One Piece ficcage - please note the rating and warnings!
Title: Neko-Jita (Cat Tongue)
Author: Jaelle
Series: One Piece
Rating: 18yrs and up
Warnings: Edgy, implied scenarios. (Yes, I know that's vague, but they're implied.) Some bondage and, uh, light sort-of torture (???). Look, it's not safe for work, okay?
Characters: Paulie, Lucci
Setting/Spoilers: Post Enies Lobby
Word count: 980
Disclaimer: None of them are mine, for which I am sure they are all devoutly grateful.
There have been some truly amazing CP9 fics lately, and this fic goes out to all the wonderful authors of them, particularly maldoror_gw, ravengirl76 and salmon_pink.
Paulie had once been told that cats have very sensitive tongues, particularly in regards to heat. It's why they say that people who can't stand hot food have neko-jita, cat tongue.
If it's true that heat would drive a cat away, then he'd happily set himself on fire right now. His cheeks are blazing, that's for sure, but it isn't stopping the very large cat's tongue from licking its way up his face one way and then down the other side, before moving on to delicately lap at another place. He winces at the next rough assault on his skin, uncomfortably reminded of stubble burn.
Burn is pretty accurate in this situation, he's certainly feels like he's burning up! But burn as he might this tongue isn't going anywhere, and with his hands and feet bound so securely, neither is he. He'd struggled against his bonds when he'd first awoken, but now he just writhes in them as the big cat (just a cat, just a cat) purrs loudly and trails its tongue languidly down his abdomen. He's still not sure if it's true that they're sensitive to heat, but this tongue is certainly sensitive to him.
One thing he can attest to, however, is the texture of a cat's tongue: it feels like sandpaper. Rough sandpaper. Maybe a medium grade, say 100-grit. The kind he'd use when smoothing the surface of a ship's deck, removing the smaller imperfections and marks. Sadly, while sandpaper is good for ships, it's not so good for shipwrights. Which is why Paulie can't help but flinch as the tongue (the tongue, not his tongue) locates and concentrates on a new area of his exposed skin.
There's certainly plenty for it to choose from, since his clothes seem to have vanished at some point between when he collapsed into bed last night and when he'd woken up here, wherever he was. And the big cat (you know who it is) is certainly taking full advantage of the situation. It only pauses in its careful (torturous) washing to move to a new position, silently shifting on soft paws to catch Paulie by surprise when its mouth closes quickly on a vulnerable bicep and then, once again, begins licking.
If Paulie could only see the damned creature, it wouldn't be such a shock when it chooses a new target, but he supposes that's what the blindfold is for. He's not sure why a gag was needed, but at least it muffles his cries. He just hopes he'll be released before they turn to pleas.
Cats are not known for their mercy. And they do so like to play with their food.
This one is certainly taking his time about it (the bastard) not that Paulie can tell the time, but he knows (hopes) that it can only be so long until he's missed and someone comes looking for him (please, please, someone come). All he can do in the meantime is try to hold out against the rising tide of sensation as warm breath washes across his exposed throat, whiskers tickle his ear and that fucking tongue flickers out to taste the flesh over his jugular vein before moving away to seek out a new target.
The cat is clearly dedicating its full attention to Paulie, and he shudders at the latest warm, damp wash of its tongue rasping across his bare skin. Sometimes it's quick, other times it settles in for a long session of licking in one place. These spots are always chosen for their sensitivity - his nipples, the backs of his knees, the curve of his ass. These always reduce him to whimpers as the slow, rough drag of sandpapery tongue catches against his unprotected skin and flays him raw (at least that's what it feels like). When he's released he'll find the only marks of this encounter are in these spots: red blotches of irritated flesh that sting and burn far more than such minor injuries should. A cat o'nine tails would have truly flayed him, but Paulie would have gladly welcomed it as an alternative. But this cat doesn't even use its claws on Paulie. Just its tongue.
It's a message, he knows, a lesson to be learnt. Anywhere, anytime, I can come for you. And there's nothing you or anybody else can do to stop me.
Tears run down Paulie's face despite his best efforts, soaking the blindfold and trickling down his cheeks and the cat (you know his name) takes a break from its work on his lower back to wash his face clean.
He can't even curse, all he can do is feel as that blasted tongue seeks out each and every hidden place of his body and learns its taste. The inside of his ears, the soles of his feet, the insides of his thighs, his...
...
Dressing is awful. Paulie wants to cover himself from head to toe, to protect himself from touch as much as possible, but at the same time he's so damn tender. He swears he can feel every fibre in his clothes and they rub against him and that just reminds him of everything that happened and at that point he just tries to stop thinking. He flinches away from friendly touches all day, pretending it's sunburn that's made him delicate, but the rawness in his eyes gives him away in the end - Iceburg knows him too well. They practically pour him into bed that evening, and Paulie finally falls asleep (or unconcious) knowing that this night, at least, he's too drunk to be woken up by anything.
So if that damned, sick, psychopathic fucking bastard Lucci wants to torture him again, then he's just going to have to wait for Paulie to sober up first.
He may have to wait for a long, long time.
(But cats can be very, very patient.)
End
**
Author's Notes:
Okay this one kind of crawled out of the depths of my subconcious today, which I find a little disturbing.
And a shout-out of thanks to the following resources, which were very helpful:
Sandpaper 101
http://www.woodzone.com/articles/sandpaper/index.htm
Definition of Neko-jita
http://www.japanese123.com/catlanguage.htm
A Cat's Tongue
http://pets.yahoo.com/cats/health-and-nutrition/3/a-cat-s-tongue-150-rough-tough-and-versatile
(and personal experience)
Author: Jaelle
Series: One Piece
Rating: 18yrs and up
Warnings: Edgy, implied scenarios. (Yes, I know that's vague, but they're implied.) Some bondage and, uh, light sort-of torture (???). Look, it's not safe for work, okay?
Characters: Paulie, Lucci
Setting/Spoilers: Post Enies Lobby
Word count: 980
Disclaimer: None of them are mine, for which I am sure they are all devoutly grateful.
There have been some truly amazing CP9 fics lately, and this fic goes out to all the wonderful authors of them, particularly maldoror_gw, ravengirl76 and salmon_pink.
Paulie had once been told that cats have very sensitive tongues, particularly in regards to heat. It's why they say that people who can't stand hot food have neko-jita, cat tongue.
If it's true that heat would drive a cat away, then he'd happily set himself on fire right now. His cheeks are blazing, that's for sure, but it isn't stopping the very large cat's tongue from licking its way up his face one way and then down the other side, before moving on to delicately lap at another place. He winces at the next rough assault on his skin, uncomfortably reminded of stubble burn.
Burn is pretty accurate in this situation, he's certainly feels like he's burning up! But burn as he might this tongue isn't going anywhere, and with his hands and feet bound so securely, neither is he. He'd struggled against his bonds when he'd first awoken, but now he just writhes in them as the big cat (just a cat, just a cat) purrs loudly and trails its tongue languidly down his abdomen. He's still not sure if it's true that they're sensitive to heat, but this tongue is certainly sensitive to him.
One thing he can attest to, however, is the texture of a cat's tongue: it feels like sandpaper. Rough sandpaper. Maybe a medium grade, say 100-grit. The kind he'd use when smoothing the surface of a ship's deck, removing the smaller imperfections and marks. Sadly, while sandpaper is good for ships, it's not so good for shipwrights. Which is why Paulie can't help but flinch as the tongue (the tongue, not his tongue) locates and concentrates on a new area of his exposed skin.
There's certainly plenty for it to choose from, since his clothes seem to have vanished at some point between when he collapsed into bed last night and when he'd woken up here, wherever he was. And the big cat (you know who it is) is certainly taking full advantage of the situation. It only pauses in its careful (torturous) washing to move to a new position, silently shifting on soft paws to catch Paulie by surprise when its mouth closes quickly on a vulnerable bicep and then, once again, begins licking.
If Paulie could only see the damned creature, it wouldn't be such a shock when it chooses a new target, but he supposes that's what the blindfold is for. He's not sure why a gag was needed, but at least it muffles his cries. He just hopes he'll be released before they turn to pleas.
Cats are not known for their mercy. And they do so like to play with their food.
This one is certainly taking his time about it (the bastard) not that Paulie can tell the time, but he knows (hopes) that it can only be so long until he's missed and someone comes looking for him (please, please, someone come). All he can do in the meantime is try to hold out against the rising tide of sensation as warm breath washes across his exposed throat, whiskers tickle his ear and that fucking tongue flickers out to taste the flesh over his jugular vein before moving away to seek out a new target.
The cat is clearly dedicating its full attention to Paulie, and he shudders at the latest warm, damp wash of its tongue rasping across his bare skin. Sometimes it's quick, other times it settles in for a long session of licking in one place. These spots are always chosen for their sensitivity - his nipples, the backs of his knees, the curve of his ass. These always reduce him to whimpers as the slow, rough drag of sandpapery tongue catches against his unprotected skin and flays him raw (at least that's what it feels like). When he's released he'll find the only marks of this encounter are in these spots: red blotches of irritated flesh that sting and burn far more than such minor injuries should. A cat o'nine tails would have truly flayed him, but Paulie would have gladly welcomed it as an alternative. But this cat doesn't even use its claws on Paulie. Just its tongue.
It's a message, he knows, a lesson to be learnt. Anywhere, anytime, I can come for you. And there's nothing you or anybody else can do to stop me.
Tears run down Paulie's face despite his best efforts, soaking the blindfold and trickling down his cheeks and the cat (you know his name) takes a break from its work on his lower back to wash his face clean.
He can't even curse, all he can do is feel as that blasted tongue seeks out each and every hidden place of his body and learns its taste. The inside of his ears, the soles of his feet, the insides of his thighs, his...
...
Dressing is awful. Paulie wants to cover himself from head to toe, to protect himself from touch as much as possible, but at the same time he's so damn tender. He swears he can feel every fibre in his clothes and they rub against him and that just reminds him of everything that happened and at that point he just tries to stop thinking. He flinches away from friendly touches all day, pretending it's sunburn that's made him delicate, but the rawness in his eyes gives him away in the end - Iceburg knows him too well. They practically pour him into bed that evening, and Paulie finally falls asleep (or unconcious) knowing that this night, at least, he's too drunk to be woken up by anything.
So if that damned, sick, psychopathic fucking bastard Lucci wants to torture him again, then he's just going to have to wait for Paulie to sober up first.
He may have to wait for a long, long time.
(But cats can be very, very patient.)
End
**
Author's Notes:
Okay this one kind of crawled out of the depths of my subconcious today, which I find a little disturbing.
And a shout-out of thanks to the following resources, which were very helpful:
Sandpaper 101
http://www.woodzone.com/articles/sandpaper/index.htm
Definition of Neko-jita
http://www.japanese123.com/catlanguage.htm
A Cat's Tongue
http://pets.yahoo.com/cats/health-and-nutrition/3/a-cat-s-tongue-150-rough-tough-and-versatile
(and personal experience)