Red
“You look better in red.”
She had heard those words before. From him, even. As he said that, he drew his finger along her side, along the cut. She shivered at his touch. He smiled as she did. There were few things he could do to get such of a reaction out of her, but that one worked every time. He was gentle, simply collecting blood. Pain would come later.
“My colour.”
Now that his finger was red, he spread the blood across her lips. At his words, her eyes flicked up to meet his, and she gave him a small, weak smirk.
“His colour.”
The change in his demeanor was instant - the smile disappeared, instead replaced with a fearsome scowl. The flat of his blades slammed into the side of her face, causing her head to jerk away. The smirk remained, however.
“No. MY colour.”
That smirk was infuriating. He didn’t stop hitting her, but the smirk stayed. After a moment, he stopped, drew back. His finger was still dripping with her blood. He pried her mouth open with his pinky and middle fingers, and then the bloody index finger went in. The smirk was gone within a second, and the new expression was nearly horror. She gagged and choked, and now he was smirking.
“Where is your puppy?” he cooed, lodging his finger deeper in, “You’re so quick to talk of him, so quick to think he will save you, that he loves you-“ he sneered, “And where is he? Nowhere near here. You’re MINE. The sooner you understand that, the better.”
She didn’t respond. She was looking at him, but not at him. Through him. He withdrew his index finger, letting her gag for a second, and then hit her again.
”Knuckles doesn’t love you. You're nothing to him.”
Her eyes met his. “I know.”
That didn’t improve his mood. He sneered down at her. “Good girl. So stop defying me.”
She moved her head slightly, turning away from him. He grabbed her face and forced her to look back at him, thick fingers digging into the flesh. She didn’t even flinch.
”Tell me that you love me,” his voice was a purr near her ears, as their faces were much to close for her comfort. “Say it, kitten.”
She scowled and glared at him, eyes flashing as he spoke. The corners of his lips turned up.
”I have a name.”
”Your name is whatever I call you, dear. We’ve been through this. You’re mine. I will beat that into you if necessary. Tell me that you love me.”
No response. He took her left hand and crushed it. He felt her body tense at that, but otherwise, she did not react. “I don’t understand why you’re being so stubborn about this, Az. You will give in, one way or another - you’re only drawing it out and making it more painful for you.”
”Go to hell.”
He could tell she was hoping to provoke him with that comment. But he wasn’t angry. Rather, he was smiling. Her facial expression was still as fierce, but he saw the tinge of uncertainty behind it. He was drawing his fingers across one of her open wounds now, still gently. She tried not to shiver and failed.
”Say it.”
Nothing. His smile only widened, and he bent over the wound, and began licking at it. The shivering became more violent, to the point of trembling.
”S-stop it…”
”Say it,” he responded.
Nothing.
He pressed harder, and the shaking became worse. He lifted his head abruptly to observe her expression - there was discomfort and almost-fear. Almost. Not good enough.
”Say it.”
Nothing.
Ahh… The best part.
He returned to the wound. Not to lick this time, but to lap. To gather. He worked at it until his mechanical mouth was full - relishing the tiny noise, the almost-whimper she gave. And then he drew himself up, grasped her head, and kissed her. She struggled. She moaned. She tried to cough and gag and hack but he would not let her.
He spoke. She couldn’t make out the words, but she didn’t have to. She felt him smile widely, and struggled harder. It did her no good. Her eyes were open, locked with his. There was a smugness in his. He knew he had won. And she knew it, too. Her eyes were burning, but she would never give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry.
That was the only thing she could do. He pulled away suddenly, looking at her expectantly. She was in a coughing fit, trying to get the blood out. She had swallowed some, and was going to vomit later, but that didn’t concern him. He waited until she spoke.
”I love you.”
“That’s a good girl.” RK gave a rough pat on the head, smirking widely. “I’ll see you in the morning. Be more compliant tomorrow, kitten.”
She hung her head in shame and did not respond.
She had heard those words before. From him, even. As he said that, he drew his finger along her side, along the cut. She shivered at his touch. He smiled as she did. There were few things he could do to get such of a reaction out of her, but that one worked every time. He was gentle, simply collecting blood. Pain would come later.
“My colour.”
Now that his finger was red, he spread the blood across her lips. At his words, her eyes flicked up to meet his, and she gave him a small, weak smirk.
“His colour.”
The change in his demeanor was instant - the smile disappeared, instead replaced with a fearsome scowl. The flat of his blades slammed into the side of her face, causing her head to jerk away. The smirk remained, however.
“No. MY colour.”
That smirk was infuriating. He didn’t stop hitting her, but the smirk stayed. After a moment, he stopped, drew back. His finger was still dripping with her blood. He pried her mouth open with his pinky and middle fingers, and then the bloody index finger went in. The smirk was gone within a second, and the new expression was nearly horror. She gagged and choked, and now he was smirking.
“Where is your puppy?” he cooed, lodging his finger deeper in, “You’re so quick to talk of him, so quick to think he will save you, that he loves you-“ he sneered, “And where is he? Nowhere near here. You’re MINE. The sooner you understand that, the better.”
She didn’t respond. She was looking at him, but not at him. Through him. He withdrew his index finger, letting her gag for a second, and then hit her again.
”Knuckles doesn’t love you. You're nothing to him.”
Her eyes met his. “I know.”
That didn’t improve his mood. He sneered down at her. “Good girl. So stop defying me.”
She moved her head slightly, turning away from him. He grabbed her face and forced her to look back at him, thick fingers digging into the flesh. She didn’t even flinch.
”Tell me that you love me,” his voice was a purr near her ears, as their faces were much to close for her comfort. “Say it, kitten.”
She scowled and glared at him, eyes flashing as he spoke. The corners of his lips turned up.
”I have a name.”
”Your name is whatever I call you, dear. We’ve been through this. You’re mine. I will beat that into you if necessary. Tell me that you love me.”
No response. He took her left hand and crushed it. He felt her body tense at that, but otherwise, she did not react. “I don’t understand why you’re being so stubborn about this, Az. You will give in, one way or another - you’re only drawing it out and making it more painful for you.”
”Go to hell.”
He could tell she was hoping to provoke him with that comment. But he wasn’t angry. Rather, he was smiling. Her facial expression was still as fierce, but he saw the tinge of uncertainty behind it. He was drawing his fingers across one of her open wounds now, still gently. She tried not to shiver and failed.
”Say it.”
Nothing. His smile only widened, and he bent over the wound, and began licking at it. The shivering became more violent, to the point of trembling.
”S-stop it…”
”Say it,” he responded.
Nothing.
He pressed harder, and the shaking became worse. He lifted his head abruptly to observe her expression - there was discomfort and almost-fear. Almost. Not good enough.
”Say it.”
Nothing.
Ahh… The best part.
He returned to the wound. Not to lick this time, but to lap. To gather. He worked at it until his mechanical mouth was full - relishing the tiny noise, the almost-whimper she gave. And then he drew himself up, grasped her head, and kissed her. She struggled. She moaned. She tried to cough and gag and hack but he would not let her.
He spoke. She couldn’t make out the words, but she didn’t have to. She felt him smile widely, and struggled harder. It did her no good. Her eyes were open, locked with his. There was a smugness in his. He knew he had won. And she knew it, too. Her eyes were burning, but she would never give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry.
That was the only thing she could do. He pulled away suddenly, looking at her expectantly. She was in a coughing fit, trying to get the blood out. She had swallowed some, and was going to vomit later, but that didn’t concern him. He waited until she spoke.
”I love you.”
“That’s a good girl.” RK gave a rough pat on the head, smirking widely. “I’ll see you in the morning. Be more compliant tomorrow, kitten.”
She hung her head in shame and did not respond.