킬마 🐺 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
conspecifics) wrote2023-01-01 12:00 am
conspecifics) wrote2023-01-01 12:00 am
inbox+overflow.
@dogboy*
▶ TEXT (?)
▶ AUDIO
▶ VIDEO
▶ ACTION
▶ AUDIO
▶ VIDEO
▶ ACTION
open season.
OPEN SEASON
@dogboy
24 / m / straight / 2♠️*
24 / m / straight / 2♠️*
Details
My Self-Summary
His name is Kirma and he’s illiterate. I’m helping him fill this out, but honestly speaking, it’s a complete waste. Besides that, don’t you think his rank is unfairly high? Even though it’s still in the single digits, it’s not as if he wouldn’t be at home in the basement levels. If someone could send my complaints along to the house, I’d appreciate it.
Surviving?
Chasing sticks. Eating absurd quantities of garbage. Fouling up perfectly nice beds. Trampling flowers.
Meat.
Someone skilled at training dogs.
Height
169cm / ~5’7
Body Type
fine
Smokes
apparently
Drinks
i think so
Drugs
maybe
Sign
?
Education
laughable
Occupation
unemployed
Income
unpaid
Children
none?
Pets
he is one
Hobbies
cooking
01. WINE OR BEER
.02 CLOWNS OR MIMES
.03 SHOWER OR BATH
.04 PIRATES OR NINJAS
.05 TITS OR ASS
.06 COFFEE OR TEA
.07 SPICY OR SWEET
.08 SUMMER OR WINTER
.09 LEATHER OR LACE
10. ROUGH SEX OR GENTLE SEX
BEER
.02 CLOWNS OR MIMES
“WHAT'S A MIME”
.03 SHOWER OR BATH
NEITHER
.04 PIRATES OR NINJAS
PIRATES? WHY ARE THERE SO MANY OF THESE
.05 TITS OR ASS
.06 COFFEE OR TEA
.07 SPICY OR SWEET
.08 SUMMER OR WINTER
.09 LEATHER OR LACE
10. ROUGH SEX OR GENTLE SEX
Personality Type
ISFP-A
ISFP-A
ENERGY
73%
introverted
MIND
76%
observant
NATURE
66%
feeling
TACTICS
54%
prospecting
IDENTITY
75%
assertive
hover for rating.
excuse you, fat schlong waster
( This may be the only sort of moment that Esikko takes constructive criticism (or anything close to it) without a complaint or contradiction. He shifts the angle along with guidance, eyes narrowing a little further to focus on the difference before he attempts the next cut.
As expected, it does help. Unfortunately, the help isn't significant— and it's a more uncomfortable grip, one that has him having to pause to adjust it every few goes. Still, if there's one thing, it's that Esi is trying to do this quickly.
At the same time, each cut takes more effort, more strength, and Esi isn't built for strength. Or stamina. It's pure thrill that's pushing him forward, leaving his breath short but his actions firm. Something about Kirma's choked words, even, was so enchanting. )
Is this better?
( Not only did he accept guidance, but he's asking to make sure he's continuing to do it right? Well, it seems the only way to get this out of him is to put yourself in harm's way. )
never say those words in that order to me ever again
still— he doesn’t answer. he’s too busy trying to relax, you see. relaxation looks something like holding his own arm, above the cut, as if the halfhearted pressure he exerts can do anything to stymie the flow of blood; it looks like his head coming to rest on esi’s right shoulder, despite all the movement and jostling, for some sort of extra anchor, a tether to remind him that other sensation exists in the world beyond what’s being enacted upon him. his face turns into esi’s neck, and the erratic pulse he feels inspires an entirely new wave of dread and nausea.
kirma keeps it all down, of course. he is nothing if not practiced at suffering, though he can’t say it’s ever been quite so bad— golden peacock is a realm full of new experiences, isn’t it.
he remains silent, mostly, save for the harsh and ragged breaths he takes, until esi saws through to the core of his arm. the feeling of metal glancing off bone earns esi a gasping cry right in the hollow of his neck, as the vibration of it shoots up all the way to kirma’s shoulder. the strange sensation isn’t necessarily any more painful, but it does speak to a certain amount of progress and finality. doesn’t it? but more than that— )
You’re going to ruin my knife.
( funny, what the mind chooses to focus on, in a dire situation. the words come out in a pained moan, but he’s being entirely sincere with them. doesn’t he know how hard it is, to come by anything remotely weaponlike in the no-weapons casino? )
:)?
Hard work he may have given up on if the circumstances were just a little different. But he can't exactly back out now, and even if he's the type of person to cut off his bodyguard's hand, he's somehow not the type to only half cut it off. It's strange, how Kirma's guttural cry sends something close to a shiver up his spine. He can't shudder while working so hard at sawing through bone, and he doubts it would help, anyway— the more this goes on, the more heat pools in the pit of his stomach and spreads down, excitement showing itself with a growing strain in his pants.
Not that he expects Kirma to pick up on this, with what he's dealing with right now. It's dizzying, and he can't quite put his finger on what it is about this— the trust? The intimacy? It's everything all at once, and the comment is enough to get Esi to release some of his tension with a soft laugh, almost tender in tone. )
Worry more about yourself, right now. The knife can be replaced.
( You can't, is the underlying message there, which is a rare thing for Esi to hint at or admit in any form. But there's fondness in his eyes that's rarely seen, and as he pulls the knife down through layers of bone and hits hollow marrow, he breathes heavier, leaning in to grant Kirma with one more kiss.
Then it's back to focusing, his grip readjusting on Kirma's hand and his body moving to put more force into the cuts. He wants to hurry up and be done— not for Kirma's sake, but for his own restlessness. )
:/
at least— they’re more than halfway through, though the fragmented state of kirma’s mind can barely grasp all the implications that come along with that. there’s a blinding pain from his arm, but it seems to end sooner than it should; the scrabbling at esi’s chest only grows more frantic, the closer he gets to breaking through. his tail begins to thump against the bed in an erratic rhythm to accentuate things, a representation less of fondness or excitement and more the intensity of the conflicting surge of emotions within him. he wants it to stop— he wants this moment to last forever. as long as esi stays here, and as long as this is something he needs from him— that’s enough. )
Please, can you—
( kiss him again? can he be forward enough to ask that? the rest of the question, request dies off as a whimper. )
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It's shaky, almost, heavy breathed, and much deeper. This time, there's no recognition of whatever foul taste might be lingering in Kirma's mouth. The smell of blood in the air has invaded all of his senses, so even his tongue feels like the wet warmth of it now.
Like this, cutting slows, but he's nearly through bone anyway. After that, flesh will be so much easier, again. In between the kiss, he whispers softly. )
I'm here.
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because this, too, is a memory. it isn't always his hand. there was his eye, once, at the very beginning, and that bad been a compromise, for esi had wanted both. blood, always given freely. ribs. fingers. teeth. kirma has never been anything but a collection of parts to split and parcel out, and esi merely saw fit to claim them all— an arrangement that is mutually beneficial, in the end. the recollection makes him shiver, whispering something into the kiss he can't quite hear over the pounding thrum of his pulse beating against his eardrums.
there is a part of his mind that stays wandering these halls of memory. does esi know the selfishness that underscores everything he's ever given him, he wonders. if he does, does it matter? he'd still been happy to take anything from him despite it; and by that same token, he would be nothing without him, son of a nobody, failed experiment, worthless tool—
kirma's lips curve up into a genuine smile. perhaps it's the blood loss, but the agony is no longer without its gratification, a twisted sort of almost delight that has him gasping into the kiss with a needier bent than he'd anticipated. for each spasm of pain, he rocks forward, chasing esi's tongue with his own; his hand makes it up to esi's cheek, and the smear it leaves matches the color of the marks under his eyes exactly, and he remembers, another detail.
neither makeup nor a tattoo, but something with far worse implications than either. oh. but then... even that chilling revelation isn't enough to pull him out of this bloodsoaked reverie, and he grabs esi to hold him close with a renewed vigor. )
Finish it already.
( it's meant to be something forceful, a command, almost, but there's a sharp whine in his words, plaintive, desperate. he may as well have said please again. )
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With added exertion, he's able to slice through the last of flesh and bone. The hand falls to the ground with a horrifying thump, and Esikko drops the knife along with it, pressing himself immediately into Kirma's arms. Their bodies are both hot, though Kirma's threatens to lose heat the more he fades, and so Esi kisses him hard, his bloodied hands moving to tear at the cloth blocking his way and find Kirma's length. He's not sure how hard he can make him like this, if it's even possible— but he strokes him all the same, his breath labored as he kisses harder, deeper, his own hips thrusting forward for the hope of some sort of friction.
Desperation is matched in his free hand now clamping over the bloodied stump of Kirma's arm, half an attempt to stop the flow, and half just to appreciate the feeling of it. Raw, wet, warm. )
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but there’s a bigger, more worrying part of him that thinks: it’s nice, though. there’s an intimacy, it seems, to having your hand sawed off. his tongue seeks out esi’s, and his hips lift to meet the pressure coming down on them, and while the force of his hand over the stump of his wrist is likely enough to leave bruises, in contrast to the rest of the wound feels like, it may as well be a lover’s gentle caress.
his free hand— only hand— rakes through esi’s hair, clinging, as if he might suddenly change his mind and pull away. it wouldn’t— it wouldn’t be the first time, he realizes, and that’s where the fear comes from. leaving him to die, or worse— )
Don’t go, ( slips out in a whisper, somewhere in the frenzy of their kissing. the plea of a cut far deeper than anything esi could manage with a knife. you can do anything you want to me— as long as you don’t go. )
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Feelings that feel layered over themselves, again and again, always stabbing directly through his own heart. The heart-shaped mark on his shoulder aches with it, this time, but he doesn't even register. Right now, he's busy with frenzied kisses at Kirma's lips, open mouthed and littered with heavy gasps. It seems like only moments before his hand, slick with blood, is not just stroking at Kirma's arousal, but his own. He presses their cocks together, sloppy, slipping strokes bringing him closer and closer to a peak. )
Kirma.
( He doesn't usually speak anyone's name like that, but it feels right to have it slip out like that. Half a whisper, half a groan, he drags his tongue along the corner of Kirma's mouth where some blood has splattered. He's not leaving. Not here, not now. )
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he makes himself content with what he has, hips weakly lifting a moment to answer esi's hand before falling back— it's just not sustainable, with the state he's in. he's given up on any sensation he cannot directly feel, blindly turning to follow esi's mouth as he moves.
kirma's breaths start to draw shallow, and not from any impending climax; blood pools on the sheets, drips and soaks into the carpet, stains what clothes they still have on. dimly, he thinks, he should apologize to the housekeeping staff the next time he sees them. if there's a next time— and if he does here instead, then— when his mouth moves again, no sound escapes it. )
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But then he exhales smoothly, pulling himself back with a little more urgency. Still, he imagines if Kirma were more aware he'd be a bit alarmed by the pace he's taking. He's moving quicker, but he's not panicked, pulling his baji up more properly, straightening his clothes to be presentable. He even reaches over to help Kirma with his, as much as needed, before ducking down to pick the discarded hand up from the floor.
Coming back up from that, he leans to kiss Kirma once more, his words pressed against cold lips. )
Stay awake. We're going to the clinic.
( Finally. At the very least, it seems that Esikko isn't prepared to leave Kirma to die here. When he stands, feeling as refreshed as ever, he even shifts to take Kirma's arm around him, to help him up. He has to do it around his own waist, rather than his shoulders, though— he doesn't have the strength to carry this man, even as short as he is. Even missing one hand. )
Lean into me.
( This is the gentlest he will ever be. And Kirma can enjoy it for the length of the clinic visit, as he brings him there, sets his dismembered hand on the counter, and requests a fix. )
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