The Hanged Man.

As soon as the man stepped onto the stage the Wolf knew he was different. When he climbed the red silks and started louping and turning and twisting and knotting, the Wolf knew he was different in the same way he was. He couldn’t take his eyes off him.

“You serving or what?”

“Fuck off,” the Wolf said. The man had cropped silver hair on his head, dark hair on his face and a short fuzz of silver hair on his tattooed chest and arms. He held himself suspended upside-down by his arms with his legs pointed outwards to either side. He looped the silks around his feet and twisted and turned and somehow ended up right side up with the silks wrapped around his shoulders, arms spread wide like Jesus on the cross.

“Uh, mate…”

What?” The Wolf huffed. “Sorry.” He wrenched his gaze from the Hanged Man, to gaze at the hanging man in front of him. “What can I get you?”

“Vodka tonic, please. No ice.” The man was also bald, no hair on his jowls and a tuft of white hair poking out from his white shirt. But he was not the most entrancing creature that the Wolf had ever seen. His gaze drifted again and again to the tattooed man in the spotlight. Over the stink of beer and whisky and vodka and energy drinks, over the miasma of perfumes and sweat and piss and cigarette breath, over the shampoos and shower gels and leather and fabric softener and garbage and gum, came the scent of the Silver Wolf’s sweat. It hit the Wolf like a fist to the gut. The glass shattered in a pool of clear effervescence.


The Silver man moved the silks around his torso and then spun down and down and down. The crowd gasped as he came to a sharp halt inches from the ground.

“Mate, my drink!”
The Wolf ignored him.

The aerialist came slowly to the ground, bowed and walked off stage amidst a thunder of applause. The Wolf was seconds behind him.

“Oh hey- ”

“What are you?” Without waiting for a response the Wolf darted in, faster than thought, and had the man’s arm raised and his nose in his pit. The Silver man had caught the Wolf by his throat but made no further move to stop him. The Wolf devoured his scent and whimpered.

“Hey, lil guy,” the Silver Wolf said, his hand relaxing around the younger Wolf’s throat, gently guiding his head back up to face level. He smiled. “You’re an odd one, aren’t you?” A flash of what looked like pain crossed the Wolf’s face, then the corner of his mouth lifted in a shy half smile.

“Sorry, I’ve just… I’ve never met another one before.”

The Silver Wolf smiled, blue eyes like twin hot springs. “What, another aerialist?”


“Another man as dazzling as yourself?”

“No – yeah – no!” the Wolf laughed. “You know what I mean.”

The smile faded slowly like sunset on the older Wolf’s face, leaving vestiges of heat that the younger man wanted to curl up in.

“I know.” The older man rubbed his cheek along the younger Wolf’s jawline and buried his nose behind his ear, inhaling his scent as the younger wolf had taken his scent.

The Wolf shuddered and the nuzzled the Silver Wolf’s neck.

“Take me with you.”

The Silver Wolf laughed. “Okay.”


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