[Fic][Round 17] The Game, M
Author/Artist:
crystalwrenn
Characters/Pairings: Günter x Anissina
Word Count: 486
Rating: M for mature
Warning: Kinkiness, cross dressing, sex and minor BDSM within but nothing graphic
Theme/Prompt being used: The Ultimate KKM Challenge
Notes: I’m in the process of making a sudden move to a small town four hours away for my new job. I don’t know how far I’ll get with this series, but I’ll give it my best shot. Günter is my main character in this series (of course) and be warned; most of the pieces will contain sex and my constant struggle with characterisation.
She likes him to pose in his underwear. She also likes it when he poses in her underwear. Attempts to fit him into her dresses have never succeeded because he is far too broad across the shoulders, not that it stops her from trying. Try anything twice, she always says, once to see if it works and once to be certain.
Sketching she calls it and her draftsmanship is reasonable enough so that it isn’t entirely a lie. Rouge bloodying his mouth, flowers in his hair, he drapes himself where she tells him to and arranges his limbs the way she wants him to. He suspects that she dyed her bed sheets charcoal grey purely because she likes the way his hair contrasts against it, silver against all that darkness, but of course she vehemently denies it. She also tells him that the delicate little chains and soft leather straps that she uses to tie him up are purely for compositional purposes only. He doesn’t believe that either.
It’s a game, of course, a game between two powerful people, each one as crazy as the other. She pretends that she’s in control and he pretends that he’s in her power. He could flatten her precious laboratory with a flick of his hand but there’s something deeply thrilling about this brilliant, erratic woman strapping him down and torturing him that strokes an intensely masochistic streak that he didn’t realise that he had. So he screams and thrashes, puts on a performance because he knows that if he stirs her enough she’ll ask him to come to her room that night.
It’s a fascinating exercise, what happens when he poses for her. While she’s watching him he’s watching her and the struggle within her, the battle between her will and her desire could surely raise mountains and flatten them again. He never gets tired of it, of wondering who the winner will be. Most of the time it’s her will, the source of her immense and brilliant strength and then she puts down her sketchbook, hands him back his clothes smeared with charcoal from her fingertips.
And sometimes, just sometimes, it is desire that comes out best and she throws aside her sketchbook and pretence and her garments along with them. She pushes him down. That delicious strength of hers and her nails carve bloody tracks in his shoulders as she rides him with a complete and utter lack of grace. And yes, she is a screamer.
A victory of sorts, he supposes, but that’s not really the point. The point is that she fulfils his masochism and he gives her both the opportunity to exercise her power and the opportunity to throw it away. He won’t deny that she terrifies him as much as she fascinates him. She won’t admit that sometimes, her machines are designed to fail. It’s a strange relationship, but it satisfies them both.
crystalwrenn
Characters/Pairings: Günter x Anissina
Word Count: 486
Rating: M for mature
Warning: Kinkiness, cross dressing, sex and minor BDSM within but nothing graphic
Theme/Prompt being used: The Ultimate KKM Challenge
Notes: I’m in the process of making a sudden move to a small town four hours away for my new job. I don’t know how far I’ll get with this series, but I’ll give it my best shot. Günter is my main character in this series (of course) and be warned; most of the pieces will contain sex and my constant struggle with characterisation.
She likes him to pose in his underwear. She also likes it when he poses in her underwear. Attempts to fit him into her dresses have never succeeded because he is far too broad across the shoulders, not that it stops her from trying. Try anything twice, she always says, once to see if it works and once to be certain.
Sketching she calls it and her draftsmanship is reasonable enough so that it isn’t entirely a lie. Rouge bloodying his mouth, flowers in his hair, he drapes himself where she tells him to and arranges his limbs the way she wants him to. He suspects that she dyed her bed sheets charcoal grey purely because she likes the way his hair contrasts against it, silver against all that darkness, but of course she vehemently denies it. She also tells him that the delicate little chains and soft leather straps that she uses to tie him up are purely for compositional purposes only. He doesn’t believe that either.
It’s a game, of course, a game between two powerful people, each one as crazy as the other. She pretends that she’s in control and he pretends that he’s in her power. He could flatten her precious laboratory with a flick of his hand but there’s something deeply thrilling about this brilliant, erratic woman strapping him down and torturing him that strokes an intensely masochistic streak that he didn’t realise that he had. So he screams and thrashes, puts on a performance because he knows that if he stirs her enough she’ll ask him to come to her room that night.
It’s a fascinating exercise, what happens when he poses for her. While she’s watching him he’s watching her and the struggle within her, the battle between her will and her desire could surely raise mountains and flatten them again. He never gets tired of it, of wondering who the winner will be. Most of the time it’s her will, the source of her immense and brilliant strength and then she puts down her sketchbook, hands him back his clothes smeared with charcoal from her fingertips.
And sometimes, just sometimes, it is desire that comes out best and she throws aside her sketchbook and pretence and her garments along with them. She pushes him down. That delicious strength of hers and her nails carve bloody tracks in his shoulders as she rides him with a complete and utter lack of grace. And yes, she is a screamer.
A victory of sorts, he supposes, but that’s not really the point. The point is that she fulfils his masochism and he gives her both the opportunity to exercise her power and the opportunity to throw it away. He won’t deny that she terrifies him as much as she fascinates him. She won’t admit that sometimes, her machines are designed to fail. It’s a strange relationship, but it satisfies them both.