Erotic short. Pike rescues his secretary from an interrogation, but doesn’t release him from his bonds right away.
Rated M, M/M, 800 words, with Lucien Pike and Gellert Osgodby being their usual fucked up selves: knifeplay, blood and blood-drinking, some sadomasochism, and the usual undernegotiated kink with these two.
Currently doing <1k kink and smut requests here on Twitter.
Gellert and Pike first appear in:
https://johannestevans.medium.com/gellerts-new-job-a57c3e6e26bd
“These bindings are digging into my wrists, Lucien.”
“Thought you liked having things digging into you?”
Gellert gives Pike a very irritable look, and Pike stays in his place, examining Gellert where he’s bound back in the chair, his wrists tied very tight to the arms, his knees and ankles tied to the legs… They’d stripped off Gellert’s shirt and the stupid fucking vest thing he’d been wearing, and now Lucien can just see his chest, the scars under where his tits used to be — he didn’t go to a fleshturner for that, obviously — and the bruising smattered over his belly where one of them had kneed him earlier, a few handy bruises around the base of his throat, too.
“They was gonna torture you,” says Pike.
“You interrupted them,” said Gellert in a cool and easy voice, not seeming frightened at all, and Pike can hear his heartbeat, know he really isn’t frightened, not because he don’t think Pike’ll hurt him, but because he doesn’t care.
He adjusts the crotch of his suit trousers, and Gellert glances down at the fat bulge of Pike’s hardening cock before looking back up at his face.
Pike picks up one of the knives on the little tray they’d put out like they were in a fucking TV show, and Gellert tips back his head in silent invitation, so Pike doesn’t go for his throat. He slides the cold flat of the blade down the middle of Gellert’s sternum, knowing it’s cold from the room’s temperature and the damp, and Gellert reacts to that, shivers and watches the knife with his lips parted as it trails downward, to the rounder, softer flesh at his stomach, down against his hip.
“Why din’t they fuck you?” asked Pike.
“I don’t know that you need to be quite so offended on my behalf, Mr Pike,” said Gellert. “I didn’t particularly want them to fuck me.”
“Well, I din’t either,” said Pike. “That’s not the point, is it?”
“What is the point?”
“You’ve got a nice pussy.”
“Most people have more expectations of a fuck than that, Pike.”
“Like what?”
“Well, for o — ah,” Gellert hisses — Pike had moved the knife so fast Gellert could probably barely see it except for the shine when it caught the light, and now Gellert trembled in sensitivity at the blood welling to the surface under the little cut Pike had made over the very top of his belly. It was a very shallow wound, something that wouldn’t scab too badly or bleed too much even if they let it heal natural, which Pike didn’t plan to.
It is nice, seeing Gellert’s bruises heal all away one by one — cuts, that’s just messy, itchy, the scabs always catching on one thing or another. This is easier.
Pike drops to his knees on the stone floor, and when he wraps his mouth around the drips of blood that are coming away from the little wound, Gellert groans, his feet pressing down against the floor, his hands gripping at the arms of the chair, his legs spreading.
“Blood flow’s slow,” Pike grumbles.
“You’ve not bitten me,” says Gellert breathlessly, moaning in a pained way — his hips thrust up at the same time — as Pike traces the cut with the tip of his tongue, almost dipping into the part of the skin. “My blood’s thicker than it ordinarily is under your mouth.”
“Don’t want to bite you,” says Pike. “Want to do this the modern way.”
“Don’t let me stop you,” says Gellert, and this time when Pike makes a little cut just above the dip of his navel, his groan comes from low in his throat. Pike can smell how wet his cunt is.
“What’d you think they woulda done, if they’d started cutting you and you’d been a slag like this?”
“I don’t know that I would have been a slag quite like this, Pike,” says Gellert dreamily. “This element of my debauchery is typically reserved for you.”
“You think flattery’ll get my cock in you sooner?”
“A man lives in hope.”
Pike goes from suckling at the blood from the cut he’d made to mouthing at Gellert’s cunt through his jeans, dragging with his teeth because he knows he can through the thickness of the fabric — a miracle they’d managed to get him with jeans on, ’cause Gellert only wears them once in a blue moon — and Gellert’s yell is loud enough that some dust comes down from the ceiling.
“Gonna come?” asks Pike smugly.
“I think that’s up to you,” says Gellert in a voice that doesn’t sound like it’s complaining, and Pike sucks and drags at the denim through his jeans before he picks up another knife from the tray.
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