Desperation
A/N: I wrote something very similar to this with the Belsire previously but I couldn't help myself đ
Belsire: male equivalent to the Beldam (Coraline)
CW: kidnapping, manipulation, sewing needles
A beautiful lullaby hummed against your ear, fog-like breath both chilly and thick caressed against its shell.
You never imagined that he could sew; sure, he was keen to cook you extravagant dinners, you never saw him clean despite the crooked house always spotless, and the clothes that were put in your drawers were consistently washed-- but such delicate needlework? You didn't think the creature had it in him. His fingers seemed made for it though, long and spindly and black at the tips, they held the needle at a fine point, without having to lick the end of the thread before putting it through the eye.
"Stab the needle through the eye....wrap two knots around the tongue, and pull it out the mouth."
His low, rasped voice was unlike anything you've heard from the men in the "real" world. Its croaky demure made sound as if his vocal chords were on the brink of snapping. It was very few and far between that his voice resounded throughout the house in a thunder-like boom.
Tonight, was not one of those nights. Not unless you made an effort to wrangle out of between his stick-like forearms in the wooden chair and began yelling ungrateful spiels whilst staying in HIS house. He said it was yours-- your "other home," but since the gateway tunnel back to your original 1-bedroom apartment became nothing but sturdy drywall with a key hole, its been his. It was always his, you were just too blind to see past the beautiful illusions built for you.
"Just like that... mending is simple work."
You feel his left hand, the one once holding your torn cardigan steady, reach up to lay a cold finger beneath your chin. It rubs back and forth, relishing in the warmth of your throat, the soft flesh between your jaw and jugular.
The Belsire seemed to enjoy running his smooth, icy digits along your naked skin, brushing from side to side, up and down to dip against your collar bone. He relished your warm-bloodedness from how often he took advantage of it. It was a wild contrast to his ever-frozen, rigid body draped in fine blacks and bruised shadows.
"C-can you show me again?" You plead, hoping the end of this activity wouldn't be the finale before your demise. Each time you have one of these "bonding" sessions the Belsire encourages you to entertain him with, you anticipate it being your last.
Each day you wait and wait... wondering if he's hungry again, if it'll hurt, if you'll make one more frustrated comment away that'll make him snap and pick your bones clean.
"Again..?" He tapped thrice on your neck, a twitching habit that sent cold shocks through you. "Why don't you try it yourself this time, dear?"
The sweet, affectionate name oozing from his lips was unnatural-- and yet, perfectly normal for the creature of love seduction. How many had fallen for that same adoring title, only to find themselves now locked in his stomach?
You couldn't tell anymore what was genuine adoration, or a disturbing method at getting you to put your guard down. When he was angry with you, for hiding or attempting another escapade to get back home, 'dear' transformed to spits of "insolent one" and "maddening human", at the very least. On his worst days you were a bewitching, dimwitted little creature too stupid to be let free- better off in his hands if not crunched between his teeth.
"I'm not too sure, I might..accidentally stab myself with the needle, you know?"
You shrug in feigned helplessness, hoping your lack of enthusiasm wouldn't tick him closer to the dark side.
"If you do, then I'll lick your wound and we can start again. Give it a try, won't you? I've seen your work on my coats," he mumbles lowly at the rest of his comments, "and that damned quilt you seem keen to keep."
He muses at the mention of your skilled handiwork you sneak to do when he's gone away at "none of your concern" events. However he knew of your activities in this prison cell while he was out didn't surprise you; the house had eyes, in places you'd rather not think of.
You took the needle from within his delicate grasp, mahogany red thread swinging loose and ready to be tightly wound in your wine colored cardigan.
You copy the movements he had done a million times, though you really weren't watching when he had. It was hard to concentrate with your body shivering, waiting for a sharp dagger or set of teeth to find it's way buried in your back.
The Belsire seems to ease up as you begin to complete the torn cardigan hole, placing two abnormally long hands upon the sides of your shoulders.
"Don't move," he grumbles, almost annoyed at the idea. "Smooth and quite warm... I never understood the pleasure of keeping food around longer than it's due date. But you, little button... why, you're almost opening a soft spot inside of me.."
You didn't like the sound of that. A soft spot within him would certainly be something he sought to squash.
"Are you sure you want a soft spot? I'm not even sure where that would be."
You almost laugh at your own joke, imagining his crisp limbs deflated. If you were making a soft spot, you best keep at making it grow.
"It seems you force it in me, whether I like it or not. I enjoy having you to myself, to come home to... even if the idea that you're taking part of me, is... infuriating."
The Belsire leans deeper into you, pressing the inside of his thighs against yours, craning his neck downward.
"The unfortunate part is, I think I may fall apart if you disappear."
You see the looks he gives from the corner of your eye; dark, empty buttons staring into you, awaiting your reaction. Was this another attempt to swoon you?
"Then I guess that means you can't eat me."
You sigh, hoping he'd agree. And oddly enough, he cracks a grin.
"I guess not. Though, don't hold your breath. I can't make any promises as to what my temper will lead to." The bridge of his nose is uncharacteristically pressed against your cheek, black dots boring holes into you. "On the topic, I'd be less inclined to eat you if you accepted my present..."
You round off the last bit of stitching, only to see an all too familiar velvet box on your left. It was open, music box playing a soft melody as a range of colors and sizes in buttons were available to view.
"I... I still can't, give you an answer." You go back to tying an end to the thread, praying for the Belsire's eerily calm mood to stay uninterrupted.
He goes quiet, habitually running a thumb down the shell of your ear. The chill was almost welcoming, soft flesh touching your heated one. It felt... genuine, a form of physical affection that was done for his pleasure more than your own. It would be comforting, if you weren't waiting for him to explode.
"I expected as much," he calmly huffs, shutting the box with a single finger. Its harsh snap made you drop the thread. "But you can't expect me to wait forever; you aren't going home. You will remain here, either as my slave, or my spouse. The difference is whether I have to force these buttons on you, or you take them willingly."
"I.. I just need a little more time. I haven't-- I'm not-- done adjusting. I'm not used to this world, like you."
You've given up pleading; for all you knew, there was no way back home that either of you could conjure. This was your fate.
Like a doll he dressed and cleaned and made a perfect dollhouse for, you were to sit here and provide him the comfort he could not create on his own. Like a god, creating his creatures of free will, he relished in the uniqueness you offered without him having to fabricate it first, the obedience you gave from fear in your own desire rather than a direct command.
A long silence left the air hanging stagnant, your patchwork sitting in front of you, finished and yet not quite the same as it once was. Why couldn't you go to the store and buy a new one, spend frivolous money and speak to the miserable cashier that reminded you humanity was still alive?
"...Fine. But not much longer, my sweet button...this-- mortal flesh still tying you to your world, has kept me at a distance I do not wish to stand at." A soft kiss, from creased, inexperienced lips touched the top of your cheekbone. "I want you for myself... I don't like not getting the things I want. And, I want you far more desperately than I imagined."
His voice was stoic, gentle and logical despite the romantic lines that were fed to you. Spindly fingers pulled back pieces of your hair, caressing the skin on your face with soft strokes. Like a human would do to an animal, running his knuckles against your cheek and his fingertips along your jaw.
Just a simple touch and turn of your chin was all it took to make you look at him.
"Don't make me wait. I will have you, and I want it to be because you will it. Please, don't make me do what neither of us want."
His tongue was warmer than his touch, somehow. Maybe it led to his even warmer heart, but you doubted it. Even with the way both his large, balmy palms were gripping beside your ears, pulling your face to touch his in a dance of lips and stolen breath, you wondered if this was just another web of lies spun to create your damnation.
But the desperation in how he swallowed you whole, pulling your hands away from the touchy needlework he was once keen on making you finish-- there was something human about it all, something touchy and irritable and obsessive. If he wanted you desperately then, you could only imagine how horribly ridden he was now, feeling your warmth as he made you colder with his hands and wrists, him never changing.
You peeked an eye open, wondering if those buttons stayed all-seeing, all watching, even when you kissed.
