[Thread]
Who: Genkaku & Nagi; open to Johan, Rokuro, Alucard and Nataku.
Where: The Liebert estate play room.
When: About three days after this log.
Summary: Just some torture.
Rating: R.
Other: Nope.
The estate had a great set-up for Genkaku to play with Nagi in. the interior of the room looked like a clean slaughterhouse. Clean apart from the rust and the constant stench of chemicals with drugs, alcohol, and the lingering aroma of smoke. But what could be done about it? The monk was just chipper with Nagi between his fingers. Bastard had gotten out of the monk’s gasp too many times. No, it wasn’t that. He just wanted Nagi to come to him for a change.
Genkaku sat on an old couch and strummed his guitar idly with smooth gestures. A cigar lodged out of his mouth and the monk was totally hypnotized by the smoke that emitted from the orange-tip end and loomed over him when the wave of toxins hit the stainless steel ceiling. Yeah, this concert wasn’t over yet; as he said before. And Genkaku was going to keep his promise of making Nagi see what he really was. Everything until now was just a game of hide-and-seek. Now it was time for the real riot.
The monk placed the older man in a dinky shitty chair. Hardcore ropes bounded him tightly, circling each appendage of the elder’s anatomy. Fucking rope burn was a bit of a turn-on; bruises and shit, but Genkaku just half-grinned at himself at Nagi’s state. The ropes, the bruising, the gun-holes in Nagi’s limbs; fucking masterpiece, a big hit. Genkaku settled the guitar down and made his way over to Nagi in long steps until his figure towered over his prey.
"Awake yet, Owl?" He muttered with a bright tone as a few fingers brushed away a few damp dark locks.
Where: The Liebert estate play room.
When: About three days after this log.
Summary: Just some torture.
Rating: R.
Other: Nope.
The estate had a great set-up for Genkaku to play with Nagi in. the interior of the room looked like a clean slaughterhouse. Clean apart from the rust and the constant stench of chemicals with drugs, alcohol, and the lingering aroma of smoke. But what could be done about it? The monk was just chipper with Nagi between his fingers. Bastard had gotten out of the monk’s gasp too many times. No, it wasn’t that. He just wanted Nagi to come to him for a change.
Genkaku sat on an old couch and strummed his guitar idly with smooth gestures. A cigar lodged out of his mouth and the monk was totally hypnotized by the smoke that emitted from the orange-tip end and loomed over him when the wave of toxins hit the stainless steel ceiling. Yeah, this concert wasn’t over yet; as he said before. And Genkaku was going to keep his promise of making Nagi see what he really was. Everything until now was just a game of hide-and-seek. Now it was time for the real riot.
The monk placed the older man in a dinky shitty chair. Hardcore ropes bounded him tightly, circling each appendage of the elder’s anatomy. Fucking rope burn was a bit of a turn-on; bruises and shit, but Genkaku just half-grinned at himself at Nagi’s state. The ropes, the bruising, the gun-holes in Nagi’s limbs; fucking masterpiece, a big hit. Genkaku settled the guitar down and made his way over to Nagi in long steps until his figure towered over his prey.
"Awake yet, Owl?" He muttered with a bright tone as a few fingers brushed away a few damp dark locks.