ladyofshadow (ladyofshadow) wrote in kinkfest, @ 2007-09-17 12:42:00 |
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Current music: | Devil's Trill |
Entry tags: | a: ladyofshadow, f: yami no matsuei, p: muraki/tsuzuki, september 17 |
Yami no Matsuei (Muraki/Tsuzuki)
Title: Physical
Author: Ladyofshadow
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: handjob, slightly noncon, light bondage, Muraki being snarky
Word count: 467
Prompt: Yami no Matsuei, Muraki/Tsuzuki: medical kink - the silver of a scalpel
Summary: The doctor monitors his patient’s reactions and he cannot help adding a ‘personal touch’ to his observations to make everything just right.
A/N: An experimental piece, especially with the sentence structure – a doctor must try to be detached from his patient, but there are times when feeling intervenes. Now, add a dash of madness to the mix. (This could have been snarkier, but I decided to behave myself, much to my Muraki-muse’s dismay.)
The scalpel lies lifeless on the table.
When I take it into my hand, it comes alive.
I feel it tremble.
My palms grow sweaty.
I must hold it with a firm grip.
My patient writhes in his bonds behind the curtain and I chuckle at his plight. I promise not to hurt his partner if he comes to me willingly.
I keep my end of the bargain.
For now.
I smooth the sides of my coat before unbuttoning the front.
Slow, not too fast. I savor the moment.
Everything in the room has a sterile scent, with the exception of the naked body on the hospital cot.
I smell him across the room.
He reeks of fear and sweat.
If I could bottle this moment, I would make it into cologne.
I pull back the curtain and he startles at the sound.
He reacts well.
I flex my wrist to make certain that he sees the scalpel.
His muscles stiffen, tense to the point of pain.
Good.
I approach the bed and sit beside him.
He turns his head away from me, buries his face into his arm.
How pathetic.
I grab his hair and force him to meet my eyes.
I bring the scalpel between us and he shivers.
His revulsion makes me hard.
I press the side of the scalpel against his face.
It draws a sliver of blood and I lean forward to lick his cheek in one long stroke.
He tastes metallic and I place the dull edge of the scalpel against my tongue for comparison.
They are similar.
How unusual.
His tears flicker, refuse to fall.
I wonder what his coworkers think when he goes back to them with fresh wounds.
No matter.
I hover above the skin now, moving lower, knowing that he feels my energy pressing against him.
I stop above his most intimate area and smile.
He panics, but dares not move.
I stroke the gnarled hair with a light touch and he hardens.
I tease the tip with the unsharpened portion of the blade, relishing in his whimper.
I set the scalpel aside and pick up another tool. I press its chestpiece over his heart and he yelps.
It’s cold.
I grab him and squeeze, listening with undisguised pleasure as his heartbeat quickens.
I flex my palm and he moans. The sound echoes in my ears and I quicken my motions.
The friction makes my hand burn.
He comes onto the sheets.
His face reddens and the blood on his cheek trickles along his jaw. It’s a crimson teardrop that I lick away.
I swallow copper bitterness.
“Your body passes my physical examination,” I say.
I cut his bonds, proceed to the door.
“However, do come in next week for another appointment. I must run some more tests.”
Next time, I’ll wear gloves.