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Post by Grantaire on May 11, 2009 17:26:20 GMT -5
It wasn't as bad as it might have been, if he could feel things fully, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt like hell. He grit his teeth and arched himself against the cross, whimpering quietly. And hardening slowly.
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Post by Jean-François de Morangias on May 11, 2009 17:50:04 GMT -5
*At long last Jean-François finished, cruel smile twisting his lips.*
"There." *He breathed triumphantly. It was elaborate, a sort of mural of debasement and cruel sexuality. Though his name wasn't on it anywhere, there was a 'M' at the bottom. He had to sign his work, of course.*
"Rest, and I shall fetch some thread." *He said, almost comforting. But it was obvious that such an emotion was beyond him.*
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Post by Grantaire on May 11, 2009 17:59:17 GMT -5
Grantaire was familiar with Morangias' "affections" of course--the man was still the only living person aside from his father who called him Renard. It twisted his stomach and further fouled a name he already had a dislike for.
He pulled himself away from the cross, stiff and cool, and dragged himself to the sofa to lay on his stomach.
"Need water too."
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Post by Jean-François de Morangias on May 11, 2009 18:03:19 GMT -5
*Jean-François gestured idly at the pitcher where he'd left it.*
"There." *He remarked flatly, his mind set to other things and he disappeared briefly to fetch the needle and thread. He could not decide which would bring more pleasure, the marking or the mending. In another room, he smiled privately.*
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Post by Grantaire on May 11, 2009 18:12:23 GMT -5
The dead man groaned and sat up again to get himself a glass of water, perching on the edge of the sofa so carefully--he was grateful, at least, that the bastard hadn't marked his backside.
He gulped down the full glass and set it on the floor next to the couch, laying out on it again, folding his arms under his head, the sensation seeping into his back and making it feel hot and prickly and stinging and wet.
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Post by Jean-François de Morangias on May 11, 2009 18:26:10 GMT -5
*Jean-François returned, his step graceful and confident.*
"No, here." *He gestured, needle threaded in his hand. He turned to sit in a heavy chair, the ottoman before it the object that he'd alluded to. There was no reason he should not be comfortable, after all.*
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Post by Grantaire on May 11, 2009 18:31:05 GMT -5
"goddamnit..." he muttered and pushed himself up again, wincing this time, and moving stiffly to sit on the footstool, his back to the chair.
"There's not really any point you sewing it all up, I don't think it will really heal..."
At this rate, he was going to have to find Julian just to get himself fixed up a bit. He wondered if the man would be upset at how his "creation" had been abused. He smirked--at least it was unlikely that Julian would want a body with someone else's name carved into it.
"anyway, aren't there things you'd rather be doing?"
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Post by Jean-François de Morangias on May 11, 2009 18:41:55 GMT -5
"You mean f**king you?" *Jean-François asked bluntly.*
"Why should I want to do that? Such...pains would be all too fleeting."
*Nestling the needle in the fabric of his trousers for a moment, Jean-François drew out a handkerchief to wipe the unusual liquid away as best he could manage. Then he took the needle back up and slowly began to stitch up the cuts.*
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Post by Grantaire on May 11, 2009 18:46:20 GMT -5
"Then you're not going to at all?"
There went his hopes of at least some kind of release...Christ, he hated himself.
His rough fingers curled into fists against his legs--the stitches hurt far worse than the cutting and he could feel the thread being pulled back and forth through the raw wounds, agonizingly slow--that was on purpose he was sure, but it didn't stop him from gritting his teeth and squeezing his eyes shut, trying to hold as still as possible.
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Post by Jean-François de Morangias on May 11, 2009 18:50:11 GMT -5
"We shall see." *Jean-François had always preferred to watch, undressing obviously less appealing that it would be otherwise. But part of him simply refused to allow the other one bit of pleasure. And knowing the whore, he would moan all the more for it. As the thread moved diligently, a thought was seeded. If he would beg for it...debase himself voluntarily for it...then perhaps...but time would try.*
"You are disappointed?" *He asked at length, genuine curiosity peeking in his tone.*
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Post by Inspector Jason Cluont on May 11, 2009 18:55:21 GMT -5
****Grantaire*****
If he could still blush, he was doing so, and his mouth turned downward.
"No, you're disgusting. I don't want you anywhere near me."
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Post by Jean-François de Morangias on May 11, 2009 19:00:03 GMT -5
"Of course, of course." *He soothed coldly.*
"You hate me so much that you would forsake your lover's bed to attend me. You hide it under the guise of money, but there is part of you that needs the pain."
*Again the needle pressed into his skin.*
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Post by Grantaire on May 11, 2009 19:02:55 GMT -5
The muscles in his back twitched and he grunted.
"He's not my lover, and we've never shared a bed. I need the money, I don't need you."
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Post by Jean-François de Morangias on May 11, 2009 19:11:48 GMT -5
*Jean-François's hand stopped dead mid-stroke. He drew it away, leaving the needle in his skin.*
"Is that so?" *His lips tightened as his hand hurried to his purse. He drew out 200 francs in gold ((I'm assuming he would rather not handle paper money with one hand)) and thrust it in front of the man. Leaning forward, he was terribly close, his hiss hot on Grantaire's ear.*
"Then take this to him and have him finish you off." *He snarled and stood. The coins clattered to the floor.*
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Post by Grantaire on May 11, 2009 19:18:59 GMT -5
He was tempted to do just that--well nearly just that--but he couldn't get down onto the floor to pick up the coins just now and he was disturbingly distressed that his insult hat been taken so seriously.
"It's not enough money...we agreed on a price."
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