unjustifiable | 𝙾𝚅𝙴𝚁𝙵𝙻𝙾𝚆

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. ]

[ The claws that tease along his abdomen are too much and not enough all at once. James bites off a moan. He needs this. Needs it so badly he can't think straight. And yet he promised Igarak that he wouldn't push for more. ]

Oh, gods.

[ But there's no use asking them for help. They couldn't cure what ails him even if they wanted to. His heartbeat is too deafening for him to hear Igarak's groan, but he feels the hot exhale against the sensitive skin of his neck. When he feels teeth, sharp little pinpricks of sensation, he jolts against Igarak as though he's been shocked. ]

Yes. Please. Please.

[ They both know what he's begging for. He's almost delirious with want. Beneath the lust and adrenaline is the feverish longing to feel alive. To hurt. The hand beneath the quilt fumbles with Igarak's underwear, desperate to free the hard length that presses into his palm. ]

[ Gods, how is he meant to deny that plea? How is he meant to resist it? James is asking for it. Begging for it.

And Igarak wants it, too. Wants to sink his teeth in. His claws. He wants to have James writhing beneath him, to cut him open, to see him painted red. To see how well we wears pain. To see his face when he touches him inside--

Another low moan escapes him as James' hand brushes against him while fumbling with this underwear. Igarak helps on instinct, free hand pushing the quilt aside as he lifts himself just enough to tug the underwear down over his hips and free himself, mouth never leaving James' neck. His other hand drags down the man's stomach, claws digging hard enough to leave faint, red lines as they trail toward the waist of his trousers. His teeth sink in a little deeper, his restraint fraying a little more with every noise James makes.

Just a little won't hurt. Just a little. ]

[ The point of no return lies behind him now. There's no going back. As he shivers beneath Igarak's touch, he realizes that he won't be able to stop this until it reaches its bloody conclusion, whatever the consequences may be.

He shouldn't want this, he tells himself. He should be afraid. He should be disgusted at his own sick deviance.

He's sick of caring about what he should or shouldn't do.

The claws hurt just enough to tease. The bright, sharp pain goes straight to his cock, and he bucks into Igarak's hand. His trousers tent obscenely, but he's too far gone to care about modesty. He strokes Igarak's cock with unpracticed but passionate enthusiasm, running his fingers over the strange ridges at the base. He wonders what it would feel like inside of him. Would it hurt? He's never gone that far with a man before, but the idea of Igarak taking him while he makes him squirm in agony is dizzyingly arousing.

So are those teeth. James gasps softly as they sink deeper, stinging like needles driven into the sensitive skin of his neck. Is he bleeding yet? Can Igarak tastehim? He whimpers, tilting his head back in a gesture of submission, like a willing sacrifice on an altar. ]

More.

[ The word comes out breathless and ragged. His chest heaves. ]

I want to bleed. For you.

[ Fuck. He can't deny it. He can't resist. Gods, he's harder than he can remember being in recent memory, and James--hand wrapped around him now, demanding more, offering his throat, asking to bleed--

The predatory instinct that's surfaces in battle stirs, merciless and hungry. He shifts on the sofa, angling himself towards James. One hand slips beneath his trousers to curl around the base of his cock, holding it there, while the other tangles into James' hair, firm but not pulling.

He stares down at him, chest heaving, desperation burning just beneath the wild look in his eyes. ]

You'll tell me if it's too much. Swear you'll tell me.

[ James meets Igarak's gaze. His pupils are two black voids ringed with thin slivers of hazel. His cock twitches beneath the hand holding it as he tries to keep his hips from moving. He feels helpless, pinned in place, and he wonders dizzily whether Igarak ever touched any of his victims like this. Perhaps he's the first to know this torment. The thought makes him giddy. ]

I will. I swear.

[ Despite the arousal that roughens his voice, he speaks the words with conviction. He'll keep his promises to Igarak. He owes the man that much. ]

[ A part of Igarak still worries that James isn't thinking clearly, that he can't possibly want this. But that part has been increasingly drowned out by the rush of blood thrumming through his veins, by the pulse pounding in his ears. He can only trust that James will do as he promises, because Igarak isn't sure he can stop himself otherwise. (No. He can. He will. He has to.)

He takes a moment to look at James' face, at his blown-wide pupils and the arousal written plainly there, and the sight goes straight to Igarak's cock. His fingers tighten in James' hair, pulling his head back to expose more of his throat. He leans in, setting his teeth to skin, just grazing at first, tongue following to taste the salt of sweat. Then he adds pressure slowly, at the same time he starts stroking James' cock. ]

[ James offers no resistance as Igarak manhandles him. He swallows thickly, the pulse point in his neck throbbing. Igarak's tongue feels feverishly hot against his skin. His heart pounds so furiously that there's no way the other man can't feel it.

He barely feels the teeth at first. It's no more than a gentle love-bite, a light graze of teeth. He's about to protest, but then Igarak begins to bite down. The light pressure turns into a sharp burning pain, shocking enough to draw a gasp from him. He whole body goes tense, and he struggles to keep his breathing even. Somehow, Igarak's attention to his cock only makes it hurt worse, the pleasure and pain magnifying each other in some kind of awful feedback loop. He bites back a whimper, his abdominal muscles clenching as he thrusts into each stroke.

His own ministrations grow clumsy and frantic. He squeezes Igarak's cock, as though trying to egg him on through touch. ]

Please, please, fuck. It hurts.

[ He's not even sure what he's begging for anymore. ]

[ Igarak knows, both by instinct and experience, where the most vulnerable arteries and veins are located. He can almost hear them pulsating beneath James' skin, the rush of blood calling to him. He deliberately avoids them, just to prove that he can.

When James begs, he bites harder--then freezes. Doubt suddenly seizes him.

James is thrusting into his hand, breathless, his own hand still moving over Igarak, all signs screaming that he enjoys this. Yet James says it hurts. But he wants it to hurt. But what if it's too much?

The taste of blood hits his tongue.

With a desperate sound, equal parts pleasure and revulsion, he pulls his teeth away, forehead resting heavily on James' throat. He's breathing so hard the words barely make it past his lips. ]

Good... or...?

[ The pain builds to an nigh-unbearable crescendo. He feels something tear. His vision blurs as he blinks away tears, overwhelmed by the crushing wave of sensation.

Then the wave breaks. Igarak pulls away, and the sharp agony fades to a dull ache. A thin red rivulet trickles down his throat, pooling in the divot between his collarbones. He pants, his chest tight with an odd mix relief and disappointment. He's unsure why Igarak has stopped. This isn't enough for either of them. Not nearly enough. ]

Yes, [ he rasps, then winces at the desperation in his voice. The hand around Igarak's cock comes to a stop in the middle of a stroke. He pulls back the foreskin and massages the glans with his thumb. It's a light touch, meant to tease. ] Good. Very good.

[ James' desperate reply is the only encouragement Igarak needs--yet his body tenses for a moment, coiling tight. A whimper nearly escapes him before he manages to choke it back. ]

Gods. James...

[ His glans is painfully sensitive, hovering on the cusp of unbearable. With a shuddering breath, he lifts his head just enough to orient himself. Blood smears his brow where it rested on James' throat. When he looks down, he sees it pooled in the hollow of the man's collarbone, exactly as he'd imagined.

The sight stokes his hunger. He leans in and tastes it, the sweet tang flooding his senses as a groan is torn from his chest. His teeth drag along, none too gently now, sinking in around the curve of bone and tugging at skin. His fingers tighten in James' hair. His hips twitch helplessly in response to the assault on his nerves, and he thrusts, silently pleading with James to stroke him again. ]

[ Igarak smells of blood and sex and looks like something out of a fevered nightmare. James has never wanted anyone so badly. He stares at the smear of fresh blood - his blood - with helpless fascination, feeling like a hare caught in some predator's jaws.

Igarak's tongue burns like a brand. James moans softly as the other man laps up his blood, wondering if Igarak can taste the adrenaline that sets his heart hammering against his ribcage. He begins to move his hand again, the strokes growing frantic and erratic as Igarak resumes gnawing at him. The area around his collarbones is especially sensitive, and it's all he can do to keep from weeping out of pain, desperation, or pleasure - he's not sure which. Maybe some unholy combination of the three. ]

Tell me. How you'd butcher me.

[ He shouldn't ask. But he wants to know. Needs to know. ]

[ The request catches him by off guard and nearly undoes him. His movements falter. He takes a steadying breath and lifts his head again, looking down at James.

Igarak hasn't come close to doing his worst, yet the man's throat is already a mess of red. Marred, beautiful, and divine.

(Not divine. This-- James-- is not some offering to a god Igarak has long since renounced, or to any god for that matter.

Beautiful, however...)

He swallows, his strokes slowing as hesitation grips him, but it doesn't last long. This is only a fantasy, a story, no different from James sharing his dreams.

His fingers untangle from James' hair, his hand sliding along his jaw until coming to rest at his chin. As images take shape in his mind, his gaze unfocuses, becoming wild-eyed and predatory once more. He is a terrible monster staring down at his victim, eyes burning in the dark, blood smeared across his mouth and staining his teeth. ]

I'd take my blade.

[ His voice is a harsh, unsteady whisper. The claw of his index finger presses beneath James' chin, in the fleshy area between his jawbone. ]

And I'd slice you open. From here... [ That same claw slowly traces a line down--over James' throat, over his collarbone, his chest, his abdomen--hard enough to leave a scratch, ending at his navel. ] ...to here.

𝙾𝚅𝙴𝚁𝙵𝙻𝙾𝚆

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