unjustifiable | 𝙾𝚅𝙴𝚁𝙵𝙻𝙾𝚆

[ 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.

[ The stern but kindhearted man who pulled James out of the harbor is nothing but a memory now. Something wicked has slipped into his skin. The impostor wears Igarak's face like a grisly trophy - but maybe he's not an impostor at all. Maybe this was always the real Igarak, just as the real James is the man who held a pillow over his wife's face until he heard the death rattle. What a pair they make.

There's a certain satisfaction in being treated exactly as one deserves, and maybe that's why James revels in this abuse. He stares up into Igarak's eyes, every muscle tense, every nerve raw. In his imagination, Igarak's claw becomes the point of a knife, slicing through fat and sinew as it splits him open. He arches into the blade, eagerly offering up his body for butchery. If Igarak were to reach into the wound and caress his insides, would he be able to feel it?

That thought proves to be his undoing. His climax hits him just as Igarak's claw reaches his navel. He comes with a strangled groan, spilling all over his stomach and Igarak's hand. The hand stroking Igarak clenches involuntarily, perhaps even to the point of discomfort. ]

Fuck. Gods above...

[ Igarak's burning gaze never leaves James' face. He watches the pleasure, the pain, sees the man's gaze turn inward as he no doubt imagines something far worse than Igarak's claw dragging down his front.

Igarak imagines it, too. In his mind, his blade parts James with a precise cut, a thin red line of blood following and spilling over. All it would take is a gentle pull, and James would be open to him, warm and vulnerable, his insides laid bare beneath his hands. In that imagined moment, James cries out, an exquisite mix of pain and pleasure and fear, as Iagark touches him in places no one ever has or ever will again.

In reality, James is arching into him. When Igarak's claw reaches his navel, he comes with the most beautiful, strangled cry.

His own ragged breaths soon become all he hears. James' hand tightens around him almost painfully. He abandons the man's navel to close around his wrist, holding it there as he thrusts into his grip, eyes still locked on his face. For one terrible, glorious moment, he imagines this is James' dying cry, imagines the light leaving his eyes as Igarak gives him the gift that he was made to give.

Igarak's eyes squeeze shut. With a broken, guttural sound, he comes harder than he can remember. ]

[ For a few delirious seconds, James can hear nothing but the rush of blood in his ears and feel nothing but the burning of his lungs as he struggles to catch his breath. Then, slowly, his senses return: he becomes acutely aware of the throbbing ache of his wounds, the sound of Igarak's labored breathing, the heat of the other man's body. The fading adrenaline leaves him feeling limp and utterly spent, but the guilt and regret that usually follow his stolen moments of pleasure are conspicuously absent.

He cracks one eye open, wondering how Igarak is faring. ]

...Hey. Are you all right?

[ A somewhat silly question, considering Igarak isn't the one who's bleeding all over the sofa. ]

[ Igarak's breaths come fast and deep. The hand around James' wrist loosens, but he doesn't let go, his thumb instantly finding the man's pulse by instinct. He's fully aware of everything that just transpired. He hears James breathing. He knows he's alive... yet the steady heartbeat beneath his thumb is grounding, irrefutable proof of life. When it slows with the inevitable ebb of adrenaline, Igarak must remind himself that it's a normal biological process and not a slow death due to blood loss.

He opens his eyes when his own breathing begins to slow. He nods faintly, gaze avoiding James' face and instead focusing on the mess he inflicted: bite wounds on his neck and chest, blood smeared throughout. ]

And you? [ His voice is quiet, uncertain. He releases James' wrist to gently trace the unbroken skin around the wounds and swallows. ] Do you feel... alive?

[ James feels rather than sees Igarak check his pulse. He chuckles at the question, then winces when the motion aggravates his wounds. ]

I can dodge questions too, you know.

[ The words come slightly slurred, as though he's just woken up from a dead sleep. ]

But I won't. Yes, I feel alive. More than that. I feel... good. Sore as all hells, but good.

[ He squints, waiting for the blurry red shape to resolve itself into Igarak. Concern creeps through the pleasant post-coital haze. It's easy for James to feel good; he hasn't hurt anyone. If their places were reversed, he would be a nervous wreck right now. He tries to catch the hand that took his pulse, then gives it a weak squeeze. His climax seems to have drained him of all his strength and coordination. ]

I don't regret this, if that's what you're afraid of.

[ It's a relief, however small, to know that James not only feels good but also feels no regrets. At least, he doesn't yet. How he'll feel once the haze of sex wears off is another matter. As for Igarak himself...

He doesn't know. He is... conflicted, sated in a way that he hasn't been in a very long time. That alone feels shameful, as does the comfort he takes in James' hand upon his.

His thumb strokes the skin around the wounds again. How can he feel so satisfied? What right does he have to crave comfort when he's the one who caused such harm?

His gaze remains downcast, unable to meet James'. ]

I'm glad.

[ The skin around his wounds is sensitive, but Igarak's touch is light and careful enough to not cause him any discomfort. James revels in the tender care just as he reveled in the pain. Maybe the two aren't really so different. Igarak is a paladin, after all; healing and hurting are both his domain. ]

Me too.

[ Igarak won't meet his eyes. James knows that look; gods only know he's worn it himself often enough to recognize it. ]

Hey.

[ With a level of confidence that surprises him, he guides Igarak's hand to his left pectoral and presses it over his heart, wincing slightly when the other man's fingers brush against torn skin. ]

You can feel that, can't you? You haven't killed me. You haven't done anything that I didn't ask you to do. When I had enough, you stopped. The person you used to be wouldn't have been capable of that.

[ Something in Igarak's chest tightens painfully. He often tries to keep mastery over himself and his reactions, but there are times, like now, when his defenses are down and he lacks the strength to rebuild them. When he finally looks at James, his eyes betray his fear.. but also the surprise and gratitude for the thoughtfulness of the man's words.

A small, unguarded smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. ]

Thank you.

[ His gaze falls back to the wounds. They're far angrier and certainly more painful than the marks he left on James' arm. He quietly clears his throat. ]

Unfortunately, I can't let you keep these.

[ James has never been any good at consoling the people he cares for. After it became clear that Mary was never going to get better, he still tried to maintain the fiction that there was hope, but all of his words of comfort rang false, like memorized lines that he recited without much spirit or conviction. Eventually, he got tired of lying and dropped the pretense entirely. She could always see right through him, anyway.

He's terrified of making the same mistakes with Igarak, so he's delighted to find that his clumsy reassurances seem to cheer the man up. Even better, James actually meant the words this time. Maybe that's the key. He smiles back, feeling almost giddy. If he embarrasses himself, he can always blame it on the blood loss. ]

It's nothing. Just the truth, that's all.

[ He knows that Igarak is in the right about the wounds. Even discounting their tendency to get fester, bite wounds are more difficult to explain away than the scratches on his arm. ]

I knew that was coming. If it makes you feel any better, they look a lot worse than they feel.

[ But they still feel pretty damn uncomfortable. And besides, he can't deny that some shameful, selfish part of him relishes in being fussed over. There's a certain intimacy in the patient's submission to the healer, whose tools and methods so often overlap with those of the torturer. It seems fitting that Igarak should play both roles. James glances down at the wounds, only slightly reluctant to part with them. ]

It seems a shame to undo your own handiwork. But you're right. They have to go.

𝙾𝚅𝙴𝚁𝙵𝙻𝙾𝚆

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