HOME | DD

Description
Chapter two. WARNING: Contains language on two occasions, and sadistic thoughts that are Vexen's, not mine XD
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My array of tools shone dangerously under the scrutiny of the flickering bulb. The almost emaciated boy thrashed in the chair as I let my hands linger over each instrument, assessing what I could do with each one.

I weighed a particularly sharp blade on my palm in an almost apathetic manner, all the while surveying the exposed chest of the wretched boy in the chair. He had a delicious pattern of scarlet lines adorning the skin under his collarbone.

With my free hand, I trailed my long fingers over the raised marks where the sharp blade had sliced his ivory skin. I was pleasantly surprised at how restrained I'd been the last time I had the boy at my mercy.

A strangled noise made me whip my head up, tear my gaze from Zexion's wonderfully mutilated neckline to look at his face, which displayed an expression of perturbed horror. Following his disgusted gaze downwards, I stared at the chair, not entirely sure where I was supposed to be looking. Then I noticed the stains. The material covering the chair was, in places, encrusted with streaks of crusted blood.

"Ah yes, I didn't get a chance to... clear up... after your last little visit."
I let a twisted smile contort my face, grinning at the boy in a disturbing manner. Zexion looked as if he were about to be violently sick.

"Now, lie very still."
I pressed my palm against his vulnerable stomach, lightly pressuring the boy against the chair. He visibly recoiled, as if from a serpent about to strike.

My scalpel I had chosen slid gently over his lower chest, opening a miniature gulf out of which red rivulets spilled, trickling down the body of the blade and onto the cuff of my lab coat. The blood met fabric and blossomed into a crimson flower.

Zexion squeezed his eyes shut tightly, perhaps in silent prayer, I didn't know. The blade of the scalpel criss-crossed, parting flesh as easily as a knife through butter.

The boy squirmed in pain, yet I noted his silence. In fact, he had he made any noise beforehand? I couldn't recall it. Perhaps he had taken heed of my warning the previous session? I glanced at the boy's face, which displayed a look of determination, crippled with agony. Somehow, I couldn't imagine him backing down... But then, why was he lying there, quiet as the dead, as I carved into his delicate skin?

Suddenly, he cried out. I looked down sharply, seeing my blood-soaked hand pushing the scalpel in almost to the hilt in Zexion's stomach.
Shit!
I tore my hand away, removing the blade in one swift motion, causing Zexion to attempt to double over in agony, restrained by his ties.
How had I gotten so distracted?

I hurried to the cabinet mounted on the wall, full of surgical supplies. Pulling various potions and mixtures aside, my hand finally closed around an antiseptic numbing concoction.
Sense took over my mind and I wrenched the boy's arms free of their bonds, taking an old lab coat from it's hook and thrusting it into his hands.

"Staunch the flow, now! I barked, grasping his wrists and forcing him to cover the scarlet fountain spraying from his lower chest.
"Hold it still!"
I unscrewed the lid of the fluid and poured it haphazardly onto a rag i'd somehow found in my panic. Hurriedly, I shoved the boy's arms out of the way and pressed the rag over his gaping wound.

Zexion stared at me, still holding the lab coat, sopping with his wasted blood, which he allowed to slide onto the floor. I sensed that he may well have followed if his lower body wasn't still secured to the chair.

One hand holding the rag in place, one rummaging in my selection of medical tools, I found what I was looking for. Triumphantly, I held up a large needle and a spool of surgical thread.
Wordlessly, I handed Zexion the crimson rag, which he took hold of gingerly.
I then proceeded to ready the needle and position it above the wound. The lustruous scent of his blood was driving me insane, I had to act fast, or i'd never bring myself to stop the flow.
ith one jagged motion, and a peircing intake of breath from Zexion, the needle poked awkwardly out of the other side of his parted skin. The boy grit his teeth as my needle plunged in and out of his tender flesh, an activity I did not entirely dislike.

When I had finished, I swabbed the wound with antiseptic, stepping back to observe my handiwork.
Convinced that Zexion would indeed live, I released the boy from the chair.

He did not slump to the ground as I had expected. He instead attempted to launch himself at me, but blinding pain in his torso caused him to stumble. He clutched at the stitching.
I blocked him easily, gazing at his defiant face, exposed to his steely glare.
I pushed him forcefully towards the door. He tried futilely to struggle against my grip.

"Go. Now." I glared back at him.
He turned back before he opened the door, his bony fingers gripping the handle, turned to speak. To me. I will never forget the look that contorted his features as he said this, not for as long as I live.

Face twisting in anger, he spat at me.
"Bastard." He said, then ran out of the door, kicking it shut behind him.

~

Description
Chapter two. WARNING: Contains language on two occasions, and sadistic thoughts that are Vexen's, not mine XD
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My array of tools shone dangerously under the scrutiny of the flickering bulb. The almost emaciated boy thrashed in the chair as I let my hands linger over each instrument, assessing what I could do with each one.

I weighed a particularly sharp blade on my palm in an almost apathetic manner, all the while surveying the exposed chest of the wretched boy in the chair. He had a delicious pattern of scarlet lines adorning the skin under his collarbone.

With my free hand, I trailed my long fingers over the raised marks where the sharp blade had sliced his ivory skin. I was pleasantly surprised at how restrained I'd been the last time I had the boy at my mercy.

A strangled noise made me whip my head up, tear my gaze from Zexion's wonderfully mutilated neckline to look at his face, which displayed an expression of perturbed horror. Following his disgusted gaze downwards, I stared at the chair, not entirely sure where I was supposed to be looking. Then I noticed the stains. The material covering the chair was, in places, encrusted with streaks of crusted blood.

"Ah yes, I didn't get a chance to... clear up... after your last little visit."
I let a twisted smile contort my face, grinning at the boy in a disturbing manner. Zexion looked as if he were about to be violently sick.

"Now, lie very still."
I pressed my palm against his vulnerable stomach, lightly pressuring the boy against the chair. He visibly recoiled, as if from a serpent about to strike.

My scalpel I had chosen slid gently over his lower chest, opening a miniature gulf out of which red rivulets spilled, trickling down the body of the blade and onto the cuff of my lab coat. The blood met fabric and blossomed into a crimson flower.

Zexion squeezed his eyes shut tightly, perhaps in silent prayer, I didn't know. The blade of the scalpel criss-crossed, parting flesh as easily as a knife through butter.

The boy squirmed in pain, yet I noted his silence. In fact, he had he made any noise beforehand? I couldn't recall it. Perhaps he had taken heed of my warning the previous session? I glanced at the boy's face, which displayed a look of determination, crippled with agony. Somehow, I couldn't imagine him backing down... But then, why was he lying there, quiet as the dead, as I carved into his delicate skin?

Suddenly, he cried out. I looked down sharply, seeing my blood-soaked hand pushing the scalpel in almost to the hilt in Zexion's stomach.
Shit!
I tore my hand away, removing the blade in one swift motion, causing Zexion to attempt to double over in agony, restrained by his ties.
How had I gotten so distracted?

I hurried to the cabinet mounted on the wall, full of surgical supplies. Pulling various potions and mixtures aside, my hand finally closed around an antiseptic numbing concoction.
Sense took over my mind and I wrenched the boy's arms free of their bonds, taking an old lab coat from it's hook and thrusting it into his hands.

"Staunch the flow, now! I barked, grasping his wrists and forcing him to cover the scarlet fountain spraying from his lower chest.
"Hold it still!"
I unscrewed the lid of the fluid and poured it haphazardly onto a rag i'd somehow found in my panic. Hurriedly, I shoved the boy's arms out of the way and pressed the rag over his gaping wound.

Zexion stared at me, still holding the lab coat, sopping with his wasted blood, which he allowed to slide onto the floor. I sensed that he may well have followed if his lower body wasn't still secured to the chair.

One hand holding the rag in place, one rummaging in my selection of medical tools, I found what I was looking for. Triumphantly, I held up a large needle and a spool of surgical thread.
Wordlessly, I handed Zexion the crimson rag, which he took hold of gingerly.
I then proceeded to ready the needle and position it above the wound. The lustruous scent of his blood was driving me insane, I had to act fast, or i'd never bring myself to stop the flow.
ith one jagged motion, and a peircing intake of breath from Zexion, the needle poked awkwardly out of the other side of his parted skin. The boy grit his teeth as my needle plunged in and out of his tender flesh, an activity I did not entirely dislike.

When I had finished, I swabbed the wound with antiseptic, stepping back to observe my handiwork.
Convinced that Zexion would indeed live, I released the boy from the chair.

He did not slump to the ground as I had expected. He instead attempted to launch himself at me, but blinding pain in his torso caused him to stumble. He clutched at the stitching.
I blocked him easily, gazing at his defiant face, exposed to his steely glare.
I pushed him forcefully towards the door. He tried futilely to struggle against my grip.

"Go. Now." I glared back at him.
He turned back before he opened the door, his bony fingers gripping the handle, turned to speak. To me. I will never forget the look that contorted his features as he said this, not for as long as I live.

Face twisting in anger, he spat at me.
"Bastard." He said, then ran out of the door, kicking it shut behind him.

~