[In the moment they slide apart with a soft, spit-slick sound, Isaac's eyes drift open to look at him, the whites streaked with blood. They both seem too worn around the edges, too tired for this. But he has committed to what they're doing to and with each other and to leaving the night behind, letting Hector drug him on his taste with every little kiss he steals until his head swims a little. He falls into the rhythm of their slow-burning desire easily enough, pushing back, his nose pressing, sharp and unyielding, into Hector's cheek. Still joined by grasping, hungry mouths when shucking off his gauntlets and pushing his bare hands up Hector's tunic, smoothing up his sides and bracing his ribs. The strength in his grip and the magic pulsing through his arms, hard and ropey, is an ever-present reminder of the brutality he's capable of. But he doesn't squeeze, not hard enough to really hurt. Just enough to keep Hector on edge, wanting to hear his breath stutter in his throat.]
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