Chapter 143: Chapter 143: Frenzy

The knot eventually went down, but the rut didn’t break.

Arion pulled out, only to flip Dean over, pressing his chest against the wall and kicking both legs apart. He entered him again from behind, his thrusts deep and unforgiving.

Dean braced his hands against the wall, his body rocking with the force. He felt Arion’s hands on his hips, followed by a strange, sharp pressure. He glanced back.

Arion’s nails had lengthened, dark and thick, curving into points that were just shy of being true claws.

They dug into Dean’s skin, not breaking it, but pinning him in place with an iron grip.

Arion fucked him against the wall until his legs gave out, then he carried him to the bed.

He threw Dean down onto his stomach and dragged his hips up, forcing him onto his knees. He entered him again, his weight pressing Dean into the mattress.

Arion’s hands moved over Dean’s back, leaving red lines in their path. He leaned down, his mouth finding the unmarked skin of Dean’s other shoulder, sinking his teeth in again. Dean cried out into the pillows, his body arching in a mix of pain and pleasure.

Time blurred.

Hours passed in a haze of sweat and slickness, their scent engulfing the room.

They moved from the bed to the floor, then to the armchair in the corner.

At one point, Arion sat in the chair and pulled Dean onto his lap again, this time facing away from him. Dean’s back was pressed to Arion’s chest, his legs spread wide over Arion’s thighs. Arion’s arm was banded across Dean’s chest, holding him in place while his other hand stroked Dean’s cock, forcing him to a shuddering, dry orgasm as Arion’s hips pounded up into him.

The shift in Arion was becoming more obvious. The slitted pupils didn’t recede, and the sharp teeth were always present. His hands, when Dean got a clear look, were thicker, the knuckles more pronounced, the nails permanently elongated into dark, pointed talons. He was a creature of instinct and need, and his entire focus was on the omega writhing in his arms.

In a rare moment of clarity, when Arion’s knot had swollen and tied them together on the floor, Dean felt a new, sharp pain. Arion’s head was between his spread legs, his hot breath ghosting over Dean’s stretched, slick hole. Before Dean could ask what he was doing, he felt the scrape of teeth against his outer ring of muscle.

Arion bit down, not hard enough to break the skin, but with enough pressure to leave a perfect, indented ring of marks.

Dean’s body jolted, a strangled sob escaping his lips as a fresh wave of submission washed over him.

They fucked until Dean’s body was a map of Arion’s possession. Bite marks dotted his shoulders, chest, and neck. Scratches covered his back, hips, and thighs. His hole was puffy, red, and thoroughly used, marked by Arion’s teeth. He was exhausted, sore, and so deeply sated he felt boneless.

The frenzy subsided gradually. Arion’s thrusts became slower, less demanding. The snarls and growls softened into low, possessive rumbles. The rut was breaking.

Arion’s final knot shrank, and he finally pulled away, leaving Dean feeling achingly empty and dripping on the sheets.

He collapsed beside Dean, his chest heaving.

Dean watched, fascinated, as the sharp points of Arion’s teeth slowly retracted, his pupils rounding back into human circles. The dark nails shortened, the hands returning to their normal, elegant shape.

The beast receded, leaving only Arion.

He turned his head, his eyes clear and filled with a dawning, horrified awe as he saw Dean’s condition. He saw the marks he had left, the evidence of his complete loss of control.

“Dean…” Arion whispered, his voice hoarse and cracking with regret.

Dean reached out, his hand trembling, and took Arion’s. He brought it to his lips, kissing the knuckles that had been claws just moments before.

“Don’t,” Dean said, his voice a soft, tired command. “Don’t you dare apologize.” He looked into Arion’s eyes, his own expression one of utter contentment.

He huffed tiredly. “I will get revenge, though.”

—

Dean woke up the way you woke after a car crash you’d voluntarily walked into.

Slowly.

Painfully.

With the hazy, stunned clarity of someone whose body had been used like a battlefield and then tucked into bed like something precious.

For a moment he didn’t move at all.

He let the world settle around him: dimmer light now, not morning bright but that lazy midday glow that meant time had passed without his permission. The air smelled like heat and skin and Arion – too much Arion, soaked into fabric, into Dean’s body, into the room itself like a claim that didn’t fade just because the frenzy had.

Dean blinked once.

Twice.

Then tried to swallow and regretted it immediately.

A low, offended sound left him.

He shifted an inch and hissed through his teeth, the ache pulling sharp and deep through his body in a way that made him fully, immediately aware of exactly how thoroughly he’d been handled.

He lay there breathing, trying to decide whether he was furious or pleased.

The answer was yes.

Warmth pressed into his back.

Arion.

Of course.

Dean didn’t have to turn his head to know Arion was awake. He could feel it in the way the man breathed against his back.

Dean managed to roll his eyes without moving anything else.

“Barnacle,” he croaked.

Arion’s voice came from behind him, hoarse and low. “Alive?”

Dean considered lying. Pride suggested it.

His body suggested honesty.

“Unfortunately,” Dean rasped.

A pause.

Then Arion carefully shifted, like he was afraid a wrong movement would hurt Dean more. An arm slid around Dean’s waist, palm flattening over his lower belly as if to anchor him, to reassure himself that Dean was still real and still here.

Dean melted into the warmth anyway, because Dean was not a saint.

He lay there for a beat, breathing through the ache, letting the heat of Arion’s body soak into him.

Then, because Dean’s dignity was bruised but not dead, he asked the only question his brain had been circling since waking.

“Why did you have to bite me there?”

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