The air in the bathroom was thick enough to choke on, a swirling vortex of steam and Draconic aura. Ignis had completely abandoned the facade of the polite "visiting faculty." He was a force of nature, primal and unyielding.
When he took Kaelan's lips again, it wasn't a question, it was an invasion. Ignis's mouth was hot, tasting of copper and ancient fire, his tongue demanding entry with a brutal, possessive force. Kaelan fought back, his teeth catching Ignis's lip, drawing more blood, but the Dragon King only seemed to grow more wild with the resistance.
Ignis spun Kaelan around with terrifying ease, slamming him chest-first against the marble sink. The jagged cracks in the mirror reflected a fractured, distorted version of the nightmare.
"Look at yourself, Kaelan," Ignis growled against his ear, his voice a low, vibrating chord of dominance.
Kaelan looked. He saw his own face ,flushed, hair mussed, emerald eyes wide with a mixture of furious defiance and physical strain. He saw his black panther ears pinned back in a snarl and his tail thrashing in agony.
Then came the pain.
Ignis didn't use a drop of lubricant or a shred of gentleness. He entered Kaelan with a forceful, blunt power that felt like being split in two by a hot iron bar. Kaelan's breath left him in a sharp, jagged wheeze. His fingers clawed at the marble, his knuckles white, but he did not cry.
He refused to give Ignis the satisfaction of tears. Instead, he let out a low, guttural grunt of pain, his body tensing, trying to push back against the overwhelming weight of the god behind him. Every thrust was a calculated strike, Ignis's enormous size stretching Kaelan to his absolute limit, ignoring the livid resistance of Kaelan's muscles.
Ignis length comes out with blood from kaelan tight hole.
"Still fighting?" Ignis murmured, his hands moving to Kaelan's throat, not to choke, but to hold him steady as he increased the pace. "Your ego is truly legendary."
Kaelan's internal monologue was a fractured mess of curses, but he held onto his pride like a lifeline. He groaned, a deep, pained sound that vibrated in his chest, his eyes fixed on his own reflection in the shattered mirror. He watched his own suffering with a jaded, fearless detachment, refusing to let his spirit break even as his body was being conquered.
The session lasted far longer than any human could endure. Ignis was a god, and his stamina was bottomless. By the time the Dragon King finally felt the approach of his climax, Kaelan's legs were shaking so violently he was only held up by Ignis's crushing grip. His consciousness was flickering like a dying candle, but he forced his eyes to stay open, his teeth bared in a silent, exhausted snarl.
Ignis, sensing the danger of his own power, let out a low, frustrated growl. He knew the consequences of releasing inside a shifter of Kaelan's caliber, the permanent soul-bond it would forge was something he wanted Kaelan to beg for eventually, not have forced upon him during a brawl.
With a final, rib-crushing thrust, Ignis pulled out, his essence splashing against the cold tile and Kaelan's trembling thighs.
Kaelan slumped against the sink, his breath coming in shallow, wet rasps. He was livid, violated, and in more pain than he had ever known, but he remained silent.
Ignis reached down, his expression unreadable , a mix of perverse satisfaction and a new, dark respect. He went to lift Kaelan into his arms, intended to carry him out like a prize.
"Don't... touch... me," Kaelan croaked, his voice a ghost of its usual cynical self.
He slapped Ignis's hands away with a weak, trembling palm. With a monumental effort of will that made Ignis's eyes widen, Kaelan pushed himself off the sink. He stumbled, his vision swimming, but he stayed upright.
He didn't look at Ignis. He didn't look at the mess. He simply began to walk.
It was a slow, agonizing trek to the door. His fluffy black tail was no longer lashing; it was tucked tight between his shaking legs in a universal sign of defeat and pain. His ears were laid flat against his head, hiding in his hoodie.
Kaelan pushed the bathroom door open and limped into the hallway. Every step felt like walking on broken glass, his body screaming in resentful agony.
Ignis stood in the doorway of the bathroom, watching the retreating back of his panther. He saw the way Kaelan's shoulders shook, the way he refused to look back, and the way his pride still radiated off him like a cold flame.
"You're a stubborn one, Kaelan," Ignis whispered, a single drop of blood from his bruised cheek falling to the floor. "But the Dragon always gets what he wants in the end."
Kaelan didn't respond. He just kept walking, his mind already beginning to build new, even more furious walls of contempt for the god who had just shattered his world.
>_<
The walk back to the apartment was a blur of agonizing friction and cold, stinging shame. Every time Kaelan shifted his weight, a sharp, white-hot reminder of Ignis's brutality flared through his lower body. He felt ruined, physically dismantled and hollowed out by a god who didn't know the meaning of the word mercy.
When he finally stumbled through the front door, the sight of Tamsin and Marcus sitting on the couch was almost more than he could bear.
"Kaelan? Where have you—" Marcus started, but the words died in his throat as Kaelan stepped into the light.
Kaelan looked like he'd been through a meat grinder. His hoodie was torn at the collar, his hair was a matted mess, and his black cat ears were so flat they were practically invisible against his skull. But it was his eyes—hollow, glassy, and vibrating with a livid, jaded fury, that stopped them cold.
"Kaelan, your scent..." Tamsin whispered, her fox nose wrinkling as she caught the heavy, metallic smell of blood mixed with the oppressive, burnt-sugar aroma of Ignis's Draconic essence. "Did he—?"
"Don't. Speak. To me," Kaelan spat, his voice a jagged rasp.
Marcus stood up, his paramedic instincts override his fear. "Kaelan, you're limping. Let me just check—"
"BACK OFF!" Kaelan shrieked, a sound of pure, enraged animal panic. He swiped a hand through the air, his claws momentarily unsheathing in a flash of black ivory. "If any of you touch me, I will gut you. Get out of my way!"
He didn't wait for a response. He lunged into his bedroom and slammed the door with such force the frame groaned.
Tamsin and Marcus stood in the silence, exchanging a look of profound, uneasy dread. They didn't push. They knew Kaelan's pride was the only thing keeping him from shattering, and if they broke that, there would be nothing left. They stayed in the living room, a quiet, protective vigil, giving him the only thing they could: space.
The next morning, the sun was an intruder.
Kaelan lay facedown in the dark, his body feeling like it had been fused to the mattress. He didn't want to move. He didn't want to exist. The exhaustion was a physical weight, a thick blanket of weary despair that made even breathing feel like a chore.
But then, he felt it.
A slow, warm wetness began to seep against his inner thighs. His breath hitched. With a low, pained grunt, he tried to shift his hips, but the movement sent a lightning bolt of agony straight to his spine. His hole felt horribly swollen, a raw, throbbing pulse that reminded him of every forceful thrust.
He reached back, his fingers trembling as they brushed against the fabric of his underwear. They came away stained with a dark, tacky crimson. He wasn't just bruised; he was torn.
"God... damn him," Kaelan whimpered into his pillow, his voice cracking. "Damn that narcissistic, scaly monster to hell."
His internal monologue, usually so sharp and cynical, was reduced to a whimpering, furious mess. He thought about the bathroom, the shattered glass, and the way Ignis had looked at him—like he was a piece of meat to be tenderized. The humiliation burned hotter than the physical injury.
He stayed there for another hour, listening to the muffled sounds of Tamsin and Marcus in the kitchen. They were being quiet, too quiet. It made him feel like a wounded animal in a cage.
He finally forced himself to roll over, a strangled cry escaping his lips as his ruined muscles protested. He stared at the ceiling, his black ears twitching weakly. He couldn't hide forever. Ignis was right across the hall. Ignis was in his classes. Ignis was everywhere.
The realization that his life was no longer his own, that it had been conquered by a god with a nose bleed obsession, made Kaelan's stomach churn. He touched the crimson scale still sitting on his nightstand, his fingers curling into a fist.
He was broken, bleeding, and barely able to stand, but as he looked at that scale, a tiny, flickering spark of that old, fearless ego returned.
He thinks he won, Kaelan thought, his eyes narrowing into slits. He thinks he broke me.
With a shaky hand, he reached for his phone. He had to do something. He couldn't just lie here and bleed. He was a panther, and even a wounded predator had teeth.