unjustifiable | 𝙾𝚅𝙴𝚁𝙵𝙻𝙾𝚆

[ Self-centered in his insecurity, James takes Igarak's sudden withdrawal as a sign of reproach. He frowns, mentally replaying their conversation in an attempt to pinpoint what he said or did wrong, but nothing stands out among his jumbled recollections.

Igarak's question disrupts what might have been the beginning of one of James' (by now routine) guilt spirals. He doesn't answer right away. Instead, he tries to focus on his body, on sensation: the tolerable but constant ache of the wounds, the stickiness of the drying blood on his chest, the warmth of Igarak's body where they touch. As he does so, his lingering anxiety recedes. He thinks he has his answer. ]

It hurts, obviously. But it's not the bad kind of pain, if that makes any sense at all. It feels... grounding. Like something I needed for a while, even though I didn't know it until now.

[ He pauses, then glances shyly at Igarak's face. ]

It makes me feel closer to you, somehow. Like you've claimed me.

[ Claimed me? Really? He winces. ] Gods, just listen to me. Maybe I hit my head harder than I thought.

Edited 2025-12-27 18:53 (UTC)

[ Like you've claimed me.

Blood immediately rushes to Igarak's head, causing the room to blur for a dizzying moment. He swallows hard. He looks at the wounds again, mouth beginning to water before he manages to tear his gaze away.

He feels it, too, that sense of possession. He'd felt it the night before, when James said he wanted to keep the wounds on his arm. But he can't say it. Can he? ]

I know what you mean. About the pain.

[ No. He can't. He mustn't. Wanting what James wants is not the same as wanting what he wants. James is not the monster in this scenario.

The fire is dying once more. He leans down to retrieve the quilt that had slipped off sometime during their entanglement and draws it over them both, leaving the wounds exposed. He settles against James again, worrying his bottom lip. ]

You should rest.

[ James is not particularly observant by nature, but Igarak's reaction (and subsequent attempt at deflection) are obvious enough that even he can't miss them. He lets his head fall back against the hitherto unused pillow, gazing down at the exposed wounds. The simple truth that they keep dancing around is written plainly on his skin. Denying it seems pointless, especially in light of what has just transpired between them. ]

Igarak.

[ The exasperation in his tone is tempered with fondness. He supposes that he'd be worried if Igarak didn't seem at least a little conflicted about this, but he doesn't want the man to torture himself, either. Not when they both want the same thing. ]

Do you really want me to rest, or do you just want to stop talking about this? It isn't going to go away if we ignore it, you know.

[ James' blood is still smeared across his face, drying. Igarak feels it pull as he smiles ruefully. ]

Can't I want both?

[ His gaze then drifts to the wounds one last time. He tells himself he's not memorizing them, but he knows it's a lie; the image is already seared into his mind, ready to be recalled later.

He closes his eyes and lays a hand upon James' chest. Blue light glows beneath his palm and blankets the torn skin, slowly knitting the wounds closed. When he opens his eyes, the skin is smooth and unmarked. He smothers the pang of loss the image incites and forces himself to meet James's eyes. ]

I know you woke not long ago, but this was... It was a lot. Rest now. We can talk later.

𝙾𝚅𝙴𝚁𝙵𝙻𝙾𝚆

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