Another Poolverine scene fragment which probably won't become a full story. Mild BDSM, nsfw but nothing too explicit.
“Say it.” Wade placed the blade of his katana beneath Logan’s chin, lifting his face.
Logan knelt before him on the bedroom floor, hands manacled behind his back. He glared up at Wade; the corner of his eye twitched. “Wade. This is stupid.”
“Did I ask for your opinion, Mr. Judgy Pants?”
“Seriously. This isn't what I had in mind. When you said you wanted to make me say things, I thought it was gonna be…y’know, like making me call myself a filthy slut and beg for your cock or something like that. Just fuck me already.”
Wade hesitated, but only briefly. Logan remembered the safeword; he'd double-checked before they started. “Oh, I will. Once I hear you say the words.”
Logan’s jaw tightened. A flush crept up his neck, into his ears. His gaze shifted away. He mumbled something under his breath.
Logan sighed tensely, briefly closing his eyes. Wade’s blade was still under his chin, pressing against the tender skin of his throat, not quite hard enough to draw blood. Logan swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing, muscles shifting beneath the skin. He spoke stiffly, his gaze averted: “I’m a g-good—” his voice grew hoarse, cracked slightly. His breathing grew heavier. “I’m a good person.”
“There. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Wade slowly crouched down in front of him, sword still against his throat. He leaned forward, until his face hovered mere inches from Logan’s. “Again, now, with eye contact. And a little more confidence.”
“Saying it doesn’t make it true,” Logan said, a surly growl creeping into his voice. “I’m just—repeating words. Like a goddamn parrot.”
“Oh, but it is true. And I’m going to make you keep saying it until you believe it. You're not getting fucked until you've branded those words into your fucking soul.”
“You’re a maniac. You know that? You’re a sick piece of shit.”
“And you’re a noble, compassionate, courageous man. And the love of my life.”
He sighed, shoulders tense. “Wade…” A hint of pleading crept into his voice. "Come on."
Wade trailed the edge of the blade down his throat to the hollow between his collarbones, pressing just hard enough to leave the faintest red line on his skin. “Again,” Wade said firmly. “With eye contact.”
Logan flushed brighter. Behind his back, his bound hands clenched, flexed and clenched again. His claws started to poke out. He raised his eyes to Wade’s, open defiance in his expression—but beneath the shield of the anger was something else, something helpless and open. “I’m a good—” his voice broke. He blinked a few times, a shine creeping into his eyes. He closed them briefly, then opened them, gazing up at Wade, and whispered, “I’m a good person.”
(Saw some post about “BDSM scene where I force you to internalize a compliment” and had to write that for Wade and Logan. Maybe I will do another scene where Wade is forced to call himself beautiful.)
