Title: Lie with me a while
Prompt: "Jane/Lisbon. Knife/Blood kink. One character tied down, other with a knife (surprise me!). Angst/Hurt/Comfort. =^.^=" from lady_of_scarlet at the Mentalist Kink Meme at livejournal.
Warnings: Angst, blood play, sex, emotional issues, knife kink.
Disclaimer: Not mine, I make no profit, but I dearly wish for things like this on the show. Even if it would make it into highly specialized porn. :D
A/N: Tenses are MoFo's and I commit some really appalling abuse of commas in my first draft. If you find a disruptive or otherwise useless commas/tenses let me know and I will HUNT THE FUCKERS DOWN.
Also, despite the condom, this does not count as safe sex, nor is this safe, sane, and consensual. Okay, it's consensual, but not safe or sane and you should have all three. Don't do this at home and if you do (O.o), make sure you do more than twenty minutes of research for prep.
Blood is a curious liquid. It explores like a cat, trailing its way into places you'll never get clean, Teresa (she is Teresa here, if nowhere else) mused.
Jane pulled at his bonds (he is Jane here still, and always will be), testing them. Teresa had pinned him to the bed like a butterfly in a shadow box, broad leather cuffs on each limb, steel chains from the hardware store tied tightly to the sturdy wooden bed frame. There was very little give and Jane smiled peacefully, relaxing into crumpled white sheets.
His smile was the first thing she noticed about him, in the beginning. It was the lovely lies in it that made her curious. Jane made them look so happy.
Teresa reached over to the bedside table, grateful for Jane's blindfold. She didn't like him looking at her. He was so bright in the lamp light and it was the alluring light of temptation. If he were to look at her she would be gone, ice melting into warm honey from the smile in his eyes. Here, his smile slowly lost its mad edge, softening enough to be called human.
The knife was in her hand and, as always, she didn't know if she could to this. She hovered over him, not touching, just watching. His smile was serene.
He opened his mouth to speak, and she ran the knife down the centre of his chest, a thin red line that barely drew blood. Jane twitched and then lay still. Teresa released the breath she was holding.
Platitudes, such as the first time is always the hardest, are true. Now that she could see the blood, it tugged at her, at something instinctual. The next cut will be easier, she thought to herself. She held her breath again, somehow convinced that that small control of herself would make a difference.
This time she slips the knife through the thin skin of his belly, over the vulnerable viscera. Jane tried to rise up and push into the knife. Teresa sat across his thighs and pinned his shoulder to the bed. He sighed.
She laid the knife on the white sheets, the blood on it staining them in smeared patches of red. The sheets were new. They were always new.
Teresa leaned in, her hand hovering over the newest cut. It bled sluggishly, the first out pouring of blood slowing. She dropped her hand to rest lightly on it. Jane shuddered under her touch, tugging again on the bonds holding him down.
She stroked the bleeding wound, stiff fingers dipping into the shallow valley. The blood rushed out in the wake of her touch. Teresa ran her palm across the red blood, smearing it over Jane's stomach so that he could feel it too. It would dry there, tacky and then flaking.
"Lisbon," Jane murmured.
She flinched at the sound of her name.
He moved under her, encouraging her. "More?" he asked contentedly, head rolling to the side to rest in the cool sheets. His breathing was calm and slow. Teresa knew that if she took his pulse it would be as slow as if he were asleep.
Teresa nodded, not caring that he couldn't see her. She doesn't like to talk, not while they do this. Jane had tried at first, but had stopped when she asked him to.
The knife had cooled while she was distracted. It felt refreshing against her palm. Teresa smiled bleakly at Jane.
She traced the blade across his body, light touches that scraped rather than cut. His hip bones jutted out too much and she accidentally opened the skin there.
Jane hummed softly, so she did the same to his other side. Tiny droplets of blood leaked from the scratches and she wiped at them with her thumbs. Jane smiled quietly. Teresa drank the smile in, savoring it.
Her gaze lingered lower, and she knows that he would let her, even there. Teresa didn't. Instead, she moved down his body and settled between his knees. Here she could see him, the lovely bleeding boy.
It was easier when Teresa couldn't see his face and the next cuts came in rapid succession, parallel grooves just deep enough to bleed. She did four on each leg before she stopped.
Jane's legs strained at their bonds and the chains squeaked softly against the wood. He pulled at the restraints silently and then relaxed again into the smooth white sheets.
Teresa put the knife down. She watched him.
His breathing was speeding up; his chest beginning to glow with the sheen of sweat. She liked him like this. The knowledge curled in her chest like a broken promise, and she swallowed the words she wanted to say. Instead she rubbed the marks roughly, drawing more blood to the surface, more blood for him to bleed. It only seemed fair that what was inside of him got exposed, too.
Jane lay slack under her touch, his breath whistling through his teeth. Teresa slowed and stopped, picking up the knife again. This time she crawled up his body, acutely aware of how her bare knees scraped against his smooth skin.
She could see his pulse from here and it wasn't nearly so slow anymore. The thick blue vein swelled and ebbed under translucent skin, fluttering rapidly. She thought of frightened animals and dipped her head to press a soft kiss against his chest. The knife fell to the side.
Her hands fumbled at first, but then grew more sure. They slid easily over his skin, lubricated with blood. Jane's breath grew unsteady and ragged, his nostrils flaring. She watched his mouth form silent words and translated them as quietly as he spoke them. Teresa doesn't know who Jane thinks of when he is here, with her hands on him, his blood on her. She's never seen a name on his lips.
Jane's head was thrown back, pressed hard into the mattress. Teresa stops and presses another kiss, this time to the pounding pulse in his neck. Her blood caked hand reached over to the nightstand and pulled a condom from the opened box, knocking it to the ground.
Teresa blushed as she settled back on his thighs, tearing open the package. She rolled the condom over him, her hands leaving bloody fingerprints.
Jane licked his lips, his pink tongue drawing her attention. She hesitated briefly before she pressed her hand into the cut on his belly, supporting herself as she sank down on him.
Teresa threw her head back, her breath coming harsh and fast as every muscle in her body rippled. Jane moved under her and her vision darkened around the edges. She gasped, shuddering. Her hand flew from the cut on his belly and slid between her thighs. She knew it was his blood on her hands and the knowledge was like an electric current down her back.
Her hips rolled in tight circles and she panted harshly, her body curled over Jane, her breasts slipping across his chest. The knife was in her hand and she couldn't remember when she picked it up. The angle was awkward, but she brought the knife down into his shoulder, cutting deep into the skin, piercing him. Jane fought against his chains, thrusting into her.
She shuddered and dropped the knife as he stilled, pressed into the mattress by her body. Jane thrummed under her, a low whisper of her name falling from his lips. It felt too good and she was grateful when it ended, the sensation quelling and the sound of her heart pounding through her ears.
Teresa slid to his side and sighed deeply. Her body was streaked with Jane's blood and it rubbed off on the sheets, spotting them with red stains. She would need new sheets again.
"Thank you," Jane whispered, his voice rough and low.
Teresa nodded an answer he couldn't see and put the knife on the nightstand. She picked up the box, putting it in the drawer. She pulled the condom off and tied it in a knot before throwing it into the wastebasket.
Jane shifted restlessly as she straightened away the disorder, but she didn't release him. Instead, she curled up on the bloodstained sheets, her back pressed against his side. She would free him soon.
Just not yet.