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Title: path of thorns
fandom: World of Darkness (Changeling: the Lost and Mage: The Awakening)
square: silence
word count: 859
summary: You wish you had the words to tell him that you trust him. First time experimenting with bondage, and Kiyoshi is having a hard time getting his point across.
content notes: no standard notes apply, but mentioned past kidnapping, involuntary body transformation, and abuse.
London is uncertain as he winds ribbon around your wrists: you can tell, though he doesn't say anything, that he's feeling guilty, even though he's interested, though he wants this. He's careful as he tightens the knots: so careful, holding his strength back, and you know he could break you as easily as breathing.
"Are you sure," he asks, again, and you nod for a moment, before you manage to find your voice. It's hard, most of the time, to give a complete answer without being prompted, without someone to drag you down and push you out, draw your words and your voice out of you. Alogia, without speech, poverty of speech: you know your own symptoms, but it doesn't make communication any easier, when your mind feels like broken glass and sometimes it's all you can do to try to get across what you see, the truths at the heart of a mystery.
(Horse tells you at least once a day to use real person words and communicate: you focus on the important things, and let the less important things fall aside)
"Y-yes," you say, softly, and London pauses for a moment, as if he isn't sure of what he's hearing. You aren't sure of what else you can do in order to make it clear to him that you want this, that you really, really do, because you've already done what you could: left the bondage-related pages open on his web browser for him to find, curled up on his lap while he was looking at the pages, wearing the short skirt that Winds gave you that he likes on you.
You had to push him, however subtly, because you could tell as easily as reading a book that he was interested, but felt guilty for being interested and would never bring it up: Sullivan taught you to see the truth, in situations and people, and you can trace his hesitance back to his Durance, knowing why without him having to explain, put the pieces together without having to ask.
You wouldn't even have done that, even thought to push subtly or even come anywhere near asking, been content as you were and happy to not challenge either your slowly awakening body or his guilt, except that Gwen wouldn't leave you alone about it, offering advice in her own way. And you knew that it was both a matter of time before she took matters into her own hands.
"Is this alright?" London asks, sounding a bit more sure this time, slides ribbon under his mattress to secure it before twining it around your ankles, an end for each ankle, tight but not too tight, and you nod.
"Y-yes," you whisper, trying not to forget your words in the middle of a sentence, and you glance up at him, as he slides over you, his weight holding you down, pushing you down into the mattress: he is heavy and solid, big enough to break you and strong enough to shatter you all over again, and you can feel your body respond, slowly, where no one else has ever made it before, always so disconnected from it. Only him, and you never wanted anyone else.
Your vision wavers for a moment as you whisper liltingly under your breath-High Speech, the language of the true world beneath the illusion of the false- and invoke Mage Sight. You cannot communicate in High Speech, either: only fragments mages understand any more, remember, concepts described without grammar, distilled down to their barest, truest essentials, and London cannot understand it anyway.
Beneath your vision and the Sybil's Sight, you can see the familiar web of symbols, connected by threads of glowing light: patterns, sentences, each person and object a word that tells part of a larger story. And above you, you can see London leaning over you, his true face revealed to you, cold winter stone, bound by chains woven from thorny roses: you know his story, kidnapped by faeries, the brutality that shaped him his time there, that he sought to escape and leave behind. An eternity yet not an eternity spent as a gladiator, hurting people at the whim of an immortal fae lord in order to survive, that makes him afraid now to take what he wants and that you are willing to give, because he never wanted to fight again, never wanted to hurt anyone again, and is afraid of those urges in himself, afraid that he'll hurt you in an unforgivable way, break you beyond repair when you're already so broken.
"Are you sure?" he asks, again, one last time.
You wish you had the words to tell him that you trust him. That he won't, can't, break you that much, please don't be afraid, you won't lose yourself and you won't shatter me. Instead, you smile, vaguely, and murmur under your breath again, show him what you see, the stories and connections, show him your trust and love for him, your story reflected in symbols and light for him. His hand settles on your cheek, hard-edged stone and obviously hesitant, and you turn your face into his touch.
Please. Yes. Yes.
fandom: World of Darkness (Changeling: the Lost and Mage: The Awakening)
square: silence
word count: 859
summary: You wish you had the words to tell him that you trust him. First time experimenting with bondage, and Kiyoshi is having a hard time getting his point across.
content notes: no standard notes apply, but mentioned past kidnapping, involuntary body transformation, and abuse.
London is uncertain as he winds ribbon around your wrists: you can tell, though he doesn't say anything, that he's feeling guilty, even though he's interested, though he wants this. He's careful as he tightens the knots: so careful, holding his strength back, and you know he could break you as easily as breathing.
"Are you sure," he asks, again, and you nod for a moment, before you manage to find your voice. It's hard, most of the time, to give a complete answer without being prompted, without someone to drag you down and push you out, draw your words and your voice out of you. Alogia, without speech, poverty of speech: you know your own symptoms, but it doesn't make communication any easier, when your mind feels like broken glass and sometimes it's all you can do to try to get across what you see, the truths at the heart of a mystery.
(Horse tells you at least once a day to use real person words and communicate: you focus on the important things, and let the less important things fall aside)
"Y-yes," you say, softly, and London pauses for a moment, as if he isn't sure of what he's hearing. You aren't sure of what else you can do in order to make it clear to him that you want this, that you really, really do, because you've already done what you could: left the bondage-related pages open on his web browser for him to find, curled up on his lap while he was looking at the pages, wearing the short skirt that Winds gave you that he likes on you.
You had to push him, however subtly, because you could tell as easily as reading a book that he was interested, but felt guilty for being interested and would never bring it up: Sullivan taught you to see the truth, in situations and people, and you can trace his hesitance back to his Durance, knowing why without him having to explain, put the pieces together without having to ask.
You wouldn't even have done that, even thought to push subtly or even come anywhere near asking, been content as you were and happy to not challenge either your slowly awakening body or his guilt, except that Gwen wouldn't leave you alone about it, offering advice in her own way. And you knew that it was both a matter of time before she took matters into her own hands.
"Is this alright?" London asks, sounding a bit more sure this time, slides ribbon under his mattress to secure it before twining it around your ankles, an end for each ankle, tight but not too tight, and you nod.
"Y-yes," you whisper, trying not to forget your words in the middle of a sentence, and you glance up at him, as he slides over you, his weight holding you down, pushing you down into the mattress: he is heavy and solid, big enough to break you and strong enough to shatter you all over again, and you can feel your body respond, slowly, where no one else has ever made it before, always so disconnected from it. Only him, and you never wanted anyone else.
Your vision wavers for a moment as you whisper liltingly under your breath-High Speech, the language of the true world beneath the illusion of the false- and invoke Mage Sight. You cannot communicate in High Speech, either: only fragments mages understand any more, remember, concepts described without grammar, distilled down to their barest, truest essentials, and London cannot understand it anyway.
Beneath your vision and the Sybil's Sight, you can see the familiar web of symbols, connected by threads of glowing light: patterns, sentences, each person and object a word that tells part of a larger story. And above you, you can see London leaning over you, his true face revealed to you, cold winter stone, bound by chains woven from thorny roses: you know his story, kidnapped by faeries, the brutality that shaped him his time there, that he sought to escape and leave behind. An eternity yet not an eternity spent as a gladiator, hurting people at the whim of an immortal fae lord in order to survive, that makes him afraid now to take what he wants and that you are willing to give, because he never wanted to fight again, never wanted to hurt anyone again, and is afraid of those urges in himself, afraid that he'll hurt you in an unforgivable way, break you beyond repair when you're already so broken.
"Are you sure?" he asks, again, one last time.
You wish you had the words to tell him that you trust him. That he won't, can't, break you that much, please don't be afraid, you won't lose yourself and you won't shatter me. Instead, you smile, vaguely, and murmur under your breath again, show him what you see, the stories and connections, show him your trust and love for him, your story reflected in symbols and light for him. His hand settles on your cheek, hard-edged stone and obviously hesitant, and you turn your face into his touch.
Please. Yes. Yes.
