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To Hunt the Hunter

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In most contexts, Dimitri repulsed Felix. To see him loom at the head of the army like some horrid, blasphemous creature was an ugly sight to behold. From the ruthlessness to his hand, the slaughter spilled great splatters of blood over his body. He would stand there, panting and sweating enough that it ran pinkish rivers down his cheeks. His face would be drenched. He had all the look of the nightmarish killer he was.

But Felix couldn't deny the sick thrill he felt upon seeing Dimitri like this now.

The man was hunched over like the beast he'd deemed him, face contorted in pain as he staggered back from Felix. Blood poured from his nose, down his lips, and was smeared over his cheeks as he attempted to wipe it away. They had been sparring for a while; neither had been willing to relent. 

That was how the pair of them were in such a state - that, and the use of real weapons in lieu of the ones for training with. Felix's body was littered with cuts, superficial wounds that only oozed a few blots of red into the white of his sleeves. Dimitri was much worse off, looking shaggy, exhausted, dripping on the floor and clutching a gash in his side. Felix gave a predatory lick to his lips. 

What stood before him looked utterly ungodly. There was something so grisly about the man: large, made as wide as he was tall by the pile of his furs, panting and heaving as blood dripped from him onto the ground. His face was painted red. Dimitri was in the losing position. 

Yet, he lunged for Felix again, weaponless, and was easily dodged by the feather-footed man. When he was up close, Felix could scent the stench of iron and sweat, and see the sheen of claret that continued to drool from Dimitri's waist. During the spat, a chunk of his armour had fallen away. He socked a punch to the wound, setting him shocked, falling backwards, retching and spitting tainted saliva onto the dusty floor. 

Felix prowled closer, the heels of his boots giving a resounding click on the cold stone. Dimitri had fallen to his rump, puffing from exhaustion, following his opponent warily with his one good eye. The beast had become a prey-thing, frozen under Felix's killer gaze, not even moving as he pawed closer. 

He descended on him, and the blonde quickly reversed, his back now to the wall. He was pinned. Felix clawed down his belly, enough to bring a resounding cry into the air. It sent his own blood rushing with the thrill, his heart thrumming in his chest. He could feel himself getting hard. 

Dimitri stared up at him, as though calculating what would come next. His chin was seized, nails cutting into skin, causing little flakes of dried blood to come loose from short stubbly hairs. He could feel from the way Felix glanced over him, and the bulge pressed against his belly, that this had certainly become more than just a fight. 

Which was why Dimitri forced himself to the bold action of a kiss, to which Felix returned with vigor. They bit at each other's mouths, snapping teeth on flesh to render more wounds, to draw more blood. Felix lapped his tongue up his philtrum, where Dimitri’s nosebleed pooled into, tongue running the edge of his nostril as he indulged on the coppery taste. 

He raked his nails down Dimitri’s front, hard, down towards the deep gash in his stomach. It was warm and wet beneath his palm, which he pressed hard into the wound. Dimitri’s hiss goaded him, and he bit down on his bottom lip, splitting skin further, feeling the rush of blood against his mouth and chin. 

The hand on his belly slid over the dampened clothing, parting the slit in the fabric to better expose the gorey incision. Felix drew his fingers along the flesh, aggravating the fatty tissue with his fingers, oils and salty sweat making it burn . He could feel Dimitri struggle beneath his seeking hands, and revelled in the way he keened as Felix curled his fingers deeper into the fatty tissue. To be near enough fingering the gouge in his belly - it was vile. 

And yet Felix rocked his hips in a similar time to his fingers as he fucked his hand into the wound. His head dropped to the crook of his neck, where he sucked ugly marks into the skin: striking bruises with dental decorations imprinted. Dimitri shuddered sickly beneath him. He gave a sudden convulsion, lashing out at his assailant, nails catching just below Felix’s eye, ripping the skin. 

He howled. He drew the same response; his nails sunk in deeper. Dimitri felt he was having his insides hollowed out. Red blots formed where Felix’s face was cut, though it was little enough that it got no further. Worse came to his cuff where it scraped Dimitri’s gash. The body beneath him was trembling, and there was almost a relieved whine as Felix drew his hand back. He brought it down in a firm slap to Dimitri’s face, smearing fresh blood over that which had dried previously. 

There had been something so pleasing to see Dimitri at his mercy as such, but a switch flipped in Felix’s head. Something about the fire in the man’s blue eye drew him back; Dimitri wanted more. Felix reviled this, stepping away, wiping his bloodied hand on the leg of his trousers, spitting onto the floor beside him. 

“Clean yourself up, boar. Don’t speak of this to anyone.”