[ If all pain felt the same, wielding it wouldn't be an art form. Perfecting it, a Terran science. She likes it when he sears her lungs and blots the world from her vision with his hand around her throat. She likes the bruises he wraps around her wrists or presses deep into her thighs with his fingers. The shallow red crescents from his teeth, the streaks from his nails. When blood has been drawn, it's been raw. Torn.
The passion of a knife is cold and precise. Its danger is immediate. Immense threat balances on the blade, unparalleled promise. She should know that better than most. Klingons and their swords.
He touches her first with the flat of the blade, alighting on her shoulder a hair's breadth from the strap of her dress. Lorca minds her breath, her expressive mouth, as he follows the straw down, knife tip dipping carefully under the fabric. It strains as he rotates the blade outward, until it splits cleanly apart. ]
( Chapel gasps a little when she feels the strap fall way cleanly under the blade and she knows her skin will part just as easily. She'll scar here, too, considering the medicine they have here in the city is nothing like she has back in Med Bay on the Enterprise and without a dermal regenerator, she is just going to have a crisscrossing of marks showing where he's been and where she's wanted him to be.
She's eager for it. More eager than she should be. )
I can be patient. I always am.
( Chapel has to be, with him. His rules are airtight and she likes following them. )
Of course, she must have had some idea that this is what he had in mind. She's not stupid, and his request for what to wear had specifically alluded to the destruction of her clothes. He's not possessed of Vulcan strength, after all. Nonetheless, she might have been ignorant of her own limits, or changed her mind when confronted with reality. Found the fear unpalatable.
He's going to have to start giving her more credit.
It's a lovely image, the knife so near to her throat. He's going to make them both wait before he brings it there. Instead, the slightest pressure of the tip draws a white line down her skin, the wake of it blooming pink. She'll feel it through her dress as it contours her breast, circling to rest at her sternum. Lorca plucks at the fabric, pulling taut an inch's worth to snag on the knife's end and cut it to the neckline. It furls aside, baring the near fullness of one breast, and exposing only the hint of the other's nipple.
( How can she be outraged or horrified when it's exactly what she wants? Chapel's sure that there's no one else in the city who would go as far with her as Gabriel Lorca does and she doesn't know if that means he's a madman or that they're made for one another. Maybe it's a little bit from both columns.
He draws the knife along her skin and while it's still shallow, she feels it, and the pain feels good. It makes her feel like every nerve ending is alive and everything is blooming out from that one point of pain. He cuts open her dress and draws the knife close to one of her nipples, setting the tip there, and her only response is to draw in a shaky breath.
She still has her hands to herself. She isn't in the habit of using safe words with him but she has ways to tell him to stop if she needs to. Problem is, she never wants to stop. Everything he does to her, she wants, and she knows it's dangerous to let someone do this to her. It's dangerous to let someone hold her life in his hands every time they're together but she does it anyway, happy to walk that tightrope. )
[ Not even reflexes are getting in her way. An urge to reach out and stop him, or seek any indicator of where he'll make his next move. She's as good as her word: She doesn't want to know. ]
You don't have a death wish, Christine. [ He turns the flat of the blade, cold steel, to her flesh. Then, slowly, the dull back scrapes from the tender center of her breast, diagonally up as he circles her. A long scratch almost parallel to her collarbone, running to the end of her clavicle. ] You just know what it means to feel alive.
[ He's playing with the truth. Lorca's not lying, from her perspective. Based on what she knows of him, she hasn't taken any unacceptable risks. Based on who he really is? Well, that's complicated. His favor has conditions she isn't privy to, but most of those do not apply in here, without witness. Without repercussion upon him, his character. Some, however, are entirely outside of her control. Machinations of destiny: The appearance of Michael or Philippa.
What she doesn't know won't hurt her, unless she's very, very unlucky. ]
( It hurts even if the pain is perfectly bearable. Chapel's had worse injuries in exchange for less pleasure, that's for damn sure, and she's nearly given her life for Starfleet more than once. She does have a death wish, doesn't she? Who else would throw herself in front of the proverbial bullet as much as she does if she cared about saving her own skin.
She thinks about his words. She knows what it means to feel alive. The war had been months of wondering whether she'd live or die. There was bombing, Klingon incursions, friendly fire - anything and everything that could happen in war just about happened to her and she'd volunteered to be there. She'd put herself there. She'd been so naive.
Is she naive right now? She doesn't think so. Chapel shifts a little and regrets her decision not to take off her shoes; the heels look great but they're not comfortable. )
May I step out of my shoes? If not, I can take the pain.
[ She can, and he'd like her to. His gaze sweeps lazily down in her legs, appreciating how the strain keeps her muscles poised. Another kind of play, he wouldn't hesitate to decline her request. She's dressed for him, not her comfort.
But had she shifted like that when he had the blade's edge to her body, she could have been cut. Not cause for alarm where he it's resting now, but on an area where the veins are closer to the skin, it could lead to more cleanup than he can be bothered with. Sticking strictly to the safe zones would take all the fun out of it for him -- and some of it out for her too, he'd bet. Total control of her balance and coordination is paramount.
Lorca lifts the knife away from her. ]
Take them off. I don't want you moving like that again. [ The neutrality of his tone is, as she's learned, how he scolds. It foreshadows a punishment. ]
( Chapel has been with him long enough to know that neutrality means she's messed up but this one is easily corrected. She steps out of her shoes and to the side a bit so they're no longer impeding anything they want to do. If they're going to play this dangerously, everything has to be as precise as an OR, and she's not going to end up dead because she shifted her feet a little. It's something easy to correct.
When she's out of her shoes, she tips her face up to look at him again. )
[ Lorca could accept some responsibility. He could have told her to wear comfortable shoes. He could have told her what he was planning on doing to her, started a whole goddamn dialogue, but that's not how this goes with her. And that's how she likes it.
No, this works out much better. Though he didn't need one, she's given him a reason to hurt her. She's done more right by him than wrong.
Lorca plucks the shoes from the floor and places them well out of the way. Her side-step was sufficient; he's using the opportunity to disorient her. Surround her with silence and uncertainty.
At the first sign she misses him, the first questioning syllable or turn of her neck, the flat tip of the blade alights above the back of her ankle. He increases the pressure as it runs up her calf, sketching a harsh white line into her skin. ]
Don't apologize. Show me it was worth it. [ Be still. Knelt behind her, Lorca's other hand snakes between her legs, under her dress, and holds her firmly by the inner thigh. The pressure eases over the back of her knee, wary of the ligament. ]
( The feel of the knife is dangerous and it makes her breath come shallow. With the blindfold in place, Chapel doesn't know where it will go next but she thinks Gabriel is knelt behind her based on where the knife is and how his hand is gripping her thigh. Being disoriented is part of the fun of this.
She keeps perfectly still except for breathing and even that she keeps shallow and even so she doesn't move too much. This is dangerous play and stepping one toe out of line could end in a serious injury that the city might not be able to handle. To trust is to give up control, every bit of it, so she does. She does bite her lip, though, enjoying the feel of the knife. )
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cw (unsafe) knifeplay, mention of breathplay, bloodplay, rough sex
Date: 2023-12-26 11:24 pm (UTC)[ If all pain felt the same, wielding it wouldn't be an art form. Perfecting it, a Terran science. She likes it when he sears her lungs and blots the world from her vision with his hand around her throat. She likes the bruises he wraps around her wrists or presses deep into her thighs with his fingers. The shallow red crescents from his teeth, the streaks from his nails. When blood has been drawn, it's been raw. Torn.
The passion of a knife is cold and precise. Its danger is immediate. Immense threat balances on the blade, unparalleled promise. She should know that better than most. Klingons and their swords.
He touches her first with the flat of the blade, alighting on her shoulder a hair's breadth from the strap of her dress. Lorca minds her breath, her expressive mouth, as he follows the straw down, knife tip dipping carefully under the fabric. It strains as he rotates the blade outward, until it splits cleanly apart. ]
no subject
Date: 2023-12-27 01:31 am (UTC)She's eager for it. More eager than she should be. )
I can be patient. I always am.
( Chapel has to be, with him. His rules are airtight and she likes following them. )
no subject
Date: 2023-12-27 03:10 am (UTC)Of course, she must have had some idea that this is what he had in mind. She's not stupid, and his request for what to wear had specifically alluded to the destruction of her clothes. He's not possessed of Vulcan strength, after all. Nonetheless, she might have been ignorant of her own limits, or changed her mind when confronted with reality. Found the fear unpalatable.
He's going to have to start giving her more credit.
It's a lovely image, the knife so near to her throat. He's going to make them both wait before he brings it there. Instead, the slightest pressure of the tip draws a white line down her skin, the wake of it blooming pink. She'll feel it through her dress as it contours her breast, circling to rest at her sternum. Lorca plucks at the fabric, pulling taut an inch's worth to snag on the knife's end and cut it to the neckline. It furls aside, baring the near fullness of one breast, and exposing only the hint of the other's nipple.
That's where he sets the tip next. ]
no subject
Date: 2023-12-27 05:21 am (UTC)He draws the knife along her skin and while it's still shallow, she feels it, and the pain feels good. It makes her feel like every nerve ending is alive and everything is blooming out from that one point of pain. He cuts open her dress and draws the knife close to one of her nipples, setting the tip there, and her only response is to draw in a shaky breath.
She still has her hands to herself. She isn't in the habit of using safe words with him but she has ways to tell him to stop if she needs to. Problem is, she never wants to stop. Everything he does to her, she wants, and she knows it's dangerous to let someone do this to her. It's dangerous to let someone hold her life in his hands every time they're together but she does it anyway, happy to walk that tightrope. )
cw lets throw in some manipulation
Date: 2023-12-27 05:51 am (UTC)You don't have a death wish, Christine. [ He turns the flat of the blade, cold steel, to her flesh. Then, slowly, the dull back scrapes from the tender center of her breast, diagonally up as he circles her. A long scratch almost parallel to her collarbone, running to the end of her clavicle. ] You just know what it means to feel alive.
[ He's playing with the truth. Lorca's not lying, from her perspective. Based on what she knows of him, she hasn't taken any unacceptable risks. Based on who he really is? Well, that's complicated. His favor has conditions she isn't privy to, but most of those do not apply in here, without witness. Without repercussion upon him, his character. Some, however, are entirely outside of her control. Machinations of destiny: The appearance of Michael or Philippa.
What she doesn't know won't hurt her, unless she's very, very unlucky. ]
no subject
Date: 2023-12-27 06:02 am (UTC)She thinks about his words. She knows what it means to feel alive. The war had been months of wondering whether she'd live or die. There was bombing, Klingon incursions, friendly fire - anything and everything that could happen in war just about happened to her and she'd volunteered to be there. She'd put herself there. She'd been so naive.
Is she naive right now? She doesn't think so. Chapel shifts a little and regrets her decision not to take off her shoes; the heels look great but they're not comfortable. )
May I step out of my shoes? If not, I can take the pain.
no subject
Date: 2023-12-28 03:13 am (UTC)But had she shifted like that when he had the blade's edge to her body, she could have been cut. Not cause for alarm where he it's resting now, but on an area where the veins are closer to the skin, it could lead to more cleanup than he can be bothered with. Sticking strictly to the safe zones would take all the fun out of it for him -- and some of it out for her too, he'd bet. Total control of her balance and coordination is paramount.
Lorca lifts the knife away from her. ]
Take them off. I don't want you moving like that again. [ The neutrality of his tone is, as she's learned, how he scolds. It foreshadows a punishment. ]
no subject
Date: 2024-01-03 06:53 pm (UTC)When she's out of her shoes, she tips her face up to look at him again. )
I'm ready. Sorry for the interruption.
no subject
Date: 2024-01-05 07:40 pm (UTC)No, this works out much better. Though he didn't need one, she's given him a reason to hurt her. She's done more right by him than wrong.
Lorca plucks the shoes from the floor and places them well out of the way. Her side-step was sufficient; he's using the opportunity to disorient her. Surround her with silence and uncertainty.
At the first sign she misses him, the first questioning syllable or turn of her neck, the flat tip of the blade alights above the back of her ankle. He increases the pressure as it runs up her calf, sketching a harsh white line into her skin. ]
Don't apologize. Show me it was worth it. [ Be still. Knelt behind her, Lorca's other hand snakes between her legs, under her dress, and holds her firmly by the inner thigh. The pressure eases over the back of her knee, wary of the ligament. ]
no subject
Date: 2024-01-07 02:46 am (UTC)She keeps perfectly still except for breathing and even that she keeps shallow and even so she doesn't move too much. This is dangerous play and stepping one toe out of line could end in a serious injury that the city might not be able to handle. To trust is to give up control, every bit of it, so she does. She does bite her lip, though, enjoying the feel of the knife. )