THE COMFORT HE OFFERS
inspired (slightly) by the alexisonefire song rough hands. Please enjoy!
Cold hands on his throat, massaging, feeling, slipping down his chest. Strong nails, leaving angry welts wherever they felt like. Sharp teeth, nipping at his ear, his neck.
He wondered why it felt so good. Why that pain got him so high. Why it made him feel that much better.
Those cold hands were rough, calloused. Much like his. That voice, it was quiet, when it felt like. Those dry white lips, they were soft. Kissing him gently, or roughly, if he chose.
He liked it that his hollow's skin was cold. It made him want to lie by his side until he was warm. He liked that his hollow was apart of him, that he knew everything, that he could hold him, and he'd never have to say a word. That was why he couldn't find comfort in anyone else, because he didn't like saying what was wrong.
His hollow knew when he just wanted to be held, when he wanted to be spoken to softly, when he wanted to fight, when he wanted to be treated roughly. His hollow never had to ask, unless it was something he felt his king should talk about. He just did. And that was all he wanted.
Those teeth that knew when to bite. That voice that knew when to yell, when to whisper. That hands that knew exactly where to touch, to make their master about as threatening as a kitten. Those hands that knew how to make him purr and moan and cry.
Those hands told him something every time they touched him. Those hands told him more than that voice did. The hands spoke to him, conveying to him what their owner wanted. 'I want to fuck you' or 'I want to make you feel better' or 'I just want to touch you'. Sometimes those hands asked questions. questions that his hollow knew the answer to, questions that he just felt like asking.
His hollow rarely needed to speak as well. But then again, there was rarely anything wrong with him. He didn't have many problems. He was just lonely and bored. But then again. Loneliness is a problem. It can drive you to insanity.
Maybe he was crazy. To love that thing. That monster. But those hands. Calloused and cold. They told him it didn't matter. If he loved his hollow, that was ok. That he was free to love him. That those hands and that voice and those teeth would keep a secret, they'd never tell a soul. That he could trust them, and their owner.
To him, those hands were warm, inciting, soft. Not cold, and rough and calloused. And even though that was what they were, he wouldn't have them any other way.
Dry white lips, traveling down his neck, warm breath against his skin. Words that didn't need to be spoken. Games that didn't need to be played. Because they knew how the other would react. They knew each other too well. Questions that didn't need to be asked, but they needed something to fill up the cuddling time quiet.
He had his secrets. And his hollow knew every single one of them. Without talking, he promised with his hands and his tongue and his lips 'not a word shall be spoken'. It was that one thing that he was good at, keeping a secret.
He had his moods and his feelings. And his hollow knew how to treat everyone of them, know which wounds to fix and which to leave alone. His hollow even knew when he didn't want to talk, didn't want to share, and his hollow knew how to react to that as well.
His hollow knew everything about him. Knew why he was the way he was, knew where to touch him and when, knew what to say at the right time.
Those cold and calloused hands, they promised him, 'we'll always be here to make you feel better.'
And he wouldn't have it any other way.
OWARI
nearly two pages long. Is freaking pissed right now, so this might have been a little dull. I hate life, I hate people and I hate homework, so drop me a word, lovelies, make me feel better.
Ichigo: it's not so angsty eh. I agree with hichichi, its shocking
hichichi: HA! I told you! You wouldn't know she had it in her!
Mean mean people. I'm not that emo! RXR ONEGAI!