wip — ustulation; oneshot , knight/squire 18+ bros kinda mean!
"knock. knock."
you blink upwards, bleary-eyed, as two massive fingers tap at your bottom lip.
it distorts your vision to have a hand thrown in your face. what you'd been doing rendered to no importance, diminished to the petulant child you once were. instinct rears its ugly head and irritation licks at your insides. you had always bit first. asked later.
but a simple command wrapped in a familiar inflexion—guttural, deep, a dichotomy of smoke and scratch; cocksure buried beneath layers of sleep deprivation and a penchant for one too many smokes—has taught you to stand down.
he's apathetic towards you, at most. at least, he despises your very being. wishes he'd said no when they'd tossed you to him—a clot of blood in shark-infested waters—for tutelage.
treats you like a runt from the litter of hunting dogs he breeds. picking you apart to find the smallest, most antagonizing details—the most personal of barbs—then, flays you apart again and again until you are raw, bleeding out on your threadbare mattress. unable to allow yourself the luxury of thinking about a dreamless sleep whilst you polish clean armour and hone sharp knives.
still, you comply, malleable in his unforgiving hands. saccharine; sweet enough for a toothache, never lets you live it down—'might 'ave to pluck y'r teeth out, runt. givin' mine a cavity. eye for an eye n' oll that'—
his fingers push at the seam of your lips, slow but forceful; impatience at an all-time high if you're involved. your jaw protests, lockjaw,—'need ta learn how to relax', he says as the next swing of his sword against yours is jarring enough that your teeth rattle and your ears ring, while knowing he's the source of all of your stress—you're forced to blink back a whimper of pain when your knight's digits bully into your mouth.
they're unwashed. pungent acridity, brine burns on your tasebuds as he pets your tongue with rough fingerpads. he huffs in laughter, mean, when you inevitably choke on his taste.
"good, pet," he purrs. nothing like a compliment and all too antagonising, an austere reminder of the hellion he'd broken in, "open wide. let me see my next set o' pearly whites."
