13th Cycle // Continued Thread

[hatesblindjokes]

[Continuation of this thread. They both got drunk and then decided to punch each other for fun.]

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[indigochild]

[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.]

[hatesblindjokes]

[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.]

[indigochild]

[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.]

[hatesblindjokes]

[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.]