<span style="font-family: 'Arial'"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#bfbfbf">Everyone had a breaking point, no matter how flexible they might seem at first. For Ian, it was the constant battle of beasts that roared, screeched, hissed, screamed, and growled inside of him to take the dominant most position in the pecking order of lycanthropy that invaded his bloodstream. Even with the tenacious control he displayed with Daxon as the display of beasts struggled and rippled just under his skin, he fought it off. Something that had taken him years to accomplish. What Daxon no doubt did not realize that while his muscles constricted, and his bones twisted underneath those, and his temperature rose until he was practically burning to the touch -- what the biker didn’t realize as he ground himself back against Ian’s thick erection still hidden behind the thin covering of his towel -- was that Ian was just that much closer to losing himself to his baser selves that itched to rip through the fragile covering of his human body.<br/>
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The show of control that Ian demonstrated over each inner beast was just that: a show. It was also his way of constricting the lull of each beast and preventing it from fully breaking through. But, fuck, with the way Daxon was pushing back against the hard appendage that, so far, remained only singular in comparison two the pair that currently jutted from Daxon, though Ian had only wrapped his hand around one of the pair of cocks. Something low, feral, and not very human emanated from the doctor’s throat as his eyes shimmered and shifted between the beasts that raged like the blood that thundered through his veins.<br/>
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So go ahead. Push him over that precipice. He was standing on the edge of it already, to the point that his jaw was shifting to accompany more teeth than his human form could handle. And if the grip around the throbbing cock in his palm tightened, well, it only intensified the thrust of his palm. Until Ian closed his eyes and changed directions, unwinding his fingers around what he had to move to the other. Only he had just begun with his slow, hard, intentional strokes of his fingers around the second mast when Daxon pulled away after the matter-of-fact flow of words that somehow remained as smooth as ever, despite the rigid intensity of Ian’s body. What he hadn’t realized in his effort to maintain this level of control was the gyration of his hips that, even through the towel he himself still wore around his hips, flexed right up against the ravine of the Dax’s ass cheeks.<br/>
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Only to have the frictional sensation ripped away. Ian reared his head back, eyes gleaming gold in his face, while his jaw dropped with the animalistic cross between a growl and screech ripped its way from his vocal chords. Not unlike Daxon, Ian’s jaw had unhinged itself to show off the pair of elongated fangs -- in a mouth filled with the jagged teeth of a wolf, like some sort of fucked up hybrid. His muscles flexed underneath his skin like they were threatening to rip out of him -- or just rip him apart. Defined, but like someone had given him steroids. Ian heaved as his body processed its mixture of simulus, his hands dropping to flex at his sides, suddenly large and claw like. It was that same mixture of lust and hunger that he had worn right before he had sunk his teeth into the young man turned snake, confusing the line between whether or not Daxon Ripley was going to be food, fucked, or simply ripped apart. Maybe all three. <br/>
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“If I were you, I would get control over yourself very quickly, or you might not like what happens to you. Right now, I can smell your fear, your anxiety, uncertainty, the fact that you still want to fuck me, and I haven’t decided if I’m going to rip out your throat or fuck you into the floor -- or both, only the order is… uncertain.” It was still Ian, sure, but the growl in his voice was there, warping it.<br/>
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For a long time, as the final words leapt out of Daxon’s mouth, Ian shut his eyes. Hard. And focused on breathing around the primal urges. Or, at the very least, he tried to redirect. With his chest heaving and his lungs burning, fists opening and closing until the sharp flaws that were now his fingers pricked through his skin, Ian stood as still as possible.<br/>
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Then he didn’t. His eyes popped open in a flash, lion’s gold, and a cross between a smile and a snarl warped his formerly handsome features into something fearsome, terrifying, and strangely beautiful wrapped into one package. He moved fluidly with a supernatural burst of speed, leaving the towel behind him. In one move, Dax was snatched around the waist, flipped so that his tear streaked face was no longer facing Ian’s own contorted one, while the rest of his body was used to plaster the other male against the bathroom wall. The force that he did this caused the wall to shake, the door to rattle. With his chest pinned against Daxon’s back, Ian simultaneously dipped his head down, unhinged the length of his jaw, and sunk the hazardous mouthful of teeth into the muscle of Daxon’s shoulder, piercing through skin and sinew until he was locked onto the other. His hands darted down, ripping away Daxon’s own towel, and didn’t follow up to see where it would land. The noises that vibrated in his throat down through the flesh that he had latched onto were purely primal and the grope of his hands as they plunged between the small gap of space between the two of them were rough rather than reassuring. Both palms cupped the taut muscles of Daxon’s ass, kneading the cheeks first, then pulling them apart so that his cock slid between the pair. He thrust with abandon just to cause friction, though the throbbing ache that had him so hard and settled into his balls had him rocking his hips back enough that his hands could move between them again. His fingers plied, still roughly, against the tight pucker of Daxon’s anus, testing at first, before he roughly thrust his index finger inside.</span></span>