FIC: Bite to Break Skin (1/1) Bandom
TITLE: Bite to Break Skin
AUTHOR: Laura Smith
RATING: NC-17
PAIRINGS: Mikey Way/William Beckett
DISCLAIMER: Mikey Way and William Beckett and any members of My Chemical Romance, The Academy Is... or other bands mentioned belong only to themselves. I don't claim them. I don't claim to know them. No harm is intended. I make no profit from this. I just like playing with them.
SUMMARY: It's been a long time since someone's broken Mikey's skin
CONTENT: Edgeplay - knives, sensory deprivation
AUTHOR'S NOTE: For the mini-kink bingo square "sensory deprivation".
It’s been a long time since Mikey’s heard from him, much less seen him. There’s a constant dull ache where he used to be, and Mikey makes it worse far too often, running his hand over the letters etched into his skin. The problem with permanent scars is that they remain while other things change. The who and why and when and where of his life isn’t what it was a couple of years ago, doubly true for William. Still, Mikey can’t help feeling the raised skin, rubbing it with his fingers and thumb like a magic lamp that might make him appear. It’s stupid and selfish, because they’ve both moved on to other things, other people, but Mikey can’t help the thick want that hits him when he least expects it, the need to surrender to the cool, wide smile and the flash of the scalpel and the pure submission that William demands.
He used to be able to ask, to beg for it, but that was when they saw each other with some regularity, when they were together, for some value of the word. Now Mikey doesn’t even know if William thinks of him at all. He doesn’t have any marks to remind him of Mikey. He doesn’t have a scar that he can touch and remember.
Alicia tosses the letter on his lap when she picks up the mail, ignoring the fact that Mikey’s fingers are on his hip, tracing the scar through his jeans. It might bother her. She says it doesn’t because it’s not something she’s interested in doing to him, cutting him open and seeing him bleed, but the thought that part of him is owned by William, that there’s square footage of Mikey’s body that she can never own might get to her. He has to take her at her word, but he tries to be mindful of her when he does it, tries to keep it to the moments when he’s alone so she knows it’s not about her, for good or bad.
There’s no return address, and his own is typed. He frowns and turns it over then opens it.
Friday. 7pm. I’d like you to be out all night. Text if A minds and I’ll adjust plans. - W
“Oh. Shit.” He drops the note and envelope on the couch and presses his fingers to his lips. It feels like they’re burning, like he made it happen with his thoughts and his touch.
“You okay, babe?” Alicia asks from her chair where she’s curled up with a home improvement magazine. Their next project is painting. The band has bets running on how many trips to Home Depot will be required.
“I…yeah. I just…I got a letter.”
“I know. I gave it to you.”
“From William.”
“Oh.” She lowers her magazine and looks at him. Her gaze is assessing, and no one knows him better than Alicia. She doesn’t have to ask if he’s all right, because she can read him better than he can read himself sometimes. “That’s sort of a surprise.”
“Yeah.”
“You’ve been thinking about him a lot lately. His new album and self-promotion and stuff.”
“Yeah.” He bites his lower lip and gathers up the note, running his fingers over William’s handwriting. “He wants to meet. On Friday. Overnight.”
“Do you want to see him?”
He nods without needing to think. “He said if you don’t want me to, it’s okay.”
“Did he really?”
“Well, um. He said that he’d be okay if it wasn’t overnight.”
Alicia laughs. “But he assumes you’ll be there.”
“Yeah. He’s sort of cocky.”
“Yes, baby. I know. You’ve told me all about his cock.” She gets off her chair and comes over, settling in Mikey’s lap. She looks over the card and sets it aside, tossing it to the table, but carefully. She knows Mikey. Knows he’ll want it, need to keep it. She traces her fingers over his jaw. “You miss him.”
Mikey nods. “Yeah.”
“Okay. Have fun. Tell him I want you back in one piece though. Bandaged up is okay, but nothing missing. He’s not allowed to take any trophies or anything. Ten fingers. Ten toes. One dick.”
“What if he wants to play Frankenstein and give me another dick?”
“Well, I get final say on any and all extra dicks.” She kisses him softly, lingering against him and breathing him in. “We could put off painting another day and go upstairs and fuck.”
“We could stay right here and fuck.”
“You, Mr. Way, are a very, very wise man.”
**
Alicia drops him off outside the hotel, giving him a quick kiss and squeezing his hand tightly. Mikey grins at her and goes, picking up his key at the desk using the name William had sent him via text along with the address. He turns off his phone in the elevator, cutting off his first link with the outside world. He unlocks the door and walks inside, reaching to turn on the light.
“Don’t.”
“It’s dark.”
“Not too dark. Your eyes will adjust.” Mikey nods and stays still until he can see the vague gray outlines of furniture. William’s voice is coming from the far side of the room, and Mikey assumes he’s sitting in one of the chair-shaped shadows. “Undress.”
This is familiar, even though it’s been so long. He takes off his clothes and folds them carefully, setting them aside. He’s been hard since he got to the hotel, heat in his groin at a low boil. He sees William stand up, his long slender figure separating from the chair. Mikey wants to go to him, sink to his knees and touch him, taste him, remember him, but William has plans. There’s no way Mikey would actually do anything that would throw them off the rails.
“On the bed. On your stomach.”
Mikey moves as instructed, eager to please. His dick fits along the curve of his thigh, the tip pressed to the lower edge of his scar. He turns his head to one side and waits, getting rewarded quickly with the weight of William’s body as he straddles him. He’s still wearing his jeans, but they’re obviously old, the denim worn to a soft cotton that rubs warm against Mikey’s thighs. He leans forward and runs his hands from Mikey’s shoulders to his ass, curving his hands halfway so his nails scratch at Mikey’s skin. Mikey moves into the pressure, coming off the bed slightly.
“That’s right,” William’s voice is a low purr. “You want it so badly, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Mikey whispers. “Please.”
“Hasn’t anyone ever told you to be careful what you wish for?” William asks softly. Mikey shivers in response, automatically closing his eyes as William’s hands slide up his back again.
“Please.”
William’s hands move off Mikey’s back, nothing touching him but the solid weight of William’s body across his upper thighs. He’s afraid, for a moment, that he’s done something wrong until he feels William’s fingers on the back of his head. “Lift your head.”
Mikey does, shivering as something cool and soft presses against his eyes. He opens them instinctively, staring at blackness. William adjusts the blindfold and secures it, tugging lightly at Mikey’s hair as he does. Mikey closes his eyes again, letting himself start to sink.
“Not yet,” William’s voice has a hint of laughter in it. “Mouth open.”
Mikey parts his lips, then opens his mouth wider to accommodate the leather strap. William tugs it tight between Mikey’s teeth, rubbing against the sides of his mouth. Mikey inhales sharply through his nose, pushing through the first threats of panic, and then his breathing relaxes as William buckles it onto him then pets his hair slowly, gently.
“All right.” William eases off of him, and Mikey makes a low sound at the loss of his weight. It isn’t more than a gurgle in the back of his throat, the strap holding his tongue down as well. William’s hand stays on Mikey as a reassurance, tugging at his shoulder lightly. “Turn over.”
Mikey turns, shifting his body back to the center of the bed. He uses William’s touch as a guide, everything uncertain through the blindfold. He hears William snap on the bedside lamp, yellow flooding the black of his blindfold. He hears metal before William grabs his wrist, so he anticipates the cuffs. William’s are soft on the inside, covering most of Mikey’s wrists and half his forearm. He can smell oiled leather, and the familiar scent tells him that they’re the same ones he’s worn in the past. His cock gives another jolt at the memory and as he moves from one arm to the other, William lets his fingers graze Mikey’s dick. It’s a complete surprise and Mikey’s hips jerk hard at the touch, pre-come spilling across the head.
William fastens the other cuff, and then cuffs Mikey’s ankles as well. Mikey’s breathing hard, his nostrils flaring with every exhale, his chest rising sharply. He feels William settle on the bed his hand light on Mikey’s stomach before it slides down and traces the letters. An M and a W, Mikey’s initials, their initials. Mikey moans thickly as William’s finger move over them, trying to thrust upward into his touch. “I’m going to give you a ball, put it in your hand. If you drop it, we stop.”
Mikey shakes his head sharply. William’s sigh is soft in the darkness, but Mikey hears it. Feels it. He doesn’t want to disappoint William, but he doesn’t want the ball. He doesn’t want a way to say stop.
“Michael.”
He shakes his head again and digs his heels into the bed, pushing up into William’s touch.
“It’s been a long time.” William sighs again and Mikey can picture the look on his face, exasperation and annoyance and pride too. “All right. One more thing then.”
Mikey’s confused by the feel and pressure until its settled on his head. Noise canceling headphones. His heart kicks up, racing hard as William pulls away. He can’t see, talk, or hear and he’s alone in the dark with William and his knife. Mikey makes a sound that he can feel reverberating in his head, but he’s not sure it goes any further. He strains to sense William’s movements, anything. He jerks at the sudden smell of antiseptic, rubbing alcohol stinging his nose. He closes his eyes, despite the blindfold, and can picture what’s happening. The way William opens the case reverently, pulling out the scalpel and letting it catch the light. The careful way his fingers make sure every surface is clean and disinfected. The way he presses the blade to the antiseptic wipe and lets it slice through the fibers to make sure its edge is sharp enough.
The smell fades and Mikey lies there, his entire body tense. His cock is leaking on his stomach, sticky lines on his skin with every breath. He wants William to touch him, wants the knife to cut him open, wants William to make him bleed.
The first cut takes him by surprise despite knowing it’s coming. It’s not a cut really - William doesn’t break the skin - but the tip of the knife trails down the inside of Mikey’s arm. The cuff keeps his nervous system from reacting, keeping his arm relatively still, though he can feel his muscle jerk in response. William moves the knife with Mikey’s body, keeping it pressed to his skin without letting it sink in. Mikey’s craving the copper-sweet smell of his own blood, but he knows he has to wait, that waiting will be even better.
William moves the knife down Mikey’s arm to his armpit, letting it scratch at the skin, slicing off a few hairs and making the room smell like Mikey’s deodorant for an instant. Mikey’s struggling to control his breathing, his chest and stomach muscles are contracting, waiting for the bite of the blade. Instead William goes across his clavicle and to his other arm. Mikey tries not to move, not to squirm, but he wants more, wants William’s hand to slip as he brings the blade down Mikey’s side to trace the bumps of his rib cage. He tugs at the cuffs, feeling the slide and slight burn of them, loving how everything seems amplified in the loss of his eyes and ears and mouth. He feels every brush of William’s fingers, every push of air when William moves, every line the knife makes on his skin. He whimpers against the gag, digging his back teeth into the leather to taste it mixed with his own saliva.
Mikey nearly chokes on it when William’s hand settles on his lower abdomen, his thumb brushing against Mikey’s dick. It’s actual pressure, resistance, and Mikey’s whole body tenses as the tip of the knife traces the line of Mikey’s rib. He can feel heat and smell blood, feel the thin trickle of it seep through the blade-thin slit. He tries to arch up, tries to urge the knife deeper, but William’s already moved, letting it pierce his skin somewhere else. Now that it’s started it doesn’t stop, and Mikey knows he has small rivulets of blood all over his stomach, tributaries of want meandering across his skin to slide down to the sheet beneath him. He can’t smell anything else, can’t smell his own arousal or William’s breath. Can’t smell anything except blood, inhaling it to match the pounding of it in his head. He wants to bleed out, all of it rushing from his head to his heart to the small cuts William’s left to decorate his body.
He’s lost in the sound and pulse of it, adrift in the flow of his own blood when pain hits him, something sharper and deeper than the slicing marks he’s had so far. The tip of the knife is sinking into scar tissue, starting at the upper point of the W and working its way down. Instinct kicks in and Mikey’s body strains against the cuffs, his mind and body fighting a war of self-preservation. William doesn’t stop, the knife keeps moving, and the room is awash in the cloying thick smell of Mikey’s blood. Sparks of pain are dancing behind Mikey’s eyes and he’s making noises against the gag, pushing at it with his tongue. The knife stops moving at the top of the W, a pause that Mikey knows is William looking him over. Mikey tries to stay still, tries to breathe, and wait, tries to will William to keep moving. There’s blood mixed in with the come pooled on his stomach, and Mikey’s cock aches, straining toward the knife, toward William’s hand.
William’s hand slides down the length of Mikey’s cock and Mikey groans, and he can feel hot tears leaking from his eyes and staining the fabric of the blindfold. William’s hands feel different, rougher now that he’s playing the guitar more, but they’re still long and delicate as they curve around Mikey’s dick and start stroking. Mikey rocks up into his grip, whining low when William stops, pressing on Mikey’s hip and letting the knife bite in again. He can feel the hum of William speaking through his touch; can imagine the words he’s memorized as William starts on the M. He can feel the blood pool where William sinks the knife in and his muscles tighten in response. He can feel the skin separate around the blade, feel William opening him up so he can see what’s inside him, so he can own all of Mikey, inside and out. He’s shaking, overloaded and overwhelmed. He doesn’t even recognize when he comes, heat splattering against him as William puts the final cut into his skin.
The world goes black around the edges first and then altogether. There’s a sharp white light and then nothing for a long time. When he starts feeling things again, it’s the gentle touch of fingers against his skin. He opens his eyes and he can see, the bedside lamp illuminating William’s sharp cheekbones and shadowing the rest of his face where his hair is falling forward. Mikey reaches out, slightly surprised that the cuffs are gone, but glad he can touch William’s hair, push the mass of his bangs back to see his face. “Hi.”
“How do you feel?”
“Shaky. Good. Alive. Um. Wow.” He starts to sit up, but William’s hand on his chest holds him down. “Oh. Right.”
“The bleeding’s stopped. You’re almost all bandaged up.” He’s spreading ointment on the initials, despite the fact that they’re a deliberate scar. Mikey almost wishes he weren’t so conscientious about taking care of him after, that the ragged edges might heal jaggedly, but he wants the perfection of William’s marks, the precise lines and sharp cuts. He puts a bandage over the initials and Mikey immediately puts his hand over it, feeling them beneath the gauze. “I took pictures.”
“Yeah?” He takes the camera William offers him and flips through the photos of his body, scarred and sliced, bloody and covered in his own come. “Send me copies?”
“I will.” William moves to the edge of the bed and carefully cleans the knife, wiping it down and tossing the blood-stained wipe. Mikey turns his head and watches him, waiting until the knife is securely back in the case before he reaches out and touches William’s thigh. William raises an eyebrow but doesn’t move, watching as Mikey’s hand strokes his thigh lightly. William’s still dressed, a rust colored spot on his thigh. Mikey touches it, feels the coolness of the drying blood.
“Please?”
“Alicia won’t mind?”
Mikey shakes his head. “She said I could stay the night.”
“That doesn’t necessarily mean the same thing.”
“It does.” He slides his hand up and undoes the button on William’s jeans with one hand, reaching to tug him down into a kiss with the other. “I clarified.”
“I see.” William kisses him, laughing softly as he pulls away. “You always were well-prepared. A regular Boy Scout.”
“Me?” Mikey works William’s jeans down his hips, trying to get to his cock, get him naked, taste him, feel him. “Me? You’re the one with the Swiss Army knife.”
AUTHOR: Laura Smith
RATING: NC-17
PAIRINGS: Mikey Way/William Beckett
DISCLAIMER: Mikey Way and William Beckett and any members of My Chemical Romance, The Academy Is... or other bands mentioned belong only to themselves. I don't claim them. I don't claim to know them. No harm is intended. I make no profit from this. I just like playing with them.
SUMMARY: It's been a long time since someone's broken Mikey's skin
CONTENT: Edgeplay - knives, sensory deprivation
AUTHOR'S NOTE: For the mini-kink bingo square "sensory deprivation".
It’s been a long time since Mikey’s heard from him, much less seen him. There’s a constant dull ache where he used to be, and Mikey makes it worse far too often, running his hand over the letters etched into his skin. The problem with permanent scars is that they remain while other things change. The who and why and when and where of his life isn’t what it was a couple of years ago, doubly true for William. Still, Mikey can’t help feeling the raised skin, rubbing it with his fingers and thumb like a magic lamp that might make him appear. It’s stupid and selfish, because they’ve both moved on to other things, other people, but Mikey can’t help the thick want that hits him when he least expects it, the need to surrender to the cool, wide smile and the flash of the scalpel and the pure submission that William demands.
He used to be able to ask, to beg for it, but that was when they saw each other with some regularity, when they were together, for some value of the word. Now Mikey doesn’t even know if William thinks of him at all. He doesn’t have any marks to remind him of Mikey. He doesn’t have a scar that he can touch and remember.
Alicia tosses the letter on his lap when she picks up the mail, ignoring the fact that Mikey’s fingers are on his hip, tracing the scar through his jeans. It might bother her. She says it doesn’t because it’s not something she’s interested in doing to him, cutting him open and seeing him bleed, but the thought that part of him is owned by William, that there’s square footage of Mikey’s body that she can never own might get to her. He has to take her at her word, but he tries to be mindful of her when he does it, tries to keep it to the moments when he’s alone so she knows it’s not about her, for good or bad.
There’s no return address, and his own is typed. He frowns and turns it over then opens it.
Friday. 7pm. I’d like you to be out all night. Text if A minds and I’ll adjust plans. - W
“Oh. Shit.” He drops the note and envelope on the couch and presses his fingers to his lips. It feels like they’re burning, like he made it happen with his thoughts and his touch.
“You okay, babe?” Alicia asks from her chair where she’s curled up with a home improvement magazine. Their next project is painting. The band has bets running on how many trips to Home Depot will be required.
“I…yeah. I just…I got a letter.”
“I know. I gave it to you.”
“From William.”
“Oh.” She lowers her magazine and looks at him. Her gaze is assessing, and no one knows him better than Alicia. She doesn’t have to ask if he’s all right, because she can read him better than he can read himself sometimes. “That’s sort of a surprise.”
“Yeah.”
“You’ve been thinking about him a lot lately. His new album and self-promotion and stuff.”
“Yeah.” He bites his lower lip and gathers up the note, running his fingers over William’s handwriting. “He wants to meet. On Friday. Overnight.”
“Do you want to see him?”
He nods without needing to think. “He said if you don’t want me to, it’s okay.”
“Did he really?”
“Well, um. He said that he’d be okay if it wasn’t overnight.”
Alicia laughs. “But he assumes you’ll be there.”
“Yeah. He’s sort of cocky.”
“Yes, baby. I know. You’ve told me all about his cock.” She gets off her chair and comes over, settling in Mikey’s lap. She looks over the card and sets it aside, tossing it to the table, but carefully. She knows Mikey. Knows he’ll want it, need to keep it. She traces her fingers over his jaw. “You miss him.”
Mikey nods. “Yeah.”
“Okay. Have fun. Tell him I want you back in one piece though. Bandaged up is okay, but nothing missing. He’s not allowed to take any trophies or anything. Ten fingers. Ten toes. One dick.”
“What if he wants to play Frankenstein and give me another dick?”
“Well, I get final say on any and all extra dicks.” She kisses him softly, lingering against him and breathing him in. “We could put off painting another day and go upstairs and fuck.”
“We could stay right here and fuck.”
“You, Mr. Way, are a very, very wise man.”
**
Alicia drops him off outside the hotel, giving him a quick kiss and squeezing his hand tightly. Mikey grins at her and goes, picking up his key at the desk using the name William had sent him via text along with the address. He turns off his phone in the elevator, cutting off his first link with the outside world. He unlocks the door and walks inside, reaching to turn on the light.
“Don’t.”
“It’s dark.”
“Not too dark. Your eyes will adjust.” Mikey nods and stays still until he can see the vague gray outlines of furniture. William’s voice is coming from the far side of the room, and Mikey assumes he’s sitting in one of the chair-shaped shadows. “Undress.”
This is familiar, even though it’s been so long. He takes off his clothes and folds them carefully, setting them aside. He’s been hard since he got to the hotel, heat in his groin at a low boil. He sees William stand up, his long slender figure separating from the chair. Mikey wants to go to him, sink to his knees and touch him, taste him, remember him, but William has plans. There’s no way Mikey would actually do anything that would throw them off the rails.
“On the bed. On your stomach.”
Mikey moves as instructed, eager to please. His dick fits along the curve of his thigh, the tip pressed to the lower edge of his scar. He turns his head to one side and waits, getting rewarded quickly with the weight of William’s body as he straddles him. He’s still wearing his jeans, but they’re obviously old, the denim worn to a soft cotton that rubs warm against Mikey’s thighs. He leans forward and runs his hands from Mikey’s shoulders to his ass, curving his hands halfway so his nails scratch at Mikey’s skin. Mikey moves into the pressure, coming off the bed slightly.
“That’s right,” William’s voice is a low purr. “You want it so badly, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Mikey whispers. “Please.”
“Hasn’t anyone ever told you to be careful what you wish for?” William asks softly. Mikey shivers in response, automatically closing his eyes as William’s hands slide up his back again.
“Please.”
William’s hands move off Mikey’s back, nothing touching him but the solid weight of William’s body across his upper thighs. He’s afraid, for a moment, that he’s done something wrong until he feels William’s fingers on the back of his head. “Lift your head.”
Mikey does, shivering as something cool and soft presses against his eyes. He opens them instinctively, staring at blackness. William adjusts the blindfold and secures it, tugging lightly at Mikey’s hair as he does. Mikey closes his eyes again, letting himself start to sink.
“Not yet,” William’s voice has a hint of laughter in it. “Mouth open.”
Mikey parts his lips, then opens his mouth wider to accommodate the leather strap. William tugs it tight between Mikey’s teeth, rubbing against the sides of his mouth. Mikey inhales sharply through his nose, pushing through the first threats of panic, and then his breathing relaxes as William buckles it onto him then pets his hair slowly, gently.
“All right.” William eases off of him, and Mikey makes a low sound at the loss of his weight. It isn’t more than a gurgle in the back of his throat, the strap holding his tongue down as well. William’s hand stays on Mikey as a reassurance, tugging at his shoulder lightly. “Turn over.”
Mikey turns, shifting his body back to the center of the bed. He uses William’s touch as a guide, everything uncertain through the blindfold. He hears William snap on the bedside lamp, yellow flooding the black of his blindfold. He hears metal before William grabs his wrist, so he anticipates the cuffs. William’s are soft on the inside, covering most of Mikey’s wrists and half his forearm. He can smell oiled leather, and the familiar scent tells him that they’re the same ones he’s worn in the past. His cock gives another jolt at the memory and as he moves from one arm to the other, William lets his fingers graze Mikey’s dick. It’s a complete surprise and Mikey’s hips jerk hard at the touch, pre-come spilling across the head.
William fastens the other cuff, and then cuffs Mikey’s ankles as well. Mikey’s breathing hard, his nostrils flaring with every exhale, his chest rising sharply. He feels William settle on the bed his hand light on Mikey’s stomach before it slides down and traces the letters. An M and a W, Mikey’s initials, their initials. Mikey moans thickly as William’s finger move over them, trying to thrust upward into his touch. “I’m going to give you a ball, put it in your hand. If you drop it, we stop.”
Mikey shakes his head sharply. William’s sigh is soft in the darkness, but Mikey hears it. Feels it. He doesn’t want to disappoint William, but he doesn’t want the ball. He doesn’t want a way to say stop.
“Michael.”
He shakes his head again and digs his heels into the bed, pushing up into William’s touch.
“It’s been a long time.” William sighs again and Mikey can picture the look on his face, exasperation and annoyance and pride too. “All right. One more thing then.”
Mikey’s confused by the feel and pressure until its settled on his head. Noise canceling headphones. His heart kicks up, racing hard as William pulls away. He can’t see, talk, or hear and he’s alone in the dark with William and his knife. Mikey makes a sound that he can feel reverberating in his head, but he’s not sure it goes any further. He strains to sense William’s movements, anything. He jerks at the sudden smell of antiseptic, rubbing alcohol stinging his nose. He closes his eyes, despite the blindfold, and can picture what’s happening. The way William opens the case reverently, pulling out the scalpel and letting it catch the light. The careful way his fingers make sure every surface is clean and disinfected. The way he presses the blade to the antiseptic wipe and lets it slice through the fibers to make sure its edge is sharp enough.
The smell fades and Mikey lies there, his entire body tense. His cock is leaking on his stomach, sticky lines on his skin with every breath. He wants William to touch him, wants the knife to cut him open, wants William to make him bleed.
The first cut takes him by surprise despite knowing it’s coming. It’s not a cut really - William doesn’t break the skin - but the tip of the knife trails down the inside of Mikey’s arm. The cuff keeps his nervous system from reacting, keeping his arm relatively still, though he can feel his muscle jerk in response. William moves the knife with Mikey’s body, keeping it pressed to his skin without letting it sink in. Mikey’s craving the copper-sweet smell of his own blood, but he knows he has to wait, that waiting will be even better.
William moves the knife down Mikey’s arm to his armpit, letting it scratch at the skin, slicing off a few hairs and making the room smell like Mikey’s deodorant for an instant. Mikey’s struggling to control his breathing, his chest and stomach muscles are contracting, waiting for the bite of the blade. Instead William goes across his clavicle and to his other arm. Mikey tries not to move, not to squirm, but he wants more, wants William’s hand to slip as he brings the blade down Mikey’s side to trace the bumps of his rib cage. He tugs at the cuffs, feeling the slide and slight burn of them, loving how everything seems amplified in the loss of his eyes and ears and mouth. He feels every brush of William’s fingers, every push of air when William moves, every line the knife makes on his skin. He whimpers against the gag, digging his back teeth into the leather to taste it mixed with his own saliva.
Mikey nearly chokes on it when William’s hand settles on his lower abdomen, his thumb brushing against Mikey’s dick. It’s actual pressure, resistance, and Mikey’s whole body tenses as the tip of the knife traces the line of Mikey’s rib. He can feel heat and smell blood, feel the thin trickle of it seep through the blade-thin slit. He tries to arch up, tries to urge the knife deeper, but William’s already moved, letting it pierce his skin somewhere else. Now that it’s started it doesn’t stop, and Mikey knows he has small rivulets of blood all over his stomach, tributaries of want meandering across his skin to slide down to the sheet beneath him. He can’t smell anything else, can’t smell his own arousal or William’s breath. Can’t smell anything except blood, inhaling it to match the pounding of it in his head. He wants to bleed out, all of it rushing from his head to his heart to the small cuts William’s left to decorate his body.
He’s lost in the sound and pulse of it, adrift in the flow of his own blood when pain hits him, something sharper and deeper than the slicing marks he’s had so far. The tip of the knife is sinking into scar tissue, starting at the upper point of the W and working its way down. Instinct kicks in and Mikey’s body strains against the cuffs, his mind and body fighting a war of self-preservation. William doesn’t stop, the knife keeps moving, and the room is awash in the cloying thick smell of Mikey’s blood. Sparks of pain are dancing behind Mikey’s eyes and he’s making noises against the gag, pushing at it with his tongue. The knife stops moving at the top of the W, a pause that Mikey knows is William looking him over. Mikey tries to stay still, tries to breathe, and wait, tries to will William to keep moving. There’s blood mixed in with the come pooled on his stomach, and Mikey’s cock aches, straining toward the knife, toward William’s hand.
William’s hand slides down the length of Mikey’s cock and Mikey groans, and he can feel hot tears leaking from his eyes and staining the fabric of the blindfold. William’s hands feel different, rougher now that he’s playing the guitar more, but they’re still long and delicate as they curve around Mikey’s dick and start stroking. Mikey rocks up into his grip, whining low when William stops, pressing on Mikey’s hip and letting the knife bite in again. He can feel the hum of William speaking through his touch; can imagine the words he’s memorized as William starts on the M. He can feel the blood pool where William sinks the knife in and his muscles tighten in response. He can feel the skin separate around the blade, feel William opening him up so he can see what’s inside him, so he can own all of Mikey, inside and out. He’s shaking, overloaded and overwhelmed. He doesn’t even recognize when he comes, heat splattering against him as William puts the final cut into his skin.
The world goes black around the edges first and then altogether. There’s a sharp white light and then nothing for a long time. When he starts feeling things again, it’s the gentle touch of fingers against his skin. He opens his eyes and he can see, the bedside lamp illuminating William’s sharp cheekbones and shadowing the rest of his face where his hair is falling forward. Mikey reaches out, slightly surprised that the cuffs are gone, but glad he can touch William’s hair, push the mass of his bangs back to see his face. “Hi.”
“How do you feel?”
“Shaky. Good. Alive. Um. Wow.” He starts to sit up, but William’s hand on his chest holds him down. “Oh. Right.”
“The bleeding’s stopped. You’re almost all bandaged up.” He’s spreading ointment on the initials, despite the fact that they’re a deliberate scar. Mikey almost wishes he weren’t so conscientious about taking care of him after, that the ragged edges might heal jaggedly, but he wants the perfection of William’s marks, the precise lines and sharp cuts. He puts a bandage over the initials and Mikey immediately puts his hand over it, feeling them beneath the gauze. “I took pictures.”
“Yeah?” He takes the camera William offers him and flips through the photos of his body, scarred and sliced, bloody and covered in his own come. “Send me copies?”
“I will.” William moves to the edge of the bed and carefully cleans the knife, wiping it down and tossing the blood-stained wipe. Mikey turns his head and watches him, waiting until the knife is securely back in the case before he reaches out and touches William’s thigh. William raises an eyebrow but doesn’t move, watching as Mikey’s hand strokes his thigh lightly. William’s still dressed, a rust colored spot on his thigh. Mikey touches it, feels the coolness of the drying blood.
“Please?”
“Alicia won’t mind?”
Mikey shakes his head. “She said I could stay the night.”
“That doesn’t necessarily mean the same thing.”
“It does.” He slides his hand up and undoes the button on William’s jeans with one hand, reaching to tug him down into a kiss with the other. “I clarified.”
“I see.” William kisses him, laughing softly as he pulls away. “You always were well-prepared. A regular Boy Scout.”
“Me?” Mikey works William’s jeans down his hips, trying to get to his cock, get him naked, taste him, feel him. “Me? You’re the one with the Swiss Army knife.”