[Arousal and fear entwine in unholy matrimony. He sucks in a stuttering breath, distantly aware of sweat breaking out across flesh that can’t decide between feverish and clammy. As those white-tipped fingers trail downward, tracing forbidden pathways, Stiles thinks of the Nemeton—of thick, gnarled roots penetrating his skeleton, winding around and around to tenderly cradle a jackhammering heart. Tyki Mikk touches him where he bears the worst of his scars, that callus of permanent darkness. The teen wonders if his partner can feel it, can sense it, the black discharge now rippling coyly beneath a gentle hand. The vile, oily stain from that druidic ritual has primed Stiles to hunger for the proscribed; even as he swallows back stomach acid, his cock throbs with a primal awareness. Yes, he wants this.]
N-not…exactly.
[The Nogitsune touched him differently, of course, its invasion alien and cold and suffocating. But the kitsune too had been lured to Stiles by that invisible scar; maybe he’s doomed to forevermore attract the monstrous things that go bump in the night. Right now, he finds he doesn’t mind.]
Ch-Christ.
[The sensation isn’t pleasant. His brain continues to flood his body with hormones in terror, and it takes every ounce of willpower Stiles possesses not to tear himself away from the ghostly violation. The meat of his right shoulder blade aches in sympathy, pulsing with a phantom pain.]
I, uh—I can’t help noticing… [A strained gasp, just shy of dragging out into a shuddery moan.] …Th-this seems a little one-sided, wouldn’t you say?
cw: freaks
N-not…exactly.
[The Nogitsune touched him differently, of course, its invasion alien and cold and suffocating. But the kitsune too had been lured to Stiles by that invisible scar; maybe he’s doomed to forevermore attract the monstrous things that go bump in the night. Right now, he finds he doesn’t mind.]
Ch-Christ.
[The sensation isn’t pleasant. His brain continues to flood his body with hormones in terror, and it takes every ounce of willpower Stiles possesses not to tear himself away from the ghostly violation. The meat of his right shoulder blade aches in sympathy, pulsing with a phantom pain.]
I, uh—I can’t help noticing… [A strained gasp, just shy of dragging out into a shuddery moan.] …Th-this seems a little one-sided, wouldn’t you say?