Archive of Our Own

The spark has already turned to a flame.

It is no longer the flicker of flint on steel nor the lick of a tealight. It does not stand still, ready to bow under a shallow breeze. No, that initial flicker is long gone. Karl was given time to gather the bucket of water to snuff the flame. He let pass the days he had to prepare for the oncoming wildfire, and now he’s left with no provisions nor food for the heatwave already ravaging his body.

The fire dances and writhes in his chest, desperate to escape every pore in his body through sweat and every hole in his face through steam. The blaze begs to induce havoc and render his common sense useless. It beats at his brain; It sparks circuits, and neurons alight in a brilliant show of how desire can turn a gentleman into a beast. Heisenberg was diligently blind to the weather forecast. Physically, he’d ignored how his cock had strained against every brush of stimulation and how loud the scents around him became. Emotionally, he indulged in his irritability and snapping at the slightest nuisance.

This cycle passes twice a year, once at the end of Autumn when the last leaves have shed from their trees and the chill becomes exorbitant. And then again at the beginning of Spring, just as the last of the plum irises bloom. It’s all hormones and desire, bubbling and rising in his gut, desperate to release itself in the form of sex. It’s part of the Lycan traits he developed under Mother Miranda’s various experiments. Now, it’s something he has to endure for the rest of his life, akin to nothing more than the wolves in the forest and the beasts under his very control.

He should have told Ethan the moment that ache in his lower gut had sprouted. But, there is no use in fretting over “shoulds” and “shouldn’ts” when looking in hindsight. There’s only the here and now, and right now he’s got his mouth open, swallowing down the cool November air, desperately tasting for notes of mold and mildew. Ethan’s always smelled like mold. Even from his first encounter with the blonde at the gates of the castle, he had known nothing was fully human about him. They’re one and the same in that aspect: human but not quite.

They base their lives upon a faux form of domesticity as if they are nothing more than old-fashioned lovers living their days away in this small village: husband and wife. It’s a lie they tell themselves at night to help them sleep, help them forget they had been doomed from the start. If they pretend that they are nothing significant among the mass working their nine-to-five, then maybe they can ignore that Karl has fangs that have pierced jugulars and Ethan has died a hundred times over and still stands before his lover, filling a bucket of water from a well.

The cobbled road has cracked and broken from years of foot traffic—not unlike the burning skin under Karl’s coat, scarred over with a thousand scars and burns and cuts. He has endured more than his body should be able to take–he’s in need of new pavement. Nevertheless, his body is well-used and loved. Ethan ensures that even when Karl can’t do it himself. It’s the same circumstances he comes to now as he trudges toward the blond, in need of someone to care for him where he failed.

Ethan’s tranquil and utterly distracted from Heisenberg, and instead, his eyes focus intently on the bucket he’s cranking up from the well. Two metal fingers cling beside three other fleshy digits upon the crank, white-knuckling the rusted metal. Snowflakes dust his fingers, dotting his black gloves in melting polydactyls, joined by the condensation of cloudy vapor that escapes his lips. Despite the freeze, it’s not uncomfortable for him—quite the opposite.

Ethan enjoys this life for himself, away from the modernity of average life, and instead spends his days in the gentle sway of domesticity and self-fulfilling work. He sees the fruits of his labor instead of finding himself stuck in a cramped cubicle, working IT for a company he cares nothing for. It’s a stark contrast from his old life, but it’s a welcome one.

On top of leaving behind his life of computers and technology, he’s found himself with a blanket sense of security he never felt at the old house with Mia and Rose. He’s utterly discarded his military training, instead relying on Heisenberg to attend to the sparse danger he finds himself in. It’s always bears and Lycans—something that Karl has experience with and has been taught by the older man to prepare for.

Ethan grabs the bucket from the well, careful not to let the heavy weight spill as he passes it levelly over the cobble. He’s just about to turn and start back to his house when an approaching Heisenberg crosses his vision. At first, he sees only gray hair and darkened shades—a flash of feral Lycanism. Too much hair and too many teeth, not enough skin nor sanity. It’s a sight he’s seen too many times before claws pierce his skin and tear through flesh. It’s unsurprising for his stomach to drop as it does then, for a flash of adrenaline to ripple through his body like the hairs on a cat, ready to defend itself. It’s only for half of a second, only enough time for him to inhale sharply, only enough time for his eyes to flicker with fear.

And then it settles as a pool in his stomach, an easing tension, a gun unloaded rather than shot. He exhales, and the relief becomes a cloud of steam escaping his lips. That adrenaline dissolves into sweet serotonin and endorphins, coursing through his system. Karl. The man’s met with a genuine smile which completely disregards the fear as negligible anxiety—a trauma response.

“Been a while. You’ve been holed up in your factory for days. I missed you, you know.” Ethan’s tone is calm and he tries to bite back the euphoria of seeing his partner coming down that cobble path. However, the closer the man gets, the quicker he realizes something is wrong.

That face is never that red, even with the bite of the harsh Autumn air, and his steps are miscalculated and naive, like a fawn still learning to stand on its own. Heisenberg reaches the well, lips still parted and tasting Ethan’s scent in a desperation to calm his hormones. That spark has evolved into a house fire, overheating and blazing. He is choking on smoke, dizzy from the carbon monoxide poisoning. He needs water. He needs to breathe. And above all else, he needs to relinquish this heat through Ethan.

Through his dry mouth and the sweat dribbling down his nose, he tries to maintain some semblance of normalcy as if Ethan hasn’t already noticed his distressed state. “I… missed you, too, Ethan, I-” Every hair on his skin turns into a prickle, rising from his skin in a thousand tiny bumps as a shiver wrecks his body. It’s a nausea-inducing feeling, especially when it runs up his neck and causes him to become uncomfortably aware of the dryness of his throat. Ethan sees all this, and every fatherly instinct he’s developed for Rose dominates the forefront of his mind. Karl isn’t the only one running on instinct.

Ethan’s hand rests cold on Heisenberg’s shoulder. He swears he can feel it even through the thickness of his coat. He’s freezing; he should be dying of hypothermia by now. Or perhaps, Heisenberg is the one that should be dying of heatstroke. “Easy big guy, talk to me.” He exhales, and the air swirls toward Karl’s face. They share that same breath. It smells like coffee and the earth and all of the mundane things Karl can only hope to reciprocate. At least Ethan’s had the last decade of monotony to practice. The Lycan hasn’t had that feeling in decades, especially not now.

Karl turns his eyes from the well to Ethan. His eyelids only serve in disconcerting Ethan to his demeanor—wide and unhinged. With the yellow irises they frame, Ethan has to wane that bubbling anxiety again. At least the rounded glasses ease the sharpness of his gaze.

Heisenberg has a hard time getting the initial words out. It’s not an illness he’s the proudest of—and certainly not one he wants Ethan to endure with him. But he’s left himself with no choice. He doesn’t know if he can make it back to the factory alone. He’s overheating. And fast. He needs to release the tension, and God forbid he become a casualty to his own body.

“I’m rutting, Ethan. Could we–” He’s interrupted by a wave of nausea, replacing his working tongue with a dry heave. He white-knuckles the well. He knows nothing will come up, but still, he prepares himself for it. His head and heart pound at the same rhythm, hard like a stone crushing into his skull, beating at him relentlessly. And still, he manages to regain his composure, just enough to ask. “Could we head back to your house?”

Though Heisenberg doesn’t see it, Ethan stands beside him, jaw agape and eyes flickering over the Lycan’s frame as he processes, then reprocesses. He’d almost forgotten about these heats. It has been a year since he’d last had to deal with it, and it’s still territory he has yet to have adequate experience. He can only guess and hope that Karl can guide him through it. He remembers the last time he had been present. Thrashing under the shorter man’s inhuman strength, gasping and panting for air he could not find, teeth splitting into his neck and draining him of blood, and the soreness the next day. He hadn’t been able to sit up properly until day two.

So, when he ponders how to handle this situation, he takes a long moment. He’s silent, a trepidation resting between them. He knows he needs to work fast, Karl is quickly growing subject to his hormones and he cannot let him get too far along without precautions. So, finally, he replies in the calmest tone he can muster, heaving the bucket back up from the ground. “Yeah… Yeah, come on.”

Karl trudges behind him, his animalistic instincts becoming more apparent by the second. His eyes flash around the room of Ethan’s house, watching impatiently as the blond sets down the bucket. Each little creak of their feet upon floorboards only serves to unsettle him, and his hands tremble when he shuts the door behind himself. He looks as if he’s about to pounce.

Assert dominance; that’s what dogs do, right? Ethan turns back to his lover, arms crossed and glancing sternly, not unlike a mother upset with a mishap. “Alright. If we’re gonna do this again, we’re gonna need to lay down some ground rules. First, no biting-” Karl opens his mouth to protest, but Ethan cuts him off. “-I want you to make a muzzle for me. Just in case.” He gestures to the small trunk of spare metal Heisenberg keeps around Ethan’s house for when he’s growing bored of Ethan’s books.

If Ethan were anyone else, Karl would surely just pin him to the floor and take him then and there, not caring for provisions. Karl knows his tongue works better than any physicality for Ethan, though, a stark contrast from his time with the soldiers in his basement and hurling hooks into snarling Lycans. He’s had to learn to stand up for himself physically and hold his own against beasts twice his size to assert himself. And yet, here he is—speaking to Ethan as if he’s never spoken with his fists before in response to such an absurd request.

“No biting? Bullshit. I need to bite, Ethan. It’s in my nature.” Despite his waning self-control, he still finds himself able to steady his nonchalant composure, that over-the-top defense mechanism he uses to control the room. He won’t be forced into a smaller position if he speaks louder. He won’t be the guy to pick on. Living with wolves has taught him something about self-preservation and survival. And here, it comes out behind closed doors with someone who knows nothing of submission and dominance.

“Don’t give me that. I’m not letting you tear a chunk out of me again. So either you follow my orders, or you can figure out how to get rid of it on your own.” Ethan stays firm. He knows this game. He knows how to set his boundaries and ensure Heisenberg follows them. Boundaries and consequences, if’s and then’s.

Heisenberg wants so badly to fight back, but he knows Ethan would be true to his word. He remembers the last time. He remembers the cold shoulder he’d been given and the talks they’d had about it for days afterward. He truly doesn’t want to hurt Ethan like that again. He forgets Ethan is fragile and human. Pain isn’t his love language. And so, despite his burning irritable gaze, he cannot hold it steady when Ethan’s fingers shed that coat from his body, followed by the small buttons of his shirt. When Heisenberg still doesn’t move, Ethan adds, “This isn’t up for debate. Now hurry up. Let’s just get it over with.”

Heisenberg doesn’t need to be told twice. After a second longer to admire the delicate curvature of Ethan’s waist and hips, he flicks his wrist. He manages to pull together some metal wires, bending and tangling and layering the pieces until they take on an oblong, rounded shape. It’s not unlike the muzzles he’s seen used on dogs in the past, but he assumes that Ethan means when he says “make a muzzle.”

With two added straps, he presents the piece to Ethan like an award, asking for his praise of approval. “Can we get on with it now?”

Ethan notes the piece and retrieves it from Karl’s grasp with a small sigh of relief, now only brandishing his pants. Thank God he doesn’t need to deal with anything drastic. Not yet, at least. Even with his fears, he has a sick enjoyment of teasing Karl like this. Perhaps, it’s the power imbalance that he has had yet to play with, always submissive to Heisenberg’s whims. He could get used to being the one in control.

“Yeah,” he speaks. “There’s just one more thing.”

Before he presses the muzzle across Heisenberg’s face, he instead delves in with his own lips for a quick, passionate kiss. He pulls himself back and quips, “I might as well get one in before I get this on you, right?”

A flush crosses Heisenberg’s cheeks. Despite all of the rough, passionate sex they have and the death they’ve both seen in their lives he’ll still melt into a kiss like it’s their first. Even through his rut, he finds the decency to go back in for more, grasping onto Ethan’s cheek to urge him closer. Just a little longer. It’s been a long few days at the factory.

When he finally pulls back, he’s met with a smile, and then that muzzle attaching itself to his face, strapped in by the leather in the back. It’s tight around his jaw and dips under his chin by about half an inch. He can still talk, but he can’t quite get his mouth open enough to do more than that. It’s a major damper to his pride and one he tries with every cell of his body to pass. It'll be worth it if it’s to please Ethan and finally get his hands on him.

“I hope that’s comfortable,” Ethan says as his fingers tightly knot the leather. “Go ahead and take off your clothes, okay? I’ll meet you in the bedroom.” And with that, he turns his heel to retrieve his own articles of fabric he’d shed and bunches them in his arms, leaving through the hall to the bedroom.

Karl hastily starts on his jacket, dropping everything to get naked while Ethan does whatever he needs.

Ethan tosses his shirt and jacket aside before hunching over the nightstand, taking a few deep breaths. He’s never been one to take the controlling role in a relationship, especially not one like this. However, it’s goddamn exhilarating. Having control over someone else, especially one as desperate as Heisenberg. It’s something he never had with Mia nor any of his other exes, and he knows he has all the power in it. Karl has no choice but to be patient and follow his command for fear of having to leave and deal with it on his own.

He turns his head to see Karl standing in the doorway, completely naked. His chest flushed a bright red, that wildfire dancing under the skin, only obscured by the thick gray hair upon his chest–almost resembling the fur of the Lycans in the woods. His cock bobs out against his belly, dripping desperately to the floor in long rivulets of translucent pre. He’s lost his glasses somewhere along the way, so those yellow eyes no longer obscure from Ethan’s view, gazing directly at him, into him, through him, and in the same vein as a wolf glaring at a deer, ready to strike.

And Heisenberg does strike.

In one swift move, he’s knocking Ethan to the bed by the shoulders, pinning him down by the wrists, panting like a damn dog. He’s got his hips on the blond’s and his cock drooling dryly across his still-clothed thigh, rutting against the denim as if it’s the most stimulation he’s ever gotten and ever will get.

For a moment, there, fear twists Ethan’s gut into a terrible, tightening knot. Memories of a different monster tearing at his flesh, crunching bone under bone play in his head. He has to reassure himself that he’s okay. He’s the one in control here. Stay firm. Stay confident. He takes a deep breath, and finally, he speaks low and sternly. “S-Slow down, big guy. Lay down and let me take care of you, okay?”

Karl, through his feral state and his overworked sex drive, forces himself to find the self-control to stop. It’s hard with the cycles–especially how rare they are–to keep checking on himself not to hurt the people around him. He remembers the scolding from last time, the guilt clawing at him and as much as he doesn’t want to care now, he listens. Just for the sake of his lover.

He knows he’s playing with a butterfly blade here. The safest bet would be to return to the factory and hermit out his days until it’s over. He could leave this behind. However, deep down, he knows his instincts won’t let him. Even the smell of Ethan in the room is enough for him to lose his humanity. So, he keeps himself in check. He is playing with a blade, but he has bandaids and gloves.

Heisenberg takes a breath, labored and short–it turns into a sigh even though he doesn’t mean to convey it like that. Finally, he’s shifting himself off of Ethan, shaky fingers sinking into the mattress of the bed as he maneuvers himself back. He wishes he at least had something to bite down on. He tells himself not to rip off the muzzle and tear off a piece of Ethan’s neck.

“See? That wasn’t too hard, was it?” The younger man chuckles. He wipes the smiles from his face, though. The power trip is fun and he understands why Heisenberg enjoys it so much, but his lover is hurting. He has to take this seriously, even if he does love the way Heisenberg stares up at him, whimpering and whining for attention against his sore cock. He lowers himself down towards his thighs, licking his lips as his icy fingertips wrap around the base–a shocking contrast from the blistering heat of his cock. “That’s good… Shh… Just leave it to me, okay?”

Heisenberg watches with those wide eyes, fully entranced in each move Ethan makes as he swallows hard and finally opens his mouth, letting his tongue fall from his bottom lip. With one hand on his thigh, thumb rubbing over graying hairs, he runs his tongue up the warm, needy shaft, collecting dripping precum along the way. As he swirls the muscle around the tip, he keeps his eyes keenly on Heisenberg, watching how he fists the bed and breaks into a series of needy whimpers and groans, bucking his hips gently in desperation to get more.

“Oh… God, ” Heisenberg’s voice comes out as a growl, low and stuttering with his vocal cords. His muzzle rattles with it, but he pays it no mind. He doesn’t want to think about how humiliating it is. Still… It is nice to be the one taken care of for a change. It’s not often that he’s in this position. He enjoys it. But, fuck is he desperate for more. He wants nothing more than to shove Ethan down in the bed and rail him within an inch of his life. But he won’t. He’ll be patient. “E-Ethan…”

Ethan moans under his breath with the name. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed all of this until now. How much he missed Heisenberg. It had only been a few days since they had last seen each other, but it had been a week since they were last intimate. His bed was starting to feel cold again. He missed that warmth.

“Ethan, come on.”

Ethan lifts his head, resting the man’s tip on his tongue, pleased with how it pulses and throbs with blood and drips in a constant stream of precum like a leaky sink. One more swirl of his tongue and a kiss filling his mouth with the taste, and he’s cocking a brow. “Come on, pup. You’re not in control here. It’s not that fun when you’re on the other end, huh?” He taunts the man, but he can’t stay angry at him for long. He grants the man mercy he so desperately begs for and takes a few inches into his mouth.

Heisenberg is about to say something back to prove he’s not submitting here, and he could easily switch the dynamic on a whim, but he’s cut off with a flurry of moans when that hot, wet mouth constricts around his cock. His breath hitches as the flesh presses deeper and stops at his uvula. He’s tempted to gag and reject it in any way possible, but he’d done some training on his own. With a gentle shake of his head, he eases his way down, saliva and precum collecting down the man’s shaft and balls.

The redness of his length fits beautifully down Ethan’s throat, bulging against his Adam’s apple. Out of instinct alone, Heisenberg tangles his fingers in Ethan’s hair, pushing him down further if only to stimulate the terrible twitching of his dick. “Ethan, I want to– ngh –I want to be inside of you. Why all this foreplay bullshit? I don’t– agh –I don’t need it.” He bites his lip, razor canines drawing blood. The area between his teeth feels too empty. Too much air, not enough flesh. His jaw aches for more.

Ethan moves his lips off of him with a satisfying pop, resorting to simply stroking him as he speaks. “That’s a lot of attitude for a mutt with a muzzle on. Come on, love… beg me for it.” Ethan leans back on the bed to slink off his pants, leaving his belt aside on the bed and tossing his pants elsewhere. He shifts his underwear down, tossing them in Heisenberg’s direction. “And you might as well keep them. Caught you digging through my laundry and sniffing my clothes not too long ago. Just take one for the trip home.” He speaks absentmindedly as he straddles the man’s lap. It’s natural to him, routine at this point. He knows how to prep himself, and he’s sure that Heisenberg is wet enough, but safety is of value to him. He gestures to the bottle on the nightstand.

Heisenberg would never admit to Ethan that the smell of his cock is more than enough to get him worked up. He would never confirm nor deny that he had been sniffing through his laundry that day. But, the accusation is enough for a spark of irritation to heat his cheeks. Being told to beg only adds fuel to his flames. Between his growing resentment and the way his cock throbs and swells, it’s a dangerous mix. He forces himself to take breaths. The last thing he wants to do is hurt Ethan. But, God, does he want to rail him in the bed for those comments alone.

“I’m not going to beg for you, Winters,” Heisenberg snarls, one hand flicking the underwear from his chest while the other passes the lube.

Ethan takes the bottle, bending over to apply it to the ring of muscle. He’s mere inches from Heisenberg’s face, and his heart can’t help but skip a beat with the sight. He loves those old, rugged features on him. Each scar fits perfectly on his face, decorating the worn skin nicely. Not to mention the fangs prodding out between his lips. Ethan whispers close to his ear now, prodding the tip of Heisenberg’s cock against his entrance. “Come on, pup. You’re not getting any of this until you ask nicely. Now, what do you say…?” His voice is gentle and guiding, but it comes across as condescending in the context of it all.

Heisenberg can do nothing but pant, eyes blown wide in pleasure. Those yellow irises have shrunk into tiny circles around his pupils, desperate to hold up his dignity and also be able to get his damn dick already.

“Ethan…” He says it as a warning that this isn’t how the other man keeps control. His fingers tighten into the bed, eyes searching the other for a hint of fear or submission to take advantage of. But he finds nothing, only that gentle confidence. Oh, he is such a sweet lover. Oh, how Heisenberg feels guilty for what he wants to do to him.

He finally manages to choke out a weak “Please.”

Ethan’s satisfied. “That’s a good boy.”

He tosses the bottle to the side of the bed, using his clean hand to run through Heisenberg’s sweat-filled hair. He smells of oil and cigar smoke, a scent Ethan’s learned to love. Slowly but surely, he lowers himself down on Heisenberg’s cock. He’s thick—thicker than he’s used to, but he blames it on the rut. As he sinks past the tip, he throws his head back with a wanton moan. “Oh f-fuck… that’s good… ” He slicks back his own hair, easing his way down as his lips pinch between the hard bone of his teeth. “God, I-I fucking missed this.”

“F-Fuck–” Heisenberg’s right there with him, hand instinctively going to Ethan’s hips, desperate to push him down faster if only to feel himself bottom out into that perfect tightness. He relents.

“That’s it pup… Nice and easy,” Ethan starts. But, that praise alone eats at the last of Karl’s will. With his head tilted back and jaw clenched, desperately searching for more, his hands turn to claws. In one move, he presses Ethan down with all of his strength, forcing him down too quickly onto his cock. His hips buck simultaneously, only filling him up further with that terribly thick length.

“AAUGH!! H-Heisen– F-Fuck! ” He collapses onto Heisenberg’s chest, hands digging into his hair, pulling it tight. As much as he wants to tell him no and somehow punish him for stepping out of line, he just can’t bring himself to. He finds sick pleasure in being handled so roughly. And God, the way he thrust so deeply inside of him would always send him into a frenzy. “H-Ha–aah! T-Try that again… a-and you’re– nghh –f-fucked, big guy.”

“And I-I’m fucked?” Heisenberg stares up at him, one eye squeezed shut as he copes with how tightly Ethan encapsulates him. “What are you gonna do, Winters? I’ll break out of every restraint you put me in. You know you can’t overpower me, I–” He stops himself. He’s losing himself. He can’t do that. He sighs and takes a deep breath. He’s not doing this again. He’s not… He’s not going to hurt Ethan this time. He doesn’t want to regret it afterward. He furrows his brows, eyes shut, before he adds, “I just don’t want to hurt you.”

He remembers what had happened last time. He can’t imagine the guilt he’d go through afterward. The hormones are already eating away at the guilt. He presses his hips up more, desperate to start thrusting—just so he can fucking knot something.

Ethan stares back, still touching foreheads with the man. With the rocking of Heisenberg’s hips uncomfortably deep inside of him, his eyes squeeze shut, and his lips purse–simple but effective in managing the pain. “Don’t—Mmh… Don’t say that…” He pulls hard at his hair, forcing his head up and snaking his tender lips down his neck. Heisenberg’s eyes widen in shock, and a low growl starts in the back of his throat. A glaring warning for him to stop . Ethan tries to make the man envious, showing him what he can’t have.

And he bites down. Not hard enough to draw blood, but enough for his teeth to pierce against Heisenberg’s neck. A sign of domination. Telling him to submit. “You—Haah! You won’t… You won’t hurt me… I-I trust you… Mmm! Pup…”

That’s everything that Heisenberg needs to turn from a hesitant lover to a monster.

He doesn’t hesitate anymore—as soon as Ethan’s given that permission, that false sense of security that Heisenberg has a stalling bone in his body, he’s ripping the muzzle off, tearing the leather in two. It rattles as it’s flung to the floor carelessly. In two seconds, Karl pulls Ethan down to his mouth, his neck warm and hot and fleshy and perfect and so fucking biteable . He pierces the skin with his razor-sharp teeth. He plunges into the flesh, eyes rolling into the back of his head as he clamps down. The blood, the struggle, the flesh bending under his jaw, the cry Ethan emits. It’s perfect. It’s so perfect .

Ethan’s hands ball into fists, and after the initial shock of pain passes, he yanks at Heisenberg’s hair. Hard. Not playfully hard. If he were to pull harder, the follicles would surely rip from his scalp. He emits a gurgling cough, finally managing a loud, “F-Fucking– STOP! ” From the sheer pain alone, his body tenses up, including his insides, which only serves to squeeze around Karl’s cock and encourage him.

Karl bites harder, forcing him into submission. He refuses to let Ethan go until he’s limp and takes what he’s damn given. He knows this behavior isn’t human. He knows it’s pure instinct he’s learned from years with the Lycans and being treated like nothing more than a lapdog. He can’t find the energy to care. Ethan either submits and lets Karl do what he wants, or he continues to endure more pain until he does.

The Lycan can swear he feels his teeth growing dangerously close to each other through the flesh. He’s continuing to lap at the blood as it pours from Ethan’s throat, and even through the tugging of hair, he simply doesn’t care . In a dark tone, demanding and primal in the best and worst ways possible, he snarls against Ethan, nothing more than the word, “ Submit .” He does not let go. He traps Ethan in like a spider, all limbs holding him still while his cock throbs inside of his prey.

For a moment, Ethan’s mind flickers back to the village. The chill of snow on his back, the long, rotten teeth of a Varcolac Alfa. He feels it all. He knows it’s going for his torso next. Then he’ll be disemboweled, left to wither with the snow-filled ground. He releases short, sharp breaths, eyes wide as he struggles and flails.

Only Heisenberg’s distant voice brings him back to reality, but it’s difficult to know for sure if coming back is better or worse for him. He now has to confront a creature so powerful, the Alfas bow to it. And to make matters worse, it’s the one person supposed to love him.

Karl’s strength becomes too much for him. It’s no use. He’s going to die if he doesn’t obey. The same thing happened last time. And so, with a shaky, sob-filled breath, he loosens his grip on Heisenberg’s hair and falls limp above him. He thinks that if he submits quicker, he could get it over with quicker.

“Good…” Heisenberg can hardly get the words out through his state. But, he does loosen his grip upon Ethan’s neck, releasing his teeth and pulling himself back to assess the damage. It’s pouring blood, pounding with the same tempo as his beating heart and spilling into the sheets. His tongue returns to the wound–but only to lap at it apologetically, drinking at the spilling blood and smearing it across his beard in a grotesque display.

Keeping Ethan close, he flips them over, pressing the blond’s back into the mattress. Not once does he let go nor pull out, ensuring Ethan doesn’t try to leave. But all the blond does is release pathetic sobs and hiccups, caught up in his own feral instincts. He just needs to live. If he can survive this mess, he can figure out what to do about it all later.

Initially, he thinks of just up and leaving Heisenberg. If this is bound to happen, it doesn’t feel worth staying. But of course, he can’t bring himself to actually do it. There’s more to Heisenberg than this feral monster leaking precum into him and lapping the blood from his wounds like an injured dog. There’s more to them than Ethan laying there out of pure instinct to play dead and Karl rutting out of pure instinct to breed. If he wants to stay with him, they’d have to have a serious talk.

Ethan’s forced to look up at what his lover has become with his back on the bed. Those feral, beastly eyes aren’t the ones he knows. All he can do now is look up at him, his eyes flooding with tears and blurring his vision. He’s grateful he doesn’t have to look at it clearly.

Heisenberg hoists Ethan’s legs up to his chest, pinning him down with his hands on the backs of his thighs to display his hole for him. He continues to lap at the wound, that distant human part of him apologizing profusely for this.

“I-I-... Plea-se… ngh! L-Love, it—hurts…” Even with the alarm bell ringing in his head, screaming for him to do something, he stays. Not because he can’t physically leave but because deep down, a sick and twisted part of him wants this. A part of his brain focuses on how Heisenberg fills him to the brink; forces him to see just how humiliating the position is. So even if he is crying and oh-so-quietly begging for the man to stop, his cock still throbs wildly against his stomach, pouring out its own little stream of precum across his torso.

Heisenberg says the words “I’m sorry” but is unsure if he really means it. The heat inside of him dizzies his senses. It burns at his stomach and his cock, and his chest. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” But he’s still shoving Ethan down and not daring to let up. He moves his teeth to the other side of Ethan’s neck, bites down with a lighter grip, and finally, he loses the last of his inhibitions.

The apologies go in through one ear and right out the other. It’s all bullshit to Ethan. If Karl was sorry, the man could manage some self-control and let Ethan ease him through his rut. But he hardly has the time nor energy to be angry, especially when he spends so much time crying. Another scream croaks from his throat, and on instinct, he’s pulling and yanking at his lover’s hair, desperate to get him off. It doesn’t last long. Nothing he tries does.

Karl’s hips move at an animalistic pace. His power is inhuman, beastly. The entire bed shakes with each crashing of their bodies–the headboard slamming into the wall at the same rate as their hips. And his cock only grows larger inside of Ethan, not with his knot but simply with the relief of finally rutting something. Finally, being able to fuck something. “‘M so–s-orry.” He groans into Ethan’s flesh. It actually begins to sound genuine this time. Though, maybe he’s just getting better at pretending. He wants to feel sorry. His hormones simply don’t let him.

Ethan’s thrown face-first into another screaming frenzy. Each thrust coaxes another wail into the world, echoing off weak wooden walls with the creaking of the bed and the low growls of his lover. Tears stream down his face, soaking into the gray hairs clouding his vision. He claws at everything for leverage from the blinding pleasure before settling upon the scarred, old skin on his back. “Fu-Ahh! I ca-I-I fuck, fuck, fuck ! ”

They base their lives upon a faux form of domesticity as if they are nothing more than old-fashioned lovers living their days away in this small village: husband and wife. It’s a lie they tell themselves to pretend like things like this don’t happen. To pretend like Ethan is more than a chew toy for Karl to pick up and set down when he’s ripe with instinct. To pretend that they weren’t doomed from the start. To pretend like they aren’t just wild animals at heart, gnashing teeth, and overzealous sex drives.

Heisenberg’s losing his verbality by the second. The only noise leaving his throat beside his canine-esque snarls and growls is a steady stream of, “fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck .” He doesn’t know how to say anything else—he’s lost himself completely to the sex. His first orgasm is already coming close, but he knows it will only be the first of several. They are nowhere near finished—Karl’s appetite is far from satiated.

One of the hands that had pinned Ethan’s thigh to his chest instead tucks itself into the back of Ethan’s neck, allowing Karl better access with his teeth. He can smell the fear stronger here. He doesn’t want to admit how much of an aphrodisiac it is. His stream of “fuck’s” have turned into nothing more than a chant, urging Ethan closer and closer to the finale, music for his own tragedy.

To add melody to percussion, Ethan’s endless curses and cries of his lover’s name devolve into disheveled scream-laced moans. It’s all too much. Each wave of pain surges through him like contractions, coming too close together with no time to recover. The wounds in his neck bleed across new, white sheets and blacken the edges of his vision. And despite it all, pleasure rocks his body with ten times the power.

Between Heisenberg using him as nothing more than a toy, his cock twitching deeper and deeper with each thrust, the start of the swell at the base of his cock–it’s all too much. His nails dig deep into the dip of Heisenberg’s back, leaving bleeding scratches down his scapulas, each set belonging to a hand. Coated in a thick layer of sweat, a breaking, sobbing mess, he envelops the man in a hug. He’s really just trying to grab at something real, something to keep him grounded.

“ Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck ,” Karl’s words grow louder, his hips pushing with impossible force into Ethan. His lips right against the man’s ear, he chants louder. His cock is swelling and catching with each thrust. It’s getting harder to thrust. “ Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, ETHAN!! ” He gasps and snarls with each word, matching the pulse of his heart, of the pounding in his head, of the twitching of his cock.

Ethan holds on tight, incoherent words and cries spilling from his mouth in a wicked symphony. He can’t do this anymore. It’s too much, and he’s terrified because he knows what comes next. He hates that it’s his favorite part. With his stomach already slick in clear fluid and cock aching with need, he’s close. Dangerously so. Heisenberg’s chants of growling and cursing do the opposite of subsiding that effect.

And finally, with one last thrust, they come undone. It’s deeper than Karl’s ever been before.

Every muscle in Heisenberg’s body tenses, and his back flexes under Ethan’s nails–libido only fueled by the pain he inflicts. Like a dog, he pants as he knots Ethan full, cock swelling to twice the size and pumping out an absurd amount of semen. Much more than should be physically possible. It stuffs Ethan up, shifting his stomach and bulging unnaturally—it’s enough for Ethan, too, to reach his climax. Just for good measure–to rub salt in the wound–his teeth bond, stopped only by the flesh in their way. He sucks at the blood like hard candy, desperate to taste every last drop while he spurts inside of the man.

Amidst Ethan's sobs, he cries out one final, “Ah-ngh—c-coming—fu-ahhh! C-Coming!! Co–AUGH!!” His muscles spasm around Karl, eyes rolling back as his orgasm hits him. Hard. His nails rip through flesh, trailing deep scratches in their wake–almost resembling wings. He’s damn near about to pass out, eyes and mouth wide open, eyebrows straining, twitching through the intense pressure overriding his system.

Then there’s the pain. He’s sure a chunk of his neck is about to tear. He’s going to die. Fuck, he’s going to die. The cum that doesn’t fit inside of him spurts back out around Heisenberg’s cock, running down his back in a thick, white stream. Thank God for the initial preparation. Even with Heisenberg’s rough treatment, little-to-no blood is involved… inside of him, at least.

Through Ethan’s intense pain-ridden orgasm, Heisenberg rides out his own orgasm, Ethan clenching and milking his cock. He’s no less than folded in half to fit more and more of himself in. His knot swells, refusing to budge from Ethan, only disrupted by the cum spilling back out around the sides. Karl adores it. It supports the idea of domination, completely owning Ethan and ruining him.

“Oh… f-fuuck… ughhh…” The groans slur from Ethan like jelly, spilling with the saliva that runs down his chin. Fuck, he’s so full. He hates how much he missed the feeling. He’s high from it, completely intoxicated by the concoction of pleasure forced inside of him, and it takes longer to come down than he’d like to admit.

Slowly, slowly with the ache of his bones and the subsiding of his hormones, Karl releases Ethan from his grasp. The hand around his neck goes limp, and Ethan’s legs fall uselessly to Heisenberg’s sides, trembling and shaking in protest of the prolonged stretch. When Heisenberg gains his breath, heart pounding and head throbbing, he finally pulls himself back. Just enough to gaze upon Ethan’s face.

He’s limp, lifeless. His head rests to the side of the pillow. He doesn’t look at Heisenberg. He doesn’t look at anyone. Thousands of thoughts race into his head as the mind-numbing high subsides. And Heisenberg can only stare in nauseating guilt as that high is replaced with anger… dare he say, hatred. It’s deathly sobering. “ S chieße.” Karl breathes it out as if it could possibly convey the self-loathing that wrecks his body. “Are you okay, Ethan? I don’t… I’m so… Fuck .” He presses a hand to the man’s cheek, eyes wide as the damage sinks in, but it’s removed immediately after.

It takes Ethan a long while to settle on what he wants to say, enough for Karl’s knot to shrink. He has so much he wants to tell him, so much hatred and betrayal he wants to convey. But, he finally settles on two. Two words that spit like venom.

“Get out.”

Heisenberg has never been one to deny that his biggest crime is being unable to admit his own wrongdoings. His pride and ego are disproportionate to his worth. He can’t allow himself to lay back and apologize. It’s something that’s cost him friendships, family, love, and now… perhaps, it’s costing him this, too. Of course, he doesn’t see it that way.

“Get out? You can’t be serious.” Heisenberg narrows his eyes, cock deflating just enough for him to work himself out and move back on the bed.

Ethan finds the strength to scoff, shooting the man with a killer glare. He’s in disbelief. The fact that Karl can excuse this makes him truly fear what else he could excuse. Fear still pungent in his body, he stands his ground. “I’m serious, Karl.” That Karl hurts enough, but it only punches twice as hard when he grabs his boxers and continues, maneuvering himself away from the graying man. “I just-I can’t keep fucking doing this! I-I left everything behind for you. You wanted me to forget about Mia? She’s out of our lives. You wanted me to leave Rose behind? I only did it because I knew she’d have a better life without all of this. But–Fuck!”

He groans in frustration, covering his face with his hands. He fucked up. All of this was one big mistake. Heisenberg was a mistake. Thinking that he could be anything more than a fucked up experiment, thinking he could change and be normal like he wants. Thinking they could pretend to be human together. Ethan is malleable and can take what Karl wants to inflict without serious damage. But it still fucking hurts. Physically and emotionally. “I’m not gonna sit here and get treated like some shitty new toy of yours! I’m not one of your stupid fucking experiments, Karl!”

Heisenberg’s eyes widened. His body is gas, filling the room and expanding with this heat of his rut. Ethan’s the match, lit carelessly. He blows. “Don’t give me that bullshit . You know you mean more than that to me. Hell, you could have told me to fuck off and deal with this shit on my own, but. You. Didn’t… You knew what you were getting into when you accepted this.”

Ethan furrows his eyes. Feeling exposed in his embarrassing, leaking state, he begins to lift a blanket over his legs. “Oh, come on! I helped you because I love you, and I don’t wanna see you hurt. I mean, fuck, you came to my doorstep a fucking wreck! You think I’m just gonna leave you there?”

Heisenberg glares at him. And then, the next line appears clear as day in his head. “Ethan. You love being hurt because maybe it can make up for what a pathetic excuse of a father and husband you were for leaving.”

Those words shock Ethan into silence. Everything is cold beside the burning in his ears and chest. He’s red with rage, tears of sorrow prickling at the corners of his eyes. “I… pathetic excuse of a father, huh? Really? That’s fucking rich coming from the pathetic excuse of a goddamn son in front of me! Face it, you failed every family you had. I’m all you got! His heart rate is through the roof, breathing as well. He’s pissed, yeah, but more so terrified. That still doesn’t stop him. “And you’re still gonna lose that! All because you’re just one big fuckup! ”

Karl’s fists clench up. Ethan knows where to hit him exactly where it hurts. It’s part of the reason he’d been so reluctant to disclose it in the first place. But here he is, taking every little secret Heisenberg’s spilled and crafting it into a bubbling, vile brew of venom. He’s not going to lose Ethan. No. He doesn’t care if Ethan hates him at this point. He doesn’t care if everything has gone to shit and they’ve reached the point of no return. Everyone always leaves. Ethan is not going to do the same. He refuses to let that happen. He won’t let it happen.

But he’s enough of a gentleman to at least let him try.

“You have thirty seconds, Ethan, to get the hell out of here and pray I don’t fucking find you.” He knows he could make it easy. He knows he could beckon the loose metals from Ethan's box in the living room, but he won’t. He wants to smell the fear in Ethan’s system. He wants to watch the pathetic way the man tries to run from him. If they’re ending like this, he’ll be damned if it’s not with a bang. He’s already lost Ethan. What’s more salt to the wound?

Ethan’s done it now. The moment those words come out of his mouth, he’d regretted it. He hadn’t meant any of what he’d said. Heisenberg struck a nerve, and he wanted to strike back. But he had crossed–no–leaped over the line. And now, he’s paying the consequences. It’s his house, it’s freezing outside. He’s wearing a humiliating lack of clothing, but none of it matters.

Because Heisenberg begins to count. Down from thirty. He’s officially reached the point of no return. It’s survival all over again, just like at the Baker house, the ship, the castle, the factory, the village.

But, what’s worse is Ethan knows it’s the end of them. The end of their happiness. The end of the closest thing he had to normalcy. There’s no going back from this.

He stumbles out of bed, scrambling as he grabs his jacket on the way out of the room. His legs wobble under him, heavy with fear as he sprints, sliding that tan jacket over his shoulders. His feet burn against freezing snow, dented by rocks and pebbles of untreated roads. He doesn’t know where to go. There’s no one left. No one willing to help him, at least. Still, he leaps over fences, sprints through the fields, and straight towards the dense woods resting near the village. If the village can’t help him, a nearby one has to. It’s only a matter of getting there.

“Five… four… three… two…” Heisenberg’s speaking to himself now, taking his time as he dresses in pants. He doesn’t bother with a shirt, he wants to feel the wind upon his back. He wants to feel alive again—beastly again, just as he had before this stupid domestic bullshit took over his life.

His shoes are on when he reaches zero, and he leaves the front door open as he follows Ethan. He doesn’t bother to run, instead walking briskly, lips parted, scenting for Ethan. He doesn’t know what he will do when he finds Ethan, but his cock aches, and a dangerous concoction of hormones pound through his system.

Heisenberg passes the fences, uprooting metal with the flick of his wrist, and continues through the pale fields of frostbitten wheat. The grains tickle the thick hair upon his hips, scratch against the darkened skin of his belly, and coax goosebumps to the surface of his skin. And then at the edge of the fields, he reaches ten feet of dirt and stands before the forest. He’s spent many ruts out here among the Lycans and years learning to scent and hunt. Especially in the blue twilight of evening. This is his best habitat.

Ethan seeps of the sweetness of fear and the earthiness of mold, the kind that grows in abandoned hotels and piles of dead leaves. It all comes together in a dizzying scent that makes his head spin in arousal. And he smells metallic mold. He considers, for a moment, ripping out Ethan’s throat. Mr. Mold Man would make yet another miraculous recovery either way.

“ Haah … haah… oh god-... oh god, oh god… fuck…” Ethan curses breathlessly to himself. His ribs and lungs ache and sting in pain, screaming for him to take a break. He doesn’t. He doesn’t stop breathing in the sharp, icy air, prickling against his organs like a thousand needles. His feet have lost all sensation, albeit the occasional sharp rock stabbing into the soft flesh. He’s not calloused enough for this. He’s gone soft. But he continues on. He’ll eventually heal from it all. Pain is temporary; death and loss are permanent. Maybe if he finds civilization again, he could go home and return to Rose again.

That, alone, keeps him running. Twigs and sticks crack under bare feet, coaxing groans between gritted teeth. Keep going, keep going. The lights between the tree trunks have begun to fade until those deep, black towers become indiscernible from the horizon. The sun has nearly completely sunk past the distance. It’s night. He can’t see. Fuck, he can’t see. He has to regain his bearings. Oh fuck.

A harsh waft of fear penetrates Heisenberg’s nose, falling like sugar cane upon his tongue. He knows he’s still got some distance between him and Ethan, but he has an advantage here. AS the sun loses the last of its light over the horizon and the moon hangs as the only form of light, his pupils wide, and the shapes of the trees and ground shift into a higher contrast. It’s all gray, but he has the depth perception to navigate.

He cracks his neck and then his knuckles, the joints echo loudly throughout the trees. The air is so frigid against the heat of his body. Sweat sticks and freezes to his forehead, but it only fuels the spark of adrenaline seeping through his veins.

One last navigating sniff, the dip of his hand to the snow as he stretches, and then the hard, quick thud as his boots pummel into the ground. He steps over twigs and dead leaves, and the soles of his shoes collide with the snow and kick up the frozen dust into the moonlight. He hopes Ethan can hear it. He hopes every little sound that echoes throughout this forest only wounds him with another bullet of fear. If anything, it’ll make navigating easier. And if not, then it’s just an added challenge for him.

Karl has so much love to give, so much attention for the man. If only he had just learned to match Karl’s feral tendencies. If only he had submitted. If only he had kept his mouth shut. All because you’re just one big fuck up. His feet hit the ground harder.

Ethan can’t feel much anymore. His feet and hands have numbed completely. Luckily, the wound upon his neck had stopped bleeding long ago, leaving behind nothing but a small blotch of red on his jacket.

He’d left his flashlight long ago when he thought he wouldn’t need it anymore, setting it upon the shelves of his living room rather than his coat pocket. Now, he begs for it, barely dodging trees and rocks. Only the divoting clumps of black in the snow guide him away from tree trunks. He’s in the thick of it. No moonlight dares to sift through dense branches.

And then he hears it.

At first, he assumes it’s his own heartbeat loud and thumping in his chest, but he realizes the contrary. Tears prickle cold at his eyes, and he has to blink them away before they freeze over. He knows it’s him. He knows that he feasts on his fear, but he can’t stop the way his heart races just as the sprinting footsteps beneath him.

That scent of fear grows stronger and stronger with each breath Heisenberg takes, large and heavy, exhaling in large clouds. He leaps over a log, palm dancing the wood as his legs sweep across the side.

He’s getting close. The smell is pungent now, like walking into a new house. He can’t quite catch a glimpse of Ethan, but he knows the man is no match for his speed. A drop of red in the snow here. A snapped twig there. He inhales sharply, and the cool winter air crisps and freezes into his lungs. He hasn’t felt so free in ages. He hasn’t felt so primal, returned to his roots, functioning on instinct alone. His rut has returned full force, only fueled by the chase. He imagines pinning Ethan into the freezing snow and sinking his teeth into warm flesh again. It’s enough for him to pick up his pace once again.

Bullets of sweat run cold down Ethan’s temple. His throat and sinuses scream in agony with every inch of cold air he sucks in. He can’t stop. If he stops, he’s dead. He can’t die. Not now. He can still see Rose and how she’s grown. He can still see Mia. This was all a mistake. He can fix this. He can get his family back. He can–

Red.

His vision shoots red and black, then white when his face hits the snow, scream muffled by the cold crunch. He’s more worried about falling than anything else, but then the pain and realization set in. He looks down at his shin and watches where the metal teeth clamp into him, tearing through muscle, chipping through bone. He’s bleeding. God, he’s bleeding so much. The pain rips up his leg, then his brain.

It’s only after the realization and pain sink in that he screams, despite his better judgment. He pulls desperately at the steel teeth, but to no avail. These things are made for bears ten times stronger than him with layers of fat and muscle. He’s done for. He knows that Heisenberg isn’t far behind, and ironically enough, he’s the only one who has the power to help him… or make it worse. It’s up to him. It’s always up to him.

Heisenberg hears the snapping of metal and then the scream. He no longer has to smell to know where Ethan is, and so he slows his pace.

There, beside an evergreen oak rests his lover. His leg is mangled in several directions, face paling as his blood stains the snow. It’s a gorgeous sight. It’s a sight of revenge and fairness. And Heisenberg stands over Ethan, eyes widened and yellow–gleaming with the slightest tint of moonlight. He looms over Ethan like that, small growls laced between each breath he takes.

Ethan sees those wild eyes and he knows that man is no longer his lover. He’s staring into the angry eyes of a devil, a beast through and through, born of wood and survival. He trembles, stomach and chest burning as the snow nips at them.

“I caught you… Ethan.”

He says it like a game of hide and seek or tag. He says it as if it doesn’t involve the subjects of death and rape and hatred and poisonous words and the end of something sweet. He says it as if Ethan’s leg isn’t shattered with the trap’s metal. He says it as if his cock doesn’t ache and drool between his legs, staining his pants.

“What do you do now, Winters? You’re stuck.”

Ethan’s not going to give in. Not that easily. He knows what’s ahead of him. If he could just survive, he’d be fine. He could see them again. He could forget about this all and kiss this stupid village and the stupid lords goodbye.

Heisenberg raises his leg, like a threat, then rests it upon the top of the trap where it hugs tightly to Ethan’s leg, slowly adding pressure to the heavily-damaged flesh. Bone and tissue crunch beneath the clamp, and Ethan screams again through resisting gritted teeth. Heisenberg images having to amputate the leg in metal, if only to have another part of Ethan that’s really just his own corruption.

Ethan’s fists hit the ground hard in an attempt to ease the pain, and through it all, he still tries to speak. “This is-... how you treat the people you l-love, huh? F-Fuck you!” HIs voice growls and snarls through the pain. Not an inch of sympathy rests there now. All that’s left is hatred and more hatred. They’re at the cusp now, the point of no return.

“You asked for it, Winters. Don’t give me that shit .” He spits vile hatred and loathing for the man before him. He wants so badly to kill him then and there, but he knows better. He knows he wouldn’t get any satisfaction from that. He doesn't even know if the man before him could die.

Ethan heaves, sweat even colder now that he’s in agony. Heisenberg’s words pang rage in his heart, leaving him heated in the sickening cold. “ I asked for this? You’re fucking kiddi- uuugh! ” His back bends and arches from the newfound pain of Heisenberg releasing the bear trap. But, he’s out.

“Is this how you treat the people you love, Ethan? Telling them to leave your home after your own mistake?” Heisenberg steps toward Ethan, slowly, watching as he turns on his stomach and starts to crawl. Like a bug, Heisenberg squashes that drive with his boot upon the gaping wound. The sad thing is, Heisenberg knows he’s in the wrong. He simply lost the ability to care when those words left Ethan’s mouth.

Another scream taints the woods, and Ethan finally turns to see his captor hovering over him. The tears flow freely now, tainted in animosity and betrayal, even if they do nothing but frost his cheeks. “You–... you think I’m just—gonna fucking forgive y-you after you raped me?? Huh?!?” His voice cracks and breaks between the tears and pain, but his words fall on deaf ears. Heisenberg’s reaching for his belt. His breath hitches, watching history repeat itself.

He can’t–... He’s terrified. He realizes that his snarky words mean nothing to the man. So even if letting his anger off his chest is therapeutic in its own regard, he has to swallow his pride. He can’t let his dignity be ripped from him again. “F-fuck–... Please- H-Heisenberg, don’t–”

“Is that the word we’re using for it now, Ethan? Interesting.” He drops his belt and continues with his zipper. He’s achingly hard. Something about Ethan being so desperate to get away, the pure power Karl exerts over him in that moment. “And it’s interesting how easy you are to change the moment your consequences catch up to your actions. I expected more from you, Ethan.”

His pants fall down his thighs, crumpling like Ethan under him. He hadn’t bothered with underwear. What’s the point if this is where it inevitably ends? He aches and drips precum as he stands over his lover.

How in the span of half an hour they could go from perfectly happy back to this play of animalistic instinct… It baffles Heisenberg. But he doesn’t let anyone disrespect him. Not like that. He’s never in the wrong, not when it comes to words laced in venom.

“You want this to stop, Ethan?” Heisenberg finally releases Ethan’s leg, instead seizing his hair and forcing him to his feet against a tree to hold his balance. “Then beg.”

Ethan doesn’t know what to do. He’s completely powerless. No LEMI, no knife, nothing. He thought he didn’t need them anymore. Heisenberg was the one who coached him into safety, who made him think that there was no need for weapons anymore. And now, he’s being ripped by his scalp to his foot by that very same man. He wouldn’t hesitate to shoot him, either.

He stands on one foot, putting most of his weight on the tree behind him. It’s hard to balance his weight on a foot beginning to succumb to frostbite–but he’d have to manage. He’s going to find his way out of this, but he’d be damned if he got on his knees and begged for his abuser. His need for family is strong, but his stubbornness is stronger. And so, he tilts his chin up, collects as much dilated blood and spit in his mouth as he can, and spits right in Karl’s face.

“ Fuck you .”

Heisenberg narrows his eyes, and wipes the spit and blood from his face. He discards it lazily upon his pants, then reels his hand back and delivers a solid right hook into Ethan’s face. The satisfying crunch of bone echoes up his arm. He feels it in his chest, and it’s evocative.

Ethan takes it like a champ despite the way it shatters his nose and leaves him dizzy and bleeding. He blinks a few times and brings his fingertips to his nose and mouth, where the crimson runs. A shaky exhale. It hurts like hell, but that fiery part of him is triumphant in rebelling, in making the man pissed enough to attack.

“Don’t say you didn’t fucking ask for it, Winters.” Heisenberg tucks his fingers into Ethan’s boxers and pulls back hard to tear the cloth. It rips with all of his rage bubbling into each micromovement of his muscles. He can’t help but laugh when he sees Ethan’s semi-hardness. “Pathetic.”

It’s overwhelmingly cold and he hugs himself tightly with his jacket. “S-Shut it… I-It’s-...” He stutters, the chill finally reaching his larynx. It’s then that he realizes his thighs are leaking still. He quivers, clenching them together, praying Heisenberg won’t notice. It’s cold, yet another excuse for how his cheeks flush.

Heisenberg doesn’t pay his shivering any mind. He hooks his hands under Ethan’s thighs and hoists him up against the tree, pinning him there with his thighs. He takes a moment, then, to admire the indignation that rests in Ethan’s eyes. That perfect fire that had initially sparked between them. Oh, why could Ethan just keep his damn mouth shut?

Ethan’s terrified. He knows exactly what he’s in for when his thighs are lifted. It’s going to happen all over again. It’s not going to stop. It’s never going to stop. Ethan doesn’t know why he trusted a psycho like him. He knows the man is capable of too much and never up to any good. And it’s goddamn useless trying to change a man who doesn’t think he needs to be changed.

“I’m going to make you beg one way or another, Ethan.” His breaths dance upon the man’s exposed chest, painting the flushed red with his own warmth. He’s so cold against his own hormonal heat. The winter air bites at them harshly, nips their noses, and paints his beautiful prey in a lovely assortment of rose. His fingers dip to where their bodies connect, sliding up Ethan’s thighs to his ass and finding his seed dripping back out.

Ethan groans when those curious fingers drag down his icy body. As ashamed as it makes him, his cock springs to life again. Heisenberg knows just where to touch him.

“If you weren’t such a bastard, maybe we could be in bed now. In a warm home… hm?” He presses his face into Ethan’s neck, teeth grazing the skin there. “Maybe I’d have more than my own cum to lube you up with.”

“F-Fucking—Heisenberg, stop, alright? W-We–We can talk about this–... F-Fuck, can we just go home and talk?” His heart picks up with those cold teeth against his neck. He stumbles upon his words. “It doesn’t h-have to b-be this way… L-Let’s just talk about this l-like normal fucking people.”

“Oh no, Ethan. You already fucked up. You already decided I’m a fuck up.” He lines his cock, teasing the length at Ethan’s entrance, where his cum still wets him. He shifts his body weight, humming a bit, and finally presses in. He’s achingly hard. A pearl of precum rests at the top of his shaft. “I’m not a normal person, Ethan. And neither are you, so shut your fucking hole, Schatz , and take what I damn give you.”

At this point, Ethan’s state of survival is in full swing. His breathing had been slow and steady in an attempt to lessen the pain. His plan is to get out of here, no matter what. If this is something he has to endure until then, so be it.

Karl sinks his teeth in once again. Hard. Blood pours into his open, waiting lips and he swallows it all down with glee, forcing himself into Ethan as quickly as he can–not caring if it hurts for the blond. He just wants to see him in pain. He wants to ravage him and prove that he’s not to be fucked with. He is making a point. This is his argument.

Ethan’s vision blears as his throat is viciously ripped into again. He screams, struggling against the man as best he can. But, he only really manages to start pulling at his hair before his hands grow weak. He hates how he melts into pleasure. He hates how Heisenberg knows just how to make him tick. He groans as he’s filled, cum pouring out from the sides of Heisenberg’s cock the moment he pushes in.

He’s ghostly pale, losing blood fast, and fatigued. He wants to fade into the pleasure and let death take him, but he knows it’s not an option. There’s not much he can do, but he can still make an attempt. His movements are dangerous, but fast enough as he clutches Heisenberg’s temples, his thumb hurrying to action, trying to plunge deep into the man’s eyeballs. It proves to be a daunting task when he can barely see the man’s face.

“Scheiße!” Karl snarls as those thumbs dig into his eyebrows. He grabs both hands as quickly as he can, releasing Ethan’s neck and without thinking, his teeth dig hard into whatever flesh it can. He pierces through bone with his razor-sharp canines until he severs the digit. He doesn’t know which one it is. He doesn’t care. The taste of blood lingers on his tongue–only encouraging him more.

He’s pissed. He’s not fucking having this today. Especially not from fucking Ethan . He spits out the finger somewhere into the snow, it blends in with the rest of the twigs. Soon enough, Ethan’s body joins that digit, raised by his neck and flung into the cold snow, only protected by his jacket.

As if Ethan hasn’t gone through enough pain. His screams echo through the forest, resonating and bouncing off each tree. He’s sure the villagers would have heard it, and he’s sure that they don’t care. It all happened so fast, with flashbacks of losing two other fingers and holding onto a trembling, bleeding hand. Then flung into the snow in a matter of seconds. He tries desperately through hyperventilation to search for his finger, but it’s far too dark to see anything besides the snow inches from his face and the bright, golden eyes above him.

Ethan doesn’t know what to say. Anger only leads to more anger. Humiliation only leads to more humiliation. There’s nothing he could say or do that wouldn’t satisfy Heisenberg’s sick desires. And so, he opts for silence.

Heisenberg is fine with this for the time being. He falls to his knees before Ethan, still fully intending to finish what he’s started. He shoves Ethan’s legs up and lines himself for yet another merciless penetration.

The snow melts beneath Ethan’s back, wetting his jacket. It’s useless to keep on now. Nothing’s keeping him warm aside from the hot, needy body in front of him. This is it for him. He knows he’ll survive, but he will have his dignity stripped from him bit by bit. He’ll be ravaged and violated until he’s nothing more than a pile of self-loathing. And Heisenberg delivers on that promise.

Through his need for dominance and his instinctual tendencies, he pins Ethan’s hands to the ground and starts a hard and fast pace on him, fucking him violently into the ground. He rips an array of screams and cries from Ethan, his moans of pleasure and agony blending into indistinguishability. It hurts, and it feels as if Karl’s treating him even rougher than when he was back at the house.

“Just think… Of what–We could have been, Ethan.” Heisenberg huffs each word, his rut blurs his thoughts, but as he fucks Ethan, he knows he wants to hear him. He wants to hear the pain and suffering and the pleasure echo from the man’s throat. “ Beg for it. Beg me to fuck you.”

Ethan’s so overwhelmingly full, and the mere sight of how his gut expands with each thrust is more than enough for a cold sweat to blanket his body. He doesn’t know if he’ll make it out without severely damaging his organs. But he does know one thing for sure. He’s not going to beg for more. He can’t bring himself to. He values that little dignity he has left, the piece of resistance and rebellion, far too much. And so, aside from the occasional whimper and whine, not a word escapes his lips.

This infuriates Heisenberg. And then he wants to make him hurt.

If he doesn’t talk, he’ll fucking make him talk. Ethan knows he has to stand his ground. There’s no way he’s going to let a cocky Lycan man take him over in such a humiliating way. He just has to endure what he’s given. Just endure and go home. That’s easier said than done. Especially when Heisenberg seizes his injured leg, nearly snapping what bone remains unsevered—a loud shriek bristles through the trees.

Heisenberg’s fingers dig into blood and dirt and the blueing flesh. He grips the entirety of the wound and holds his leg up like that while his other hand rests upon Ethan’s hip, just to keep him down. At first, the blond tries to struggle, but Heisenberg’s grip is unerring, and he feels like he’s being impaled. But even then, he endures. It’s become something that Ethan’s grown used to. It’s how he survives.

Heisenberg slams himself deeper, his hips moving rough and fast inside of Ethan, admiring how his cock bulges just the slightest against Ethan’s skinny torso. It makes him leak more, twitching inside of the man. He wants to feel Ethan’s guts truly around him. He wants to fill him so full he chokes it back up. It’s a morbid thought that he can’t shake. And then he has an idea. A thought. A threat. He knows how to make Ethan talk.

“I know where Mia and Rose live, you know.”

All it takes is their names for Ethan’s eyes to grow wide. He releases a shaky breath. Heisenberg can smell it. It’s overwhelmingly sweet with terror.

“I could send my boys there right now if I wanted.” Heisenberg’s hips end Ethan’s prolonged silence into another cry. “I could send my Lycans there to tip that precious wife and daughter of yours to shreds. Their bodies mutilated so terribly they’re unrecognizable.” Heisenberg is directly in Ethan’s ear as he says this. “I wonder if Mia would still look pretty enough for you with her throat slit.”

Ethan sobs. He’s willing to give the man the world and more to ensure his family’s safety. And his dignity truly is a small price to pay to protect them. “F-Fu- Auuuugh !! What the– What the fuck do you wa-want from me.? Leave them o-out if this—nghhh!!~” He sobs. “Leave th-them out of–haah–th-this!” The thrusts continue to send him into a deep, intoxicated state while he speaks. Who knew it was so easy to break a grieving man?

“There you are, Ethan…” Heisenberg grins. He’s rubbing salt in the wound. It feels so damn good. “You don’t want them to die, do you? It sure would be a– haah –a shame if you did manage to get away… ngh only to find them littered in a hundred different chunks ac–ross their living room floor.” He scoffs, forcing Ethan’s leg so far up his body, he thinks he hears the snap of something. He doesn't know whether it’s the breaking of bone or the popping of a joint. He also doesn’t care.

He screams as his leg is nearly ripped clean off with the snap. The strength is more than enough to rip through the tissue, tear through ligaments, and severing bone. His pants are met with small, powerless yelps, and he’s surprised he hasn’t passed into shock alone. But even with his joint nearly separated, his cock twitches and aches for more attention. Heisenberg doesn’t give him the mercy of keeping that information hidden.

“I want you to tell me how much you want this. Because I know your dick isn’t hard for no reason.” His hand moves over the organ, squeezing the hardness in his hand. It’s impressive that he can still be erect even after all the pain and the coldness of the snow upon his back. It’s pathetic, really. Why hadn’t Heisenberg explored this masochistic side to his lover before?”

Ethan once had the strength to rebel. He didn’t care how much pain he’d been through, if someone were to attack him, his main line of defense was rolling with the punches. Pain seems to follow Ethan everywhere he goes. But Heisenberg has managed to break his spirit.

He writhes, wide, wild eyes staring at the wound and the crazed beast in front of him. He doesn't want more, even if his body betrays him. But he values his family's safety far more than his dignity. Even if he knows how much pain it would cause him, he still opens his quivering lips, white condensation filling the air with every labored breath he takes. “Ple… ase… m-... more— I…I want this- Mnn… I… I want it s-so… so badly…”

“Do you?” Heisenberg shoves Ethan’s hips further so he’s as deep as he can go. His cock is so much more apparent inside of Ethan now. He rams himself in, cock throbbing and writhing in desperation. “I’m not convinced.” He’s completely uninterested in the sound of pain Ethan exhibits. He wants to hear the man beg .

Ethan feels his organs shift and work around Heisenberg’s cock as blood and old cum spurt out of the edges of his hole in bursts of light pink. How is he to convince the man of something impossible? Hell, how was he to convince himself? His voice is shrill and pathetic as he cries, throat raw.

“Ple—.. Oh god.. oh god oh f-FUUuck! You’re—haaAAh you’re bre-aking me!!” He finally manages another guttural scream. The tip of the Lycan’s cock bulges out of his front, leaving a dusty, pink tint upon his pale stomach. There’s no way to convince the man he wants this. There’s no way. Not through words, at least. Actions are another thing. Ethan’s always been one for self-sacrifice.

Even when he feels as if he would throw up blood and cum if Heisenberg pushed any further, his hips still meet Heisenberg’s, meeting his thrusts. His moans are hushed and strained, but at least he’s stopped cursing. At least he’s stopped fighting.

“There you are, Ethan. Look at you, taking so much for your precious family.” Heisenberg shoots him a terrible grin, one of bloodlust and a feral need to knot him in place and breed him full. He can feel the base of his cock already beginning to swell. It’s getting to be so much so quickly. “Gonna take my seed so good, Ethan. Fill you up until you can’t fucking think.” He knows he’s talking to himself more than anything at this point, but he blames it on the delirium of hormones.

Ethan can hardly see through his already-blackening vision, but he knows just the face that Heisenberg is making when the reflection of shining fangs in the moonlight hits his eyes. There’s no going back now. Winning his sympathy over is no longer an option. The Heisenberg that Ethan fell in love with is long gone, leaving behind the beast of a man who has ravaged every part of his body he has left.

His leg is nearly gone, his back turning a muted blue from the early stages of frostbite, his insides rearranged. There isn’t a cell in his body that’s pure anymore. He’s lying and delirious when his lips spill weak, “I love you’s” and his body rocks with every thrust as if he enjoys it.

It’s those three words that send him over the edge. Karl’s hands turn to claws, and with a harsh howl, his knot truly forms and swells, stretching Ethan out around him. His cum pumps in copious amounts, only serving to mix with the load from before in a terrible, disgusting stew somewhere in Ethan’s guts. Karl tucks his head into Ethan’s thigh.

Ethan digs his head into the ground before him, staring at the moon. His eyes are wide and bloodshot from crying. It’s humiliating. All the pain in his ass to the unnatural bulge in his stomach. And throughout it all, all he can manage is that simple phrase. Maybe, it would garner sympathy. Maybe it would bring the old Heisenberg back. Maybe, he truly is slipping into insanity. But, he musters not a phrase nor sound other than a simple, “I love–I love you… I… I love you…”

“Oh, shh…” Heisenberg laughs into the warm flesh his head buries into, drinking up every word. “I know you do. I know you love being treated like this… It’s what you deserve, isn’t it?” He eases his hips down further before turning his eyes to the man’s leg, nearly completely severed now and only truly hanging on by tendrils of muscle and what bone hasn’t been shattered.

Heisenberg braces one hand on Ethan’s knee and the other on his ankle, holding both with an iron grip and turning his eyes back to the man just to see the fear grace them.

Ethan thought it was over. He truly wishes it would be. He wants nothing more than to fade into nothingness at that moment or pass through the worst of it. But something in him keeps him awake. Keeps him going through the worst pain imaginable and makes him survive. He knows exactly what that thing is now. He has enough strength to lift his arms, but nothing more than that. He tries, in his dazed state, to reach out to Karl. To somehow stop him from what he knows he’s going to do. He’s far too late for that.

No amount of convincing could change the mind of this freak. Along with the final snap of his leg comes the most guttural scream he can manage. Ethan swears his vocal cords sever with his leg, but his quiet whimpers and sobs that follow prove otherwise. It’s a truly terrible sound that rouses Heisenberg’s own bile, and he’s not even the one to have undergone the treatment. Still, he is heartless.

“You gonna tell me you love me again, Ethan? I’ll be disappointed if you don’t.” He discards the severed limb to the side and turns back to Ethan, cock still stuck deep in the other man.

Ethan’s ghostly pale now, bleeding copious amounts both internally and externally, and even then, his cock drools. “I… I-...” His eyes fall upon the severed leg. He’s done for. He’s tired of trying to think up some escape plan. He thought he knew Heisenberg, but it’s safe to say he could assume the worst in him now. He’s not going to leave him to die. He’ll take him back and keep him locked up, fixed into another factory freak. He’s fucked. But if complying is going to make the process that much more painless, then so be it.

“I–... I lo… ve.. Y-you… I-” He weakly holds his trembling arms out, pale as the snow beneath him. Maybe dying here wouldn’t be too bad. “Love— you… p-pup..”

As Ethan, delirious and dying, whimpers those words, Heisenberg’s heart aches for a moment. Maybe it’s the nickname or just how utterly defeated he looks, but a twinge of guilt graces his chest for breaking this man so violently—simply for the request of being left alone. He casts it aside, pulls himself out, and takes a long moment to redress himself, watching Ethan reach out for him. He doesn’t plan on leaving. He can’t leave Ethan to die. He has better plans for this man.

He gathers the weak, broken man in his arms and starts the long trek back to the factory, covering him in what shredded, torn clothes he can.

“Love you too, Ethan. ‘M gonna make it better.” A soft kiss to the blond’s forehead. “Gonna make it all better.”

Heisenberg takes Ethan back to the factory, where they base their lives upon a faux form of domesticity as if they are nothing more than old-fashioned lovers living their days away in this small village: husband and wife. It’s a lie they tell themselves to pretend like things like this don’t happen. To act like Heisenberg isn’t a monster who would rather preserve his dignity than keep those around him safe. To pretend like tragedy doesn’t haunt Ethan like the plague. To pretend like they’re anything approaching mundane.