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"You don't need to do that."
That's what you wish you could say.
"You shouldn't do that."
That's what you wished you could force up your throat and out of your mouth as easily as bile wished to flow, even if it cloyingly scraped its way up every single inch of your throat just to get out.
But you couldn't. It was a lot to take in.
The wet, slurp-like noises of air displacing through blood and teeth and dribbling into his maw was far, far too loud, and would drown you out anyways. The way that snot and spittle bubbled at the corners of his mouth and in his nostrils, and thick fluid freely gushing out of his victim's neck and flooding his mouth and nasal passages even as another low, rumbling snarl bubbled up from within him.
Claws. Sunk into the other like knives, both hands and toes clung in like a lion imposes itself onto a gazelle. Picking incessantly into flesh and making God proud of their thorough, flawless design as the curved ends tore with every twitch of the lesser being below him. Punching holes into meat as if to shred and tenderize it for decomposition.
"Koga."
His head did not raise to his name for the first time since you had ever met him.
If anything, it seemed to encourage him, thighs clenching as he prepared to bear down on his prey further. He dropped its neck from his mouth only to snatch it up again in a quick swooping motion much like an actual dog might eat, repeating the action until he was pleased with his grip - Flashes of pearly, wet teeth shining painfully into your eyes in the blistering sunlight with each crunchy chomp.
You cringed with every single one, hearing the soft, muffled clacking of the tips of his fangs hitting what you knew was the neck bones of this poor, weaker creature. You tried to ignore the way his body heaved alongside his gnashing motions, splayed and curled fingers letting go only to jump back onto its upper back pointedly and let the claws sink in anew, yanking its fruitless struggling back beneath him.
His prey was not to go where it did not belong - Below him, covered in dirt and its own noxious fluids, suited something such as it.
"Koga, please, that is enough."
His head finally turned, if only because the last word came out watery and close to a sob.
You wish it hadn't.
Much like a hunting hound, he turned to you with his prey still in his mouth despite its squirming, sputtering bubbles of blood from his nose as his chest heaved intensely yet shallowly - Making room in his pounding ears to listen. Fangs and fingers idly gripping tighter out of instinct as he stayed where he were, to hold it more still.
Staring.
Crouched, with his rump rested on his heels, and his weight on the balls of his feet like an animal.
Coated.
Coated in his sin, scented of copper and hormones, as if it were normal.
One gruff, tender hand--
A hand that you thought you knew was tender, full of callouses, and scars, and scrapes that told the story of a hard-working boy who had become a man, limply prying itself out of the flesh of the damned and onto the ground towards you.
It had never left the body even so, dipping into the sea of still-writhing, snake-like belly entrails coated in a mass of chunky, stringy globs of red and yellow. Pulp.
Coated.
Coated in his sin.
The sin of animals, that humans do not indulge in for fear of God, and Satan, and Hell, and all other forms of moral context.
But he is not a human, and humans even so are still animals at times.
This lower animal is bearing into you.
He is staring, jaw threatening to dislocate spinal disks despite his eyes being on you.
His eyes, nearly devoid of pupils and having shed their calm, pleasing blue color in favor of a deep, almost black hue that reminds you of the bottom of the ocean.
His slitted pupils remind you much of your Grandmother's cat.
It is all oh, so much.
It is all too much as you watch him loll his face to the side like a puppy, angling his prey's neck deeper into the crevice of his jaw and closer to his back teeth made for grinding and crushing oh so casually.
The sound of a singular droplet hitting dry, torrid dirt, and feeling the same kind of dry, torrid feeling inside of your mouth and your skull. Feeling as if dirt was in your veins, dusty and scraping and dry and filthy.
This was for you? This had to be a joke.
You would never allow it.
"Please, just let them go," you barely rasped. "You didn't have to do this."
There is a long, long pause, in which he just stares at you like a buck in headlights.
"You didn't have to..."
You inhale shakily, making vague hand gestures. "You didn't have to... Torture... Them..."
Finally, with that, he drops their neck. Finally.
The cold, uncaring, limp way that their head thuds onto the dirt and kicks it up makes you somewhat ill, strands of spit and half-congealed fluids seeping out of Koga's mouth along with it as he pants openly like the dog that he is, maw wide and tongue red as he shoves it against his teeth and does his best to mop up excess. It is nearly impossible, but finally, he does speak back.
"But they hurt you," he argues, brows furrowing tenderly but with confusion.
His voice is watery, and sticky, and raspy and breathless from growling. It aches in your ears and in your skull as he slurps up drool before speaking once more.
"I swore to protect you, didn't I?"
"...What's wrong?"