[Weiß Kreuz] Etchings
Title: Etchings Rating: NC-17 for Violence Author: Trio Maxwell-Chang Fandom: Weiß Kreuz Pairing or POV: Nagi/Aya Written for: beloved_voices Special Note: I feel like hell today. I've been wanting to snarl and bitch at people all day, and it's finally culminated in this bit of nastiness. Those who don't like angst and violence, stay away.
He'd studied for two years before he felt comfortable with bodies, and then another six months before he felt that his powers could properly manipulate the people he captured. Brad liked that, loved the level of control he'd gained over his abilities. The explanation the man gave for nearly sending him into insanity was noted, though Nagi never quite forgave him for it.
After a while, he grew sick of Farfarello and Schuldig's insinuations that he was the weakest, that his little-boy image was something more than a mask he used to ensure those around him underestimated him. Annoying insinuations, and in the crowd he lived with, weakness meant death. He wasn't ready to die.
Thirty months of study, another twelve to gain control of his newer abilities. Eighteen more before his patience wore thin and he rounded on them, demanding answers. What would it take for them to believe him strong? What would they believe?
The answer: blood.
He bore Schuldig's smirking countenance and Farfarello's serene appraisal another six months before he settled on the prey he'd use to prove to them. Three more months to set the trap, and when it sprang, he had a kitten, a stoic, blank-faced assassin who refused to look at Nagi as he paced back and forth before the restrained body.
"You're beautiful, you know," he said conversationally, his voice nearly monotone as he stalked back and forth. No answer, but he'd never expected one. He paced closer, peering down at the table as the chains around Aya's hands and feet tightened, drawing him out. It wasn't a rack, but it may as well have been, and Aya could feel his joints beginning to scream before Nagi let the chains go, keeping them tight without making them damaging. "I don't actually need the chains, you know. My control is nearly perfect now. You won't escape it."
He purred the words, pouring inflection into them, dark and dripping with menace. That earned him a shiver, and Nagi smirked, withdrawing a slender, matte-black blade. It was barely as long as his finger, but Nagi didn't need length... just precision. A flick of his mind and Aya's shirt slipped off, revealing a heaving chest.
"What do you intend to do to me?" Aya demanded, voice satin danger. Nagi smirked again, splaying his hand over the left breast and feeling the pounding heart beneath.
"I intend to claim you, Abyssinian," Nagi said, eyes gleaming with something not entirely human. "Perhaps, if you're lucky, I'll kill you afterward. If you're good." Aya looked away at that, face set in blank determination. Nagi's powers reached out, drawing the eyes back to him as he repeated softly, "Perhaps."
And then, clamping down on Aya's body, stilling the trembling and silencing Aya's voice with gentle pressure to his voice box, Nagi began.
Aya was covered in blood when it was over, gasping for breath but awake for the entire thing. He'd proven a difficult canvas for Nagi's vision, but not impossible to work with. The telekinetic smiled, running the back of his hand over his brow to wipe away sweat and leaving a smudge of dark crimson in its place. The cuts were deep enough to scar, though not so deep that Aya would require stitches. And they were precise, perfectly set to form the picture Nagi had envisioned.
He released his hold on Aya's vocal chords and heard a soft, choked moan immediately leave his throat. "You were perfect, Abyssinian. Absolutely perfect. I'm very proud of you." Monotone voice, slight emphasis on 'very'. He saw the words twist in Aya's gut, the man's reaction almost more satisfying than the picture he'd etched into Aya's skin.
"I'm quite skilled with a knife, aren't I? Not as skilled as Farfarello, but I have creativity where he does not." He reached out, tracing the lettering between the man's nipples, and then lifted the fingertip to his lips, licking it clean. Another moan, and Nagi smirked, peering at the man.
"You'll live. Though depending on how Kritiker reacts when they see what I've drawn, it might not be for long. If I were you, I'd figure out something to do with your sister before they kill you." He paused, then leaned in close, seeing terror fill Aya's eyes. "I could always take care of her for you..." Aya fought Nagi's hold, shaking his head frantically, and Nagi laughed, turning away to clean his knife.
"You're delicious, Abyssinian. Perhaps I'll invite you back sometime for some more games... if you're still around." He turned back, two cloths in his hands. One went over Aya's face, and the sickly-sweet smell of chloroform assaulted Aya's senses. The other mopped away the worst of the blood, allowing Nagi to admire the self-portrait he'd etched detail by painstaking detail into Aya's skin. As the man's breathing slowed and evened out, Nagi checked the lettering, making certain it was perfect before clothing the assassin again and beginning the preparations to slip him back into the Koneko.
He wondered what Aya would do when he awoke again, all alone in his room with only the carvings on his chest as testimony to his torture. He particularly wondered how the redhead would feel about the words: