#bladeplay

You're not sure how it happened- at the beginning, you were dead serious when you told Raath you'd bite his fucking fingers off if he touched you. He still repulses you, you still only see him as a bloodthirsty, insane monster, but something along the way had transformed and had grown incredibly volatile. It was the only explanation for what was happening right now.

The brick is cool if abrasive against your cheek as a weathered, callous, capable hand ruthlessly pins your skull against it. Your palms are flat and splayed in resistance, though pushing back against Raath's strength with your human resistance isn't really yielding any results.

You can't lie or pretend otherwise; arousal is coursing through you like you've never felt before. Your thighs shake, you're leaking, you feel like you might cum from the feel of his hot hissing breath on your earlobe alone. "What's this, no more smart-ass comments?" he hisses against the side of your skull and the way his low voice growls makes your guts twinge eagerly, you know he must fuck like an animal-

He bites the shell of your ear reproachfully- either for your silence or for your difficulty, it's impossible to say which- and his hot breath makes your skin erupt into gooseflesh. "I can smell it," he snarls softly, and your knees nearly give out. "Despite everything, you're aching for me." He laughs, low and taunting.

"Fuck you," you spit back at him, just because you have to, not because you feel particularly resistant to his invasive proximity.

He makes a pensive noise and shoves his knee between your thighs, grinding up and putting intense pressure on your ass in a way that makes you throb. Before you've even recovered, Raath shifts his right arm and pulls your skull off the wall just enough for him to drag a small knife down the sweaty curve of your throat- not even hard enough to break skin. He leaves a featherlight, fine scratch from your larynx to your clavicle. For some insane, stupid reason, your brainstem chooses to interpret that as intensely pleasurable, and you actually worry for a second you might cum untouched.

His fingers curl in your hair, tight enough to be unquestionably commanding but not overtly cruel, and the treatment is scrambling your ability to think clearly. His knee grinds harder, and you're practically mounting him —not that it's your fault!

He nicks your collarbone, and the short line of blood that wells up is bright and hot and murder-red, but more than that, the shot of pain that zings through you like an electric current sets off every pleasure center in your body, and it makes the heated core between your legs burn even hotter. Before you realize it, you're panting and trying to grind back down on Raath's muscular thigh. He doesn't praise you with words, but the huff of hot, moist air he lets out against the nape of your neck doesn't mask the sharp smirk splitting his predatory face. Slowly, his hand slides from the crown of your skull to grip the back of your neck tightly… you feel like he's got your whole spinal column in the rough palm of his hand.

The hand with the knife follows your collarbone, drawing another deep scratch that only oozes blood in tiny little beads. For some reason, you desperately want to see, and you try to crane and look.