[ It's not the first time that Claude has found himself a little fluffier than usual. Ever since completing that bizarre survey, he's been experiencing episodes like this: furry, animal ears where there were previously human ones, heightened smell, speed and claws as sharp as knives.
It was alarming and uncomfortable, but hadn't been particularly detrimental so far. The new sights and smells had been something to get used to, and he was a little more... physical than normal, but for the most part he was able to slink away and wait it out.
Tonight is different. He'd woken up suddenly, itchy and irritable, finding his mood soothed only by running across the shore like his life depended on it, chasing something that he couldn't quite grasp. (Belonging, territory—) And while the run settled the itch under his skin, it also made him feel... far away. Each step dulling the logic and reason that normally governed him. Silencing the human part of himself and letting something else fill the space.
And now, something is here. Something encroaching in his space, and when Sylvain approaches, he lets out a low growl to warn him off.
Sylvain says something in response. Claude doesn't quite catch it, but it irritates him (he's standing too tall, too presumptuous, no sign of submission) and when Sylvain tries to leave, Claude zeroes in on the movement like a shark to blood.
He doesn't think before moving. Doesn't formulate a plan of attack just goes on instinct, lunging to cross the distance between them, claws aimed to take a swipe at Sylvain's legs. Something in his head making sense of this, telling him that even if Claude doesn't finish him off, an injury like that will leave a beast as good as dead. ]
[ Were Sylvain still fully human, he'd have both the major tendons in his legs severed, painfully crippling him. In his present state, he can immediately detect Claude's hostile intent, even see what should normally be an indiscernible blur of movement. His body moves before his mind does, and the claws rake across his calf, the injury unpleasant but otherwise superficial. ]
So... it's not a costume.
[ He'd try to exercise verbal diplomacy, but his acquaintance doesn't seem to be in much of a mood for listening. Sylvain has to side step another vicious lunge, though this time he manages to catch one of Claude's fur-covered wrists.
—A mistake he realizes too late, when his own nails sharpen, talon-like as they dig into the werewolf's arm. The sweet tang of blood hits the air, and he can feel a sharp pressure growing inside his mouth, the points of his canine teeth elongating likewise into fangs.
He shoves Claude away from him while he's still lucid, trying to create distance for both their sakes. ]
Heh, I really don't think this is a good idea. Raincheck...?
[ He laughs shakily, though his pupils constrict into predatory slits all the while, his eyes gleaming an unnatural color under the low light. ]
[ Sylvain is saying words, and normally Claude is a very careful listener, but in this moment, all he can think about is how much he wants to tear Sylvain's throat out with his teeth.
He feels the pain of the nails digging into his arm—he's not so far gone that he's lost all sense of his surroundings—and while he expects a well of outrage to go racing up to his head, he just feels like... this is fun. Fun because he's going to do so much worse than this, while Sylvain continues to waste his breath on talking.
Fun in a special sadistic kind of way that he normally isn't.
But he wants to feel the crunch of bones under his fingers, the tearing of flesh. It'll settle the itch, establish a feeling of control.
He cocks his head at Sylvain, as if considering his proposal. ]
... Nah.
[ Before he lunges at him again, claws aimed at Sylvain's chest in a head on attack that's quite unlike him—
Except that he swerves right before he's within arm's reach of Sylvain, the intention to catch him off balance so that he can swipe at his back instead. ]
[ Each abrupt movement Claude makes further laces the scent of his blood into the air, a bright thread that weaves itself into a heavy tapestry. Sylvain finds himself nearly entangled in it, suffocating on the keen desire to siphon the vibrant pulse before him, until it fades.
He forces his secondary instincts to settle, keeping his attention on Claude. (He'll hurt someone like this. Do something he'll regret later.) Sylvain has little regard for his own well-being, but what's to stop Claude from hunting down another passenger after he's finished here? ...Not that he plans on letting Claude have his way with him. ]
Oh? [ He laughs wryly. ] Guess I really am irresistible.
[ He'll have to think of a way to subdue him, but it likely means getting close, and exercising brute force to do so... (Good thing he seems to have raw strength in excess.)
—Though, it still hurts like a bitch when he misses Claude's feint, and gets his back gouged by those nasty claws, each cut deep enough to graze bone. Sylvain hisses and drops low, fangs bared as blood drips down his shoulders, his injuries slow to mend on an empty stomach.
But it's a misdirect of his own as well. He doesn't fully shrink back from the pain, and instead snaps forward while Claude right within his reach, attempting to pin him against the nearest tree with his own forearm lodged against his neck—to keep any werewolf teeth from bearing down. ]
[ It feels good to sink his claws into something, Sylvain's blood hot where his fingers dig in, and all he wants is to dig in further, like there's some part of him that knows Sylvain will heal over, and he wants to leave a mark.
But while Claude is faster and stronger than he normally—he wonders what the extend of this new power is—so is Sylvain. The other man whips around almost too fast to see, and Claude is too busy soaking in his brief victory to get out of range, left in the crosshairs when Sylvain comes for him.
The impact of the tree doesn't hurt, but it does take the wind out of him for a moment, a grunt escaping him that's followed instinctually by an angry snarl.
His eyes are narrowed into slits as he glares at Sylvain, meeting his gaze, irises glowing a bright gold. ]
You look like you're having fun. [ The words are rasped out with the way Sylvain's pressing down on his windpipe, heartbeat thundering under his arm.
The proximity is a double-edged though, Claude's hands going to Sylvain's sides as if to wrestle him away, his claws digging in once more, ready to tear him to shreds. ]
[ Sylvain is more or less prepared for retaliation, though the anticipation of pain does little to dull it. He grimaces as Claude sheathes his claws into his sides, implements passing through flesh and bone with wicked ease. (The part of him that's still human thinks there's a chance he might actually die from this, though that fear eventually loses its place to unbridled bloodlust.)
He doesn't ease up in the slightest, the tree behind them creaking from the amount of force being applied in order for Sylvain to keep Claude in place. In a single movement his arm shifts so that he's gripping the boy's jaw instead, fat red droplets welling where his nails puncture skin.
His own voice sounds no less terrible than Claude's, a low and hazy murmur as he draws closer, eyes gleaming with intent. ]
It's never a dull moment with you.
[ He should take his time savoring his meal, but there's a real chance the werewolf might eviscerate him before he can do so. And also Sylvain really can't resist the temptation any longer, the rush of blood inside Claude's veins so loud that he can hear it, feel it before he even gets his mouth on him.
He lets instinct take over, fangs sinking into the bare line of Claude's throat. (Finally, finally.)
At the start of this, he'd only meant to bite Claude with the intent to paralyze—a knowledge that isn't academic but built into his biology. When Sylvain feels the press of warm skin against his tongue, however, the bright and coppery burst that follows, he forgets everything he's supposed to do in favor of what he wants to do.
There's nothing else but the thick, cloying fragrance of Claude's blood in his mouth, the smooth and hot slide of it down his throat, the frenetic pulse of Claude's body that Sylvain greedily crushes to his own, his other arm winding around his prey like a noose.
It's euphoric, dangerously so. Sylvain drinks from him as if he were kissing a lover, obsessive and intimate. He doesn't notice his own injuries anymore, the wounds beginning to knit themselves together as he feeds, flesh filling in heedless of the claws still stubbornly lodged in it. ]
[ He expects Sylvain to back off, to give when Claude's claws dig into the space between his ribs.
Sylvain doesn't, mouth hot and stinging where he closes over his neck. The shock of it makes Claude go still for a moment, the reality of his situation steadily sinking in. And once it does, fury bubbles up like a tide.
He thinks for a moment that he retaliates, sinking his claws into Sylvain's chest, dig past the bone to draw out that heart and then see what liberties Sylvain thinks he's allowed to take. It'd be easy enough, flesh little more than butter in the face of his razor sharp nails. He could tear Sylvain limb from limb for thinking that—
It is too easy. And the image of Sylvain's body, lifeless with his blood on his hands goes quickly from satisfying to sickening. It sends another jolt up his spine, gold eyes fading back to green.
And then he's just Claude again, the injuries along his arms burning. They pale in comparison to the sharp sting against his neck. Sylvain is sturdy and unrelenting in front of him, and the tree behind him, so he just... leans into him, suddenly exhausted. ]
This is a little much for revenge.
[ His heartbeat is still rabbit-quick in his chest, but his words are lazy and relaxed. He almost seems at peace, even though he wonders about how he should probably be alarmed. Maybe he should be scared. He was so angry just seconds ago, and yet he can't summon any of that now.
Sylvain is going to be horrified when he snaps out of it. ]
[ He can hear Claude speaking, so close and yet distant, a sound that struggles to reach Sylvain's ears underneath the roar of everything else clouding his judgement. He can feel every minute shift in Claude's posture, the way his body seems to sigh against his own, how the drumming of his heart begins to falter the longer Sylvain partakes.
He has to stop. The impulse is no longer as acute as it was, when he'd been badly injured and famished, but it's no less seductive. He wants to drain his prey of every last drop, to savor the final moments of his life and the ending beat of his slowing pulse.
(...Sylvain doesn't want any of that. He wants to wake up from this nightmare, and he wants to run. He hears his own name against his ear, a quiet warning.) ]
...Claude.
[ He pulls back with a visceral shudder, eyes dark and cheeks flushed with stolen blood. If his expression is stricken, it's not entirely with guilt but with hunger, an innate need that only Claude can grant at this very moment.
(He's still bleeding, and Sylvain still wants to taste him.)
He releases his grip from Claude's jaw, only to smear the pad of his thumb along one of the rivulets of blood, bringing it to his mouth to lick the excess clean.
—And then he suddenly realizes the state they're both in, human panic quickly welling up in his throat. ]
—Oh no. Oh shit.
[ He can't let go of the other boy with the paralytic still in effect, so he gathers him in his arms instead, looking around frantically for somewhere he can safely set him down. ]
[ It's not the first time that Claude has been in a life threatening position, but he thinks this might the only time that he's not actually afraid. It's not that he trusts Sylvain, and it's not even for a nefarious reason like using this for blackmail against him later but...
He just knows. That despite everything and their differences, Sylvain wouldn't deliberately hurt him. That most of the damage that Sylvain does is toward himself, for some baffling reason that Claude can't comprehend—and hasn't tried.
There's still a matter of pride, and his ego could be hurt at being bested, but it doesn't manifest. Maybe it's because of the paralytic or the shock of such an unexpected turn, or the blood loss making him lethargic, but he doesn't care.
In the strangest way, this feels less like an attack and more like someone desperate reaching out a hand. Almost like he can feel the need that's plaguing Sylvain's senses, and despite trying to rip his throat out only a minute ago, he decides to be gentle. Because even though it's Sylvain with his teeth at his neck, Claude feels like he's the one in power.
It helps too, that as Sylvain returns to his senses, he doesn't even try to hide his panic. Claude probably couldn't even panic if he tried, resting his forehead against Sylvain's shoulder tiredly. ]
Yeah? [ He smiles, amused, because this is such a ridiculous situation. ] Are you seriously looking at me for answers right now?
[ His cheek mashes against Sylvain's shoulder as he looks up at him dazedly. ]
[ Oh thank the goddess he's still conscious. The relief makes Sylvain's stomach do something strange, and he releases a shaky exhale, a long ha-a that curls slightly at the end into an awkward, incredulous laugh. ]
Told you we shoulda rainchecked.
[ Of course he's not actually blaming Claude for any of this, and his expression is appropriately chastised (if not distinctly confused) as he glances down at him. ]
...Sorry.
[ While the other boy is mostly a blur of dark hair in his peripheral, Sylvain can catch a glimpse of his woozy smile; had he not just forcibly taken a liter of blood from him he might find it oddly adorable. (The taste sits heavy and bittersweet in his mouth, both revulsive and comforting. He tries not to think about it, how easy it would be to finish the job.)
He centers his focus instead on getting Claude somewhere safe, where he can recover. ]
Bear with me a moment longer, yeah?
[ He mumbles the warning before he carefully scoops him up in his arms, and takes him to the first comfortable enclosure he can think of—the seaside spa... which really feels like the start of a bar joke.
It's empty at this hour at least, clean and well-stocked. Sylvain sets Claude down on one of the beds, and grabs a towel to clean up whatever blood is still on them. ]
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no subject
It was alarming and uncomfortable, but hadn't been particularly detrimental so far. The new sights and smells had been something to get used to, and he was a little more... physical than normal, but for the most part he was able to slink away and wait it out.
Tonight is different. He'd woken up suddenly, itchy and irritable, finding his mood soothed only by running across the shore like his life depended on it, chasing something that he couldn't quite grasp. (Belonging, territory—) And while the run settled the itch under his skin, it also made him feel... far away. Each step dulling the logic and reason that normally governed him. Silencing the human part of himself and letting something else fill the space.
And now, something is here. Something encroaching in his space, and when Sylvain approaches, he lets out a low growl to warn him off.
Sylvain says something in response. Claude doesn't quite catch it, but it irritates him (he's standing too tall, too presumptuous, no sign of submission) and when Sylvain tries to leave, Claude zeroes in on the movement like a shark to blood.
He doesn't think before moving. Doesn't formulate a plan of attack just goes on instinct, lunging to cross the distance between them, claws aimed to take a swipe at Sylvain's legs. Something in his head making sense of this, telling him that even if Claude doesn't finish him off, an injury like that will leave a beast as good as dead. ]
no subject
So... it's not a costume.
[ He'd try to exercise verbal diplomacy, but his acquaintance doesn't seem to be in much of a mood for listening. Sylvain has to side step another vicious lunge, though this time he manages to catch one of Claude's fur-covered wrists.
—A mistake he realizes too late, when his own nails sharpen, talon-like as they dig into the werewolf's arm. The sweet tang of blood hits the air, and he can feel a sharp pressure growing inside his mouth, the points of his canine teeth elongating likewise into fangs.
He shoves Claude away from him while he's still lucid, trying to create distance for both their sakes. ]
Heh, I really don't think this is a good idea. Raincheck...?
[ He laughs shakily, though his pupils constrict into predatory slits all the while, his eyes gleaming an unnatural color under the low light. ]
no subject
He feels the pain of the nails digging into his arm—he's not so far gone that he's lost all sense of his surroundings—and while he expects a well of outrage to go racing up to his head, he just feels like... this is fun. Fun because he's going to do so much worse than this, while Sylvain continues to waste his breath on talking.
Fun in a special sadistic kind of way that he normally isn't.
But he wants to feel the crunch of bones under his fingers, the tearing of flesh. It'll settle the itch, establish a feeling of control.
He cocks his head at Sylvain, as if considering his proposal. ]
... Nah.
[ Before he lunges at him again, claws aimed at Sylvain's chest in a head on attack that's quite unlike him—
Except that he swerves right before he's within arm's reach of Sylvain, the intention to catch him off balance so that he can swipe at his back instead. ]
no subject
He forces his secondary instincts to settle, keeping his attention on Claude. (He'll hurt someone like this. Do something he'll regret later.) Sylvain has little regard for his own well-being, but what's to stop Claude from hunting down another passenger after he's finished here? ...Not that he plans on letting Claude have his way with him. ]
Oh? [ He laughs wryly. ] Guess I really am irresistible.
[ He'll have to think of a way to subdue him, but it likely means getting close, and exercising brute force to do so... (Good thing he seems to have raw strength in excess.)
—Though, it still hurts like a bitch when he misses Claude's feint, and gets his back gouged by those nasty claws, each cut deep enough to graze bone. Sylvain hisses and drops low, fangs bared as blood drips down his shoulders, his injuries slow to mend on an empty stomach.
But it's a misdirect of his own as well. He doesn't fully shrink back from the pain, and instead snaps forward while Claude right within his reach, attempting to pin him against the nearest tree with his own forearm lodged against his neck—to keep any werewolf teeth from bearing down. ]
no subject
But while Claude is faster and stronger than he normally—he wonders what the extend of this new power is—so is Sylvain. The other man whips around almost too fast to see, and Claude is too busy soaking in his brief victory to get out of range, left in the crosshairs when Sylvain comes for him.
The impact of the tree doesn't hurt, but it does take the wind out of him for a moment, a grunt escaping him that's followed instinctually by an angry snarl.
His eyes are narrowed into slits as he glares at Sylvain, meeting his gaze, irises glowing a bright gold. ]
You look like you're having fun. [ The words are rasped out with the way Sylvain's pressing down on his windpipe, heartbeat thundering under his arm.
The proximity is a double-edged though, Claude's hands going to Sylvain's sides as if to wrestle him away, his claws digging in once more, ready to tear him to shreds. ]
no subject
He doesn't ease up in the slightest, the tree behind them creaking from the amount of force being applied in order for Sylvain to keep Claude in place. In a single movement his arm shifts so that he's gripping the boy's jaw instead, fat red droplets welling where his nails puncture skin.
His own voice sounds no less terrible than Claude's, a low and hazy murmur as he draws closer, eyes gleaming with intent. ]
It's never a dull moment with you.
[ He should take his time savoring his meal, but there's a real chance the werewolf might eviscerate him before he can do so. And also Sylvain really can't resist the temptation any longer, the rush of blood inside Claude's veins so loud that he can hear it, feel it before he even gets his mouth on him.
He lets instinct take over, fangs sinking into the bare line of Claude's throat. (Finally, finally.)
At the start of this, he'd only meant to bite Claude with the intent to paralyze—a knowledge that isn't academic but built into his biology. When Sylvain feels the press of warm skin against his tongue, however, the bright and coppery burst that follows, he forgets everything he's supposed to do in favor of what he wants to do.
There's nothing else but the thick, cloying fragrance of Claude's blood in his mouth, the smooth and hot slide of it down his throat, the frenetic pulse of Claude's body that Sylvain greedily crushes to his own, his other arm winding around his prey like a noose.
It's euphoric, dangerously so. Sylvain drinks from him as if he were kissing a lover, obsessive and intimate. He doesn't notice his own injuries anymore, the wounds beginning to knit themselves together as he feeds, flesh filling in heedless of the claws still stubbornly lodged in it. ]
no subject
Sylvain doesn't, mouth hot and stinging where he closes over his neck. The shock of it makes Claude go still for a moment, the reality of his situation steadily sinking in. And once it does, fury bubbles up like a tide.
He thinks for a moment that he retaliates, sinking his claws into Sylvain's chest, dig past the bone to draw out that heart and then see what liberties Sylvain thinks he's allowed to take. It'd be easy enough, flesh little more than butter in the face of his razor sharp nails. He could tear Sylvain limb from limb for thinking that—
It is too easy. And the image of Sylvain's body, lifeless with his blood on his hands goes quickly from satisfying to sickening. It sends another jolt up his spine, gold eyes fading back to green.
And then he's just Claude again, the injuries along his arms burning. They pale in comparison to the sharp sting against his neck. Sylvain is sturdy and unrelenting in front of him, and the tree behind him, so he just... leans into him, suddenly exhausted. ]
This is a little much for revenge.
[ His heartbeat is still rabbit-quick in his chest, but his words are lazy and relaxed. He almost seems at peace, even though he wonders about how he should probably be alarmed. Maybe he should be scared. He was so angry just seconds ago, and yet he can't summon any of that now.
Sylvain is going to be horrified when he snaps out of it. ]
Sylvain...
no subject
He has to stop. The impulse is no longer as acute as it was, when he'd been badly injured and famished, but it's no less seductive. He wants to drain his prey of every last drop, to savor the final moments of his life and the ending beat of his slowing pulse.
(...Sylvain doesn't want any of that. He wants to wake up from this nightmare, and he wants to run. He hears his own name against his ear, a quiet warning.) ]
...Claude.
[ He pulls back with a visceral shudder, eyes dark and cheeks flushed with stolen blood. If his expression is stricken, it's not entirely with guilt but with hunger, an innate need that only Claude can grant at this very moment.
(He's still bleeding, and Sylvain still wants to taste him.)
He releases his grip from Claude's jaw, only to smear the pad of his thumb along one of the rivulets of blood, bringing it to his mouth to lick the excess clean.
—And then he suddenly realizes the state they're both in, human panic quickly welling up in his throat. ]
—Oh no. Oh shit.
[ He can't let go of the other boy with the paralytic still in effect, so he gathers him in his arms instead, looking around frantically for somewhere he can safely set him down. ]
Claude.
no subject
He just knows. That despite everything and their differences, Sylvain wouldn't deliberately hurt him. That most of the damage that Sylvain does is toward himself, for some baffling reason that Claude can't comprehend—and hasn't tried.
There's still a matter of pride, and his ego could be hurt at being bested, but it doesn't manifest. Maybe it's because of the paralytic or the shock of such an unexpected turn, or the blood loss making him lethargic, but he doesn't care.
In the strangest way, this feels less like an attack and more like someone desperate reaching out a hand. Almost like he can feel the need that's plaguing Sylvain's senses, and despite trying to rip his throat out only a minute ago, he decides to be gentle. Because even though it's Sylvain with his teeth at his neck, Claude feels like he's the one in power.
It helps too, that as Sylvain returns to his senses, he doesn't even try to hide his panic. Claude probably couldn't even panic if he tried, resting his forehead against Sylvain's shoulder tiredly. ]
Yeah? [ He smiles, amused, because this is such a ridiculous situation. ] Are you seriously looking at me for answers right now?
[ His cheek mashes against Sylvain's shoulder as he looks up at him dazedly. ]
That was weird.
no subject
Told you we shoulda rainchecked.
[ Of course he's not actually blaming Claude for any of this, and his expression is appropriately chastised (if not distinctly confused) as he glances down at him. ]
...Sorry.
[ While the other boy is mostly a blur of dark hair in his peripheral, Sylvain can catch a glimpse of his woozy smile; had he not just forcibly taken a liter of blood from him he might find it oddly adorable. (The taste sits heavy and bittersweet in his mouth, both revulsive and comforting. He tries not to think about it, how easy it would be to finish the job.)
He centers his focus instead on getting Claude somewhere safe, where he can recover. ]
Bear with me a moment longer, yeah?
[ He mumbles the warning before he carefully scoops him up in his arms, and takes him to the first comfortable enclosure he can think of—the seaside spa... which really feels like the start of a bar joke.
It's empty at this hour at least, clean and well-stocked. Sylvain sets Claude down on one of the beds, and grabs a towel to clean up whatever blood is still on them. ]