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“Well? Think you can manage that Jackson? For me?” Isaac asks in a low, teasing rumble.
By now the poison’s worked its way down to his toes. He’s completely immobilized and all he can manage is a stuttered “F-fuck you!” in response. Isaac’s smile widens, turns into an eagerly boyish grin that would make Jackson cringe away if he could because it’s somehow more terrifying than the wicked smirk from earlier. He turns his face away defiantly and the cold concrete he’s lying on is oddly soothing.
“Baby, you don’t know how glad I am you feel that way.”
Isaac is suddenly gone from Jackson’s line of sight and panic grips him like a vise because there’s no way for him to get away. No one to hear him call for help. The damn wolf wouldn’t hurt him though, right? I mean, he needs him to help clear his name. There’s no way Isaac would actually hurt him, not the scared little shit he knows.
“Sure you don’t want to do me this one little favor? It’s the least you could do considering how much of an arrogant prick you are.” Jackson’s not entirely surprised by the amount of venom in those words, it's not like people didn’t know exactly what was going on in that house. It’s not like he didn’t know. “Oh, I don’t blame you for not telling though. After all we’re in something of the same boat here. Aren’t we Jackie? Hiding things that everyone already knows.”
His breath comes out in a startled rush and Isaac laughs.
“What? Thought I didn’t know? You may have everyone else fooled, but I know your little secret Jackson. I can smell it all over you. Tell me, does Danny know yet? Or are you too afraid of what your parents will do when they find out?”
Jackson’s eyes are wide with fear, “Shut up!”
There’s the barest slither of something along the length of his legs but he’s not sure what it is and it’s nothing compared to the sudden scrape of claws along the curve of his hip. His body is still too numb to fully experience the sensation but when Isaac brings his hand up to show off his bloody nails he has a pretty good mental image. Clawed fingers press into his mouth and the metallic tang of blood is strong on his tongue, he bites down in reaction, cursing and afraid.
“Fucking hell! Get off me!” He spits the bloody digits out and tosses his head but it’s no use, he can’t move and he sure as hell can’t get away. Jackson is so distracted by his anxious outrage that it isn’t until Isaac tosses an empty packet of lube within sight that he finally gets how much trouble he’s actually in. He goes a little crazy at the sight but his body is useless and Isaac, the little bitch, is laughing at him.
“Oh yeah, I know all about how hot and bothered you get over cock Jackie. Don’t worry though, I won’t tell anyone. I promise. Not even Danny.” There’s a rough pressure between his legs and Jackson’s face goes hot with humiliation. His protests echo wildly in the abandoned station but Isaac doesn’t stop. He’s a solid, warm presence against Jackson’s back and he won’t shut his fucking mouth either, nuzzling and lapping teasingly at the tender skin on the back of his neck, taunting him for his weakness. Jackson can just barely feel his shirt clinging to his chest, damp with sweat and blood, while Isaac prys him open with long, and hopefully human, fingers.
“Well Jackie? Have you decided yet?” Jackson’s working to catch his breath but there’s just no way. He’s being stroked gently, ruthlessly somewhere inside that has his balls drawing up and his head tossing. He’s never done this before, not even to himself, afraid of what it would mean, would say about him.
“No? That’s alright, take your time.” The fucker hums against his ear, fangs grazing along the sensitive skin underneath and he can feel that clear as fucking day. He tries to ignore it but Isaac’s gentle, almost considerate, as he presses every button Jackson has while simultaneously taunting him for his response. There’s no escape from here but he takes a deep breath and yells anyway. “You’re dead Lahey! I’m going to fucking kill you so help me--” He chokes out and listens to the wet sounds his body makes with a mixture of dread and just the tiniest hint of sick anticipation.
Isaac hand is hard on his chin and he’s forced to turn and face him. A small part of Jackson dies inside at the look of understanding he sees on that face, in those in-human eyes. Then the hand on his chin is forcing his mouth open and Isaac’s kissing him, is sucking, loving, and ravaging his mouth with shocking tenderness. The whine Jackson makes while lying there on the floor, as he’s being unmistakably filled and fucked open, is terrifyingly, hauntingly needy as it echoes back.
Saliva fills his mouth as pressure and pleasure leisurely build inside him as inevitable as death. He was never going to get away. The sounds they make are vulgar, crude, and and loud. He has no idea how long Isaac’s been moving against him, scrabbling at his hips and bucking into him, furiously eager. He’s snarling into his mouth, and Jackson’s trying not to panic at the distinct sensation of being stretched that is not normal, shouldn’t be normal, not even for a werewolf but it’s happening and he gets it. Isaac’s groaning and panting into his ear and Jackson, after a few minutes of furious denial, he knows. He made a man come. Made him claw and keen and come, and now he’s being bred like a dog, like a little bitch. He’s hot inside with it and it’s terrible how good it feels.
Fifteen minutes later and Isaac still isn’t done with him, still has Jackson climbing the precipice to his own orgasm and he’s sobbing with it. The pleasure beats at him in waves and Jackson feels himself crumble under its persistence, comes screaming and crying with the utter freedom of it. It doesn’t matter that sweat and tears burn his eyes, or that snot clogs his nose and throat. All that matters is the liberation of it and so he cries, almost wailing in something like gratitude but not quite. Isaac is behind him the entire time, still rocking and shaking against and inside him, growling soothing nonsense against his damp hair. Jackson would have given anything for it to never end, for the certainty, the pleasure, and the drugged haze of the venom to carry him away from that place forever.
Only for that moment though.
It’s done and he just lies there, in a ragged, sloppy pile of bodily fluids and nerveless limbs on the concrete. Isaac tells him to take his time in considering his “request”, to regain his “composure”, and Jackson’s body is in defensive shock but he still demands to know, “Why?” In a small, defeated voice.
Isaac pauses on the staircase, he sounds tired and not a little bitter when he finally answers, “Because I hate you Jackson, and I hate liars. But Mostly? I just hate liars like you.” The door slams shut when he leaves and maybe an hour later feeling slowly returns to Jackson’s body, pain filling the spaces left by his shattered delusions.