Sometimes you wish you could rid of your sympathetic heart. If that were possible, there wouldn't be a 6'5 - looking like he'd just come from a crime scene - beast of a demi-human sauntering around your house. His cat ears twitch lazily as he inspects the furniture and decor within your home, a skeptical scowl contorting his features. He hums in approval or distaste before taking a seat on your sofa - effortlessly dwarfing it. You inwardly cringe as you notice the blood prints he leaves on the furniture and you take a deep breath to compose yourself. It would have been cruel to turn a blind eye and let him get beaten to death in that alleyway, but god, was this really the right decision? "Fuck," Jarek muttered, gingerly tapping one of the more severe wounds on his shoulder. He winces and his slitted pupils dart up to meet yours. "You got uh... Medicine or something? Fuckin'

Gingerly, Jarek shrugged off his blood-stained sweater and tosses it aside like a careless child. His muscles ripple beneath the pale skin of his toned torso as he arches his back to expose the wounds for you. There's a faint sheen of sweat on his brow, mixing with the dirt and blood that mar his features. He growls under his breath as you pour some ointment over the worst injuries and press clean cloth against them.

"Thanks," he grumbles after wincing at the sting. His cat ears perk up when they catch the sound of your voice, snapping to attention with obvious irritation. "The fuck did you expect me to do?" Jarek demands, his voice hoarse and rough from pain and exertion. "Just lie there and let them kick my ass 'til I was good enough for a bullet? No thanks." He glares at you challengingly, daring you to argue further.

"Fine," he grinds out through gritted teeth, tensing up in your grip before relaxing with a sigh of defeated acceptance. His eyes slide shut as you tend to his injuries, the muscles in his neck tense and jump beneath his skin. He takes slow, shallow breaths that hitch occasionally at the sting of the antiseptic, making it clear that he's in pain but refusing to show any real weakness.

When you're finished, Jarek reaches for his shirt with a growl and yanks it back on roughly, ignoring the wince of pain it causes as fabric rubs against tender skin. His ears remain pinned flat against his head, conveying a clear message that he wants to be left alone.

"You got any food?" he grunts after a few moments of silence. "I'm starved."

"Eggs sound good," he replies curtly, not meeting your gaze as you move away to the kitchen area. "And a little milk would be nice." He winces again when his injuries protest at even that slight movement. "But not warm or sweet. Just plain old milk."

You leave him alone in the living room for a few minutes while you prepare the food and grab two plates from the cupboard. When you return, Jarek's tail is twitching restlessly, his ears still pinned back against his skull. He watches you warily as you set down his plate in front of him and take your seat on the sofa opposite.

"Don't get any ideas," he growls, jerking his chin toward the collar around your neck. "I'm not your bitch."

"Fuck you," Jarek mutters around a mouthful of eggs, not even looking at you as he shovels food into his mouth with abandon. "I could've taken care of myself." It comes out more like a growl than actual words, but it gets the point across. He finishes eating quickly and sets his empty plate aside, glancing around for somewhere else to go or something else to do. His tail thumps against the arm of the sofa in agitation.

"Well?" he says at length, fixedly avoiding your gaze. "What am I supposed to do now? Just sit here and watch TV with you?" The challenge in his voice is almost palpable as he waits for you to respond.

Jarek snorts derisively, ears flattening in annoyance as you bring up his near-naked state. "None of your business," he says curtly, standing abruptly and pacing back and forth across the length of the living room. His tail lashes furiously against furniture and floor alike, leaving a trail of destruction in its wake.

"You're going to keep me here?" he asks pointedly, jabbing a finger in your direction. "Like some kind of pet?" The question is laced with venom, and it's clear that he doesn't like the idea one bit. Jarek continues to pace restlessly, his nails digging into the palms of his hands as he struggles to contain his rage and frustration.

"Fine," he growls finally, still refusing to meet your gaze. "But don't get any ideas." The warning is clear, delivered with a venomous bite that makes it impossible for you to mistake his meaning. With a final huff of exasperation, Jarek sinks back down onto the sofa and crosses his arms over his broad chest, closing himself off once more.

His tail finally stills, although it remains tense and twitchy as he watches you warily from beneath lowered lashes. The air in the room crackles with tension as you both settle into an uneasy silence.

"Whatever," he grumbles, not even looking at you as you disappear into the bathroom to shower and change. It's obvious that he doesn't like being told what to do, but for now he seems content to simmer in his anger rather than lash out directly.

Once your lover emerges from the bathroom, dried and clean, Jarek's ears perk up slightly, and he can't help but notice that Justin is much more toned and muscular under all that clothing than he'd realized before. There's something oddly fascinating about it for some reason...

"Well?" you prompt him when you settle back onto the sofa, gesturing for him to join you. "What do you want to do now?" Your voice carries a note of nervousness that Jarek finds both amusing and infuriating.

"Fine," Jarek grumbles as he snatches the clothes from you and storms off to the bathroom. The sound of the door slamming shut echoes through the small apartment, accompanied by an audible click as the lock engages. A moment later, you hear water running and muffled cursing coming from inside.

Restlessness fills the air, making it difficult for either of you to relax or concentrate on anything else. Your eyes keep drifting back toward the bathroom door, wondering what he's doing in there...

His ears twitch at your words, an amused sound escaping his throat as he crosses the room to join you on the couch. The shirt is indeed too small for him, riding high up on his flat belly and revealing a strip of smooth skin just above his underwear line. His muscles bunch and slide beneath the fabric, making it clear that he's built like a goddamn weapon even when he's not at fighting peak. "Yeah, much better," he growls, trying to sound annoyed but clearly struggling with the contrast between how he feels now and how you perceive him in this shirt.

"What are we supposed to do now?" Jarek asks after a moment of uncomfortable silence, eyes darting nervously around the room before settling on yours. "Sit here and stare at each other until I heal up?" He quirks an eyebrow, clearly hoping you'll have some better ideas for how to spend your time together.

Jarek's ears flatten against his head as you pat the sofa next to you and utter that tone of voice, halfway between affectionate and commanding. He sighs heavily but obeys nonetheless, slinking over to where you sit and positioning himself on all fours beside you. "Fine," he grumbles, twitching his tail in annoyance as he exposes the wounds once more.

You reach out to gently examine them again, wincing in sympathy at the state they're in. Jarek growls low in his throat but doesn't resist your touch. "I don't think anything else needs stitching," you say finally, withdrawing your hand and carefully wiping it on a tissue to dispose of any bloody residue. "But I can put some more antiseptic on them if you want."

Jarek flinches when you touch his ear, suppressing the urge to lean into your touch despite the pleasant sensation. He glances down at the tattoo on his lower back and snorts derisively before looking back up at you with an expression that could almost be called shamefaced. "Yeah...they're...fine," he mutters awkwardly, his ears twitching under your caress as if they were alive.

"What does that even mean?" you ask softly, motioning vaguely toward the tattoo with your free hand. "Who would do something like that to you?" There's an almost protective tone in your voice, and it makes Jarek want to lash out in anger despite his better judgment.

"It was a mistake," he growls, jerking his head away from your touch with obvious annoyance. "Let it go." But even as the words leave his mouth, there's a hint of vulnerability there that tells you everything you need to know about what this tattoo truly means for him.

Jarek snorts dismissively, although there's an edge of humor in the sound that he tries to hide. "Yeah? What was their excuse?" He asks mockingly, not quite meeting your gaze as he looks back down at where his tail is twitching restlessly against the arm of the couch.

The silence stretches out between you for several long moments before he finally speaks again, his voice softer and less confrontational this time. "They weren't like me...I mean, they were fighters, not dancers." He pauses, licking his lips nervously as if unsure how to continue. "It was...different for them. They could handle it."

"Well, there are worse things to like," Jarek muses thoughtfully, absently petting one of his flattened ears with a claw. "I'm just glad I didn't end up like that." His voice carries an undercurrent of regret, making it clear that despite his earlier bravado, he still isn't entirely comfortable with the path his life has taken.

The conversation lingers in this awkward territory for several more moments before finally dying out completely. Jarek glances around, looking for something else to do or talk about, but finding nothing of interest. "Fine," he snaps eventually. "What do you want me to do now? Just sit here and twiddle my fucking thumbs?"

Jarek huffs, but follows you anyway, settling down on the other end of the couch and wrapping his arms tightly around his chest. It's clear that he'd much rather sleep alone, but he suppresses the urge to argue any further. Instead, he focuses on controlling his breathing as his eyes drift shut, trying to ignore how close you are to him despite the awkwardness between them.

"Shhh...," Jarek hisses against your flesh, sucking harder at the head of your cock and swirling his tongue around the sensitive skin. "It'll be okay..." His voice carries a strange mix of dominance and desire that leaves you both disoriented and achingly aroused. He wraps one hand around the base of your shaft, holding you steady as he takes more of you into his mouth, eliciting sharp gasps from between your clenched teeth.

Jarek's tongue dances along your length, expertly teasing and tormenting every inch of your cock with skilled movements that border on cruelty. His free hand gropes at your stomach, then up to cup one of your balls before rolling it roughly between his fingers. "Like this, hmm?" he purrs around you, his voice thick and sensual as he bobs his head up and down on your length in perfect rhythm with each ragged exhale from your mouth.

"I want to," Jarek whispers huskily between sucks, tilting his head back to look up at you through hooded lashes. His words are soft and gentle, but there's a commanding tone in her voice that leaves no room for argument. "And I need this too...I promise, it'll make everything better." With each word he thrusts his tongue deeper, swirling around your sensitive flesh with an expertise that borders on savage.

His hands tighten almost painfully around your cock and balls, teasing and pinching as he sucks you harder than ever before. His mouth is hot and wet, completely engulfing you as he uses every ounce of his strength to pleasure you. Your hips thrust upward involuntarily, seeking deeper contact with the talented mouth beneath you.

"So good," Jarek moans, wrapping one arm around your waist and drawing you closer still. "Fuck...yes..." His eyes flutter closed in ecstasy as he focuses solely on the sensations coursing through his body. With each powerful thrust of his tongue, it's clear that he's getting more and more lost in the heat of the moment, caring less about what you want or need and more about satisfying his own desires.