[Isaac comes up for air, licking his lip and snapping a rope of spit off a stiffened nipple. The muscles around and between his shoulderblades have knotted, aching, from bending over Hector's body, but he doesn't give himself long to rest his jaw and roll the kinks out of his shoulders before ducking his head again. Diving back into a dreamy place where nothing matters but this, this expanse of scabbed skin and beautifully wrought bones.
Ridiculous as he realizes it is, he half expected Hector's flesh to wear the smell of hers, the taste of hers, after all these years and a cold dip in the pond. Yet Hector is as he was that night in the woods at the base of the mountain, sprawled in the grass, the yeastiness of his skin mingling with the tang of sweat and iron, his scent and all making Isaac throb through no effort of Hector's own - and there's the truth of it. Hector, even belly up and throat bared like it's begging for the knife, wields a fierce power over him that it seems neither time nor violence can break. A power that would pull him and keep pulling them, helplessly, into the sandtrap of each others' lives no matter how deeply they could dig in their heels.
For now, the frustration in that is gone, squeezed out of his awareness by pleasure and need, always need. His lips skim the edges of the wounds he's laid, lovingly suckling at the smattering of scars along the way. Not all of them are his work, but Isaac's mouth takes full responsibility all the same while he smothers Hector's neck and chest in kisses, paying tribute to his body in the way he's never cared to do for the demons he's lain with. Hector is and never was just a piece of flesh, a warm hole, a throwaway.
He stops at Hector's heaving belly, half to make room for his fumbling and half at the hand smoothing over his hair. There's a twitch of his shoulderblades at his touch, but Isaac doesn't toss his head and shake him off. Doesn't need to, that hand sliding off him, naturally, when he straightens up. He hasn't a finger on either hand that wouldn't cause undue pain, and without the means or the will to trim a few nails, he assumes that Hector really meant it when he offered to prepare himself.]
[One thing Isaac refuses to be is predictable. Hector expects rough, possessive groping, but is instead lavished with hot kisses that have him hard and vibrating with pent-up need. Isaac could devour him like this, and Hector would let him.
When Isaac pulls away, Hector opens his eyes and meets his gaze, dazed and flushed. He stops fumbling and shucks off his clothing in earnest, tunic, pants, and all. If Isaac is going to suck and worship the skin Hector bares, he's going to bare as much as he can, to get his fill of this strange affection while it can be had.
Naked, he spreads his legs and slides oil-slick fingers into the crevice of his ass. He's not usually inclined to put on a show- Hector's focus is usually on his partner not himself- but Isaac is waiting and Hector doesn't want to let the fires burning between them cool.
He bends his knees and lifts his hips as he traces his finger around the ring of muscles barring his entrance. The finger slips in, and he moves, but doesn't seek out his own pleasure from the motion. A second finger, and he lets out a sigh as he stretches his muscles. He works himself open, makes himself wet for Isaac's cock.
He takes up the bottle again and pours a little more oil into his cupped palm.]
Come here. [He bids, and makes ready to anoint Isaac's cock.]
Had anyone had ever told him Hector would one day strip down and cant his hips, presenting himself like a gift to be opened, Isaac would've thrown back his head and laughed. But there's no laughter now, not a single word, as he watches, mesmerized, a slippery finger and then a second sink inside Hector, disappearing past his middle knuckles. Making room for him.
Isaac doesn't rebel. Spit sticks in his throat when he finally swallows, his chest going tight as he approaches like a siren-sung man to shipwreck. Every inch of his own bare skin prickles, eager.]
...from whom did you learn this pretty trick? [He questions Hector with a sideways look, a smile almost teasing the corner of his mouth, while plunging a hand down the front of his leather trousers. He carelessly pulls himself free, throbbing in his fist and already dripping precome.]
[Hector frowns, all that heat in his eyes going cold.]
It's no concern of yours.
[The memory of Rosaly, spread on their shared bed, yielding up her soft body to him, is for Hector alone. If Isaac tries to take that and sully it...
He reaches for Isaac's cock and grips it with unneeded strength as he glides the slicked hand along the heated length.]
Why are you talking? I thought you wanted to fuck me.
[Hector craves tenderness and teasing whispers back and forth during lovemaking, but if Isaac can't do that without invoking Rosaly's ghost, Hector would rather be fucked like an animal. He withdraws, physically with his hand and emotionally with his heart.]
[The shift in Hector's mood is almost felt, like a changing wind - but in place of fascination and amusement and the urge to poke and prod at this unsought aggression he has dredged up, there's a retreat of his own, a shadow flickering over his face. His jaw clenches, unclenches.]
Of course. [He snorts mirthlessly, lips thinning when he looses Hector's grasp - one that feels like it could be anyone else's - and reaches to pour oil into his own palm. He smooths it over himself in a few long, efficient strokes. It's only a means to an end. But that's all this was from the start, he reminds himself.] Do forgive me.
[For once, Isaac doesn’t dig his fingers into the wound he finds on Hector. In the awkwardness of their mutual retreat, he’s grateful for that.
Isaac takes charge over his cock and Hector lets him, leaning back against the stone, legs still splayed open.]
Do you want me like before?
[On his knees, ass up, like a dog in heat. He’s too flushed and hard to be ashamed by the memory of it.
He makes to shift his legs around Isaac so he can turn over. Better for both of them that way, not to fool themselves into thinking of any future in this.]
[He makes no move to keep Hector from turning, considering the tight jiggle of thighs and ass with a more muted interest. Half of him is coolly grateful for Hector keeping things focused, in perspective, while the other half wrestles with the impulse to step back and leave him aching and unfulfilled. The pettiness to see that end through is there, of course - but Isaac's strength of will is not. He needs this, and more, he suspects, bitterly now, than Hector does. Not that it tempers his tone or his tongue.]
If that is what comes naturally to you. [He drawls while waiting for Hector to settle, strumming the studs along his shaft and wringing out a few more drops of precome with a rougher, meaner hand than Hector's ever was.]
[Isaac looks on, his expression closing, as Hector vies for some semblance of control. It doesn't matter how long Hector may have entertained this fantasy, if at all, or that the suggestion is new to Isaac; today, he doesn't want any part in it. Doesn't want to lie back under his weight, trading fuller range of motion and power for pleasure he could find any other way.]
No. [He says, too quickly, firmly. Nothing else follows for a long moment. He looks away from Hector's face and back to his hand, stilling around himself. His breath weighs heavy in his chest, the back of his throat.
He squeezes.]
On the ground - now.
[It's a demand, but not a threat; he doesn't make to grab Hector by the back of his skull and push him down, make a whore of him like he accused him of being only a week ago. It's too cruel, even for him.]
[Isaac's tone brokers no debate. There is no hint that Hector could tease or cajole him into indulging him in this. It is another brick wall, and Hector, as always, has to be the one to move around it so they don't stay stuck here forever.
He turns away from Isaac, the muscles of his back tense. He positions his knees on his discarded tunic to give him at least a little padding in the hopes he doesn't scrape them raw. If he wasn't so hard he is sure he would pass out if he stood up too quickly, he might entertain the thought of walking away and leaving Isaac to his own devices.
But no, he promised this, has partaken in the kisses he bargained for, and can't back out now. Hector's word still means something to him.
Neither of them can grant the other what he truly needs, but this semblance of closeness and relief, he can provide.]
[Hector's words simmer with something Isaac can only interpret as resentment. He's resigning himself to being fucked out of principle more than anything else, he supposes. But so be it; he's earned this. It's his turn to collect - and his body is as recklessly determined as it has ever been, lightening trembling under his skin as he settles behind Hector, wanting him with the same primal, voltaic rush of need as he did first time. He guides the knob of his cock to him, lets his eyes slip shut as he makes to push inside him.
In that darkness, he sees teeth. A steely flash of teeth and blood and a clawed arm thrusting out for his neck, his knife jerking up and down through the air. A log splits in the fire and he snaps back to awareness, flinching and angry, sinking the nails of one hand into Hector's hip and bracing him harder than he needs to.]
[Hector feels the prod of Isaac’s cock against his hole, heated and throbbing, but Isaac hesitates before shoving in.
It’s not out of concern for Hector, he’s sure of that. The nails clawing into his hip and leaving beads of blood are proof of that.
Teasing? The playful mood from their kissing is gone beyond recall, evaporated into dark cold of the cave.
Once more, Hector wants to turn and see Isaac’s face. He doesn’t. Isaac wants him bent for mounting like a dog.
He bucks backwards, nudging Issac to action. Hector’s angry with both of them about how this has turned out, but damned if he’s not going to at least date his darker urges now that he’s here.]
[Hector rocks into him, demanding. He feels it from half-outside his own body, feels his cock twitch in his hand with all the screaming impatience in the world while the rest of him slowly goes hollow, staring and staring at the slow trickle of blood he's drawn. Like he had, frozenly, powerless, at her torn dress, her bare legs, too late.
Not real, he insists, fiercely. She was never there, looking up at him with drowning eyes. But it had felt real enough to make his stomach swoop then and now, pushing bile up into his throat.)
He sucks down a breath. He doesn't know when the darkness around him and Hector grew cold, when it became intimately threatening. But there's an understanding that if he doesn't break through this moment pressing in on him, locking him in, it might just quietly break him instead.
Brute force isn't always the answer to everything, but it's often the quickest. And he remembers that neither him nor Hector expect anything less or better of him than for him to bullishly push through whatever wall he's hit. Anger is bigger than fear, because it has to be - and he clings to it as he doubles down and plunges into Hector, into the hot grip of tight, flexing muscle, chasing pleasure with everything he has.]
[Hector is better prepared for Isaac's entry this time around, both in knowing what to expect and having been prepped. Isaac shoves in, and Hector groans and ducks his head down between his arms. The pressure and relief and shame and anger have his eyes watering, and that's not something to let Isaac catch sight of.]
Yes, do it! [He grunts. His ass, slick and worked open, is ready, and he's greedy for it now. He can lose his thoughts of Rosaly and his aching heart in the pure animal rushing of blood to his cock.
He braces himself on one arm, muscles flexing with the strain of supporting his weight against Isaac's force, so that he can get a hand between his legs to frantically stroke. There's a steady breathy pant of 'yes'es streaming from his lips.]
[The one who penetrates holds the most power. He's always known that to be true.
A snap of his hips and he's in to the hilt, metal and swollen flesh and aggressive, iron desire, nails gouging deeper into Hector as he tugs him into the next thrust and the next, panting. He throws his head back, drowning in relief, sense and reason sinking with him. He thinks about fucking Hector brainless until blood slicks them both. Thinks about fucking him inside out and turning him over and laying his hands on him, slotting the webs of his thumbs around his throat and clamping his hands around him again just to feel the wild pulsing of muscles and blood vessels against the pads of his fingers. Relishing in the crazy thrill of toeing the line between here and too far gone while watching the stricken look in Hector's eyes soften as they glass over.
He's an animal. Taking and taking and taking. And Julia - if fate is so cruel as to bring them together again - could preach of the hope she held for everyone, could tell him he still had a human heart beating inside him. But he had seen the way she looked at him when she found him, alone, the year before Rosaly burned. He remembers the shades of hurt and doubt in her eyes, a look that seemed to say there was only so much more she could take of feeling like she was watching something slowly dying.
Not everyone can be saved. Not everyone wants to be.
What he know for sure is that it takes spearing Hector on his cock, hurting him, to come close to feeling alive. Like more than a dead man walking.
Nothing new. But he feels this open a pit in his stomach like it never has before, their ragged panting and the slap of skin on skin growing sharper and louder, scraping his eardrums.
He doesn't realize he has pulled out until he drops back, like the air's been slammed out of his lungs. Blood roars through him, a useless throbbing. His body has never failed him; it's begging for more, even if more is never enough. Even as he feels a deep, sick rage rolling through him and sucks in a breath through his teeth and knows it's over.]
Fuck! [He snarls at the wall, scrubbing a hand down his face.]
[Maybe the one on top has the power, but so long as the fucking doesn't stop, Hector doesn't care. It's a bruising, frenzied pounding, but there's not the same pain as last time. The burn and ache and the tearing of Isaac's nails are dwarfed by the blinding pleasure of the studded cock driving into him. Fuck, last time was too quick and brutal to focus on it, but the damned piercings....
Hector is close, so close, and his mind is blessedly empty of everything but the need for release, when Isaac jerks back and away. His hole body twitches with the sudden loss of heat and the emptiness.
For one beat, Hector waits to be re-mounted, but it's not just a momentary readjustment of position. He turns over his shoulder, flushed and panting and wild with need.]
There had better be enemies at our door....
[He growls, because if this is just another one of Isaac's power plays, and he's planning on leaving Hector teetering on the threshold of orgasm, Hector's going to need to murder someone.]
[Isaac jerks his head around to stare at him like he's been slapped, his chest heaving.]
Shut up!
[His voice tears through the dark, jagged and vicious.
Between Hector's desperation and his own hitting a peak, all of him is pulling apart at the seams. He grinds the heels of his hands into his forehead, into his eyes, until he sees stars, wanting to scream. It's tempting to drive his fist into the wall until his knuckles shatter. But it's as if his whole body has given out on him, consumed with a sense of helplessness as absolute and huge and terrible as the anger shaking his bones.]
Fuck me--! [He hears himself spit out the words like threat. He gulps down another breath through a sharp swooping feeling inside him, searching every part of himself for the man he knows he's supposed to be: the Isaac who would've looked at Hector now, flushed and trembly-weak and begging for cock, and let out a throaty laugh, the laugh of a mad king; the Isaac who fears nothing, looking for trouble before it could find them; the Isaac who could only sneer at the sad shell of a forgemaster he's become and pulp his skull against the rocks, doing them both a favour.]
[Hector’s eyes flick to the cave’s entrance, but there’s no sign of intruders. This is just Isaac in a panic.
He grits his teeth, and forces himself not to take Isaac’s cursing as an invitation. What had Rosaly done for him, when Hector had worked himself into a state of alarm when they’d been together?
Soft, reassuring words, feather-light touches, and a steady presence to draw him out of his own head and back into the light. All things that Hector craves that he imagines Isaac would laugh off.
It’s hard to think with most of his blood still pumping in his cock, but Hector tries. Grounding. Distraction. A physical reminder of his presence that Isaac can’t ignore.
He crawls over to Isaac, who is scrubbing at his face, and reaches out to hook fingers into his collar to drag him down into a kiss. Biting, bruising, filled with the taste of coppery blood.]
[By the time he notices Hector closing in, he's already got him by the collar, crushing his lips to Isaac's - a language that, unlike tenderness, is something Isaac understands. A snap of adrenaline shoots up his spine and his body locks for a moment, alarms screaming in his brain, cutting through a haze of nausea, arousal. A kiss is never just a kiss, not from Hector. Not while aggressively hard with no give in either of them, hot breath and lips and tongue suffocating him. Isaac's hand clamps around Hector's cock, still holding on when he wrenches his mouth from his, panting. His lips are raw, peeling back in a wolfish snarl. Slapping Hector's hand from his collar, he pulls back, feeling a sharp jolt of emotion - something jerking in his chest - when their eyes meet, his own fierce behind his lashes.]
Fuck. Me. [He pushes the words out, grits them out through his teeth, shoving against Hector as if he knows what he's doing. While the past and the present play tug of war for his sanity, pain may be the only thing that makes sense.]
[Hector follows forward as Isaac pulls back, not willing to surrender just yet. Needing pain, needing punishment, he can understand at least in part. He'd felt despair, early on with Rosaly, though she'd soothed it away with gentleness instead of forcing it down with pain and pleasure mingled.
He pushes further into Isaac's space, claiming his lips again while his hands push Isaac's legs down. He straddles Isaac, returning to the very position Isaac had rejected from the start. His cock, still in Isaac's death grip, prods Isaac's abdomen as Hector positions his ass so he could, if Isaac allows it, sink down and take it all in.]
'm not...fucking you...'til we have a proper bed....
[And on that day, he will have prepared Isaac for him, have worked him open 'til Isaac begged for more. That day will likely never come, but Hector has a vision of it and he's not going to let Isaac compromise it with a rash decision they'll both regret.]
...tell me you want it.... [He pants into Isaac's ear, then bites down on it. Not enough to mark or tear, but certainly enough to force Isaac to feel it, to make him stay within his own skin.]
[Isaac's lips push together, a hard, white line carved into his face.
The only thing more unexpected than hearing himself ask for - beg for - what he does and nearly convincing himself that he'd throw what's left of his pride and dignity for it, is being refused, and by a man seething with lust. By Hector.
He doesn't know what to do.
Nothing seems like it's really happening. Half-pushed and half-leaning back, he expects for the bottom of this fever dream to drop out and for him to fall through, to fall back into his body. Waking, like he has before, once or twice, to the reality that he isn't alone and there really is a succubus or incubus on him, grinding down on him, feeding off his energy. But the rocks burrowing into his shoulderblades and the goosebumps that chase the chill sweeping across his neck and chest feel real. And, lust or not, he's more wired than he should be for scraping by on a few hours of sleep.
He bristles when Hector mounts him, legs framing his hips. Like the victor. Were this anyone else, he'd have thought about twisting his fist and tearing their dick from the rest of their body, lodging it down their howling throat. And for just a moment, while Isaac stares into the face looming over his, Hector does become someone else, something else, his features flickering so subtly, shifting out of alignment, throwing everything he thinks he knows into question. It's like the spores all over again, filling his throat and lungs and every hollow in his skull.
His hands shift to brace Hector's waist when the man lies on top of him, the magic in Hector's blood and bones vibrating at a keening frequency in harmony with his own. Isaac shivers into him at the sly sting of teeth catching his earlobe, at his voice as it slides, boldly, under all the layers of scar tissue he's built up and pries them loose, lifting them away, wanting and not wanting and twisting his face away. A twitch curls his lip, his muscles tightening like an uncocked spring.
Then comes a knee-jerk burst of power, an effort to heave Hector off him, to flip him onto his back.]
[Hector knows Isaac wants him, can feel it in the electricity sparking between their bodies, but he won't force Isaac against his will. Push, yes, but not rob him of agency.
So Hector lets Isaac shove him back, but he seizes Isaac's wrists and pulls Isaac down on top of him, not letting him retreat from this.]
...fine, like this, then....
[He parts his legs to make room for Isaac's body between his thighs. His nails scrap Isaac's skin where he can get to it around his gauntlets. He glares up at Isaac, face flushed and demanding satisfaction.]
Fuck me like you would if you weren't a coward.
[Hector with either get himself fucked or strangled. Either way, he'll at least find some form of release by Isaac's hands.]
[With their long stint at the castle behind them, he never thought Hector had it in him to challenge him again, threaten his ego, to push back, much less while wounded and weak. And on some level he can see this for what it is: an attempt to goad him to action, urging him to finish what he started the way he's never left loose ends untied, before. But even knowing this, they are only ever a single word away, a single word at the right time - or wrong time, from waking a rage inside him that would see Hector dead in the ground.
With a cracked half-scream, he swings his forehead into Hector's, pain splitting into his skull, half-blinded by flashes of light and blood dripping into his eye as he winds back to hit him again. He jerks his hand free from Hector's grasp. His right finds his own cock and he pumps fiercely, a beast in heat, thighs and abdomen flexing and frantic energy popping off the ends of his nerves as his balls pull tighter, tighter. Huffing, he shudders and comes, finally, hot ropes slapping Hector's skin, over chest and face. As if all he is and ever will be is as good as the dirt he walks on. He wrings himself dry, his breath short and rasping and hard. No sense triumph or bitter satisfaction. Only anger boiling black in his veins, all of him shaking with unspent violence.
It crosses his mind to let Abel finish on his behalf. To give Hector more than he ever bargained, driving home his mistake with every brutal, tireless thrust. But he waits for another careless word out of Hector's mouth, as if he needs permission, an excuse.]
[The crack of Isaac's skull- the hardest part of him, by far- has Hector seeing spots for a moment.]
Fuck!
[He kicks and scoots himself back, though not in time to avoid the jets of seed Isaac squeezes out of himself.
That. Fucking. Bastard.
Hector's anger has always burned cold within him, and when he finally reaches the tipping point into fury, he goes quiet and distant.]
We're done.
[A low, unwavering tone. Hector stands while Isaac is still shuddering from orgasm, snatches his discarded pants from the ground beside him, and stalks out of the cave. The fairy flits out after him.]
[He hitches up his pants and smudges away the trickle of blood from his face, hardened to the note of icy finality Hector takes with him. They were done minutes ago, as far as he was concerned; they were done when he pulled out and sat off to the side, raw and vulnerable, and everything that came after is what Hector brought on himself.
The pain in his skull is like an ice pick chipping into it to the rhythm of his heartbeat. A vicious, nagging pain. But it's worth it.
He spits off the side, balefully watching Hector as he turns his back and leaves before he reclaims his cloak and slings it around his shoulders, summoning a glowing magic circle that whisks him away to the edge of the woods closer to the mountain pass. The space to breathe what he needs -- and in the silvery light and cool dew of the early morning, he unleashes his wrath on the first animal to wander into view and is left with more half-raw rabbit than he has the appetite for. But he's in no mood to share, not with Hector or other woodland creatures.]
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Ridiculous as he realizes it is, he half expected Hector's flesh to wear the smell of hers, the taste of hers, after all these years and a cold dip in the pond. Yet Hector is as he was that night in the woods at the base of the mountain, sprawled in the grass, the yeastiness of his skin mingling with the tang of sweat and iron, his scent and all making Isaac throb through no effort of Hector's own - and there's the truth of it. Hector, even belly up and throat bared like it's begging for the knife, wields a fierce power over him that it seems neither time nor violence can break. A power that would pull him and keep pulling them, helplessly, into the sandtrap of each others' lives no matter how deeply they could dig in their heels.
For now, the frustration in that is gone, squeezed out of his awareness by pleasure and need, always need. His lips skim the edges of the wounds he's laid, lovingly suckling at the smattering of scars along the way. Not all of them are his work, but Isaac's mouth takes full responsibility all the same while he smothers Hector's neck and chest in kisses, paying tribute to his body in the way he's never cared to do for the demons he's lain with. Hector is and never was just a piece of flesh, a warm hole, a throwaway.
He stops at Hector's heaving belly, half to make room for his fumbling and half at the hand smoothing over his hair. There's a twitch of his shoulderblades at his touch, but Isaac doesn't toss his head and shake him off. Doesn't need to, that hand sliding off him, naturally, when he straightens up. He hasn't a finger on either hand that wouldn't cause undue pain, and without the means or the will to trim a few nails, he assumes that Hector really meant it when he offered to prepare himself.]
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When Isaac pulls away, Hector opens his eyes and meets his gaze, dazed and flushed. He stops fumbling and shucks off his clothing in earnest, tunic, pants, and all. If Isaac is going to suck and worship the skin Hector bares, he's going to bare as much as he can, to get his fill of this strange affection while it can be had.
Naked, he spreads his legs and slides oil-slick fingers into the crevice of his ass. He's not usually inclined to put on a show- Hector's focus is usually on his partner not himself- but Isaac is waiting and Hector doesn't want to let the fires burning between them cool.
He bends his knees and lifts his hips as he traces his finger around the ring of muscles barring his entrance. The finger slips in, and he moves, but doesn't seek out his own pleasure from the motion. A second finger, and he lets out a sigh as he stretches his muscles. He works himself open, makes himself wet for Isaac's cock.
He takes up the bottle again and pours a little more oil into his cupped palm.]
Come here. [He bids, and makes ready to anoint Isaac's cock.]
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Had anyone had ever told him Hector would one day strip down and cant his hips, presenting himself like a gift to be opened, Isaac would've thrown back his head and laughed. But there's no laughter now, not a single word, as he watches, mesmerized, a slippery finger and then a second sink inside Hector, disappearing past his middle knuckles. Making room for him.
Isaac doesn't rebel. Spit sticks in his throat when he finally swallows, his chest going tight as he approaches like a siren-sung man to shipwreck. Every inch of his own bare skin prickles, eager.]
...from whom did you learn this pretty trick? [He questions Hector with a sideways look, a smile almost teasing the corner of his mouth, while plunging a hand down the front of his leather trousers. He carelessly pulls himself free, throbbing in his fist and already dripping precome.]
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It's no concern of yours.
[The memory of Rosaly, spread on their shared bed, yielding up her soft body to him, is for Hector alone. If Isaac tries to take that and sully it...
He reaches for Isaac's cock and grips it with unneeded strength as he glides the slicked hand along the heated length.]
Why are you talking? I thought you wanted to fuck me.
[Hector craves tenderness and teasing whispers back and forth during lovemaking, but if Isaac can't do that without invoking Rosaly's ghost, Hector would rather be fucked like an animal. He withdraws, physically with his hand and emotionally with his heart.]
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Of course. [He snorts mirthlessly, lips thinning when he looses Hector's grasp - one that feels like it could be anyone else's - and reaches to pour oil into his own palm. He smooths it over himself in a few long, efficient strokes. It's only a means to an end. But that's all this was from the start, he reminds himself.] Do forgive me.
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Isaac takes charge over his cock and Hector lets him, leaning back against the stone, legs still splayed open.]
Do you want me like before?
[On his knees, ass up, like a dog in heat. He’s too flushed and hard to be ashamed by the memory of it.
He makes to shift his legs around Isaac so he can turn over. Better for both of them that way, not to fool themselves into thinking of any future in this.]
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If that is what comes naturally to you. [He drawls while waiting for Hector to settle, strumming the studs along his shaft and wringing out a few more drops of precome with a rougher, meaner hand than Hector's ever was.]
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[Hector cuts off his own frustrated protest. What would Isaac know about what ‘comes naturally’ to Hector? He doesn’t want an impersonal mounting.
He turns back around, stubborn now.]
What comes naturally to me is to straddle you and make a seat of your cock.
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No. [He says, too quickly, firmly. Nothing else follows for a long moment. He looks away from Hector's face and back to his hand, stilling around himself. His breath weighs heavy in his chest, the back of his throat.
He squeezes.]
On the ground - now.
[It's a demand, but not a threat; he doesn't make to grab Hector by the back of his skull and push him down, make a whore of him like he accused him of being only a week ago. It's too cruel, even for him.]
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He turns away from Isaac, the muscles of his back tense. He positions his knees on his discarded tunic to give him at least a little padding in the hopes he doesn't scrape them raw. If he wasn't so hard he is sure he would pass out if he stood up too quickly, he might entertain the thought of walking away and leaving Isaac to his own devices.
But no, he promised this, has partaken in the kisses he bargained for, and can't back out now. Hector's word still means something to him.
Neither of them can grant the other what he truly needs, but this semblance of closeness and relief, he can provide.]
Do it. Take what you want.
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In that darkness, he sees teeth. A steely flash of teeth and blood and a clawed arm thrusting out for his neck, his knife jerking up and down through the air. A log splits in the fire and he snaps back to awareness, flinching and angry, sinking the nails of one hand into Hector's hip and bracing him harder than he needs to.]
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It’s not out of concern for Hector, he’s sure of that. The nails clawing into his hip and leaving beads of blood are proof of that.
Teasing? The playful mood from their kissing is gone beyond recall, evaporated into dark cold of the cave.
Once more, Hector wants to turn and see Isaac’s face. He doesn’t. Isaac wants him bent for mounting like a dog.
He bucks backwards, nudging Issac to action. Hector’s angry with both of them about how this has turned out, but damned if he’s not going to at least date his darker urges now that he’s here.]
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Not real, he insists, fiercely. She was never there, looking up at him with drowning eyes. But it had felt real enough to make his stomach swoop then and now, pushing bile up into his throat.)
He sucks down a breath. He doesn't know when the darkness around him and Hector grew cold, when it became intimately threatening. But there's an understanding that if he doesn't break through this moment pressing in on him, locking him in, it might just quietly break him instead.
Brute force isn't always the answer to everything, but it's often the quickest. And he remembers that neither him nor Hector expect anything less or better of him than for him to bullishly push through whatever wall he's hit. Anger is bigger than fear, because it has to be - and he clings to it as he doubles down and plunges into Hector, into the hot grip of tight, flexing muscle, chasing pleasure with everything he has.]
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Yes, do it! [He grunts. His ass, slick and worked open, is ready, and he's greedy for it now. He can lose his thoughts of Rosaly and his aching heart in the pure animal rushing of blood to his cock.
He braces himself on one arm, muscles flexing with the strain of supporting his weight against Isaac's force, so that he can get a hand between his legs to frantically stroke. There's a steady breathy pant of 'yes'es streaming from his lips.]
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A snap of his hips and he's in to the hilt, metal and swollen flesh and aggressive, iron desire, nails gouging deeper into Hector as he tugs him into the next thrust and the next, panting. He throws his head back, drowning in relief, sense and reason sinking with him. He thinks about fucking Hector brainless until blood slicks them both. Thinks about fucking him inside out and turning him over and laying his hands on him, slotting the webs of his thumbs around his throat and clamping his hands around him again just to feel the wild pulsing of muscles and blood vessels against the pads of his fingers. Relishing in the crazy thrill of toeing the line between here and too far gone while watching the stricken look in Hector's eyes soften as they glass over.
He's an animal. Taking and taking and taking. And Julia - if fate is so cruel as to bring them together again - could preach of the hope she held for everyone, could tell him he still had a human heart beating inside him. But he had seen the way she looked at him when she found him, alone, the year before Rosaly burned. He remembers the shades of hurt and doubt in her eyes, a look that seemed to say there was only so much more she could take of feeling like she was watching something slowly dying.
Not everyone can be saved. Not everyone wants to be.
What he know for sure is that it takes spearing Hector on his cock, hurting him, to come close to feeling alive. Like more than a dead man walking.
Nothing new. But he feels this open a pit in his stomach like it never has before, their ragged panting and the slap of skin on skin growing sharper and louder, scraping his eardrums.
He doesn't realize he has pulled out until he drops back, like the air's been slammed out of his lungs. Blood roars through him, a useless throbbing. His body has never failed him; it's begging for more, even if more is never enough. Even as he feels a deep, sick rage rolling through him and sucks in a breath through his teeth and knows it's over.]
Fuck! [He snarls at the wall, scrubbing a hand down his face.]
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Hector is close, so close, and his mind is blessedly empty of everything but the need for release, when Isaac jerks back and away. His hole body twitches with the sudden loss of heat and the emptiness.
For one beat, Hector waits to be re-mounted, but it's not just a momentary readjustment of position. He turns over his shoulder, flushed and panting and wild with need.]
There had better be enemies at our door....
[He growls, because if this is just another one of Isaac's power plays, and he's planning on leaving Hector teetering on the threshold of orgasm, Hector's going to need to murder someone.]
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Shut up!
[His voice tears through the dark, jagged and vicious.
Between Hector's desperation and his own hitting a peak, all of him is pulling apart at the seams. He grinds the heels of his hands into his forehead, into his eyes, until he sees stars, wanting to scream. It's tempting to drive his fist into the wall until his knuckles shatter. But it's as if his whole body has given out on him, consumed with a sense of helplessness as absolute and huge and terrible as the anger shaking his bones.]
Fuck me--! [He hears himself spit out the words like threat. He gulps down another breath through a sharp swooping feeling inside him, searching every part of himself for the man he knows he's supposed to be: the Isaac who would've looked at Hector now, flushed and trembly-weak and begging for cock, and let out a throaty laugh, the laugh of a mad king; the Isaac who fears nothing, looking for trouble before it could find them; the Isaac who could only sneer at the sad shell of a forgemaster he's become and pulp his skull against the rocks, doing them both a favour.]
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He grits his teeth, and forces himself not to take Isaac’s cursing as an invitation. What had Rosaly done for him, when Hector had worked himself into a state of alarm when they’d been together?
Soft, reassuring words, feather-light touches, and a steady presence to draw him out of his own head and back into the light. All things that Hector craves that he imagines Isaac would laugh off.
It’s hard to think with most of his blood still pumping in his cock, but Hector tries. Grounding. Distraction. A physical reminder of his presence that Isaac can’t ignore.
He crawls over to Isaac, who is scrubbing at his face, and reaches out to hook fingers into his collar to drag him down into a kiss. Biting, bruising, filled with the taste of coppery blood.]
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Fuck. Me. [He pushes the words out, grits them out through his teeth, shoving against Hector as if he knows what he's doing. While the past and the present play tug of war for his sanity, pain may be the only thing that makes sense.]
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He pushes further into Isaac's space, claiming his lips again while his hands push Isaac's legs down. He straddles Isaac, returning to the very position Isaac had rejected from the start. His cock, still in Isaac's death grip, prods Isaac's abdomen as Hector positions his ass so he could, if Isaac allows it, sink down and take it all in.]
'm not...fucking you...'til we have a proper bed....
[And on that day, he will have prepared Isaac for him, have worked him open 'til Isaac begged for more. That day will likely never come, but Hector has a vision of it and he's not going to let Isaac compromise it with a rash decision they'll both regret.]
...tell me you want it.... [He pants into Isaac's ear, then bites down on it. Not enough to mark or tear, but certainly enough to force Isaac to feel it, to make him stay within his own skin.]
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The only thing more unexpected than hearing himself ask for - beg for - what he does and nearly convincing himself that he'd throw what's left of his pride and dignity for it, is being refused, and by a man seething with lust. By Hector.
He doesn't know what to do.
Nothing seems like it's really happening. Half-pushed and half-leaning back, he expects for the bottom of this fever dream to drop out and for him to fall through, to fall back into his body. Waking, like he has before, once or twice, to the reality that he isn't alone and there really is a succubus or incubus on him, grinding down on him, feeding off his energy. But the rocks burrowing into his shoulderblades and the goosebumps that chase the chill sweeping across his neck and chest feel real. And, lust or not, he's more wired than he should be for scraping by on a few hours of sleep.
He bristles when Hector mounts him, legs framing his hips. Like the victor. Were this anyone else, he'd have thought about twisting his fist and tearing their dick from the rest of their body, lodging it down their howling throat. And for just a moment, while Isaac stares into the face looming over his, Hector does become someone else, something else, his features flickering so subtly, shifting out of alignment, throwing everything he thinks he knows into question. It's like the spores all over again, filling his throat and lungs and every hollow in his skull.
His hands shift to brace Hector's waist when the man lies on top of him, the magic in Hector's blood and bones vibrating at a keening frequency in harmony with his own. Isaac shivers into him at the sly sting of teeth catching his earlobe, at his voice as it slides, boldly, under all the layers of scar tissue he's built up and pries them loose, lifting them away, wanting and not wanting and twisting his face away. A twitch curls his lip, his muscles tightening like an uncocked spring.
Then comes a knee-jerk burst of power, an effort to heave Hector off him, to flip him onto his back.]
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So Hector lets Isaac shove him back, but he seizes Isaac's wrists and pulls Isaac down on top of him, not letting him retreat from this.]
...fine, like this, then....
[He parts his legs to make room for Isaac's body between his thighs. His nails scrap Isaac's skin where he can get to it around his gauntlets. He glares up at Isaac, face flushed and demanding satisfaction.]
Fuck me like you would if you weren't a coward.
[Hector with either get himself fucked or strangled. Either way, he'll at least find some form of release by Isaac's hands.]
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With a cracked half-scream, he swings his forehead into Hector's, pain splitting into his skull, half-blinded by flashes of light and blood dripping into his eye as he winds back to hit him again. He jerks his hand free from Hector's grasp. His right finds his own cock and he pumps fiercely, a beast in heat, thighs and abdomen flexing and frantic energy popping off the ends of his nerves as his balls pull tighter, tighter. Huffing, he shudders and comes, finally, hot ropes slapping Hector's skin, over chest and face. As if all he is and ever will be is as good as the dirt he walks on. He wrings himself dry, his breath short and rasping and hard. No sense triumph or bitter satisfaction. Only anger boiling black in his veins, all of him shaking with unspent violence.
It crosses his mind to let Abel finish on his behalf. To give Hector more than he ever bargained, driving home his mistake with every brutal, tireless thrust. But he waits for another careless word out of Hector's mouth, as if he needs permission, an excuse.]
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Fuck!
[He kicks and scoots himself back, though not in time to avoid the jets of seed Isaac squeezes out of himself.
That. Fucking. Bastard.
Hector's anger has always burned cold within him, and when he finally reaches the tipping point into fury, he goes quiet and distant.]
We're done.
[A low, unwavering tone. Hector stands while Isaac is still shuddering from orgasm, snatches his discarded pants from the ground beside him, and stalks out of the cave. The fairy flits out after him.]
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The pain in his skull is like an ice pick chipping into it to the rhythm of his heartbeat. A vicious, nagging pain. But it's worth it.
He spits off the side, balefully watching Hector as he turns his back and leaves before he reclaims his cloak and slings it around his shoulders, summoning a glowing magic circle that whisks him away to the edge of the woods closer to the mountain pass. The space to breathe what he needs -- and in the silvery light and cool dew of the early morning, he unleashes his wrath on the first animal to wander into view and is left with more half-raw rabbit than he has the appetite for. But he's in no mood to share, not with Hector or other woodland creatures.]
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imma fudge some travel times here so Isaac doesn't have to wait around for days
LOL fucking pumpkin
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no real kids for them is probably for the best, lol
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HOW DARE HECTOR HAVE NEEDS OF HIS OWN
HE’S NOT SAYING IT SHOULD totally absolutely BE HIM
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hope this timeskippery is okay -- let me know if you wanted anything changed
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