhaps it doesn't... Perhaps it simply transforms the previous dangers of low body temperature into something of an irritant, and though he's always found dangers a lot harder to ignore than irritants, irritants none the less can prove far more persistent. He realises it is irrelevant however, because this morning he isn't cold, despite his recently lacking diet.

He remembers gradually the reason for this, because said reason is curled around him possessively in a manner Hart never would, because Hart wasn't possessive. If anything he was impassive, not even really there when they made love. Not that he could really call it that... Not even with Boyd could he call it that and Boyd had been anything but impassive.

With a gradual shift of his body he realises too that he physically aches a little from the previous night, which is an after effect of sex he hasn't experienced since he was human. He blames Slauson mostly and Boyd only partially – because perhaps if Boyd had actually allowed him to bite him in return the previous night he would have received the necessary flesh and blood to heal entirely. Boyd hadn't allowed it however, indeed he'd seemed intent on keeping Ives utterly incapacitated, and Ives had realised with a flare of annoyance that he had been swift to quell that there was little he could have done to prevent it. He'd asked for it after all, almost begged for it, but it hadn't been the intimacy he'd craved, it'd been the power, the knowledge that he had Boyd on as tight a leash as he had Hart. Evidently things had not gone as planned.

He repositioned himself uneasily on the bed to one he found more comfortable, unwilling to wake Boyd prematurely. What was required of him now was acquiescence, unmitigated devotion to Boyd if that was what it would take in order for him to slowly claw his way back to a position he could comfortably live with. He had no doubts that Boyd was the ideal ally in this situation – Hart was far too whimsical, Ives suspected he was simply counting down the days until he got bored or frustrated enough to off himself and Slauson... Slauson he saw as the weak link. The outsider with no comprehension of the gift he'd been bestowed and no desire to learn about it - indeed Ives imagined that he lacked the intelligence to utilise his gift with any degree of proficiency. Slauson was more than a liability –physically his body was past its prime, he was short of statue and the majority of his bulk was fat, Ives didn't doubt. He'd misjudged him when he'd first made plans to incept him and the mistake needed to be rectified. Boyd was the man to do it.

With every passing day Boyd was proving less and less of the coward he'd originally seemed and he was no longer treating his acquired nature as a curse. The previous night had been nothing if not an explicit display of power and Ives suspected that if he took his time about it, he could easily convince Boyd of Slauson's limited use, though he would not have been the least bit surprised if Boyd had already had such thoughts himself. Last night had been... an education, for both of them. For Ives because he was now better able to assess his position in the camp, and for Boyd because he had found an outlet through which to channel some of the more voracious aspects of his nature.

The hunger, the need for flesh, is not as much a necessity as it is their sole, vile function. This is what Ives believes Slauson fails to comprehend – that rank is of no importance, war is trivial and the only purpose of staying put in Fort Spencer is because they're isolated from those that would call them "monster" and hunt them down, comfortable to wait patiently as a spider guards it's web, for the pray to come to them, by which time their fate will be sealed. The need to consume flesh is their only aspiration, as such their nature is inherently selfish. Ives understands this. He knows that he's governed by desire and he understands intimately how the need to satiate one's lust for human flesh is comparable to the one's libido. It's all about animalistic instincts that will never be quelled, and he's certain Boyd feels it too. The desire to utterly dominate all other life-forms – to have them quivering at your mercy is one that applies to all aspects of life – and the chief aspects are undeniably the need to eat and the need to fuck. As such, Ives' prey and his sexual conquests are not so different in that regard. And Ives knows he might be playing with fire trusting Boyd to understand the distinction. He's still fairly new to this. Allow Boyd one bite too many and he might find him splitting him down the centre, cracking open his rib cage to feast on the organs inside like a horse at the trough, for no other reason than the intoxicating smell of Ives' blood ensnaring his senses in the heat of the moment.

He's going to allow Boyd the benefit of the doubt. At this point he really has no choice, it is Boyd's leniency that's about to be put to the test, not his own.

For the time being it's essential he play the role he'd described so liberally to Boyd regarding fealty and submission, because it's what Boyd seems to want. But soon, very soon he's certain, they'll be able to stand side by side as he'd planned from the beginning.

Ives had lain in a state of half-sleep for the past hour, patiently waiting for the other man to awaken of his own accord. Aside from the dull ache in his nether regions (which experience had told him would only intensify if he moved) he was quite comfortable, more so than he'd been in a while. It was a seemingly small mercy when Boyd shifted against him, his breath escaping in a long sigh and Ives felt the other man turn, his weight partially lifting and Ives suspected he'd swung his legs around to sit on the edge of the bed.

Boyd rubbed his eyes before turning to look at the form of the other man behind him. Ives' body was tense, his breathing silent.

"I know you're not asleep, Ives. You don't have to wait for my permission to get up." He muttered, reaching over to pull back the fur blanket unceremoniously to bare Ives' flesh to the brisk morning air.

Ives sat up with a hiss of indignation and Boyd smirked at the snarl on the other man's face. It was easy enough for him to submit when he had little to no choice in the matter, feigning submission otherwise did not seem to come naturally to him. Ives seemed to realise his mistake, tearing his gaze away from Boyd's with some desperation, choosing instead to glare at the floor with his lips pressed into a thin line. Boyd wanted to laugh. The other man was trying, that much was obvious, but it seemed his usually calm exterior and natural grace were somewhat diminished when control was removed from within his grasp.

"You should relax a little," Boyd said flatly, rubbing his hair absently and Ives realised with a growing sense of dread that Boyd himself was completely at ease, for the first time since he'd met him. As if Ives was no threat at all. "Hart doesn't want you dead... at least not when you're like this," Boyd continued, looking up and sniffing before fixing his eyes on the other man. "He seems to feel sorry for you. I have no desire to make an enemy of him."

Ives watched as Boyd got to his feet and stretched, the light from the window haloing his body. He could resent Boyd as much as he liked for stealing away his power so completely, but the end result was the same. Boyd was his... or perhaps he was Boyd's, but Ives had known from the start that Boyd was the man for him. Of all the options he'd had, he still believed he'd made the right choice.

Hart was undeniably overweight, and, though not unpleasant to look at, the most attractive thing about him from Ives' point of view was undoubtedly his jovial personality (and even that on occasion became intolerable). He could imagine Slauson having been a handsome man in his glory days, but those were long gone despite a recent flood of colour having returned to his hair and a smoothing of some of his wrinkles. Besides which, he couldn't stand the man.

He himself couldn't even measure up; as a man he had always had trouble keeping his weight up and remained fairly unimpressive to look at now.

Boyd was different. When he wasn't dressed in threadbare sweaters and caked in dried blood he actually cut a fine figure. He was muscular without being physically intimidating, of a reasonable height and blessed with a strong jaw and fine features. He was, in a word, perfect, it had just previously been buried under layers of pathetic behaviour and a lack of fine grooming. Now that it was on show, and had been demonstrated quite spectacularly the previous night, Ives felt that, despite everything, Boyd was something he could be proud of, even if he wasn't in any position to show him off quite in the way he'd hoped.

Ives frowned slightly as Boyd leant down to pull his shirt and blue sweater from the chair.
"Don't wear that."

Boyd turned to look at him with a look of quiet surprise which slowly turned to amusement and Ives quickly averted his gaze, wondering if he'd overstepped his self-imposed boundaries yet again.

"And why not?" Boyd asked flatly, but with a hint of a smile, pulling the clothes on despite Ives' protestations. Ives watched impassively, unable to hide the telltale twitch of an eyebrow, registering his annoyance. He turned away again, fixing his gaze on the floor.

"Slauson is... obsessed with appearances." Ives said softly, he turned back to Boyd, who was now giving him his full attention and allowed himself a calculating smile. "He's incredibly shallow... and simple. He doesn't respect you, you know, and he never will if you continue to dress like that."

Boyd remained standing, regarding him silently before reaching up to pull the layers off over his shoulders, discarding them on the chair. He moved silently to the bed and Ives stiffened slightly as Boyd approached, moving down to sit beside him, staring intently into his eyes.

"Why does it bother you what Slauson thinks of me?"

Ives returned his gaze warily. They'd yet to hold a conversation that didn't involve some level of conflict since he'd been Colqhoun, he wasn't sure what Boyd expected of him.

"I think he underestimates you," Ives replied slowly, his eyes narrowed.

"Like you did, you mean?" Boyd asked with a hint of amusement.

Ives' tongue darted out to wet his lips. "I'm perfectly aware of what you're capable of, Boyd," he answered calmly, "possibly even more so than you."

In an instant Boyd had moved across the bed, a hand darting out to tangle in the back of Ives' hair, pulling his head back with a jerk, causing Ives to hiss in pain.

"Really? You sure about that?" Boyd asked with a slight snarl punctuating his words.

Ives took a moment to regain himself before thin laughter escaped his throat. "You're stronger than me, Boyd. I know that much," His gaze darkened. "You're stronger than Slauson too however. If you wanted to... I daresay you could rid us off him altogether."

Boyd narrowed his eyes, freeing Ives from his grip and moving back slowly. "Sorry Ives. I'm not playing your games anymore."

Ives shrugged. "I was merely stating a fact."

"No you weren't," Boyd answered carefully. "What is it Ives? What is it about Slauson that irritates you so much?" He moved back down closer to the other man, bringing his face inches from his as if searching his eyes. "Is it because he's not interested in your little games either? Or is it that he wouldn't let you sit on his cock?"

Ives felt a surge of anger shoot through him but Boyd's hand had enclosed his wrist before he even had a chance to strike and he found his breath stolen from him with the shock. He hadn't even consciously moved and the other man had already sensed and deflected the imminent blow. Hadn't even registered the desire to do it... He was getting slow. He needed to eat and soon.

Ives let out a breath of nervous laughter, unable to keep a smile from creeping across his face. "I'm sorry Boyd..." He purred. "I don't know what came over me."

Boyd simply narrowed his eyes at him before letting out a breath of humourless laughter, roughly pushing Ives away from him as he let go of his wrist. "I like this newfound attitude on you, Ives," he said as he got back to his feet and began to dress, this time in only his trousers and coat since he'd left his other clothes in his own room but had, evidently, taken Ives opinion to heart. "But it doesn't suit you at all."

Ives stared at the other man in disbelief; unsure of what Boyd was suggesting, unsure if it was even his place to ask for clarification.

Boyd shot him a stern look from his position beside the door. "Get dressed. We have a meal to prepare."

AN: Slauson is a short arse. Who knew? I think I mentioned something about him being bigger than Ives in a previous chapter, so let's pretend I just meant it with regards to overall bulk. I haven't reread it in a while though so I might have to do that at some point to make sure I haven't completely lost the plot.

I have no idea what I'm writing anymore. Also I can't write Boyd for shit. He is a mystery wrapped in an enigma with puzzle pieces stuck in his hair. But I'm not convinced all the pieces are even in there... WHERE ARE THE MISSING PIECES? GAAAAH!