Work Text:
Sleeves wet with tears.
Inebriation.
He holds her there, she’s incarcerated.
Meulin is excitable, body straining to still as Kurloz silently commands. His grip, loose, his weight, strong. His sewn lips graze her cheek, the stitches are coarse and taught, she can feel distinct horizontal pinstripes.
With his free hand he cups her bottom and gently pets her, she echoes a soft cat-like trill. She raises her lower half, begging as quietly as she can, breaking the rules. She can’t keep still. Fuck. Fuck fuck motherfuckin she wants more. . .
He pulls away, but not without pinching her ass. She squirms and squirms. God, how she does, rolling on the floor, under his weight. Her shirt is bunched up over her shoulders, bra unclasped but still there, and not doing a good job covering her breasts. And her lower half is bare, legs spread out already. Too ready.
Kurloz waits until she stills, he has a lot of patience. He has to, to be with her, and to teach her a lesson. Only when she calms down again does he place his hand back there. He taps a gentle rhythm, tiny flecks against skin. Meulin’s eyes close content, lips parted, and they’re both waiting for it, she can feel it in his warm hand, how quickly his tempo changes, rougher, but smooth in action.
Finally, impact.
She yowls. Louder than she can ever know. Kurloz’s index finger covers her open mouth and gives a curt, tap. Meulin hurriedly closes her mouth.
He signs against her hand: THAT ISN’T THE WORST.
She signs back, erratic and quick, over and over: GIVE ME YOUR WORST. GIVE ME YOUR WORST. GIVE M-
And he does.
“MMMMPH!” She fights her initial reaction. That is. To scream. Before she can recover he admonishes her with another slap, harsher than the previous.
Meulin bites her lips, she is bleeding.
“FFFFPH” Escapes from her, it makes no sense, it’s riddiculous. She can feel Kurloz laughing at her, she smiles but is careful to laugh. Even in this breath of humour she can’t break orders. His eyes leer with mirth, he’s so fucking proud of her. Kurloz nuzzles her forehead and lingers there, he signs against her hand, whispering.
They always whisper, so quiet no one can hear, in plain sight. So quiet, the only sound they share is
inhale
exhale
.
They are far from what they once were, but habits are hard to break, especially habitual comfort.
This moment, it’s familiar.
Kurloz stops signing against her hand and intertwines their fingers, they stop(pause)and listen to the other breathe.
He rises up, his skeletal fingers rake the marks smattered on her ass. Meulin’s head lifts, stirred by the pain.
Kurloz’s hand rises, she twitches at the phantom pressure that is the space between his hand and her body. She anticipates it, she thinks maybe he will place his hand on her again, only meek and teasing. Toying with her mind.
It’s much worse than that, the action is in suspension and she is left to hang in his strings. She forces every part of her not to move, not to peek, but she cannot keep her sanity intact waiting so long. Her eyes bulge out, just waiting nervously, when he finally hits her, it feels like they pop out of her skull and roll on the floor around her body.
There is not apprehension anticipation waiting now. He relentlessly plays her, when she begins to scream (because her lips are in shreds and bleeding and it hurts hurts hurts. Fuck. It hurts) he doesn’t stop. Her mind blanks, vapid void. The screams, though loud can never rival Kurloz’s own, his ear drums don’t even rattle.
He’s a little disappointed.