[bsd, !r-18!] girls can have little a homoerotic biting, as a treat
I'm not even that big on SSKK? I just go bananas for the tiger also representing Atsushi's repressed lesbianism on top of everything else lmao
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“Sometime this century, weretiger,” Akutagawa spits at you, looking more than a little rabid. “I am not made of glass.”
“You...kind of are?” You say it half to be contrary, half because you know the shape of yourself in the way you can count her bare ribs. Akutagawa’s spidery fingers clutch at the cheap sheets, Rashoumon unspooling from the fabric to snap at you.
“Really? Right now?”
“Lest you forget I am not defenseless.” If Akutagawa weren’t...herself, you might even call her tone petulant. She juts her chin forward, challenging, and the dark fan of her hair shifts on the pillow. Something that could be want stirs in your gut at the sight. The alarmingly pale column of her throat is completely bared to you, and it’s suddenly too much; you need to--
You bite her, feeling the tiger’s teeth—your teeth—elongate and pierce the thin, thin skin. Akutagawa instinctively tenses, and before you know it, you’ve got something more paw than hand pinning her head down. The scent of her blood sits euphoric on your palate, and what can Akutagawa’s skinny limbs do, flailing ineffectually beneath you? You’re seized by the sudden, human urge to pray like this, like salt grinding into your knees on the chapel floor, like the moment before the pain when a brand first touched your skin, like benediction.
Something bright and sharp pierces your own neck—Rashoumon is back in full force, the sheets beneath the two of you completely stripped to give it shape and size. Its teeth grind where yours hold steady, worrying at the flesh as if to remind you that whatever there is between you and Akutagawa, it’s mutual.
You let yourself pull away first. This isn’t a contest, you think dimly, as the tiger roars for you to lap at the blood smeared all over Akutagawa’s bare neck and jutting collarbones. A thin trail has smudged its way down over one of her small breasts, and you can no longer tell yourself you’re the better person.
“Animal,” Akutagawa breathes, punctuating it with another clench of Rashoumon’s hungry jaw. You’re inexorably drawn to the glistening wetness of her lips, how harmless her cruel mouth is compared to yours. Her cheeks are flushed, and her eyes are laser-focused on the blood dripping from your own neck to spatter all over her stomach.
“Are you-- Do you like this?”
“Why Dazai-san has any notion of you being a detective, I’ll never know. If I disliked it, weretiger, I would be gone and you would be dead. It’s truly that simple.” Ignoring the fact that Akutagawa practically moaned that entire speech, the mention of Dazai-san has your hackles back up. Is Akutagawa thinking of her? Does she wish it were Dazai-san marking her in a way that only you can? The thought is unbearable, all of a sudden.
You kiss her, clumsy and open-mouthed, Rashoumon still in your neck. If violence is the only language she speaks, you’ll speak it to her.