Trapped
Title: Trapped
Pairing: Chris Parker(my OC)/Captain Hairdresser (aka Wilder)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 465
WARNING: dub-con bordering on non-con I suppose
Summary: One of those nights. Follows Denial, part of the No Love, No Glory story arc.
Trapped
The first feather light almost-touches promise gentleness.
A teasing finger is hovering over purple bruises lovingly, like an artist’s eager brush over the trembling canvas and it makes you shiver with guilty need. The rawness in cold eyes urges you to scream, run, hide but the hot breath on the naked skin of your neck holds you in place firmer than the tightest collar could and you’re painfully hard before he even lays a finger on you. All you can see in the darkness of the small storage room is his hungry look gliding over your exposed bruised chest, admiring his own handiwork, and you want him to touch the marks he had made even as your skin burns with shame.
You know what he’s doing, it’s the same every time, he’s waiting for you to beg him to break you. He knows you’re too weak to resist and you know it too, don’t you?
But it’s not before he breathes the lightest of kisses just below your jaw that your resistance crumbles and with a tortured growl you push your trousers around your shaking ankles and turn away from him, legs apart, shaking hand covering your burning face as you lean against the wall for support, knowing what comes next.
It still takes you by surprise when he pushes his thick cock all the way inside you, forcing a painful cry from your tight throat that not even your palm against your mouth can quite stifle. You stumble into a blur of darkness and pain as the world outside flickers out of existence, leaving you alone with his brutal force. There’s nothing left but calloused hands firmly locked around bruised arms, hips, a shamefully hardness.
Nothing matters just your face pressed against the wall, the trembling in your knees, the sweat on your forehead, the torturous birth of new bruises on barely healed ones, the laboured breathing in your neck, the heated throbbing inside your body, that hated voice moaning your name, covering it with filth, the silent, voiceless cry in your throat as you’re pushed into surprised release, dragging him down with you into blissful shame…
Nothing matters.
Just the way he clings to you in those short moments before reality sets in again. And that brush of lips against the nape of your neck, so insufferably light that you never quite know if you imagined it.
No words are spoken as he abandons your broken body, leaving you to sort out the bloody mess he made of you. He doesn’t even bother with threats. He knows there’s no need. You won’t say a word, will you? Like the good little slut you are, you will always keep your mouth shut, won’t you?
And he’s gone before you could convince yourself he’s wrong.
Pairing: Chris Parker(my OC)/Captain Hairdresser (aka Wilder)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 465
WARNING: dub-con bordering on non-con I suppose
Summary: One of those nights. Follows Denial, part of the No Love, No Glory story arc.
Trapped
The first feather light almost-touches promise gentleness.
A teasing finger is hovering over purple bruises lovingly, like an artist’s eager brush over the trembling canvas and it makes you shiver with guilty need. The rawness in cold eyes urges you to scream, run, hide but the hot breath on the naked skin of your neck holds you in place firmer than the tightest collar could and you’re painfully hard before he even lays a finger on you. All you can see in the darkness of the small storage room is his hungry look gliding over your exposed bruised chest, admiring his own handiwork, and you want him to touch the marks he had made even as your skin burns with shame.
You know what he’s doing, it’s the same every time, he’s waiting for you to beg him to break you. He knows you’re too weak to resist and you know it too, don’t you?
But it’s not before he breathes the lightest of kisses just below your jaw that your resistance crumbles and with a tortured growl you push your trousers around your shaking ankles and turn away from him, legs apart, shaking hand covering your burning face as you lean against the wall for support, knowing what comes next.
It still takes you by surprise when he pushes his thick cock all the way inside you, forcing a painful cry from your tight throat that not even your palm against your mouth can quite stifle. You stumble into a blur of darkness and pain as the world outside flickers out of existence, leaving you alone with his brutal force. There’s nothing left but calloused hands firmly locked around bruised arms, hips, a shamefully hardness.
Nothing matters just your face pressed against the wall, the trembling in your knees, the sweat on your forehead, the torturous birth of new bruises on barely healed ones, the laboured breathing in your neck, the heated throbbing inside your body, that hated voice moaning your name, covering it with filth, the silent, voiceless cry in your throat as you’re pushed into surprised release, dragging him down with you into blissful shame…
Nothing matters.
Just the way he clings to you in those short moments before reality sets in again. And that brush of lips against the nape of your neck, so insufferably light that you never quite know if you imagined it.
No words are spoken as he abandons your broken body, leaving you to sort out the bloody mess he made of you. He doesn’t even bother with threats. He knows there’s no need. You won’t say a word, will you? Like the good little slut you are, you will always keep your mouth shut, won’t you?
And he’s gone before you could convince yourself he’s wrong.