#corruption.txt

The KA-BAR in near your shoulder twisted, pulling a half gargled moan from your lips. More blood oozed down your torso and arm, soaking into the once-pristine pale sheets of your bed.

“Christ, of course you like that.” His voice was gruff in your ear, hot breath skittering over you neck and hair. You knew your healing factor would rub out the wound in a matter of an hour or so once the blade was gone, but for now, you wanted the pain. Needed the pain.

Earlier

You glanced at the layout on the bed.

Rope. Check.

Duct tape. Check.

KA-BAR. Check.

Glock and silencer. You had the silencer, where was the Glock?

Wait…

“Looking for this?” A voice sounded from behind you. Turning, you saw a figure in the shadow of the door, holding out a pistol by its barrel. Striding forwards, coming into the light, your boyfriend gently placed it on the bed next to the KA-BAR.

“Jesus, you planning a kidnapping?”

“No Frank.”

“What then?”

“I’m planning on pain.”

“For who?”

“Me.”

His eyebrow quirked at that. He knew you had a healing factor, one that worked pretty quickly. What he didn’t know was how completely overwhelmed you were right now. You needed to focus on something and physical pain helps. Not when you do it, of course. It doesn’t help when it’s by your hand. No, it had to be by someone else. It’s why all the fights, all the late nights patrolling the area. Stopping muggings and whatnot.

You had to get your fix. It was an addiction, really. You just wouldn’t admit it yet.

“You wanna, uh, explain yourself?”

So you told him. Told him why. Told him what you wanted.

“And you want lil ol’ me to help you with this?” He muttered, hand running over the coarse rope. Fingers dusting along the blade of the KA-BAR.

“If you… don’t feel comfortable I’m sure I can find someone-” You yelped, his hand scrunched up in your hair and pulled you down. You landed hard on the floor, knees crashing into the floorboards. It was times like this you were thankful you lived alone, and not in an apartment.

He pulled you back up by the hair, leaning in to whisper in your ear.

“Don’t ever even think you can ask someone else. I’ll never let you go.” You moaned lightly at the harsh tone. Frank swung around, dragging you towards the bed. Throwing you on it, he uttered a one-word command.

“Strip.”

And you complied, as fast as you could. Trembling hands pulled clothing from your body, throwing it across the room. You laid flat on the bed, waiting. Rope slid over your wrists and was wrapped around and around, tying them together and to the headboard. Another long strand tied each of your ankles to the foot of the bed.

The light clink of his belt coming undone made you lift your head to look at him. A calloused hand pushed your head back down.

“Don’t move unless you’re told.” He growled. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying your best to resist looking at him. You wanted to, so badly. You loved this man, and the way he was acting stirred something primal in you. You could hear the rustle of his clothes as he took them off, then silence.  

You felt something cold and sharp ghost over your ribcage, before a slight bit of pressure was applied to it. Blood welled up and collected on the edge of the blade. You groaned as Frank stared you down like an eagle. Lifting the blade from your body, he brought it to your face.

“Look.” He commanded. You slowly unclenched your eyes, watching as a crimson drop dripped off the tip and next to your lips. As if on instinct, your tongue darted out and licked it clean.

“Hit me. Hard.”

His other hand, balled in a fist, struck you first in the other half of your ribs, and then once in the face.

“Shit.” He hissed, as blood ran down from your nose. “Did I go too far?”

“No no, don’t stop… Please don’t stop, I need more-”

Before you could reassure him further, a hand roughly covered your mouth and the blade was buried in your shoulder.

“Shhhh… Shshshshshsh… Don’t make noise now.” He whispered hoarsely, twisting the blade.

“Christ, of course you like that.” You nodded, letting him know you were okay.

He slid into you, slowly and surely, making sure he hit his mark before picking up the pace. In, out, in, out. His hand wrapped itself tighter around your throat, cutting off more of your air supply.

“Harder… please…” You wheezed out.

“Harder, what?” He growled, releasing his hold on your throat some.

“Harder please, Sir.” The hold tightened again, and the pace picked up. After a few moments, he was slamming into you, the KA-BAR jostling in his grip with every movement. The knife ripped more muscle as it got dragged down, pushing against your ribs, your lung. You could tell it was cutting into the bone, fracturing it since he wouldn’t let go.

Your mind focused only on the now. Not on the stress of life. Just the sensations that were racking your body, here and now. For this, you were eternally grateful.

“Fuck, fuck-” He hissed. “Fuck I’m close.” He let go of the KA-BAR and your throat, snatching the Glock and the silencer from the bed. Screwing it onto the Glock, he cocked the gun, then leaned down close to you, pressing his chest against yours.

“When I finish, I’m going to shoot you once. Where do you want it?” His voice rumbled through his chest and into you.

“L-leg. Please, sir.” You whimpered.

“Leg it is.” He whispered, whipping the gun down to point at your thigh. The other hand clapped itself over your mouth again. You bit your tongue in anticipation.

The familiar burn of a bullet tore through your thigh and buried itself in the mattress. You wanted to scream, to howl, but you wouldn’t let yourself. Your pride wouldn’t let you.

Frank pulled out, and rolled off of you, breathing heavily.  Sitting up, he watched as your chest heaved as you lungs sucked in air and expelled it.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” He gently slid his arms under you, picking up your body. Carrying you to the bathroom, he set you down on the toilet lid, letting you lean against him as stretched for the wash cloth on the towel rack. Soaking it in warm water, he carefully scrubbed the blood from your body and face. He worked in silence, gazing at your eyes.

“How do you feel?” He asked, voice low.

“Better. Much better. I feel like I can focus now.”  He kissed the top of your head as he placed at gauze bandage over the large stab wound in your shoulder, before moving onto the bullet wound.

“You wanna write that paper now? Or do you wanna cuddle on the couch for a bit first?”

“Cuddles sound good.” You responded, as he washed your blood from his hands.

On the couch, the two of you sat in silence, with you listening to his heart beat in his chest. You were the first to break the silence.

“We’re gonna have to clean the bed.”

“Yeeeahhh… About that…”

“We are not burning the sheets, Frank. Those are my favourites.”

“I’m just saying! It’s an option!” He replied, throwing his hands up in mock defense.

You chuckled, leaning up and pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose.  

“Thank you, Frank. For everything. I love you.”