psychoshenanigans | 13th Cycle // Continued Thread

[Vincent has secretly wanted to learn what his blood tastes like ever since Irahl cut his fingers open ripping apart that wall a week ago. Even with no open injuries, a little part of him has always wondered, and that part of him groans with delight as he's pushed back down against the ground.

Finally. Finally, finally. His hand's going to be hard to untangle from Irahl's front on account of the claws that are there now.

What might have been a giddy laugh is caught and choked out as he does actually start to suffocate. Monsterous or not, Vincent still has to breathe, and that's only gotten harder with the other man's pressing his entire weight down on him. Clearly, Irahl still wants to play, so Vincent just swings his free arm up to deck him hard in the side of the face.

With a sudden burst of strength and whatever momentum he can take advantage of, he pushes them both over and rolls on top of Irahl, trying to wedge a knee between them so he can actually lever himself out of the man's vice grip.]

Edited 2023-12-01 16:22 (UTC)

[A fist slams into the side of Irahl's face and his visions swims farther and longer than it should. The whole world spins giddily around him until he finds the ground at his back and an incredible weight crushing into the center of his chest.

His claws leaves scratches as Vincent finally wrests himself free.

When Irahl's vision finally steadies, there he is, pinned down with a monster looming over him. This is where he would go for a weapon. Stab for arteries and tendons in the thigh. Put a bullet between his eyes. This is where he would power forward and scramble for control.

Instead, he just looks at him. The fight isn't gone--not by far--but there is a pause where instead of raging forward from where he's trapped, he just waits there and braces for whatever comes next.]

[And in that pause, Vincent kneels over him, breathing hard now that he's got any room to do so. He can't see the other man, but he doesn't need to. He knows what he wants.

Sometimes dogs will fight, not because they want to come out on top, but because they want to be told what their place is. In this single moment, they've entered an agreement that Vincent will lead and Irahl will have the blessed reprieve of not needing to do anything more than follow him. Vincent is happy to reassure him that he doesn't need to think about a thing.

He licks his lip where Irahl's blood had been smeared mere seconds ago, before lunging forward to beat the absolute shit out of him. Nothing mean, nothing cruel, but he's going to leave nasty bruises and fight hard to keep him pinned, and take as much control away from him as he can.]

[Irahl pitches his weight to the side, throws his arms to deflect the blows raining down on him and strike back, but-- yeah, he's not in this to win. He's in this to fight until he can't anymore. And with Vincent, he might actually reach that point.

With the shocking amount of power he's being hit with, it quickly becomes harder for Irahl to keep himself anchored and oriented to his place in reality. The universe careens around him. It isn't long before his defenses begin to noticeably weaken and become more aimless.

He continues to battle this onslaught that he invited, until finally something in his brain notices that he's maybe in trouble.

When it seems like Irahl's strength might be flagging as the sense is being beaten out of him, he suddenly puts up a more focused fight. A gear shifts. This time, when he knocks aside one of Vincent's arms, he continues the sweep until he can lock that arm up with his, and his other arm reaches out to grab instead of hit back. Claws fist up in Vincent's shirt so Irahl can haul him closer--too close to continue beating him.

Panting for breath, his bones ringing with pain, Irahl tries to grapple him still. Finally giving a signal that Vincent wins.]

[Vincent actually likes being strong, though he doesn't want to admit it. From a young age, he's seen normal people get nervous when big guys like him start throwing their weight around, so there are very few places where his pride doesn't also carry some amount of guilt with it.

Other people wouldn't understand that he's happy to get to brutalize his friend and not hold back. Later, he'll probably try to blame it on the monster in him, but the fact of the matter is that this thought is wholly and solely human.

Around the time the other man starts tiring, he realizes his hands have been stinging pretty badly for a while now, between split knuckles and his inadvertently stabbing himself with his own claws. He isn't sure how long they've been going, but his body is finally beginning to protest--and it's so rare for him to be in a fight where the other guy's lasted long enough to exhaust him.

When something finally shifts and Irahl drags him closer, Vincent still has some momentum to work out. He twists with a growl of meaningless protest, fails to break loose. He can't hit him with his free hand, so he just presses down hard against Irahl's shoulder as if pinning him more to the ground would do anything. And then at his shoulder, soaked in all that blood, the heady smell muddles his last urges to keep fighting and he thoughtlessly bites down into the crook of his neck.]

[If Vincent secretly likes being strong, some part of Irahl loves being an entirely inhuman, carnivorous monster, and that part is never allowed to take control without carrying hatred along with it--either for himself or the creature he's fighting. That bitterness has been so quiet here, though, and what might have remained has been satisfyingly bashed into submission.

The loathing might catch him later, but for now, it's all liberated instinct, and exhaustion, and terrible want.

Sharp teeth dig into his neck and scrape against scales--normally cold, but now like pieces of warm glass--and he twists against them. It's automatic; his shoulder is pressed down and he presses back. It doesn't matter how much everything hurts. Force against force. Vincent bites directly into instinct.

Irahl is caught but the monster groans, writhes, and tries to bite back. A throat, a mouth--whatever he can get.]

Edited 2023-12-02 18:24 (UTC)

[They haven't really stopped fighting. His bite is met with struggling of a different kind, but it is still a struggle. That's why it doesn't strike him as strange; these are just different notes in the same song. His state of mind hasn't changed at all.

He'll remember the scales later, probably. One more thing that should probably strike him as strange, but he's not quite in a place to register anything as "unusual".

The bite's over quick, once Irahl starts writhing around and trying to get him. He wants to shove his face aside like the other had done to him earlier--but he misses a little, exhausted as he is, and feels sharp pain as the other bites at his mouth. So he bites back. Tastes a lot of blood. Starts laughing again.

He's having fun.]

Edited 2023-12-02 21:17 (UTC)

[As satisfying as it is for Irahl's bite to catch something, it is overshadowed by the warmth and sharpness that he's immediately hit back with. It's a jolt that changes things. All at once, the fight is concentrating down to a fierce pinpoint.

Pain lances through the splits and abrasions on his busted mouth, but the growl that leaves him is purely one of aggression and gratification. Because, suddenly, he has him. It's the thrill of catching something that he hadn't known he'd been hunting. The world hasn't stopped tilting from being knocked loose by Vincent's fists and he's reeling with the momentum.

He has been following this mindless track of provoking, demanding, and he does so again. When Vincent crowds Irahl's senses, there is no part of his brain that screams that he's too close. Instead, the claws tangled between them release Vincent's shirt to reach around and dig into the back of his neck instead, pulling him in.]

[Irahl does have Vincent's full attention as their focus shifts to this single point, this back-and-forth, a new exchanging of blows... But it's still not all that different from what they were doing before. Once again, Irahl is indulging in the offensive, waiting with his guard lowered for Vincent to return the gesture.

Claws at the back of Vincent's neck urge him forward. He groans against Irahl's mouth as pinpricks of pain light up his nerves anew. He bites him again, with more intention, before leaning into him for a hungry kiss.

Kissing, yeah. That's probably what this should be called. It's a lot messier than anything he's ever done, though.

And it's not his return gesture, either. No, he returns Irahl's demands by sinking his claws into the man's hip and dragging his lower body closer. Pinning him somewhere much more exciting, moving against him however gets him to make those eager sounds again.]

Edited (THIS ISN'T THE TIME) 2023-12-03 00:37 (UTC)

[Normally, Irahl would have recoiled and retreated long before arriving at this point. The things that chase him away are memories, and the fear of being seen in terrible, quiet vulnerability. But, there's nothing about wrestling and playing while pinned under a monster that matches up with anything familiar--nothing negative, anyway--and there isn't anything about this here that could be considered quiet. There's no one in the world there to scrutinize them. And Vincent has been doing so well in fulfilling Irahl's wish for utter mindlessness.

So, when the other man grinds against him with such intent and Irahl pulls away, it's only so he has more room to breathe. He hadn't caught his breath before, so he writhes and turns his head, fighting against painful, spasming ribs to draw in a deeper, warm inhale when this new wave of headiness hits him.

Among the many things that he hasn't been focusing on, with all of the pain and action and alcohol, Irahl hadn't noticed little details such as the direct line drawn between their violent game before and the one they're suddenly playing now. Vincent presses and moves against him, and Irahl immediately discovers that he's probably been wanting it for a while.

On the exhale, Irahl doesn't even have a chance to catch the groan or the claws that move from Vincent's neck to tighten compulsively into his hair.]

[Vincent, for his part, has been satisfied for a while. Whatever his body is doing isn't really of much concern like this; now that he's had a taste of him, the rest has been a very long-winded and very dangerous way of telling Irahl that he likes him. And he's pleased to feel that Irahl returns the sentiment.

He continues to move against him. When the other man turns his head to the side, he leans in to take advantage, biting his neck. Tasting his warm skin, his strange scales, his decadent blood. He enjoys teasing him like his almost as much as he had enjoyed enacting terrible violence on him. And it's all for the same purpose.

Just like before, he will keep doing what he is doing until the other man tells him that he's won, one way or another.]

Edited 2023-12-03 05:26 (UTC)

[Being this close to someone is overwhelming. Even when tangling and brawling to end something's life, even when someone does catch him in the dark, in the right mood, he's never quite as crowded. Here, his senses are flooded--pinned by Vincent's weight, his teeth, the smell of him. The sound of his small, eager laugh. Between that and the pain pounding through his body, there's no room to think about where they are or what happens after.

It has made for a wonderful catharsis, and this is just another part of it. When Vincent bites down, Irahl struggles against him, but his groan curls and deepens, turning into a low, heated purr in his chest.

Just as Vincent has been perfect for Irahl to throw himself at during a fight, he can meet and match him here, hold him down while Irahl forgets himself and moves against him. He shifts with the claws digging into his hip, angling until the friction is perfect.

Perfect but not quite enough.

Somewhere in the fight, Irahl wrestles one of Vincent's arms off of him, but it's not to shoulder it away. Grabbing onto Vincent's wrist, he shoves it down.]

[He's committed to bringing Irahl to the finish, but his senses are starting to swirl together in a strange and unfocused mess. Everything smells like blood. He can feel this wonderful rumbling in the other's chest with more clarity than he can hear it, and he's lost track of which gasps of pleasure are Irahl's or his own. He idly wishes he could crawl inside of him and feel everything that he's feeling. He's never had someone to share this with before.

He feels himself guided, a hand between them--and he obliges without hesitation, finding his way a little clumsily under the other man's clothes, groaning with pleasure against his neck when he finds what he wants. Vincent will probably wonder, in retrospect, if he can really blame this on his monstrous heritage. Even he knows that it never does things like this.

Vincent didn't think that he did, either, when of sound mind and body, but... They're both learning a lot about themselves right now.]

[Later on, once Irahl remembers more about this encounter than he'd like, he'll have to examine the full-body thrill that runs through him when Vincent's hand goes groping under his clothes. Despite how he'll recoil at the thought of how eagerly he grinds against his palm, there are some truths about himself that he should maybe reconsider in it.

Irahl had taken his hand back once Vincent had gotten the hint, but in the heat of things, his fingers linger on Vincent's arm. When things pick up, when he can no longer feel the pain of his injuries over everything else coiling up in him, his hand finally lifts and wraps up to hook on Vincent's shoulder, keeping the other man close.

And things don't take all that long. Irahl's heritage is powerfully at work, as brawling in various forms has always been foreplay among his kind. Not much more is needed.

With how delirious as Irahl feels, he runs into the peak a little bit without warning. In the middle of things, some certain little sound of Vincent's pushes him over the edge--and suddenly he's drawing in a sharp breath and his head is bowing toward the other man's shoulder. His fingers tighten hard in Vincent's hair as he presses against him and rides it out.]

[He feels himself being held closer, and does the same to Irahl in return. The hand on the other man's hip only grips on tighter, pulls him closer, while the hand under the other's clothes moves with fervent determination. When Irahl finally concedes, he does not let him go, welcoming every press and breath with deep, primal satisfaction.

He would be purring himself, if he could. As it is, he can only make pleased noises near his ear before leaving one last bloody kiss against his neck--his thank-you for playing with him.

Not a lot of time for doting, however... He has just enough time to relinquish his grip in the man's side and retrieve his other hand before the exhaustion comes crashing in. The effects of his blood are quickly leaving his body. His body (which is still mostly human) has been pushed far more than it should be. He feels a strange blooming of cold and then hot throughout his limbs, and this time he's really not sure if it's a monster thing, or if he's actually been aggravating some internal bleeding this whole time.

At least he tries not to pass out on top of Irahl--he has the decency to slide most of the way off and leave only an arm draped over the man's torso before he blacks out.]

13th Cycle // Continued Thread

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