The Man of Feeling [FanFic]
Title: The Man of Feeling
Author: Tooks
Pairing: Mercer/Lil Foyet
Rating: FRT
Prompt: Hands
Summary: Cutler added aggression and anger and lust behind his touch to give it force…Mercer didn’t have to.
Notes: This piece is based on the lover100 prompt of "Hands". Little bit of violence, little bit of sexuality, some a bit mixed, but nothing hardcore. Picks up after The Lady in Red, but I think you can get the basics of this on its own...I hope so anyway, haha! Title is from a book written in the 1700s.
Lil brought the gifted knife into the suite-house, down the halls, and into her private bedroom. By the time she closed the door she was bleeding, black blade dug deep into palm. She switched hands, held it by the grip, and let her blood drip out over the wood floor. No one ever noted the dark stains of her private quarters because this room had never been for anyone but her. No clients, no lovers, no servants either. This room was a sanctuary just for her.
The woman wondered if the weapon had been Mercer’s once. She imagined it was. Lil imagined he took it from an African native during his service to Beckett in Calabar; a native the man had murdered with his own blade before Mercer took it for himself. The thought made a moan of her next breath.
Knife carefully set on the dresser the courtesan examined herself in the mirror. She tried to recall a time when her flesh was not in a state of healing. She could not. She was sure the fact should bother her, but it did not.
A knock came. “Miss…Miss, Master Mercer is here for you.” The voice was fragile, still weak from the vomiting the girl had done in the yard.
The storm in Lil’s eyes trailed from her reflection to the door. “Then show him in.”
“In…In your room, Miss?”
“Yes.”
Another moment and Mercer, The Man in Black, stepped into Lil’s sanctuary. He was silent as ever while his eyes examined his master’s prettiest pet. He swept over bruised shoulders, across bitten breasts, down scratched arms, but stopped at a sliced open hand. New and not from Beckett, Mercer’s gaze snapped back to the creature’s. “Your hand is injured, Miss Lil.”
Lil had nearly forgotten as blood dripped from fingers to floor, but the man’s reminder caused her lips to curl a smile while the hand curled a burning fist. She stepped slowly to the man. “Tell me about the blade,” she requested soft and low as her bloody palm opened to touch a pockmarked cheek.
Mercer caught the thin wrist an inch before his face. “I will tell you if you sit and allow me to sew the hand.” He loosened the hold on the girl as she took steps back towards her bed and let go once she was seated. “Kit?”
“Top left drawer.”
The man turned to the dresser and opened the drawer. Along with a sewing kit he found a few bloodstained blades, odds and ends presumably gifted to her by lovers, and a number of “B” emblazoned sacks made of animal hide. The sacks of money Beckett paid her were tucked away, untouched. Such a strange thing Lil was, so many secrets…Mercer doubted anyone would ever discover them all.
“Did you find it?” Lil called him back from his thoughts with an edge. She suspected he was snooping.
Mercer said nothing as he took the kit and chair stationed at the dresser before closing the drawer. He set the chair beside the bed and sat. “Give me your hand.”
“Sit with me.”
“No.” There was a wicked flash in Lil’s eyes at being refused, at not getting her way. In this way Lil was like the lord; she expected to have her way, always. Mercer smiled politely. “Hand first.”
The storm relaxed and the lioness gave her paw. She let black gloves turn it over and spread the fingers flat, watched carefully as a leathered hand moved to undo Mercer’s cravat and pull it off. He began to wipe the red hand pink.
Lil watched as the white cloth soaked up her blood. Her eyes roved up to the man’s face, fell into black-orb eyes. “Tell me about the blade.”
“It is African onyx, I’ve had it in my possession for many years.” More than Lil had lived, Mercer imagined.
“Did he die by it?”
“The Frenchman?”
Lil gave a nod.
“He did.” Pre-threaded needle was sterilized over a lit bedside candle before it paused over Miss Lil’s palm. “Ready?”
“Always,” she replied simply.
The needle slipped in deftly, back out, and then it turned to head back the way it came. The man sewed with skill and ease even with gloved hands.
“Have you killed others with the blade?”
“Murder interests you,” Mercer noted with the shadow of a smile as he tugged the stitching tight, pulling bits of flesh together. He wasn’t concerned about hurting her; even if he did she would enjoy it.
Lil’s fingers twitched with the stings of pain. “You interest me.” She ticked her head sideways as if to size up prey, but then gazed down to watch the man sew her back together. “Your hands interest me.”
“My hands?”
“Are always covered. Why?”
Mercer’s smile finally made itself known, though he stayed focused on his current task. “It’s easier to hide blood on ones' gloves than hands.”
“That’s not it,” she smiled at him. “I want to feel your hands.”
The man went stone-faced as he finished tying off the black thread in her hand and wrapped the wound with his now cherry-red cravat. He stayed mute as he put the pieces of the kit back in place and then returned it to the dresser drawer.
“Sit with me.” It was not the demand it was earlier. It was not a request either. It was something else entirely.
Mercer set the chair back to its original spot before he went to stand over the mortal nymph. She was so small, fragile, on an over-sized canopy bed covered in rich fabrics and an animal fur throw. He could snap her in half without an increase in breath yet the look in her eyes said she was the stronger one.
“Sit.”
“I did not do what I did to acquire a night with you.” He knew that much and he wanted it known by her. Why he did it was a mystery, even to him, but it was not to gain the favor of a free fuck.
“I do not wish for your touch because of what you did.”
The man nodded some. He imagined there was some reason the courtesan desired him, but knew he would not get it out of her unless she gave it. “Lay back.”
“Why?”
“Do it.”
The cupid’s bow of the girl’s lips curled as Lucifer’s would the moment he thought of a new temptation for Man. She moved slow, lazily, keeping dusky eyes locked to Mercer’s midnight ones. Hands on the bed, slipping through thick, dark, fur, until her torso stretched as the small of her back arched playfully before it followed suit. Lil’s head settled down last, turned at an angle to watch the man at the side of her bed.
Mercer sat beside the wild beauty’s unfolded form and began to tug at one of his gloves. “Close your eyes.”
Lil turned her head to look up at the canopy before she let her eyes slip close. “If you leave I’ll destroy you.”
There was no reply but the gentle shifting of her chemise by a bare hand that was then set to her stomach. His fingers were long and smooth, far smoother than she’d ever expected. They were almost delicate, like Lord Beckett’s, but there was a natural strength behind the touch. Cutler added aggression and anger and lust behind his touch to give it force…Mercer didn’t have to.
A deep breath in, air filled her lungs, raised the bowl of her stomach and pushed against his palm as she held it. His fingers curled a touch as if shrinking back, but she could feel what he was hiding. She felt the crude hollows and ridges of scarred tissue.
“A burn?” Lil guessed, her gashed hand moving to flatten his back down.
“Gunshot wound, through and through,” Mercer corrected. His left hand never worked as well as his right. It was weaker and would seize up terribly at times so that he needed to pop the joints to get it to work again.
“Can you feel in it?”
“The hand?”
“Yeah.” Lil moved the bloodied fingers of her hand over the mutilated skin at the closed exit wound. “Can you feel that?”
“Some.”
She took hold of the man’s hand and began to pull it up her body. Their hands pushed the gauzy fabric of her chemise past bands of blues and purples from being bent over the lord’s furniture, along the crests of ribs, and atop her fast beating heart under a mound of breast. “Can you feel that?” Lil’s voice was temptingly soft.
“Aye Miss.”
The move was as quick and vicious as any of Lil's direct actions. Eyes wide-open the woman dug her free nails into the back of the man's neck and pulled him down into the kiss. The aggression lasted only a minute, a minute before Mercer gave in, a minute until she let herself melt under his hands.
"The night walked down the sky with the moon in her hand.” ~ Frederic Lawrence Knowles
Author: Tooks
Pairing: Mercer/Lil Foyet
Rating: FRT
Prompt: Hands
Summary: Cutler added aggression and anger and lust behind his touch to give it force…Mercer didn’t have to.
Notes: This piece is based on the lover100 prompt of "Hands". Little bit of violence, little bit of sexuality, some a bit mixed, but nothing hardcore. Picks up after The Lady in Red, but I think you can get the basics of this on its own...I hope so anyway, haha! Title is from a book written in the 1700s.
Lil brought the gifted knife into the suite-house, down the halls, and into her private bedroom. By the time she closed the door she was bleeding, black blade dug deep into palm. She switched hands, held it by the grip, and let her blood drip out over the wood floor. No one ever noted the dark stains of her private quarters because this room had never been for anyone but her. No clients, no lovers, no servants either. This room was a sanctuary just for her.
The woman wondered if the weapon had been Mercer’s once. She imagined it was. Lil imagined he took it from an African native during his service to Beckett in Calabar; a native the man had murdered with his own blade before Mercer took it for himself. The thought made a moan of her next breath.
Knife carefully set on the dresser the courtesan examined herself in the mirror. She tried to recall a time when her flesh was not in a state of healing. She could not. She was sure the fact should bother her, but it did not.
A knock came. “Miss…Miss, Master Mercer is here for you.” The voice was fragile, still weak from the vomiting the girl had done in the yard.
The storm in Lil’s eyes trailed from her reflection to the door. “Then show him in.”
“In…In your room, Miss?”
“Yes.”
Another moment and Mercer, The Man in Black, stepped into Lil’s sanctuary. He was silent as ever while his eyes examined his master’s prettiest pet. He swept over bruised shoulders, across bitten breasts, down scratched arms, but stopped at a sliced open hand. New and not from Beckett, Mercer’s gaze snapped back to the creature’s. “Your hand is injured, Miss Lil.”
Lil had nearly forgotten as blood dripped from fingers to floor, but the man’s reminder caused her lips to curl a smile while the hand curled a burning fist. She stepped slowly to the man. “Tell me about the blade,” she requested soft and low as her bloody palm opened to touch a pockmarked cheek.
Mercer caught the thin wrist an inch before his face. “I will tell you if you sit and allow me to sew the hand.” He loosened the hold on the girl as she took steps back towards her bed and let go once she was seated. “Kit?”
“Top left drawer.”
The man turned to the dresser and opened the drawer. Along with a sewing kit he found a few bloodstained blades, odds and ends presumably gifted to her by lovers, and a number of “B” emblazoned sacks made of animal hide. The sacks of money Beckett paid her were tucked away, untouched. Such a strange thing Lil was, so many secrets…Mercer doubted anyone would ever discover them all.
“Did you find it?” Lil called him back from his thoughts with an edge. She suspected he was snooping.
Mercer said nothing as he took the kit and chair stationed at the dresser before closing the drawer. He set the chair beside the bed and sat. “Give me your hand.”
“Sit with me.”
“No.” There was a wicked flash in Lil’s eyes at being refused, at not getting her way. In this way Lil was like the lord; she expected to have her way, always. Mercer smiled politely. “Hand first.”
The storm relaxed and the lioness gave her paw. She let black gloves turn it over and spread the fingers flat, watched carefully as a leathered hand moved to undo Mercer’s cravat and pull it off. He began to wipe the red hand pink.
Lil watched as the white cloth soaked up her blood. Her eyes roved up to the man’s face, fell into black-orb eyes. “Tell me about the blade.”
“It is African onyx, I’ve had it in my possession for many years.” More than Lil had lived, Mercer imagined.
“Did he die by it?”
“The Frenchman?”
Lil gave a nod.
“He did.” Pre-threaded needle was sterilized over a lit bedside candle before it paused over Miss Lil’s palm. “Ready?”
“Always,” she replied simply.
The needle slipped in deftly, back out, and then it turned to head back the way it came. The man sewed with skill and ease even with gloved hands.
“Have you killed others with the blade?”
“Murder interests you,” Mercer noted with the shadow of a smile as he tugged the stitching tight, pulling bits of flesh together. He wasn’t concerned about hurting her; even if he did she would enjoy it.
Lil’s fingers twitched with the stings of pain. “You interest me.” She ticked her head sideways as if to size up prey, but then gazed down to watch the man sew her back together. “Your hands interest me.”
“My hands?”
“Are always covered. Why?”
Mercer’s smile finally made itself known, though he stayed focused on his current task. “It’s easier to hide blood on ones' gloves than hands.”
“That’s not it,” she smiled at him. “I want to feel your hands.”
The man went stone-faced as he finished tying off the black thread in her hand and wrapped the wound with his now cherry-red cravat. He stayed mute as he put the pieces of the kit back in place and then returned it to the dresser drawer.
“Sit with me.” It was not the demand it was earlier. It was not a request either. It was something else entirely.
Mercer set the chair back to its original spot before he went to stand over the mortal nymph. She was so small, fragile, on an over-sized canopy bed covered in rich fabrics and an animal fur throw. He could snap her in half without an increase in breath yet the look in her eyes said she was the stronger one.
“Sit.”
“I did not do what I did to acquire a night with you.” He knew that much and he wanted it known by her. Why he did it was a mystery, even to him, but it was not to gain the favor of a free fuck.
“I do not wish for your touch because of what you did.”
The man nodded some. He imagined there was some reason the courtesan desired him, but knew he would not get it out of her unless she gave it. “Lay back.”
“Why?”
“Do it.”
The cupid’s bow of the girl’s lips curled as Lucifer’s would the moment he thought of a new temptation for Man. She moved slow, lazily, keeping dusky eyes locked to Mercer’s midnight ones. Hands on the bed, slipping through thick, dark, fur, until her torso stretched as the small of her back arched playfully before it followed suit. Lil’s head settled down last, turned at an angle to watch the man at the side of her bed.
Mercer sat beside the wild beauty’s unfolded form and began to tug at one of his gloves. “Close your eyes.”
Lil turned her head to look up at the canopy before she let her eyes slip close. “If you leave I’ll destroy you.”
There was no reply but the gentle shifting of her chemise by a bare hand that was then set to her stomach. His fingers were long and smooth, far smoother than she’d ever expected. They were almost delicate, like Lord Beckett’s, but there was a natural strength behind the touch. Cutler added aggression and anger and lust behind his touch to give it force…Mercer didn’t have to.
A deep breath in, air filled her lungs, raised the bowl of her stomach and pushed against his palm as she held it. His fingers curled a touch as if shrinking back, but she could feel what he was hiding. She felt the crude hollows and ridges of scarred tissue.
“A burn?” Lil guessed, her gashed hand moving to flatten his back down.
“Gunshot wound, through and through,” Mercer corrected. His left hand never worked as well as his right. It was weaker and would seize up terribly at times so that he needed to pop the joints to get it to work again.
“Can you feel in it?”
“The hand?”
“Yeah.” Lil moved the bloodied fingers of her hand over the mutilated skin at the closed exit wound. “Can you feel that?”
“Some.”
She took hold of the man’s hand and began to pull it up her body. Their hands pushed the gauzy fabric of her chemise past bands of blues and purples from being bent over the lord’s furniture, along the crests of ribs, and atop her fast beating heart under a mound of breast. “Can you feel that?” Lil’s voice was temptingly soft.
“Aye Miss.”
The move was as quick and vicious as any of Lil's direct actions. Eyes wide-open the woman dug her free nails into the back of the man's neck and pulled him down into the kiss. The aggression lasted only a minute, a minute before Mercer gave in, a minute until she let herself melt under his hands.
"The night walked down the sky with the moon in her hand.” ~ Frederic Lawrence Knowles