After a time, a person learns to work around the flinches and outcries. To ignore desperate pleas and double down to get the job done. It's a kind of love, too, strange as it may seem. A willingness to inflict the kind of pain it takes to ensure healing in the end. To be the sadist and the punisher. Logan barely twitches. Wes has met a lot of hard men in his day, but it takes more than most are capable of to maintain composure under the hot blade of a knife. To stand sober and let someone tear their flesh from their muscle.
Rapture feels like a dream he can't quite recall, but the comfort with the blade is just the same. His hands are much steadier, but when the piece of glass stays lodged deeply, he pulls out drawers in search of a pair of tweezers. By the time he's located the tool and turned his sights to Logan's back once more, Wes is shocked to find the cut healed over. With a grumble of annoyance he opens him again, and peels the wet shard free. He drops everything into a bloody heap in the sink and curls his arms around Logan's middle, kissing his neck.
It's hard to describe it as pain really. Not because it doesn't hurt. It never doesn't hurt. But because once you've endured worse longer at the hands of people who intend to leave a mark the whole scale resets. You have live life finding new ways to define where hurt begins.
That's when the lines between opposites get blurry.
When it stops, he lets out a sigh rolls his shoulders, until they give a deep satisfying crunch. But Wes' chest at his back keeps him from going any farther. He's right there when the burning pain is still singing in his nerves. Applying kisses like a salve and mixing the hot sting of torment with the warm comfort of a firm body spooned against him.
His neck cranes around until Wes is at the end of his nose. Insisting with a nudge until his mouth can reach him. A half step back presses him closer into the tall blond and he drags Wes' hand off his stomach down the front of his pants.
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Rapture feels like a dream he can't quite recall, but the comfort with the blade is just the same. His hands are much steadier, but when the piece of glass stays lodged deeply, he pulls out drawers in search of a pair of tweezers. By the time he's located the tool and turned his sights to Logan's back once more, Wes is shocked to find the cut healed over. With a grumble of annoyance he opens him again, and peels the wet shard free. He drops everything into a bloody heap in the sink and curls his arms around Logan's middle, kissing his neck.
cw: sex
That's when the lines between opposites get blurry.
When it stops, he lets out a sigh rolls his shoulders, until they give a deep satisfying crunch. But Wes' chest at his back keeps him from going any farther. He's right there when the burning pain is still singing in his nerves. Applying kisses like a salve and mixing the hot sting of torment with the warm comfort of a firm body spooned against him.
His neck cranes around until Wes is at the end of his nose. Insisting with a nudge until his mouth can reach him. A half step back presses him closer into the tall blond and he drags Wes' hand off his stomach down the front of his pants.