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“No.” Muriel said, gently prying Jason’s hands away from his coat.
They were in the hut, and tears stained the apprentice’s face as he sagged against Muriel’s chest. Eyeliner had smudged down his cheeks.
“Muri, please,” the man murmured. His skin burned against Muriel’s, a feverish sort of heat that Muriel didn’t like the feel of.
He’d taken something.
It wasn’t hard to tell, with the way the taller man swayed on his feet, his hands grasping at Muriel’s clothes uselessly. Muriel grimaced, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. He doubted Jason was in the position to unscrew a lid off a bottle, let alone begin unhooking all the buttons on their clothes.
His pupils were so dark they’d nearly swallowed his eyes.
“You don’t want to,” Muriel said, fingers encircling his husband’s wrists. The tiefling strained against him, fangs glinting in the dim light as he barred them. Even that, Jace couldn’t do properly. He was loopy, half assed in his struggles. “Who are you-” Jace breathed, “to tell me what I want.”
“You hate being touched,” Muriel reminded him, a pang of guilt hitting him as his gaze fell to their hands. He needed to hold Jace tight, lest the apprentice risked hurting himself. He was creative about it too.
“Not with you,” Jace murmured. He was lying, and they both knew it. “Never with you.”
“Jason,” Muriel said, something in his heart bending like plastic. Turning white, seconds away from snapping. “Stop it.” He said, holding his wrists tighter. “Hurting yourself won’t make you feel better.”
Jason’s breath came out shallow and stilted. He could barely keep his eyes open as he sagged against Muriel.
“Darling, please,” he whispered, pressing soft, sloppy kisses against Muriel’s shoulder and neck. Wherever he could reach.
“No.”
Muriel had to twist awkwardly to get to Jace’s neck, his fingers searching the back of the man’s shirt before settling on the clasp of his chain. It came undone with a clatter, sliding down his husband’s skin and between his knees, onto the floor. The tiefling’s eyelids fluttered hopefully. His disappointment practically radiated in waves as Muriel moved onto his hair, undoing it from its bun. They never fucked with their hair down. It just wasn’t practical.
“Lay down,” Muriel said. Jason hesitated for a moment, looking around the hut. He didn’t know where he was, Muriel realized. There was no shine of recognition to the man’s eyes, just the unnerving black that made Muriel’s skin crawl.
“I need something,” Jace mumbled. “Something. I don’t-...please.” He was like a ragdoll in Muriel’s arms, melting into the bed and staying in the awkward position Muriel had set him in. He was wearing those horrible pants of his. The ones with the patches and the tar caked on, and the rips and tears that exposed the man’s skin. They were two sizes too wide for him, folded at the cuffs. Kept up with a belt. Muriel hated those pants. Hated that he could see where Jace had dug a knife into his skin and pulled until he bled. The cuts still hadn’t healed properly. They made Muriel feel ill, staring at them.
The tiefling wanted to skin himself. Muriel had been vaguely aware of it when they’d first met, watching with interest as Jace drew along his skin with markers. Stitch lines that Muriel hadn’t realized signified something other than artistic intent until he’d found his husband with a shard of glass in his hand, and consciousness dripping out of his wrists.
He didn’t want to think of where Jace would have been if he hadn’t caught him that day.
He didn’t want to think of where Jace would be now, if some tiny, still-lucid part of his brain hadn’t made him stumble up to Muriel’s hut in the dark.
Instead, Muriel focused on undressing the man. Thanking himself for the foresight of keeping some of his husband’s clothes at the hut. Fresh cuts had appeared on Jason’s wrists in the few hours they’d been apart. But at least he’d cleaned them. Muriel breathed in through his nose, trying to stop the tears he could feel stabbing at his eyes. The boy underneath his hands had grown restless, trying to move away as Muriel brought out the change of clothes.
"Put this on," Muriel ordered, half manhandling Jason into a clean shirt. His husband hissed and clawed at the hands pinning him down, leaving bleeding marks onto Muriel's forearms. They stung. The betrayed look on Jason's face stung more. As half lucid as he was, Muriel knew he'd remember this in the morning, and be grateful. Even if now he was fighting him every step of the way.
"Jason I will tie you down," Muriel threatened. Jace tried to shimmy out of his grip. It was in moments like this that Murel cursed the other man's genetics. Since he'd started on testosterone, Jace had shot up like a weed. Every time Muriel laid eyes on him, the tiefling seemed taller, stronger, filling up the room in a way he had no right to. And now, holding him down was becoming a challenge.
Muriel was afraid to leave the other man alone. Give him any sort of slack, and the drugs which had taken over his mind would guide him off a cliff. The thing snarling, snapping at him from underneath Jace's skin wasn't his husband. It was something else. Something that had identified Muriel as a tool with which Jace caused himself pain, and was seeking him out for kicks.
Muriel's stomach gave a hard twist as his hand wrapped around Jason's throat, pinning him down to the mattress. "Stay. Still." He said, his voice shaking as he blindly looked for the coil of rope near his bed. He used it for making safety charms in the late hours of the night.
He only hoped it was strong enough to hold Jace.
Having to tie his husband down to the bed broke something in Muriel. He wasn't certain what was worse. The way Jason was pleading with him to let go, the way his husband was looking at him, with desperation and need for a thing Muriel wouldn't-, couldn't give him, or the choked, horrible cries that left him as soon as Muriel had finished the final knot.
"Why do you hate me," Jason cried, struggling against the knots. "Why? Why, why, why, why, why. Why do you-" his voice slurred into a choked blubber. "What did I do? Why won't you help me? Muriel. Muriel please." Jace strained against his restraints, rope rubbing against his bare wrists and ankles.
"I love you," Muriel murmured, sitting down beside Jace and brushing the hair out of his eyes, wiping away his tears. "I love you so much darling. We just have to wait out the drugs. We have to flush them out."
A cup of water was produced, pressed against Jason's cracked lips. "Drink. Please."
Jace shook his head, struggling away from Muriel. "No. No. I don't want to. Muriel, no."
Muriel's hands tangled in Jason's hair, holding him still as he forced him to swallow water. "One more love. You can do one more."
"I don't want t-"
Muriel's fingers tightened in his hair, making Jace's protests die with a choked cry. Down went the second cup of water. Tears slipped down Jason's cheeks.
"Another one love."
"Fuck off," Jason hissed, barring his fangs. "Touch me. Touch me just fucking try it. I'll-"
Muriel leaned down and kissed him. It was short. Sweet. Jason smelled like spicy, acrid herbs and tasted like cheap liquor. And he bit down on Muriel's tongue, fangs puncturing the mountain man's lower lip. Blood exploded in their mouths. Muriel didn't pull away. He deepened the kiss, swiping his tongue across Jason's fangs. The man made a small, choked noise, growing slack against him. Which was when Muriel pulled away.
"Drink." He held the cup up to Jason's lips. Jace sniffled, drinking it in small sips. A hysterical bubble of wet laughter escaped the tiefling. His neck was slick with tears and spilled water. Muriel's hands had tangled knots into his hair.
"One more."
"Muriel I can't-"
"I don't care." Muriel held up the nth cup of water. "You decided to fuck with your body, these are the consequences." Jace flinched at the curse word. "Do you want to die? Because this is how you die. Drink."
"I need to piss."
"I don't care. Drink."
"Muriel I swear to the Arcana-"
"Don't lie to me you don't believe in the Arcana. Drink."
Jason drank.
"Good boy."
Jason blanched.
"Shut up." He tugged against his restraints. "Let me up."
Muriel grimaced, working on the knots around Jason's wrists. "Fuck you, and fuck your stupid knots, and fuck your stupid water, and fuck your-"
Muriel sucked in a breath as the rope went slack. He didn't move away from Jason even as the boy sat up gingerly.
"I want to die." The tiefling said.
"Didn't you need to-"
"I'll piss and then I'll die."
"Good plan."
-
Jason stayed outside for more than technically necessary. He was leaning against a tree after he finished, feeling at the marks darkening on his throat. The world was spinning. But the horrible blurriness behind his eyes had disappeared. He could feel his insides squirming.
When he did come back inside, it was with his proverbial tail between his legs.
"I'm sorry."
Muriel looked up from the bin he'd kneeled beside. He was washing his jeans, Jason realized with a pang. Soapy water covered the man's dark skin, and the liquid in the basin was gray.
"You're not apologizing tonight." Muriel said. "We can talk about it in the morning."
He pulled his jeans out of the basin and wrung the water out of them. Jason briefly wondered how it would feel if Muriel did that to him.
Like that would ever happen. Muriel's gaze had darkened as he noticed the handprint he'd left on Jason's throat.
"You're fine," Jace said before Muriel could apologize. "I liked it."
There was a long silence. Jason stood in his place, not knowing whether to sit down or to leave. Either way Muriel still had his pants. He shifted around awkwardly as the other man shook water out of his jeans and hung them up to dry on a nearby hook.
"You told me to stop," Muriel said without looking at him. He was frowning at the jeans. Jason was weirdly glad it wasn't at him.
"I liked that you didn't."
"Don't lie to me Jason."
"... I'm-" he crossed his arms, tucking his palms underneath his pits in the most socially awkward way ever known to man. "I'm not. It helped. I knew you were trying to help. And it helped. And I feel less shit now."
"That's the water."
"Maybe."
"Can you handle touch right now?"
Jason breathed in, rolling his shoulders back. "I think so."
"Come."
Jace was only too happy to oblige, wrapping Muriel in a soft hug. "Thank you," he murmured in Muriel's ear, pressing a kiss against the other man's temple. Muriel melted in his arms, hiding his face in the crook of Jason's neck. He smelled like blood.
"It helped," Jace repeated, squeezing the life out of his husband. "In fact, I wouldn't complain if you made me drink more."
Muriel's breath grew uneven. "I tied you down."
"That was hot."
"I choked you."
"Also hot."
"You begged me not to touch you."
"I also begged you to fuck me, that doesn't mean you should have listened."
"This isn't healthy."
Jace considered it as he stroked Muriel's hair. "Come on the bed."
"Admit this isn't healthy."
"It's not healthy. Now come on the bed."
Muriel eventually agreed, allowing Jason to lead him on the pile of blankets. The hut had gotten cold, and Jason was warm. It only made sense.