#anonymous visitor

HANZO:

    The soft whisper of expensive leather was deafening in the midst of freshly fallen silence. Moments ago your cries had accompanied the rhythmic crack of a lash on your rear. Your captor was diligent and silent as he worked you over, only breaking the shared, steady tempo with an utterance to remove yourself from his lap.

    Kneeling obediently on the floor, your eyes flickered to him as he pulled on his gloves once more. You only spared a brief second to peek through the curtain of your hair, head still bowed submissively. Your heels stung against the tender marks the criss-crossed your ass, but it had been some time since you’d cried from a sore bottom.

    Hanzo’s gaze landed on you, waiting patiently for his instruction. You didn’t need to look to know he was watching; your body was primed to feel his eyes.

    “You have a question.” He rumbled, soft and deep above you. Often, he knew before you did. It only takes a moment’s hesitation for you to nod, dipping your chin but waiting for permission. He was right, of course, even as the words only now formed in your head. “Then ask.”

    Permission given, you peeled your gaze from the floor and met his stare. Your chin trembled, as you asked something you hadn’t since your first weeks with him. “Why,” even as your throat threatened to close, you pushed through the words. “Why do you…. hurt me?”

    “Why are you cruel?”

    Your tone is soft and docile as ever, but after Hanzo’s attentive training you don’t think you could raise your tone in rebellion if someone paid you in your own freedom. Even so, you felt vulnerable, naked in more ways than the bare flesh of your thighs. Your gaze dropped, and even as your voice wobbled, the tears didn’t come. Not anymore.

    “You don’t need to concern yourself with why,” Hanzo’s voice is low and clear, perfectly articulated through his accent. As he speaks, you nod, and don’t allow the frosty disappointment to creep in. Your soul is already cold; the fire inside you has been put out. Warmth couldn’t be doused if the embers had already gone out. “But I will tell you, precious thing.”

    Slowly, your eyes inch back up to his face. He sits, and pats his lap. This time, he doesn’t want you bent over it- his gloves are on, after all. You approach with care, and settle yourself on your flaming skin without complaint. The heat of his legs burn your marks, but he smoothes a hand over your shoulder blades and you don’t dare move.

    “You were broken,” he says. “When I found you.” You don’t argue, simply listen.

    “And you had picked up the pieces of yourself, and put them back together,” It sounded like praise, but you knew better. “You camouflaged the cracks and hid them very well.

    “But the fissures were there, and you were weak. The bonds holding you together, so tenuous. Fragile, vulnerable.” He rubs down the length of your spine, gentle and soothing. You sigh, nearly content.

    “One cannot survive when their cracks threaten to split apart when the wind blows. There was little hope for you to ever be whole again without the aid of someone skilled and patient to shatter you again.”

    You blink. How could one be repaired through such brutality? The corners of Hanzo’s mouth twitch in an almost-smile.

    “It is called Kintsugi,” he says, and you don’t have to wonder if you have asked your question aloud, because he just knows. Hanzo always knows. “The art of repairing that which has been broken with gold. But first, your badly mended wounds must be broken and re-set, stronger.”

    Vaguely, you recall having heard of such an art, in your life before. Of course, diligent, fastidious Hanzo would take it upon himself to extrapolate such a practice to people. You tried not to think too deeply about the breakage he saw within you. Instead, you soaked in the rare occasion of peace, enjoying that the serious man thought it worth his time to explain this to you. So you nod, and watch his face and try not to notice how human he might actually be, beneath his suit and gloves.

    “I’m going to make you stronger, more beautiful, than you have ever been.

    “But first I will shatter you completely.”

        _________________________________________________________________

GENJI:

The camera shutter clicks, and you hate that there’s space for your stomach to drop when you hear it. Genji’s leans back, thumb flicking across the screen as he sends out your cum-streaked face with whatever the latest photo sharing app is. Humiliated, but too numb to do anything about it, you wipe your face on your t-shirt and turn away. The youngest Shimada does whatever he wants to, and you are no exception.

He flops on the bed next you, bouncing the mattress, and turns to face you.

Reaching over, he takes one of your hands, examining the fading green and yellow around your wrist, then traces the tender, muddled outline on your throat, too. “These are looking better– think your voice will come back soon, too?”

Gingerly, you touch your fingers to your damaged throat. A bruised larynx resided there, slow to heal in a stressful environment and meanwhile robbing you of speech. Pain still haunts your every swallow, but it’s better than it was a week ago, when Genji had gotten too enthusiastic about strangling you while he came. Dropping your hand, you shrug. He isn’t really asking, anyways.

“Talk to me,” he says, more intently than you’d like. Dubiously, you stare at him. His brow furrows. “You don’t wanna talk to me?”

Defeated, because he holds all the cards and always has, you sit up on your elbows and pull in a breath. Nothing outright twinges, which is a good sign.

“G- en… ji…” You wheeze out, vocal cords stiff and hoarse. Arms wrap around you, pulling you down, down into his chest, though it was like being dragged deep underwater. “You did it! You said my name, babe!” The grin he wears lights up his face, and you feel dread.

“Missed you voice,” he says, wrapping his arms around you. “Can’t wait to get you screaming again.” And he smiles at you like the sun.

Before he’d squeezed your voice away, you’d asked why he loved to hurt you.

“Someday, it won’t feel like hurt, anymore.” He’d told you without a hint of doubt.