unjustifiable | 𝙾𝚅𝙴𝚁𝙵𝙻𝙾𝚆

[ James' laugh cuts through some of the tension, and while Igarak doesn't laugh with him, a small smile does manage to surface. Perhaps they have both lost it.

When James suggests he takes the bed, though, his smile fades to uncertainty again. He shouldn't stay. He knows he shouldn't. There's no chance he can remain here and have a clear head, certainly not if he's in James' bed. He worries his lip once more. ]

I'll stay out here.

[ That much, he thinks, he can manage. He doubts he'll sleep, anyway. This way, he can slip outside for air if needed, or pace the room without causing a disturbance. He manages another faint smile. ]

There's no way I can get all of the blood out of my hair with only a washbasin. No sense ruining your bedsheets when the sofa will do fine.

All right.

[ James has half a mind to argue that a few bloodstains on his bedsheets are the least of his worries, but he doesn't want to press his luck. Igarak hasn't bolted, and that, at least, is a small victory. Still, it feels wrong to let a guest sleep on his ratty old sofa. ]

Hold on a moment.

[ He disappears into the back room, then re-emerges a few moments later holding a pillow and a folded quilt. The quilt came out of the rickety old cupboard that passes for his linen closet, but the pillow is from his bed. He glances down at it, then self-consciously brushes a blond hair off the pillow case. ]

Sorry. This is all I've got by way of bedclothes. Not exactly a suite at the Elfsong, I know.

[ The tension seems to have returned all at once. James hurriedly places the pillow and blanket on the sofa, then retreats. He makes it halfway to his bedroom before he stops and glances back over his shoulder at Igarak. ]

I, uh, hope you sleep well. And for what it's worth, I'm glad you're here.

[ A protest is on the tip of Igarak's tongue when James reappears with a quilt and pillow. There's no need. He doubts he'll sleep, and his hair will stain everything it touches, anyway.

But he swallows the protest at the last moment and nods his thanks. James seems insistent, and Igarak doesn't want to offend. Anything he ruins can be replaced.

He nods again at James' well wishes. ]

You too. And James...

[ He hesitates, unsure if the sentiment will come off as strange or be unwelcome or simply uncomfortable. Then again, he's said stranger, more uncomfortable things tonight. This is hardly the worst risk to take. ]

I'm glad... that you want to live.

[ James hesitates. The half his face that's visible in the firelight wears an expression of mute surprise. Then, slowly, he smiles. For the first time in a long time, he doesn't have to force it. ]

So am I.

[ With that, he disappears into his bedroom, shutting the door softly behind him. As he lies awake waiting for sleep to come, he finds himself glancing at the patch of darkness where he knows the door to be. He thinks of Igarak, what he might be feeling, whether he might be keeping the same vigil. ]

[ Igarak's soul feels lighter at the sight. He's not sure he's ever seen James give a genuine smile before. He answers with one of his own, small but sincere, and then watches until James disappears into the bedroom and shuts the door softly behind him. Only then does Igarak exhale, slow and shaky, as if he's breathing freely for the first time since the ambush.

He turns back to the washbasin and finally sheds his bloodstained clothes, stripping down to his underwear. He bathes as quickly and thoroughly as he can, though the sight of the water in the basin turning red gives him pause. In that moment, it's impossible not to think about everything he's trying to avoid: the blood on James' face; on his arm; the imagined blood pooling in the hollow of his collarbone, waiting to be tasted. His pulse thunders in his ears. With a sharp breath, he quickly empties and refills the basin, forcing his focus back to the present.

He's careful not to wet his hair. He knows better than to try cleaning it properly with so little water; it would only rehydrate the blood, make it run, stain James' furniture even worse. Like so many things tonight, he'll deal with it in the morning.

When he's finished, it dawns on him that he never got any clean clothes from James. His eyes dart to the bedroom door, considering, before his vivid imagination supplies a dozen ways in which knocking would end in the precise scenario he's trying to avoid. He dismisses the thought. He'll be fine. He'll sleep as he is.

Another problem soon presents itself when he goes to lie down: his horns make finding a comfortable position impossible. No matter which way he shifts, the tips snag on the upholstery or catch on a loose thread.

In the end, he retreats to the floor by the hearth. It's not the worst place he's slept--far from it. Not that he expects sleep to claim him tonight. As he lays his head upon the pillow, he realizes, belatedly, that it smells like James.

Igarak freezes, breath catching as his senses latch onto the scent before his mind can stop them. His body responds instantly, traitorous and eager, heat pooling low in his gut. Had James given him the pillow from his own bed?

His jaw clenches, frustration flaring inward. With a groan, he yanks the pillow out from under his head and throws it onto the sofa with more force than necessary, then settles upon the hard floor. Wrapped in the quilt like a cocoon, he scowls up at the ceiling.

When the shadows cast by the dying fire begin to resemble shadows cast by the Bhaalists in the alleyway, he squeezes his eyes shut and mutters his oath under his breath. ]

[ James awakens in the same empty bedroom as always. The street outside the window is quiet in the pre-dawn twilight, and its peacefulness contrasts jarringly with the tumult in his head. His dreams won't leave him be. He can only remember flashes - hands around his throat, claws like needles digging into his flesh, the crushing weight of a body on top of him - but those brief glimpses leave him feeling unsettled and aroused. He grimaces, waiting for the tightness in his drawers to subside so he can get up and go put the kettle on. He wonders idly why his neck is so sore, then turns over to find a wadded-up shirt where his pillow should be. The sight of it drives away the last vestiges of his uneasy sleep. Everything comes rushing back.

Gods, what has he gotten himself into?

He's out of the bedroom in the span of time it takes for him to scramble out of bed and pull on a clean pair of trousers. The fire is long dead, leaving the room bathed in shadow. The sofa is empty. The sight leaves James feeling as though he's been doused in ice water. Igarak is gone, and it's his fault. If only he hadn't been so godsdamned selfish.

He's trying to decide whether he or not he ought to go out and search for the man when he notices the huddled shape on the floor. He rushes over to the hearth, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste. ]

Igarak? Are you all right?

[ Igarak's eyes snap open. His body reacts before his mind can catch up, bolting upright at the concern in James' voice. He must have fallen in battle. ]

What--

[ Something is tangled around him, earning a sharp curse as he struggles, far slower than his instincts demand. When his arms are free, he raises one hand in preparation of casting a spell. His eyes sweep the shadows frantically. ]

Where-- What is it--?

[ James flinches back, eyeing Igarak's raised hand cautiously. He knows that his friend doesn't need a weapon to kill. He doesn't even need to be fully awake. All takes it is one spell, fired off on impulse, and James can kiss his sorry hide goodbye.

He forces himself to stay calm. The last thing he wants to do is agitate Igarak any further. He raises his hands in a placating gesture. ]

It's me. It's James. You're in my house, remember? There's nothing to be afraid of. You're safe here.

[ Igarak continues to search the darkness a moment more, evident in the glow of his eyes darting back and forth. At last his gaze comes to rest on James--and memory clicks into place. The sofa. The pillow. The quilt. He looks at each in turn, tension draining from him as he rubs his face with the hand that had been poised to attack. ]

...Mm. Right. Sorry. Force of habit. Or instinct. Not sure.

[ He hadn't expected to sleep at all, yet he must have, if only briefly. It's still dark.

He looks back at James, confused. ]

You asked if I'm all right?

[ When it becomes apparent that Igarak isn't going to fling a fireball at his face, James allows himself to relax slightly. As the tension dissipates, last night's awkwardness returns. He realizes, to his great horror, that he's still hard. It's too late to go fleeing back to the bedroom now. He gingerly lowers himself onto the sofa, hoping against hope that Igarak hasn't noticed his condition. ]

Uh. Yeah. You were on the floor. I thought you might have collapsed. Or something.

[ It's cold. James shivers, wishing he'd put on a shirt. He should probably re-light the fire, but he's too embarrassed to get up and expose himself further. ]

[ Fortunately for poor James, Igarak is still a little disoriented from waking so abruptly and hasn't yet noticed his predicament. A wry smile tugs at his mouth. ]

Ah. That. Unfortunately, your sofa doesn't accommodate my horns.

[ It's then that he notices how miserable James looks. The awkwardness from last night threatens to resurface, but Igarak does his best to push the feeling down. Perhaps James is thinking clearly now. Maybe he's realized what a terrible mistake he nearly made.

Igarak tries not to let the dismay show on his face. Instead, he turns toward the hearth and utters an incantation. The fire flares back to life. It will need more wood before long, but it should last a little while.

He then untangles himself from the quilt and rises to his feet, clad in only his underwear. ]

[ James' cheeks redden. He failed to account for the horns. Like most humans, he's never really thought about the difficulties of going through life with two bony projections growing out of his head. ]

You might have told me. I'd have gladly swapped places with you.

[ But it's too late for that now, of course. He opens his mouth to thank Igarak for rekindling the fire, then shuts it with a click when the man throws off the quilt and stands. Despite the chilly air, his face and chest feel overheated, like he's just run a great distance.

It's not that James is shy. He's a grown man; he's seen naked skin before. But this is different. This feels dangerously charged. He knows he shouldn't look, but he can't help himself; his eyes rake hungrily down Igarak's muscular back, down to the curve of his hips, then further down to his thighs. In his dream, he dug his nails into those same thighs as they straddled him, pinning him beneath his tormentor, and he half-expects to see his fingernail marks in Igarak's skin now.

He's hard to the point of pain. There's no hiding it now. A rather fatuous inner voice suggests that he should just stop thinking about it, and maybe then it will go away. Terrible idea, but it's not as if he has any better options. ]

So. I, ah, hope the floor wasn't too hard.

[ It's not the only thing that's hard, thinks James, a tad hysterically. ]

Believe me, I've slept on far worse.

[ He offers James a small smile, an attempt to ease the lingering tension--but the attempt falls flat when he sees the look on James' face. It's then that he realizes the true reason his friend seems so miserable.

Heat rushes through him immediately. He retrieves the quilt and settles onto the sofa, not making himself small as he did last night, but still keeping distance between them. He drapes the quilt over his lap like a barrier. ]

Still not thinking clearly?

[ There's no judgment in the question; simply a weary acknowledgement of the uncomfortable place they both find themselves in. ]

[ James cracks a brittle smile at the question, then runs a hand through his hair, chuckling. ]

You might say that. I had some strange dreams.

[ And you were in them, he almost says, but he stops himself at the last second. The pause that follows makes his meaning clear enough. The smile lingers on his face for a moment as some of the tension fades from the room, but then he grows suddenly serious. Despite the bashful flush that lingers on his cheeks, his forces himself to look Igarak directly in the face. ]

If this is your way of asking me whether I've changed my mind about anything, the answer is no. I meant what I said last night. I... [ The cracks in his resolve begin to show. He looks away, embarrassed. ] ...I still mean it. Even if you think I've lost my mind.

[ Igarak needn't ask what those strange dreams were. James' silence speaks for itself. He can't recall whether he also dreamt, but his waking thoughts alone were plagued by all manner of 'strangeness' before sleep finally claimed him. He drops his gaze to his hands, fingers fidgeting aimlessly in his lap. ]

I don't think you've lost your mind, James. Not any more than I've lost mine, anyway. Please don't mistake my hesitation for disinterest. If all you wanted was sex, I would give it to you. ...Gladly.

[ He lets the word hang there, then turns his head just enough to look at James from the corner of his eye, a question in his expression, or perhaps an offer. ]

[ That sidelong glance is oddly arresting. James feels pinned, like a specimen on a dissection table. As grotesque as that mental image is, it only stokes the fire burning low in his belly. He looks at Igarak for a long moment, clearly caught in the grips of some inner turmoil.

This thing between them doesn't have to be complicated. They both want each other; that much is plainly obvious. There's no reason why this should be about anything more than sex. Plenty of people sleep with their friends, after all. It's normal. They could work out this bizarre tension, and then their relationship could go proceed unchanged.

But the relationship has changed, James realizes. Irreversibly so. He knows with instinctive certainty that these perverse fixations aren't going away. He can ignore them, but they'll always find him somehow - in dreams, in shameful fantasies, in confessions best left unsaid. ]

I know. And I know why you're hesitant. I would be hesitant, too.

[ James can't imagine what it's like to be in Igarak's position, but he knows what it's like to fear his own impulses. Perhaps he's asking too much. He pauses for a moment, mulling things over. When he speaks again, his prior bashfulness returns in force. ]

I think... I think I'd like to try. Sex, I mean. [ He winces. Gods, it's a wonder Igarak hasn't bolted. ] It doesn't ever have to go beyond that. Not unless you want it to.

[ Igarak can't help but be charmed by James' awkwardness. He smiles faintly. ]

All right.

[ He shifts closer, until their thighs touch between the barrier of fabric that separates them. The tension is still thick, but there's an undercurrent of relief now, at least on Igarak's part, in knowing that there's an end in sight. This is familiar. This he can do. A release of pressure, a kindness between friends.

He rests a hand gently on James' chest, lets his lips graze James' shoulder. His voice is low when he speaks. ]

Have you ever been to Sharess' Caress?

[ It might seem like a non sequitur, but it's one of the thoughts he'd had the night before, a small part of several conversations he'd had in his head. ]

[ No one has touched James like this for longer than he cares to think about. He always thought that he had borne his loneliness well, but now he realizes that he'd just gotten accustomed to deprivation, like a body preserved in some airless tomb for centuries only to crumble into dust when exposed to the fresh air. He feels fragile under Igarak's hands. When he feels lips brush against his shoulder, he makes a strangled sound not unlike a sob.

His trembling hands wander up Igarak's flank, fingers brushing over the strange bumps and ridges there. James has never been with a tiefling before, and he explores the differences in their anatomy with shy, bashful curiosity.

This feels good. This feels like what he needs. It's not enough to fill the jagged hollow that last night uncovered in him, but at least it papers over the hole. If this all there can ever be between them, then he'll just have to content himself with that.

The question takes him by surprise. He turns his head to look Igarak in the face, his fingers still tracing the strange vestigial wings over his friend's shoulder blades. ]

No. I'm, uh, not really the brothel-going sort.

[ Not that he didn't think about it back when his life was little more than a long and lonely vigil at Mary's bedside. He would have given anything for a distraction, for something (or someone) to take him out of his own head, but he knew that those thoughts were selfish. Now, though, he's allowed to be selfish. ]

Why do you ask?

[ The strangled sound that leaves James at Igarak's mere touch catches him off guard... and tugs at something soft in his heart. James' hands are trembling. He's nervous. Igarak hadn't considered it before, but he wonders now how long it's been since James was touched. How long it's been since he's touched anyone else.

Igarak keeps his own touch light and undemanding, tracing idle patterns with his fingers on James' chest, giving the man time to explore in return. ]

They have people that cater to that sort of... curiosity. Or so I've heard.

[ There's nothing in his tone to suggest he's being coy--not that it's in him to be so. He was not in any state to avail himself of the brothel's services when he was there; he has no experience to speak from, other than what he heard from Mamzell Amira and a few of the workers themselves. ]

If you're interested in pursuing that, I mean.

Edited 2025-12-15 19:49 (UTC)

[ There's a little hitch in James' breathing every time the tip of a claw brushes against his bare skin. He knows that Igarak isn't trying to tease him, but that's what it feels like. With only bit more pressure, those claws would dig into his flesh. They'd hurt. Leave marks. The thought is agonizing. He's so hard it hurts.

Focusing on the conversation requires an embarrassing degree of effort. He mulls over the idea, idly tracing a finger over the bumps along Igarak's spine. After a moment, he shakes his head. ]

It wouldn't be the same. It would be like... playing pretend. I think I need it to be real.

[ He chews nervously at his lip, evidently troubled by his own thoughts. ]

I don't want you to kill me. I don't think I want you to maim me, either. Not permanently, anyway. But knowing that a part of you wants to do those things... [ He shakes his head. ] That sounds crazy, doesn't it?

[ Yes, he thinks. It is a mad thing to want, just as it is mad to want to inflict.

That sense of danger settles over him again, cold and foreboding, but the hunger stirred by the mere suggestion of James' desires is more powerful. This is foolish. He is depraved. They are both depraved.

His hand has stilled, but in his mind, his claws rake down James' chest, tearing him open. He draws in a shaky breath,. ]

The dreams you had...

[ His hand moves again. Not rending flesh; just fingers circling one of James' nipples. He swallows hard, the sound loud enough to be heard. ]

Was I in them?

[ James stares down at his chest as though he can't believe what he's seeing is real. His nipple hardens to a peak before Igarak even touches it; the anticipation alone is enough. One of his hands moves down over Igarak's stomach, passing over his navel before pausing with the tip of his little finger slid beneath the hem of the quilt. He leaves it like that for a moment. Maybe he's working up the nerve to continue, or maybe he's waiting for some kind of permission. ]

Yes.

[ His mouth is so dry that his tongue feels like sandpaper against his palate. He gets that feverish feeling again, hot and cold all it once. ]

You were on top of me. Inside me. You made me bleed. I begged you, but you wouldn't stop. [ He takes a shaky breath. ] I didn't want you to stop.

[ Disgusting. He's sickened by what he hears. No--sickened by its effect on him. An effect that is immediate and undeniable, a heady rush like the first swallow of an impossibly sweet wine. His muscles tense beneath James' hand in anticipation of more. He leans in, lips hovering close to his friend's ear. ]

Tell me how.

[ He swallows again, his voice a low, heated whisper against James' skin. He rolls James' nipple beneath his fingers, claws grazing the surrounding flesh just enough to tease. ]

How did I make you bleed?

[ Igarak's breath is hot against the shell of his ear. James feels dizzy. The attention to his nipple offers no relief; it only makes him more desperate. He trembles, abdominal muscles clenching with the effort it takes to keep himself from pressing shamelessly against Igarak's hand. ]

You used your claws. And your teeth.

[ As he speaks, his hand disappears below the quilt. He presses his palm roughly against Igarak's clothed erection, too clumsy with need to do much more than rub him through his underwear. ]

Somehow, you knew where I was most sensitive. Where it hurt most. I fought you, but I couldn't get away. I didn't want you to let me get away. It - [ He swallows, tasting metal. ] It felt real. I thought I would die there, with your teeth in my neck.

[ Igarak's breaths deepen. He knows the body's most vulnerable places as intimately as he knows his own hands: the throat, the abdomen, the inner thighs. The crook of the elbow. The hollow behind the knee. He can picture it all so easily, as if these aren't the kinds of images that should horrify any sane person.

He abandon's James' nipple and drags his claws gently down his abdomen instead. He's in control of himself. He won't hurt James. (He wants to hurt him.) He won't make him bleed. (He wants to see it.) He won't make him cry out in pain. (He wants to see how well he suffers it.)

He won't. ]

Did I tear you open? Did I...

[ The words catch in his throat. His breath hitches, his throat convulsing around another swallow. He shouldn't ask. He shouldn't.

He bucks against James' hand and buries both his face and his question against James' neck, a low groan slipping free as his teeth brush skin. ]

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