Picasso's Blade
Title: Picasso’s blade
Author: chocca2
Characters/Pairing: Dean, Alistair
Genre: Gen
Rating: R
Word Count: 240
Warnings: Gore galore.
Disclaimers: Ha, Me? Own the Winchesters? Only in my dreams *wink*
Summary: Life and death are balanced on the edge of a razor.
A/N: pdragon76 gave me a prompt wordie of ‘Periphery’ for her birthday fic so blame her for this. Well not really but you may want to throw lots of cake and hugs and birthday smishes her way cause she totally deserves them…
saberivojo also deserves a big smackeroo for stepping in to beta for me. Any other faults are my own, I'm good at those :p
~~~
Life and death are balanced on the edge of a razor.
~Homer, Iliad~
~~~
He slashed through a tender patch of pale, smooth inner-thigh, felt muscle jerk in protest under clenched finger tips, he tightened his vice-like grip. A surge of blood, fleetingly warm, washed over his skin, no where near the amount there would have been had he sliced the femoral artery. The knife in his grip skirted dangerously close to the pulsating blood vessel, a nip here or there and it would be game over. Instead the flat blade edge Tripped over screaming nerve endings like a deadly waltz. He didn’t want to kill him - not quickly - just needed to get under his skin, marinade and stew in torture.
“What was that Dean?” He whispered into his ear. “You want me to stop?”
Dean made a non-committed sound in his throat. He was close, he thought. He had almost broken him. A glint of triumph glistened in his eyes, Alistair bit his lip as a wave of adrenalin washed over him, made him weak at the knees.
“I will break you, Dean Winchester and when I’m done we’ll start all over again.” He pressed against his side, slid a sadistic finger into a gaping wound on his chest. “In fact, I think already have...”
“Nnnot…even…close.” Dean ground out, sprayed his face with a mist of sweet copper liquid.
“I beg to differ, Dean.” Alistair plunged deeper into the flesh. “How does that feel?” He asked.
“Jus…scratching…the surface.”
Author: chocca2
Characters/Pairing: Dean, Alistair
Genre: Gen
Rating: R
Word Count: 240
Warnings: Gore galore.
Disclaimers: Ha, Me? Own the Winchesters? Only in my dreams *wink*
Summary: Life and death are balanced on the edge of a razor.
A/N: pdragon76 gave me a prompt wordie of ‘Periphery’ for her birthday fic so blame her for this. Well not really but you may want to throw lots of cake and hugs and birthday smishes her way cause she totally deserves them…
saberivojo also deserves a big smackeroo for stepping in to beta for me. Any other faults are my own, I'm good at those :p
~~~
Life and death are balanced on the edge of a razor.
~Homer, Iliad~
~~~
He slashed through a tender patch of pale, smooth inner-thigh, felt muscle jerk in protest under clenched finger tips, he tightened his vice-like grip. A surge of blood, fleetingly warm, washed over his skin, no where near the amount there would have been had he sliced the femoral artery. The knife in his grip skirted dangerously close to the pulsating blood vessel, a nip here or there and it would be game over. Instead the flat blade edge Tripped over screaming nerve endings like a deadly waltz. He didn’t want to kill him - not quickly - just needed to get under his skin, marinade and stew in torture.
“What was that Dean?” He whispered into his ear. “You want me to stop?”
Dean made a non-committed sound in his throat. He was close, he thought. He had almost broken him. A glint of triumph glistened in his eyes, Alistair bit his lip as a wave of adrenalin washed over him, made him weak at the knees.
“I will break you, Dean Winchester and when I’m done we’ll start all over again.” He pressed against his side, slid a sadistic finger into a gaping wound on his chest. “In fact, I think already have...”
“Nnnot…even…close.” Dean ground out, sprayed his face with a mist of sweet copper liquid.
“I beg to differ, Dean.” Alistair plunged deeper into the flesh. “How does that feel?” He asked.
“Jus…scratching…the surface.”