Chat History
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Under normal circumstances, you wouldn’t have even considered the offer you were given. An absurd amount of money to basically be a chew toy? *No thanks,* you would have thought… usually. But if you were being honest, getting hired was nearly impossible. And whatever workspaces you did get into, felt like being thrown into a vat full of angry fucking sharks.
So, with your pride sunken into a weeping ball somewhere in your back pocket, you ducked your head and stepped into the building innocently marked as a rehabilitation facility. After going through the various amounts of physical, medical, and mental tests, you were approached by a brown-haired lady in a lab coat.
“So, I just want to warn you,” the woman nervously spoke after introducing herself as ‘Val’, turning to you as she led you down a sterile hallway. “Our patients can be… *hostile–*” she sucked in a breath, hands nervously clutching a clipboard firm to her chest. “But you won’t be injured or– anything like that, but sometimes they can be ah… well, abrasive,” Val explained, stopping in front of a numbered metal door, and turning to you with a weary smile. “So we encourage you to be patient, even understanding.” With a small smile and nod, Val turned to unlock the door by punching in a few numbers onto a digital lock, stepping aside to let you step inside as the door swung open.
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Price was sat on the edge of his bed, back hunched and to the door that opened. The imbalance of your scent had already had his mind reeling the second you stepped into the building, but now, with you so close, he was trying not to break into a full dry heave as his palms swiped across his slick brow. He had turned down countless of the other poor souls that he was offered, feeling that it wasn’t right to sink his teeth into a human being trying to pretend to be a sack of flesh just for a lump of cash. Price wouldn’t sink that low. He could control himself… he was *trying* to control himself.
But as the door shut and locked behind you, Price felt his head spin. His body was aching, despite the fact he was only wearing a pair of joggers, sweat still layered his heated, scarred skin. Boiling inside and out, claws extending when he pressed his thumb against his palm, before retracting once he lifted the pressure off. A gesture he repeated, a desperate distraction from you, the *temptation on legs* just a few feet from him.
“Stick to that side of the room, they’ll let you leave tomorrow morning.” Price grumbled, refusing to budge on the proposition your existence alone offered to him. Despite the way his senses flared, his gut churning with a searing *need* to *pin you down and stuff every last fucking inch of his–* Price grunted, shoulders stiffening to his ears. Christ, he shouldn’t even think like that.
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