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[homosexuals]

[it's gonna have a lot more than couch cushions to clean up with the way things are going. the last few hours are a hazy blur of blood and teeth and claws - of quiet silence when it snuck up on him with barely any time to react. hawk had thought it was just a man then, squared up to defend himself like he might have any german back in velletri. the adrenaline hid the worst of his wounds - enough for him to stumble back into the house with a wooziness that doesn't feel like it's from injury per se as he spit out the cap of a corked whiskey bottle, guzzled down enough to make him focus on the burn down the back of his throat instead of his skin as he poured the rest over the angry scratches on his ribs and stomach. cleaned 'em up as best as he could, some more whiskey for good measure, and he'll be good as new.

and then the hunger kicked in. something gnawing and cavernous that needs to be satiated now before it claws its way out of the wounds that fit the shape of the marks that inflicted it in the first place. his own heartbeat pounds in his ears, every pulse of blood pumping through him feels alive under the stretch of skin. sweat, sex, something to sink his teeth into - christ, anything - he just needs it now. the thought of going back to tim in this state makes him nearly physically jerk at the thought, the idea that he might hurt him like this somehow, more than he already has in denying taking that stupid goddamn tag in the first place. he could have just shoved it in his pocket, tucked it in a drawer - could have tried to be someone else here like the entire fucking place keeps pushing him to be.

well he isn't. he's still the same bastard with his multitude of contradictions, feet carrying him to the baths for the promise of heat and near anonymity with so much skin and passing faces that it won't matter if he's another one pressed into a neck and fucking up into another body on a long tally of ones he won't remember. so of course it's just his luck that the baths are empty - dead to the world, not a single soul in here. there's a frustrated hiss as he debates turning from the entryway, ignoring the need and just forcing himself into bed before he does something stupid he might regret in the morning if he can even remember it.

and then he hears it: heightened somehow, impossibly, the little splashes of water and heavy breathing, hitting him like the weight of a hundred bricks as he already starts yanking his shirt off and tossing it to the side, slipping out of his shoes and socks and leaving them in the hallway leading into the sumptuous room. there's something in him that wants to sneak up on whoever it is, a predator seeking not to startle its prey. and what pretty prey it is - sculpted cheekbones flushed, dark lashes catching on his skin with flashes of steely blue in between.

embry.

hawk has no hesitation as he sinks to his knees behind him, leaning down and murmuring in his ear.]

You look like you need a hand.

[the blood in the water only makes him feel more starved, torn between dragging his hand through it and lifting it to his lips, reaching down instead from where he's still partway submerged to grip his wrist hard and tug.]

[hymen]

[ he wants to surge away — should do just that, but the minute hawk sinks down behind him his body reacts like a match struck, traitorous heat flushing straight to where hawk's fingers grip his wrist, dangerously close to his cock. it pushes a breath out of him, no way to hide his furious, wounded need. hatred seethes between his teeth, that he could be caught so easily. that he can't make himself move away, because the twisted, needy part of himself doesn't want to run. ]

Fuck off. No one asked you to come here.

[ his hand tightens around his cock, ignoring the burning pain in his shoulder. he wishes he would've thought to go find something more substantial to numb his thoughts. the last time he was wounded this bad, ash pumped him full of morphine and it was the best goddamn thing ever (besides his cock). there are plenty of drugs lying around here, but he's learned pretty quick that they all come with other side effects, some of which he doesn't necessarily want to mess with, so it's better not to indulge if he can help it. still, hawk isn't the answer to take the edge off, no matter how much his body sings for him. he's been down this road before, it doesn't lead anywhere good.

hawk's hurt, too. so the wolf got him — he only feels a little bad about that — and if he's feeling anything like what embry is, then — ]

You don't know what you're doing.

[ embry shoves him back, but the water isn't on his side, and he loses his balance and reaches out to regain his equilibrium, catching the sharp v of hawk's devastatingly attractive hip and digging his fingers in. he mostly goes careening right into hawk when he tries to turn around and get into his face and assert his dominance. embarrassing. that would never have happened to ash, and yet these things always happen to him when he's used to being the charming one in control.

his eyes flicker momentarily to the bandages looped around his ribs, now waterlogged enough that he can see the outline of raw claw-marks. it sparks some dark, unspeakable want in him, the special kind of fucked up reserved for those who have a one-way ticket to hell if such a place existed. his eyes glitter like a bruised night sky, his mouth abruptly parched. ]

I was busy. [ he swallows, now giving hawk a feeble shove. ] You interrupted me and now you're all wet.