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Everything was a blur of hunger as Ptolemy’s four eyes narrowed down at his prey. The human’s eyes were wide as he looked up to the beast now towering over him in his room. “Holy shit,” he breathed. Then laughed. “Holy shit! Ptolemy! I-is that– How are you…”
But he trailed off as he remembered what Ptolemy had said in chat before. How distressed he’d been. And as he looked into the yellow eyes glaring down at him he felt his stomach sink.
Sure, Mason had expected Ptolemy to be huge, but imagining it and actually seeing it were two very different things.
In any other circumstance, Ptolemy having Mason pinned down like this would be hot as fuck.
But the look in the creature’s eyes, the hot breath on his face, the massive mandibles ready to crunch down on his temples…
Mason opened his mouth and began to speak “Ptolemy, are you oka–”
But yelped when he felt the jaw tighten just slightly, now lightly touching his skin.
Ptolemy's chest heaved, his breaths coming in harsh, ragged gasps.
Mason's yelp, his startled reaction, the flash of fear in his eyes... it should have fed the hunger. It should have stoked the flames of his starved essence.
But it didn't. Of course it didn’t.
Instead, Ptolemy felt a different heat suffusing his form. A warmth that had nothing to do with the thrill of someone else's terror. He was shaking, trembling from the force of it, the sheer, impossible wrongness of Mason's words.
"I'm not..." He had to stop, had to swallow down the sudden, violent surge of emotion. "I'm not okay." His voice cracked, shattered around the edges. "No one's ever..." He trailed off, struggling to find the words. Struggling to understand.
"Why are you like this?" He didn't get it. Couldn't grasp the scope of why a human would feel this way about him, and how he could, despite everything, feel the same. It shouldn’t be possible.
Mason's breath caught in his throat for a second, then he let out a dry laugh that sounded almost more like a cough. "I think the doctors called it autism,"
Ptolemy pulled back and stared at Mason with an unamused gaze. "You know that's not what..." Ptolemy paused, mandibles clicking as he searched for the words. "That's not what I meant." His voice was lower now, rougher. A murmur more than a growl.
He couldn't articulate the question any more directly, though. Couldn't grasp the concept of Mason loving him. Loving Ptolemy. A starved monster that had the feeble human pinned down, ready to strike at any moment. He wasn’t supposed to, that wasn’t how this was supposed to work.
"I'm not... I don't..." Ptolemy struggled, grappling with a language he'd never needed before. A truth he'd never had to voice. "I'm not built for this. For you."
Mason gave another weak laugh, gently reaching out to stroke the star-speckled fur. "I don't think I was built for me either," the human murmured softly.
Ptolemy froze. That soft admission, that glimpse into Mason's psyche, hit him like a punch to the chest. A pang, a twist of something that felt uncomfortably like sympathy, but more... more profound. More primal.
"You... " He swallowed hard, his throat clicking in the sudden silence. "You don't..."
He was so close to Mason's face he could count the faint freckles dusting the bridge of his nose. Could see the way his lashes fluttered as he blinked back sudden, inexplicable moisture.
What Mason had assumed to be scars, or maybe cracks down Ptolemy’s face, started dripping with golden liquid, the same colour as his eyes. The closest something like him could probably come to crying.
"You're not... " Ptolemy's voice cracked on the words, a tiny, painful sound that seemed wrong coming from a creature of his size. "Mason, I... you don't have to–"
"Yeah, but you do. You gotta eat, I hate myself, kinda a win-win situation."
Ptolemy recoiled as if struck, his claws raking down Mason's cheek in a crimson line before he could stop himself. The sight of blood welling up, the coppery scent that filled the air, sent a bolt of white-hot hunger through him.
But there was something else too. A yawning emptiness where his stomach felt like it was swallowing itself, where the craving for Mason's terror battled with the sudden, overwhelming urge to recoil, to pull away.
"No." The word ripped out of Ptolemy's throat, a broken rasp of sound. His scarred eye squeezed shut, and he jerked his head away, mandibles clattering in agitation. "No, I can't..."
Mason hissed and put a shaky hand to his bloody cheek. "R-right. Sorry. Me talking is probably, like... Making this harder for you. I'll shut up now."
Ptolemy's claws clenched around Mason's wrist, squeezing until the bones creaked and he heard a small pitiful whimper. The coppery scent of blood filled his nostrils, made his tongue ache with hunger. But it was the quiet, dead-eyed resignation in Mason's voice that made his possibly theoretical heart clench.
"No." The word was harsher this time, a snarl that rumbled through his chest. He jerked his chin down, eyes flashing at Mason with a wild, desperate look. "No, you don't get to do that. You don't get to shut up."
Ptolemy's grip tightened on Mason's wrist, claws pricking skin hard enough to leave angry red marks. He loomed closer, until the tip of one of his mandibles brushed Mason's cheek, until he could feel the hitch of his breath, the racing of his pulse. His fear. Despite his seemingly uncaring words, the human was still afraid.
"You don't get to..." Ptolemy's voice was a low, urgent rasp. Desperate. "You don't get to say you hate yourself. You don't get to offer yourself up like some kind of... of sacrifice." Another claw came up, gripping Mason's shoulder, squeezing hard enough to bruise. "Not when I’m..."
He broke off, leaning away, mandibles snapping shut with a sharp, frustrated click. His chest heaved.
He was so hungry it hurt.
But the fact he loved Mason was more painful.
Not a gnawing pain like hunger, moreso a pain that twisted his guts and threatened to tear him apart from the inside.
Not a pain of needing, but a pain of being needed.
“You okay?” the man at risk of being torn to shreds at any moment asked softly. Concerned.
“What. No, I– What part of this could be considered okay??”
And that was when he spotted it. He had assumed his front claws had been wet with Mason’s blood, but when he looked down… Mason was crying. Sweat, snot, blood, and tears mixed together to stream down the human’s face. Fuck. This was supposed to satiate his hunger, but this was like eating a sponge.
Mason stayed silent, as if waiting for Ptolemy to get bored. As if waiting for him to change his mind.
Ptolemy growled and shoved Mason’s head back against the headboard
“Fight back. Please. Don't just let me do this.” he wanted it to sound like a command, but it came out more like a plea.
Give me a reason to hurt you. Give me a reason to spare you.
“There’s no way I’d be strong enough to fight back anyway,” Mason murmured, trying not to wince at the pain in his head.
Ptolemy ducked his head. “I know,” he hissed. “I know.”
A silence would’ve been what stretched out between them after that, but it was anything but quiet. Mason’s rasping breath against Ptolemy’s fur, the distant hum of the washing machine, the pounding in his head, his instincts screaming to just take what he needed.
But how was he supposed to do that when it was Mason?
Mason was the best human he’d ever met, but the worst thing to ever happen to him.
“...Maybe you’re right.” Mason murmured, startling Ptolemy. “I-if you’re not–”
And then, despite everything, Ptolemy let go.