The blade is cold as it traces his skin and he tries to relax underneath it – it can only make things easier, after all, if the muscles are tensed and ready… Well, bad things will probably happen. He’s not quite sure what bad things, but he’s pretty sure that they’re bad.
…Coherent.
“Safe word?” Chris asks softly, making sure to keep the knife suspended – actually being kind and… That doesn’t surprise him, really, she’s hardly a warm and fluffy marshmallow underneath all the spikes but she isn’t directly cruel to the people she cares about.
It takes him only a thought, a deeply drawn breath, to gather his mind and answer, “capitalism.”
And she snorts above him, and he’s actually starting to find her snort lovely after all these months, “It’s meant to be something that you can say quickly, Tim.”
He considers this for a second, the blade tracing lower and lower on his stomach, “I can probably say capitalism quickly if that knife is about to cut off vital parts of me.”
She arches an eyebrow, clearly amused, “fingers?”
“Toes.”
“Cock?”
“…You would have that idea.”
She laughs above him at that, and makes sure to remove her knife for the duration of the shuddering – a nice touch that he can’t really help but smile at “…Capitalism it is, then.”
“Never thought I’d hear you say that.”
“Don’t push your luck…”
But she’s smirking, as she says it, and smirking as she slowly balances forwards on his waist (bracing herself properly, and he is glad for that) and brings the knife forwards – checking carefully for his reaction every slow inch of the way.
To his pride, and he means his true pride here, he manages to repress a flinch as she aims it for his neck. Is very glad that he did so as she gently lowers it instead and traces a line across his collarbone – shallow, light, more tickling than actually painful.
He draws in a low breath as she gently scrapes another line, and he never expected to start getting hard at this.
And then, with a quick glance up and a careful nod of assent in return, she smiles a little and edges lower down his body – wriggling until she can settle herself (and that doesn’t really help with the hardness) and get the knife into a careful position again. She lightly swipes the blade over his chest – soft, butterfly lines that only draw pleasantly tingling scratches that he’ll probably find himself accidentally admiring in the mirror later. She’s careful, polite, perfect…
And he’s still growing hard. Which is actually quite lovely, really.
After a few more passes of the knife, her lip held attractively between her teeth as she concentrates, he gently reaches up and presses a hand to her shoulder. She immediately stops, sits back and looks at him with a slightly tilted head and questioning eyes.
He smiles, in response, gently taps against her hip in a gesture just as fond as a kiss, “you can draw blood if you want.”
She stares for another second, eyes going steadily wider as she takes him in (and he does see temptation there, just as he knew he would) “…Are you sure?”
“Yes,” he nods, instantly.
“It’ll hurt.”
“I can stand it.”
She arches her eyebrow.
“I am a spy.”
She arches her eyebrow higher.
“…It’s you. And I know that you’ll be as careful as it’s possible for you to be.”
She-
Smiles, so brilliantly that it’d remind him why he loved her even if he didn’t know every single second of most days, holds the knife aside and leans down for yet another sweet kiss that he finds himself arching into with fingers tangling in her hair.
“Right,” she smiles, as she draws back and prepares the knife again, “remember: capitalism, evil but safe in this situation.”
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timeasmymeasure
UNPROMPTED: Blades on Saturday, Female!Chris/Tim, R [2A/2]
Date: 2011-11-02 01:00 am (UTC)…Coherent.
“Safe word?” Chris asks softly, making sure to keep the knife suspended – actually being kind and… That doesn’t surprise him, really, she’s hardly a warm and fluffy marshmallow underneath all the spikes but she isn’t directly cruel to the people she cares about.
It takes him only a thought, a deeply drawn breath, to gather his mind and answer, “capitalism.”
And she snorts above him, and he’s actually starting to find her snort lovely after all these months, “It’s meant to be something that you can say quickly, Tim.”
He considers this for a second, the blade tracing lower and lower on his stomach, “I can probably say capitalism quickly if that knife is about to cut off vital parts of me.”
She arches an eyebrow, clearly amused, “fingers?”
“Toes.”
“Cock?”
“…You would have that idea.”
She laughs above him at that, and makes sure to remove her knife for the duration of the shuddering – a nice touch that he can’t really help but smile at “…Capitalism it is, then.”
“Never thought I’d hear you say that.”
“Don’t push your luck…”
But she’s smirking, as she says it, and smirking as she slowly balances forwards on his waist (bracing herself properly, and he is glad for that) and brings the knife forwards – checking carefully for his reaction every slow inch of the way.
To his pride, and he means his true pride here, he manages to repress a flinch as she aims it for his neck. Is very glad that he did so as she gently lowers it instead and traces a line across his collarbone – shallow, light, more tickling than actually painful.
He draws in a low breath as she gently scrapes another line, and he never expected to start getting hard at this.
And then, with a quick glance up and a careful nod of assent in return, she smiles a little and edges lower down his body – wriggling until she can settle herself (and that doesn’t really help with the hardness) and get the knife into a careful position again. She lightly swipes the blade over his chest – soft, butterfly lines that only draw pleasantly tingling scratches that he’ll probably find himself accidentally admiring in the mirror later. She’s careful, polite, perfect…
And he’s still growing hard. Which is actually quite lovely, really.
After a few more passes of the knife, her lip held attractively between her teeth as she concentrates, he gently reaches up and presses a hand to her shoulder. She immediately stops, sits back and looks at him with a slightly tilted head and questioning eyes.
He smiles, in response, gently taps against her hip in a gesture just as fond as a kiss, “you can draw blood if you want.”
She stares for another second, eyes going steadily wider as she takes him in (and he does see temptation there, just as he knew he would) “…Are you sure?”
“Yes,” he nods, instantly.
“It’ll hurt.”
“I can stand it.”
She arches her eyebrow.
“I am a spy.”
She arches her eyebrow higher.
“…It’s you. And I know that you’ll be as careful as it’s possible for you to be.”
She-
Smiles, so brilliantly that it’d remind him why he loved her even if he didn’t know every single second of most days, holds the knife aside and leans down for yet another sweet kiss that he finds himself arching into with fingers tangling in her hair.
“Right,” she smiles, as she draws back and prepares the knife again, “remember: capitalism, evil but safe in this situation.”
“Believe me, I remember.”
“Good.”