Gee-string, as they say, wrote this :3 Rather quickly…
What can I say. I need my bladekink fix somewhere.
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In The Realm of the Senses:
Hearing
Unspoken
It wasn't words; it was much less, and at the same time, much more than that. Words were solid, interfering – they conveyed meaning, but not emotion. These sounds were ephemeral; fleeting, like ghosts as they released out into heated air and danced away. One vocalisation carried more meaning than a flood of words; a sigh, involuntarily set free, was a direction and a reward, more so than a command or thanks could ever be.
A moan, an unformed name slipping out from behind bruised lips before its time; too eager to please, to encourage, to plead. Such a sound would be so much more fluent than any words a verbose tongue could speak, while that tongue was occupied elsewhere. The cadence mattered little, the volume less – even if it was so quiet it could barely be heard unless one was right next to the lips that uttered it, it would be as appreciated as something that could be heard all through the other rooms that no longer existed when they were entwined.
A hiss as the blade cut and crimson flowed; gratification and pain merging into a brilliant heat scorching through veins. Sharp sounds as scarlet smeared over skin, at the same time begging for more and asking for cessation, whichever wish languorous hands decided to grant. There was no need for discussion, not any longer, and even if there was he could do nothing to stop it; once that point where thought ceased to matter and bodies turned into receptacles of sensation was passed, there was no return until it was over in the glorious, furious conclusion.
A cry when the dance grew into its inevitable final scene; all need for subtlety or secrecy or discretion burnt away in sweet fire, scouring away everything superfluous and leaving only bare truth behind in its wake. A moment of true abandon even in the danger, fear of discovery and its consequences merely sharpening the taste; the one time where they could let down the guards around them, the balance on the knife-edge forgotten for just a second.
It was the things that were not said that were the most eloquent.
