Work Text:
Oh curse Wilbur’s stupid, rotten, horrible habit. Lying, he was always fucking lying about something, and he damn right knew how to tell the truth. Little white lies, every time he ever said anything, and that’s exactly how he found himself in such a situation. Hands cuffed in front of his stomach, his back pressed into the mattress, and a look of pure fear in his eyes as his fuming partner stood above him.
“Tell me, Will, what did I say would happen if I ever caught you lying to me again? What the FUCK did I tell you, Wilbur?”
Wilbur could feel himself quivering as tears pooled in his eyes, his lip trembling as he attempted to speak. “You said- You said I would get punished for it.” He whispered, pushing himself back against the headboard of their shared bed, the comforter scrunching up underneath his bare feet.
“Speak up, what did I fucking tell you?” Schlatt roared, a low growl in his voice as he slammed his hands down on the foot of the bed, making the curly haired Brit flinch and draw back.
Things ended up like this regularly, so it wasn’t out of the ordinary for them to be yelling and fighting with each other. But they both did it on purpose, and with no intention of actually hurting the other. They both played into the other’s sick fantasies, claiming it to be a form of coping. Schlatt would get violent and manhandle Wilbur until he couldn’t do it anymore, and Wilbur would bitch, brat, shake, and cry, just to make him even more mad. Sometimes, the roles would even switch. Then, when it was all over, they would hold each other until the sun came around again.
Of course they had a safeword that either of them could use if the scene needed to stop, and many of times they had both went too far and accidentally forced the other into sobbing out the word “yellow”. Sometimes it was the emotional toll of it all, or sometimes it was the fact that they just couldn’t do it anymore.
And the pair, they loved each other so fucking much. Maybe their forms of coping with stress and past trauma, things that haunted their days and sent them into sobbing fits fear and rage, were different from the way others did, but it worked for them. The cuts, bruises, and bite marks were a sign of healing, because you can’t heal without being ripped apart first.
“You said I would get punished for it!” The Brit said, raising his voice as hot tears spilled from his eyes and onto his pale yellow sweater.
“Yeah, that’s exactly right! And what did you do? You proceeded to fucking do it anyway!” Schlatt yelled, reaching forward and grabbing the other by the ankle, yanking him down to the foot of the bed. Wilbur’s whole body shook with fear and anger as Schlatt towered over him, a sinister look in his eyes.
“Won’t you quit your crying, you lying bitch!” He spat, grabbing him by the chin and forcing his gaze up to meet his own. Wilbur’s wet, chocolate eyes reflected all the artificial light from the room, adding to the sensitive, fear-stricken look he had, and it just pissed him off more.
“Schlatt please, I’m sorry,” He choked out, hot, steaming tears continuing to flood his cheeks and stain his pride.
That was another part to the little game they played.
Then Schlatt’s harsh grip was tightened, squishing Wilbur’s cheeks hard enough to potentially leave a bruise in the shape of his fingers. “Oh Wilbur, that’s fucking pathetic! You’re just gonna cry some more and lie straight to my fuckin’ face again, so what goddamn difference does it make?”
The Brit sniffled as a sob broke through him, making his shoulders shake. He tried to jerk his head away only to be yanked forward again. “Please, please, let me go, Schlatt, you’re hurting me, please let go,” Wilbur sobbed, bringing his cuffed hands up to pull at the arm holding him.
Wilbur cried out as a ring-covered hand met his cheek, leaving a burning, tingling mark on the hot skin as he was shoved backwards, his back hitting the bed with a thump, forcing the breath from his lungs.
“Don’t act like you don’t love it, Wilbur, I can see right through you and your stupid lies so just cry all you want because I don’t fucking care!” Schlatt snapped as he crawled onto the mattress, hovering over him and forcing a knee between the Brit’s closed thighs.
Schlatt’s hand found way to Wilbur’s throat and grazed there for a second before harshly wrapping around the tender skin. His hands were almost big enough to wrap completely around his thin neck, and the feeling was as exhilarating as it was horrifying. He sputtered and coughed as the American pressed his weight into his throat and squeezed, ultimately cutting off all his air and blood flow.
“Let go! Let go!” Wilbur gasped, kicking his feet and baring his teeth. Schlatt only laughed and leaned further into his grip, making the brit wheeze and cough as purple and blue crept onto his lips. His chest heaved as a thin line of drool dripped from his gasping mouth, sliding down his cheek and into his dark, messy hair.
He squeezed his eyes shut and desperately pulled at the arm holding him down as a dry, choked sob tore from his throat. The pressure under his skin was starting to hurt, making his ears ring and spots to form in his vision, and all he could do was cry. Then, almost as if he knew, the grip was released from his throat, making him gasp and shake as the blood and oxygen returned to his head, flooding his brain with relief and a swimming feeling.
When Wilbur regained himself, all he could see was Schlatt’s sick, twisted grin above him and he wanted to scream, but every other ounce in his body wanted him to go further, to do it again. Needed it. Needed him to do it until he couldn’t stand it anymore. And hell, he would let Schlatt wring the life from his throat if he asked, to tear the last gasping breath from his body if that’s what he wanted.
Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad, the pain would be all be over and he could finally be released from everything. Everything. Maybe if there was any kind of afterlife, he could spend it with Schlatt, curled up in his arms and spending eternity at his side. Or maybe they would be damned to an eternity in hell, ripped from each other and stowed in the deepest pits of their sins.
“Hurt me, Schlatt, please God hurt me, I need you to. God, I need you.”
“Oh fuck,” Schlatt groaned, a low growl rumbling from his throat as he grit his teeth. “Fuck, say that again, call me your God.” Everything was going straight to his dick, and it was fucking filthy, but it made his core burn and ache. Made him desperate and fucking feral for it.
“Please, fuck, say it again, tell me you can’t live without me. Say it.” Raw desperation laced the American’s voice as his legs trembled, digging his fingers hard into Wilbur’s hips.
That was his idea of heaven. Delicious, delicate Wilbur at his feet and looking up at him with those beautiful, perfect eyes. Begging for love and forgiveness and appreciation, begging for him. And that was perfect. That was heaven to him.
Wilbur gasped as his lips parted, a small cry falling from them. “You. You’re my God, I’m nothing without you. You’re everything to me, God, Sir, please hurt me. It’s you, you’re everything I live for, everything. You’re my life.”
Schlatt growled and gripped Wilbur so hard that his knuckles turned white, making him gasp shakily, only to be followed by a loud cry as Schlatt’s ringed hand slapped him hard against the cheek. He was breathing hard as his sweater was pushed up, unable to be removed for the position of his hands. Then long fingers were digging into his chest and clawing down his stomach, leaving angry red trails and blossoming nail marks across the tainted pale skin.
God. That’s what he was. And it felt so fucking good. The power. The control. All of it. A perfect, merciful God deserving to be worshipped and praised.
Then his teeth were digging into the pretty skin and the urge to just tear it off of him was so strong that it swarmed his brain and clouded his thoughts. Schlatt could taste coppery blood on his teeth as his hand crept down and into Wilbur’s jeans, and feeling the solid interest against his palm just boosted his ego even higher.
When he finally looked up, the blossoming print on the Brit’s flushed cheek and the blissed look on his face made his chest swell as he locked his lips onto the bruised skin of his neck, with plans to only bruise it further. Plans to hurt him.
After Wilbur’s pants were worked off and his neck lay littered with ugly bruises and gorgeous bite marks, his wrists were finally freed, giving clearance for his sweater to be removed, leaving him completely nude and vulnerable, spare his thin boxers. Then he was being flipped onto his stomach and up onto his knees, his face being forced down into sheets.
Wilbur’s breath caught in his throat as Schlatt pulled something from the pocket of his jeans, being followed by a click-ish, metallic sound before something cold and hard was traced down the dip in his spine.
He forgot Schlatt carried a pocket knife.
A new, unbridled wave of fear ripped through him, causing a cold sweat to burst out across his skin as the blade was dragged across his spine. Wilbur shivered as he tried to even out his breathing again, but he just couldn’t choke it down.
A sharp, stinging pain ripped across the peak of his back, making him jerk and curse, but it didn’t stop. It just got worse. And that’s when he noticed that the blade was tearing through his flesh, and hot, sticky blood poured from the fresh wounds, trickling down his sides and dripping off his stomach.
Schlatt forced his own hips forward, flat against the Brit’s ass as he leaned over him, carving the first letter of his name right below his shoulders. Then his free hand gripped Wilbur by the hair and yanked him backwards, leaving him suspended in the air for a moment before his hands shot down to support himself. With quivering, adrenaline laced hands, Schlatt brought the knife around in front of Wilbur’s face and forced it to his lips, groaning loudly and grinding his hips forward as he licked his own blood from the steel.
Wilbur moaned in response, tasting the horrid, coppery taste on his tongue, feeling as some of it dripped down his chin before being removed from his lips and forced to his throat. That’s when it really hit him, that his life lay solely in the palms of the man above him, and with the slightest jerk of his wrist, that could be the end of him and he could finally rest his soul.
“I love you so fucking much Wilbur, you know that right? You’re everything I could ever, ever ask for and you’re so god damn perfect. You’ll stay with me forever, won’t you honey?” He growled against his neck, keeping the knife dangerously tight against his throat.
“Of course, of course I will, you know I love you so so much. I’d lay my life down for you the second you asked. My God, my life, till my last breath or the world stops turning, I’m yours and always will be. ‘Til death do us part, my Lord, ‘til death do us part.”
“‘Til death do us part, my sweet Wilbur. You’re mine and I’m always yours, ‘til the end of time or our hair turns grey, my dear.”
Then Schlatt let him go again, letting his head fall back against the pillows.
There’s gonna be some nasty fucking bloodstains to clean up after this.
After Schlatt returned to finish his work on the boy’s back, they were both covered and spattered in blood, and were both so unbelievably turned on that it hurt worse than the weight of the world on a single man’s shoulder’s.
Schlatt couldn’t help but think about how hard it would be to explain his blood covered clothes, the fresh cuts, and the bloody knife if Wilbur did just so happened to end up dead somewhere.
Then he was discarding his stained t-shirt onto the floor and laying the blood-stained blade onto their already ruined sheets. Wilbur’s breathing was shallow as he squirmed about uncomfortably, and it was starting to make Schlatt slightly nervous.
“Schlatt-“ He gasped, his arms quivering. “I’m begging you, please, please put your hands on me-“
As he finally fell from his slightly dazed trance, a peculiar idea came to his mind and he didn’t even give himself time to think it through before diving right into it. Picking the knife up from the bed, he tore it through Wilbur’s boxers with an audible rip. Then he was wiping blood from the boy’s back, letting it pool on his fingers, before pressing them to his exposed and previously ruined hole.
Wilbur groaned and shivered as Schlatt worked him open with his own hot, sticky blood, and the pure filth of it all just made heat pool in his stomach. With his other hand, the American gathered more of the fresh blood and began to pump Wilbur’s dripping cock with it, making him squirm and jerk with the most lewd cries he’d ever heard. A song of the angels only fit for the ears of a ruler.
The horrible, bloody sight before him just made Schlatt’s cock twitch eagerly. Some part of him, some wretched, sick voice in his mind wanted to know how it felt, but he continued to work his clenching hole open.
When Wilbur seemed prepped enough, the American finally unbuttoned his dark pants and freed his twitching, dripping interest. He swiped more of the hot blood up into his palm, spitting in it as well, before begin to stroke himself off, thoroughly lubing the length before pressing the swollen tip to his hole.
The pair groaned in unison as Schlatt’s cock stretched the Brit, not giving him long to adjust before beginning to rock his hips. It was slow, almost as though he was passing all of his emotions, all of his love, all of his honesty through the connection they had.
“Ah fuck, my God-“ Wilbur moaned, letting his mouth fall open.
Schlatt growled quietly and pressed himself in deep, the hot, slick heat around his cock mixed with the new, well deserved title making his eyes roll back and his teeth to grit. Digging his fingers in the blood-stained hips before him, he relished in the new feeling. It was a lot different than classic lube, but fuck, it was damn right hot as the deepest pits of hell.
And Wilbur seemed to be enjoying it as well, panting and shaking as he was violated in his own blood, digging his slim, tired fingers into whatever they could latch onto. One hand digging into his hair and the other curled into their bedsheets. Then his head was yanked backwards by the hair, making him yelp and sob as blood, spit, and tears dripped from his face.
Schlatt was pulling hard, hard enough that it made the boy’s scalp burn, before adjusting his grip and placing a hand in front of his throat, leading him backwards and pulling his chest off the bed. Wilbur was clawing behind him for whatever he could catch to help stabilize himself, and the first thing being Schlatt’s hips. He dug his nails into the flesh and it was sure to leave a mark.
The American began picking up his rough pace, filling the room with the most lewd combination of sounds, from his groans to the wet, sticky slap of their hips, to the broken, desperate cries of the boy below him, and the smell of blood and sex filling their cheap apartment.
This was a position they always seemed to fall back into, Wilbur’s back pressed tight against the other’s chest with one of Schlatt’s hands around his throat and the other wrapped around the Brit’s cock, jerking in time with his thrusts. Leaving Wilbur with nothing to muffle his sounds with, his only option being to scream out to the world and tell every soul in existence how good it felt to be ruined and ripped apart as tears painted his face, running down neck and tracing his chest.
How sick of them.
After a moment, their positions changed, Wilbur being flipped onto his back, cursing as his shredded flesh hit the mattress, and Schlatt felt proud of the sight before him. The Brit’s blood and tear-stained, pleasure-filled face, his messy hair, and quivering form just made his heart and chest swell as he regained the rough thrusts.
“Ah fuck- holy shit that hurts-“ Wilbur cursed, squeezing his eyes shut with a pathetic cry and a hiccuped sob. He was cut off by eager lips pressing against his own, silencing his cries and filling his head with a daze. The overwhelming urge to scream filled his chest as Schlatt took his cock in his hand again and began to jerk him off, squeezing and twisting his wrist, practically wringing the desperate cries from him.
The Brit didn’t even have time to warn the other as he came over both their stomachs, shivering and shaking as the high ripped through him, and he couldn’t help but bite down on Schlatt’s lip with enough force to draw blood. And he did, causing him to pull back and admire the sight before him, licking the fresh blood from his lips.
“Fuck- spit in my mouth-“ Wilbur said, his voice tired and shaky, and Schlatt complied, spitting blood and spit into the curly-haired Brit’s mouth, groaning loudly as he watched him swallow. When his mouth fell open again, his teeth and lolling tongue were stained with Schlatt’s blood.
Then he was pulling out, quickly stroking his blood-stained cock to finish himself off as he came the Brit’s ass and stomach with a muttered curse.
“Holy shit, fuck, yellow- scene over.“ Schlatt said, letting his body slump forward and his head to fall against Wilbur’s chest, his breathing heavy and labored as he tried to regain himself. Wilbur leaned up slightly, cringing at the pain in his back and entire body, and laid a soft hand on the American’s head as the other supported himself, brushing his dark, sweaty hair between his fingers.
“You okay?” Wilbur asked, his voice dry and cracked. His head hurt almost as much as his back and ass, but he wasn’t the only one that needed care right now.
Schlatt didn’t verbally respond, only meekly nodding his head as his eyes fell shut, leaning into the gentle, careful hand in his hair.
It took him a moment, but he finally regained himself, his breathing leveling out and his pounding heart rate falling back to normal. “Are you doing okay, Wil?” He asked, leaning up and off of him and stretching his bones, giving Wilbur the chance to do the same.
The Brit nodded and smiled weakly, leaning up as well, cringing as the skin on his back twisted and stretched, pulling at the scabbed blood on the fresh cut marks.
“You think you can walk?”
“Yeah I think so, just gotta give me a second, might limp a little bit.”
Schlatt was the first to get up, his bare feet hitting the floor and hauling himself off the mattress before helping Wilbur to do the same. He was right, the Brit did hobble a bit as they made it to the bathroom.
“I love you, Schlatt.”
“Love you too, stinky ass, now let’s get cleaned up.”