[FIC] The Red Look - NC-17 - 1847
Title: The Red Look
Author: koushi
Pairing: Cobb/Nash
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 1847
Disclaimer: I do not own Inception or any of its characters.
Prompt: Written for this prompt on inception_kink . Sequel found here: The Blue Look
Warnings: Violence, intoxication, physical and emotional abuse, torture, non-con.
It wasn’t until Nash was pulled into the apartment, the door locked behind him, that he noticed the stench of alcohol on Dom’s breath.
“Motherfucker,” Nash said. “You’ve been drinking again…”
“Brilliant deduction,” Dom retorted with an unnerving calmness as he shoved him against the patterned wallpaper with an utter lack of care.
“You said you’d stop, dammit.”
Nash felt, quite rightly so, that he was being cornered, and tried to push Dom back. But it was useless, serving only to fan the flames. Dom ran the back of his fingers down the side of Nash’s face, tracing the outline of his jaw gently and whispering in his ear, his hot breath tickling the tiny hairs on his face, “You know very well I don’t keep my promises to assholes…”
Nash gulped and tried to ponder a way out, but Dom’s lips were on him, pressed flush hard against his neck, biting and sucking at the thin skin there. He gradually moved his way up to Nash’s mouth, the three-day stubble scratching him like sandpaper, the taste of whiskey engulfing his tastebuds as Dom’s tongue penetrated his defiantly pursed lips.
Meanwhile Dom’s rough hands explored the rest of him about as tenderly as one would inspect a piece of produce for prospective sale, tugging at his clothing. As he popped a few buttons tearing apart Nash’s button-down shirt, Dom encroached yet closer, as if he intended to crush him against the wall until he was just a bruised hunk of jerky.
He was just thinking that it wasn’t so bad when he was released entirely, opening his eyes back up to see a hand raised before him and a lightning-hot flash of pain assault his senses. Nash fell to the carpeted floor from the force of the backhand.
“You’re a pathetic piece of shit, you know that?” Dom’s voice rang out over the wave of pain. Nash brushed a few droplets of blood away from the corner of his mouth and remained silent. He didn’t dare lift his eyes to stare back into Dom’s crazed, unfocused eyes. He knew how his temper was, flaring up violently as soon as the alcohol disrobed him of his self-control.
“Why the fuck did you come back? Why do you make me hurt you, huh?” Dom’s voice cracked as he spoke those words with such unhinged intensity. He reeled back and kicked Nash hard in the stomach, loafer versus abdomen, sending him into a coughing gasping fit as he lay prone to protect his organs. “It’s your fault, all your fault. You see, I don’t want to do this… I’m a good person really.” He gave a helpless yet derisive laugh.
Nash wished he could shrink into himself and disappear as he lay hugging himself, vulnerable and sputtering, face pressed into the carpet. “Lies, pure lies…” he whispered into the polyester tufts, thinking Dom wouldn’t hear his muffled comment.
“What did you say?” Dom reached down and rolled Nash over, stepping his shoe on his throat. Nash’s eyes bulged and face reddened, hands clutching desperately at his leg to try to remove it. “Tell me now. The fuck are you doing, saying things about me when I’m so good to you?”
He could hardly breathe, hardly think, let alone emit anything intelligible. But he made a fair attempt, consisting of gurgling and shrill nasal noises like those of a dying animal, which he wasn’t far from being himself.
Dom removed his foot and stepped away into the next room. Nash felt sick, nauseous from the contortions of his diaphragm as he hiccupped for sweet, sweet oxygen. But this didn’t cage his instinct for survival as he scrambled to his feet dizzily and headed for the front door.
The predator, however, was not so easily foiled. Something slammed into the back of him hard, smashing Nash’s face into the wooden door. He could feel his lip splitting neatly in half, his nose no longer in any shape to be used as anything but an orthopedic surgeon’s worst nightmare. He cried out as he fell to his knees once again, a mixture of blood and saliva dribbling from his nostrils and loosened lips.
Dom had come at him at a running start, and he was still standing, leering above Nash, although this time holding a new toy. “Fuck you for trying to leave, you spineless bastard,” Dom spit as he pulled Nash’s face up and back with his free hand so that his captive’s world was turned upside down. Blood and mucus pooled in Nash’s nasal passage only to trickle down his weary throat. “Ever heard of taking some goddamn responsibility for your actions?”
Nash blinked through his disorientation and dilated pupils to concentrate on the object in Dom’s hand. It was a dark brown color, which transformed into a cool amber in the light streaming in from the windows behind them. Jagged edges culminating in a graceful bottleneck, by which Dom was fisting the item. Broken liquor bottle, Nash thought, laughing inwardly in a bout of temporary insanity, classy.
The stinging at his scalp dissipated. But Dom was already busy pulling at the back of his shirt, the rest of the buttons giving way as the stiff fabric slid off from his arms, revealing his slender back. “You always said you wanted a tattoo, correct? That you weren’t afraid of permanence? But you were too big of a pussy to ever step over to the parlor.” Nash thought he’d resigned himself to whatever fate was relegated to him, but nonetheless he felt his heart pounding at his ribcage in suspense. The wait is the worst part, the worst of all.
He heard Dom squat down behind him, and a cold sensation brushed lightly over his skin. The side of the bottle massaged gingerly along his shoulder blades like a paintbrush, teasing out his most bitter memories to try to guess at the particular brand of pain awaiting him this time.
Slow and agonizing seemed to characterize the preparation for Dom’s ritual. Next to caress Nash’s skin was something warm and wet: the drunkard’s tongue. It flicked against his skin tersely as it traced out what seemed to be a word, although the tingling disappeared from him as soon as the touch lifted away, leaving only a sticky mess on his back. Not so with the glass, he mused with a grimace, that feeling will never be forgotten, will it?
Dom’s left hand closed in over Nash’s mouth. “Shhh,” he urged to the silent, broken man. I wasn’t going to say any- Nash cried out as the shard of glass cut deeply into his flesh as smoothly as a knife through butter. It pierced straight downwards and then looped twice. B. Then the touch left his back although he could feel his blood dripping down from the fresh wound.
The next piercing pain was a clean vertical line. I. Nash grit his teeth as tears welled up in his eyes. Don’t fucking cry, he pleaded to himself, you know he enjoys that more than anything.
T hurt most of all, as the shard of glass dug into the thin flesh near his spine. He would have shuddered into it if he didn’t know he’d impale himself further onto the makeshift blade.
By the time he reached C, Dom seemed far less concerned about precision. Or perhaps the sharpness of the edge had been dulled by quickly drying blood. Either way the letter scrawled into him unevenly as he left teeth marks over Dom’s fingers restraining himself from exclamations of pain.
H completed the masterpiece. Three sketchy lines for three guttural vocalizations. He couldn’t help it anymore: he sobbed. The burning and stinging sensations as the blood flowed down his back like some kitschy graffiti art project. His deconstructed nose collapsed into his sinuses, his lip fat and swollen. They’re always so blasé about pain in the movies, but me? I know I’m no hero.
“How’s it feel to finally do some penance?” Dom sneered as he tossed the bottle backwards. It shattered against the floor somewhere. He sat back to admire his handiwork, deep red welts in the otherwise clear skin. Nash’s weeping was icing on the cake, music to his ears, and his biggest turn-on. He’d already felt himself stirring at the sight of Nash’s torso dressed only in scarlet, but with each uncontrollable spasm, he felt the tightness in his groin knot up further. “You’re beautiful like this, you know.”
Dom dove down under the cuts, mopping up the blood he could catch with his tongue, running his cold hands along the sides of Nash’s body until he reached the hem of his jeans. There he pushed himself back up with his calves and pulled Nash up as well. “So fucking beautiful on you, the red look.”
He tugged Nash’s jeans down, ignoring the obstinate integrity of the fabric as he left it buttoned, and bent him over slightly against the door. After expertly undoing his own trousers, Dom couldn’t contain himself any longer-watching Nash’s ass hang lewdly before him, a few red lines streaming down to the crevice between his cheeks, under the canopy of his crowning artistic achievement. He grunted as he pressed his cock bluntly against Nash’s opening, forcing his way in when he found himself met with frictional resistance.
Tears dripped from Nash’s eyes, down the bridge of what used to resemble a nose to hang at the tip for a second before raining to the Welcome mat in front of the door. It felt like he was being ripped in half as Dom slammed into his hips with ragged breathy moans, sending waves of a new kind of pain shooting through him. And your old scars had just barely healed up, he chortled sardonically at himself.
Again and again he was rammed into, fingers salty with sweat retracing the letters along his back in masterful pride. Might as well have been born a blow-up doll for all the use you’ll ever be to him. The movements became a bit more fluid as each thrust was now lubricated by his own blood, springing from freshly-grated flesh.
Then finally, after a torturously long session compared to Dom’s usually demonstrated stamina, Nash’s temple was slammed against the painted wood as Dom came with harsh gasps, the familiar clenching in his ass matching with the pulse of pain.
He slid out, catching his breath and swallowing to wet his throat. “Do you… do you feel cleansed now? Of all your wrongdoings? Of all your fuck-ups?”
Nash remained silent, his eyes now dried up, letting his head hang heavily as his nerve endings continued to beat at his mind with their influx of pain. He couldn’t… he just couldn’t. There was nothing to his existence at this point but hurt.
But there was cold too, he felt a vague sensation of wind whipping against his already battered and mostly exposed body as the door was opened. Nash found himself swept outside like a discarded piece of litter, empty and used.
Author: koushi
Pairing: Cobb/Nash
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 1847
Disclaimer: I do not own Inception or any of its characters.
Prompt: Written for this prompt on inception_kink . Sequel found here: The Blue Look
Warnings: Violence, intoxication, physical and emotional abuse, torture, non-con.
It wasn’t until Nash was pulled into the apartment, the door locked behind him, that he noticed the stench of alcohol on Dom’s breath.
“Motherfucker,” Nash said. “You’ve been drinking again…”
“Brilliant deduction,” Dom retorted with an unnerving calmness as he shoved him against the patterned wallpaper with an utter lack of care.
“You said you’d stop, dammit.”
Nash felt, quite rightly so, that he was being cornered, and tried to push Dom back. But it was useless, serving only to fan the flames. Dom ran the back of his fingers down the side of Nash’s face, tracing the outline of his jaw gently and whispering in his ear, his hot breath tickling the tiny hairs on his face, “You know very well I don’t keep my promises to assholes…”
Nash gulped and tried to ponder a way out, but Dom’s lips were on him, pressed flush hard against his neck, biting and sucking at the thin skin there. He gradually moved his way up to Nash’s mouth, the three-day stubble scratching him like sandpaper, the taste of whiskey engulfing his tastebuds as Dom’s tongue penetrated his defiantly pursed lips.
Meanwhile Dom’s rough hands explored the rest of him about as tenderly as one would inspect a piece of produce for prospective sale, tugging at his clothing. As he popped a few buttons tearing apart Nash’s button-down shirt, Dom encroached yet closer, as if he intended to crush him against the wall until he was just a bruised hunk of jerky.
He was just thinking that it wasn’t so bad when he was released entirely, opening his eyes back up to see a hand raised before him and a lightning-hot flash of pain assault his senses. Nash fell to the carpeted floor from the force of the backhand.
“You’re a pathetic piece of shit, you know that?” Dom’s voice rang out over the wave of pain. Nash brushed a few droplets of blood away from the corner of his mouth and remained silent. He didn’t dare lift his eyes to stare back into Dom’s crazed, unfocused eyes. He knew how his temper was, flaring up violently as soon as the alcohol disrobed him of his self-control.
“Why the fuck did you come back? Why do you make me hurt you, huh?” Dom’s voice cracked as he spoke those words with such unhinged intensity. He reeled back and kicked Nash hard in the stomach, loafer versus abdomen, sending him into a coughing gasping fit as he lay prone to protect his organs. “It’s your fault, all your fault. You see, I don’t want to do this… I’m a good person really.” He gave a helpless yet derisive laugh.
Nash wished he could shrink into himself and disappear as he lay hugging himself, vulnerable and sputtering, face pressed into the carpet. “Lies, pure lies…” he whispered into the polyester tufts, thinking Dom wouldn’t hear his muffled comment.
“What did you say?” Dom reached down and rolled Nash over, stepping his shoe on his throat. Nash’s eyes bulged and face reddened, hands clutching desperately at his leg to try to remove it. “Tell me now. The fuck are you doing, saying things about me when I’m so good to you?”
He could hardly breathe, hardly think, let alone emit anything intelligible. But he made a fair attempt, consisting of gurgling and shrill nasal noises like those of a dying animal, which he wasn’t far from being himself.
Dom removed his foot and stepped away into the next room. Nash felt sick, nauseous from the contortions of his diaphragm as he hiccupped for sweet, sweet oxygen. But this didn’t cage his instinct for survival as he scrambled to his feet dizzily and headed for the front door.
The predator, however, was not so easily foiled. Something slammed into the back of him hard, smashing Nash’s face into the wooden door. He could feel his lip splitting neatly in half, his nose no longer in any shape to be used as anything but an orthopedic surgeon’s worst nightmare. He cried out as he fell to his knees once again, a mixture of blood and saliva dribbling from his nostrils and loosened lips.
Dom had come at him at a running start, and he was still standing, leering above Nash, although this time holding a new toy. “Fuck you for trying to leave, you spineless bastard,” Dom spit as he pulled Nash’s face up and back with his free hand so that his captive’s world was turned upside down. Blood and mucus pooled in Nash’s nasal passage only to trickle down his weary throat. “Ever heard of taking some goddamn responsibility for your actions?”
Nash blinked through his disorientation and dilated pupils to concentrate on the object in Dom’s hand. It was a dark brown color, which transformed into a cool amber in the light streaming in from the windows behind them. Jagged edges culminating in a graceful bottleneck, by which Dom was fisting the item. Broken liquor bottle, Nash thought, laughing inwardly in a bout of temporary insanity, classy.
The stinging at his scalp dissipated. But Dom was already busy pulling at the back of his shirt, the rest of the buttons giving way as the stiff fabric slid off from his arms, revealing his slender back. “You always said you wanted a tattoo, correct? That you weren’t afraid of permanence? But you were too big of a pussy to ever step over to the parlor.” Nash thought he’d resigned himself to whatever fate was relegated to him, but nonetheless he felt his heart pounding at his ribcage in suspense. The wait is the worst part, the worst of all.
He heard Dom squat down behind him, and a cold sensation brushed lightly over his skin. The side of the bottle massaged gingerly along his shoulder blades like a paintbrush, teasing out his most bitter memories to try to guess at the particular brand of pain awaiting him this time.
Slow and agonizing seemed to characterize the preparation for Dom’s ritual. Next to caress Nash’s skin was something warm and wet: the drunkard’s tongue. It flicked against his skin tersely as it traced out what seemed to be a word, although the tingling disappeared from him as soon as the touch lifted away, leaving only a sticky mess on his back. Not so with the glass, he mused with a grimace, that feeling will never be forgotten, will it?
Dom’s left hand closed in over Nash’s mouth. “Shhh,” he urged to the silent, broken man. I wasn’t going to say any- Nash cried out as the shard of glass cut deeply into his flesh as smoothly as a knife through butter. It pierced straight downwards and then looped twice. B. Then the touch left his back although he could feel his blood dripping down from the fresh wound.
The next piercing pain was a clean vertical line. I. Nash grit his teeth as tears welled up in his eyes. Don’t fucking cry, he pleaded to himself, you know he enjoys that more than anything.
T hurt most of all, as the shard of glass dug into the thin flesh near his spine. He would have shuddered into it if he didn’t know he’d impale himself further onto the makeshift blade.
By the time he reached C, Dom seemed far less concerned about precision. Or perhaps the sharpness of the edge had been dulled by quickly drying blood. Either way the letter scrawled into him unevenly as he left teeth marks over Dom’s fingers restraining himself from exclamations of pain.
H completed the masterpiece. Three sketchy lines for three guttural vocalizations. He couldn’t help it anymore: he sobbed. The burning and stinging sensations as the blood flowed down his back like some kitschy graffiti art project. His deconstructed nose collapsed into his sinuses, his lip fat and swollen. They’re always so blasé about pain in the movies, but me? I know I’m no hero.
“How’s it feel to finally do some penance?” Dom sneered as he tossed the bottle backwards. It shattered against the floor somewhere. He sat back to admire his handiwork, deep red welts in the otherwise clear skin. Nash’s weeping was icing on the cake, music to his ears, and his biggest turn-on. He’d already felt himself stirring at the sight of Nash’s torso dressed only in scarlet, but with each uncontrollable spasm, he felt the tightness in his groin knot up further. “You’re beautiful like this, you know.”
Dom dove down under the cuts, mopping up the blood he could catch with his tongue, running his cold hands along the sides of Nash’s body until he reached the hem of his jeans. There he pushed himself back up with his calves and pulled Nash up as well. “So fucking beautiful on you, the red look.”
He tugged Nash’s jeans down, ignoring the obstinate integrity of the fabric as he left it buttoned, and bent him over slightly against the door. After expertly undoing his own trousers, Dom couldn’t contain himself any longer-watching Nash’s ass hang lewdly before him, a few red lines streaming down to the crevice between his cheeks, under the canopy of his crowning artistic achievement. He grunted as he pressed his cock bluntly against Nash’s opening, forcing his way in when he found himself met with frictional resistance.
Tears dripped from Nash’s eyes, down the bridge of what used to resemble a nose to hang at the tip for a second before raining to the Welcome mat in front of the door. It felt like he was being ripped in half as Dom slammed into his hips with ragged breathy moans, sending waves of a new kind of pain shooting through him. And your old scars had just barely healed up, he chortled sardonically at himself.
Again and again he was rammed into, fingers salty with sweat retracing the letters along his back in masterful pride. Might as well have been born a blow-up doll for all the use you’ll ever be to him. The movements became a bit more fluid as each thrust was now lubricated by his own blood, springing from freshly-grated flesh.
Then finally, after a torturously long session compared to Dom’s usually demonstrated stamina, Nash’s temple was slammed against the painted wood as Dom came with harsh gasps, the familiar clenching in his ass matching with the pulse of pain.
He slid out, catching his breath and swallowing to wet his throat. “Do you… do you feel cleansed now? Of all your wrongdoings? Of all your fuck-ups?”
Nash remained silent, his eyes now dried up, letting his head hang heavily as his nerve endings continued to beat at his mind with their influx of pain. He couldn’t… he just couldn’t. There was nothing to his existence at this point but hurt.
But there was cold too, he felt a vague sensation of wind whipping against his already battered and mostly exposed body as the door was opened. Nash found himself swept outside like a discarded piece of litter, empty and used.