#it’s still Christmas IN MY HEART | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

whumpitisthen · 11 months ago

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Perfect Present

Small little cw: this one has a pretty long noncon undressing scene! I never write nsfw, but this one can definitely be interpreted as suggestive, so just a heads up!

“I never expected to be blessed with such a sweet little present.”

He is numb. The air burns as he is carried past the thick, decorated wooden door. His shivering does not ebb from the sudden warmth, only worsens at the stranger’s words.

It's hard to concentrate on anything but the daunting prominence of approaching death squeezing his heart. Though he lacks the energy to act upon his fear in any meaningful way, he understands that he is in more than a little danger. The snowstorm that had caught him out in the middle of the woods could not have come at a more inopportune time; in a place where the nearest sign of civilisation was kilometres away. The distance would have been no issue if the skies remained clear, but the freezing winds cut through his coat so efficiently that he can only pray his fingers will thaw out in one piece.

“God knows how much longer you would have survived if I hadn't found you when I did.” — They found him collapsed in the snow, too exhausted to keep stumbling on towards what he hoped was the edge of the forest. His skin blue, his boots drenched, his hair frozen stiff from his own sweat; it's a miracle he hadn't fallen unconscious. — “But there is no need to worry now. I will take good care of you.”

It smells like pine and sugar. The walls are alight in colour, reflecting in the pond of his own glassy eyes. Classical music floats from the left as they pass by. He floats along in the arms of the stranger bringing him deeper into his home. In front of the fireplace, he is laid under a marvelous silver pine standing proud and fearless of the flames licking at its leaves from afar. The rug under him is soft, heavenly so.

“There you are. That feels nice, doesn't it? Those frozen little fingers will melt in no time.” — The stranger covers him in thick blankets, providing pillows to lean on as he coos these reassurances to him. — “I will go look for replacement clothes. We can't have you stay in that drenched, muddy coat, now can we?”

He does not wonder why the stranger seems to linger beside him before turning to leave. He does not mind the hand that cards through his hair affectionately, only happy for the heat that passes onto his scalp for a moment. He doesn't see the fond expression on his face, the way those eyes rake over his body slowly, as if taking in a wonderful, serene landscape. He sees no wrong just yet, focused only on his one goal of keeping his own heart beating.

The stranger returns with clean clothing not three minutes later, setting it aside onto the couch for now. With his blanket covered back to him, he shivers incessantly, gasping. Staring into the flames becomes painful, the heat forcing his eyelids closed against his will.

Removing the soaked through boots and pants should be priority in this situation, but the stranger finds himself enamoured by the weakness and vulnerability he shows as he lies there helplessly, curling tighter and tighter into himself. It is awfully difficult to tear his eyes away from those quivering blue lips. One thought comes and passes, offering to keep his clothes on for a while longer, just to prolong his beautiful suffering. Then another, more devilish one supplies him with a darker idea upon witnessing his fragile neck peeking out from under all that fabric — perhaps undressing him would be more satisfying in the end. The urge to peel back every layer coating his divine skin slowly, meticulously revealing flesh to be explored in earnest nests inside him and refuses to leave. Truly, unwrapping a present is half the fun after all.

Perhaps there will be no need for replacement clothes either way.

Wordlessly, he kneels by the bundle of trembling cloth, pulling him closer lightly. With a hand on his shoulder, he turns him onto his back, taking hold of those icy hands grasping the cover like it is trying to escape them. His present looks up at him with wide, terrified eyes; soon that fear will be converted to a more special, deeper kind of fear. He will not be nearly as afraid of the cold as he will be of the stranger.

Those eyes become a little wider when he pulls away the blanket, even wider when he straddles him and starts unbuttoning his coat with an eager expression. It takes a couple buttons for his present to understand that this is not right, wriggling and whimpering quietly, confused. He becomes nervous when the buttons run out and his coat is pulled away to reveal nothing but a flimsy dress shirt underneath. It isn't even fully buttoned up, leaving a prominent collarbone exposed under the dishevelled, wrinkled material.

The stranger tuts at him disapprovingly. — “So careless...”

The pause is a little too long for comfort, passed by as the man takes in his form before he returns to unwrapping his gift, a warm knuckle caressing the naked skin as his hands move to the next button. Even through the exhaustion, confusion, terror and pain, the cold mess of limbs understands how dangerous it is to be undressed in such a way in a stranger's home.

“S-S-Stop, p-, stop, no…” — Those blue fingertips come into view as they try to push numbly at the stranger's hands, squirming uncomfortably. He cannot feel if their hands meet at all, but he can hear the slaps as he jerks his hands into the other’s arms and chest frantically, kicking out and twisting.

The man looks at him a while, not bothered in the least. He just smiles at his desperate, yet pathetic efforts at fighting him, fighting back just as weakly by repositioning his head and wrists faster than he could comprehend with his dizzy mind, but letting up right after to watch those limbs fly around like useless flesh worms. Once the struggle becomes more annoying than entertaining however, he simply takes those wild arms and pins them under his knees, securing them in place so he can continue unboxing in peace.

At the miserable grunt that he makes once he realises how trapped he really is, the stranger only hushes him, — “be good. I am only trying to help you, can't you see? You are soaked.”

He had to use so much energy just to force his useless, heavy limbs to do something, but it only amused the man. He feels the shirt open button by button, powerless to do absolutely anything about it. The violent shivering only worsens once his naked skin touches the air, goosebumps rising at the feeling. It's warm, but cold at the same time, burning all the same.

The stranger’s fingers running down his torso bring tears of frustration and humiliation to his eyes, his face contorting into the very definition of misery. His struggles renew when that hand reaches under the shirt, circling around to feel his now swiftly beating heart, while the other cups the side of his stomach bouncing up and down with each of his panicked gasps for air. He cannot bear it any longer once the hand lifts from his chest up all the way under his chin, taking hold of his neck.

“Don’t, d-d-d-don’t, pl-ease, please, I-I-I-I, I c-can’t, I can't —”

“You don't need to. I will take care of you.”

That only makes him sob in earnest. A broken no is all that makes it out before he devolves into fearful whimpers and cries, thoroughly overwhelmed from going through multiple life-threatening crises at the same time. The grip tightens ever so slowly, experiencing the way his neck twitches and pulses, the frigid, pale blue skin stretching over an artery pumping dangerously cool blood hysterically under cruel fingertips caressing it. It's hard to tell through the tears covering his vision in confusing sparkles, but he can definitely feel the intense attention of the man glaring down at him in morbid fascination.

His hand never grows tight enough to strangle him, but it gets very close. Laboured, wheezing breaths already coming out forced now turn even smaller, just a little harsher, thinner, just enough to start hurting from the warm pressure. Once it reaches that point however, it returns to simply lying on top of his neck, an almost pleasant coat over him to slowly warm him through.

The stranger pauses for a moment, considering his thoughts. He makes a decision unbeknownst to his present, and moves to continue removing his clothes instead. His hand slips from feeling up his neck towards his shoulder, helping him out of the coat and the shirt at the same time, revealing even more damp, icy flesh underneath. Skin contact between the two of them brings goosebumps in its wake, as if the lost man's very body itself was flaring up to stretch into the warmth of the other. Scary, dangerous, uncomfortable and wrong, yet so pleasant, necessary, and enchanting at the same time. He needs that warmth to stay alive, but that hand will never let him go once it truly latches onto him.

The fire crackles too loud to hear his thoughts over. Focusing on anything but what is being done to him is a herculean task, only overpowered by the endless ice encircling his lungs. The more naked he feels, the less he fights, with his shoulders now bare and free, and his arms slender and fragile and useless all the same. His boots are pulled off him with little issue, soaked through socks following behind. It feels equally awful, yet relieving to be rid of the heavy, water clogged clothes. A towel is given to him then, the man noticing his shamefully weak arms hugging himself desperately, which then hold onto the towel even more fiercely, laying it over as much of his body as he can. It provides minimal warmth and privacy, but is more than welcome.

His pants are being unbuttoned then, and he kicks out in horror instinctively. He doesn't like this, he doesn't like this! — “P-P-Please, I can, I c-can —”

“No,” — he is swiftly cut off by the stranger, a tone not unkind.

He curses his heavy, frozen tongue for stuttering and failing so miserably, just like the rest of his body. He curses the weather that caught up to him so suddenly, that caused the hypothermia and weakness, the insistent winds that thirsted him into submission, sucking all power out of him. He curses the man most of all, for finding him, for taking him without so much as a question, for bringing him to a warm log cabin, to a lovely little home dressed in glimmer and blown through by an aroma hard to resist, for laying him in front of the fireplace, telling him all the while that he will help, that he is saved, and that he is such a lucky man to be found by him. He curses the stranger for lying to him, and taking advantage of him, and pulling unbothered on his trousers until he is fully naked, in a stranger's home, in the middle of a quiet, snowy nowhere, frozen to near death and sobbing in petrifying fear, forced to endure powerlessness and lay under the stranger as he does as he pleases with him.

The towel quickly shoves downward as his only shield against peering, curious eyes. He begs, though he can barely manage to utter out a single word understandable through his unfeeling lips. He keeps begging, he keeps resisting, he keeps squirming and whining and crying and clawing, but he is simply not a threat. It would not take more than a gentle pair of large, soft hands to peel away his own from his body, bringing the towel with. The stranger pauses again, letting his gaze and touch wander his body, touching just over his navel with such gentleness and hunger that he can barely hold himself from screaming as loud as he can.

Luckily, he stops soon enough, mercifully not dipping any lower to feel him up any more. The unnerving silence — or lack of conversation, to be precise, as the stranger's present is more than vocal about how much he hates this — is finally broken, the man leaning over him rousing himself free from this terrifying, lustful, obsessive mood he put himself into with a couple blinks. His eyes return to focusing on him as a person; as opposed to drinking in his body as a gift. — “There. That wasn't so hard now, was it?”

He takes the dry, heavenly soft towel and bundles him in it with care, lifting and manhandling him into a sitting position looking towards the fire. Another towel comes soon after, massaging his scalp as the stranger begins rubbing his hair dry. It is uncomfortable, but at the moment, he is only glad he is no longer being straddled on the ground, now keeping his knees high up under his chin and his body well hidden under the layers of cover.

The change in mood is not lost on the stranger. — “This feels good, doesn't it? Much better, without all that fighting. You are safe with me.”

“N-N-N-No, I-I’m, I-I-I’m not, I'm not…”

“Shhhh…” — the man shushes him again, sitting down behind him to hug him close, — “it's hard to speak, I know. The shivering will die down soon enough. No need to force it. I know.”

In a sudden all-consuming anger that flares up in his chest at the condescending tone, he jerks backwards to headbutt the stranger holding him hostage in his embrace, in his house, getting way, way too comfortable with his helplessness. It's infuriating; not only his pathetic state of vulnerability making it impossible to even do anything on his own, but that the stranger thinks he can just do anything he wants, that he can just take him and touch him and mock him and talk over him like this, while knowing fully well that the only reason he is still unharmed is because his ‘gift’, as he so creepily put it, is still thawing out from a snowstorm. If they were on equal footing, he would already be unconscious from how hard he'd have pummelled him as soon as he started taking his clothes off.

Unfortunately, even through the fury that takes hold of him, his movements are sluggish at best, and the man easily dodges him both times he tries to fight back this way. Even worse, he laughs, and only holds him closer, squeezing the breath out of him with one arm, and holding his head snapped back over his shoulder with the other, effectively pinning him arched over himself. — “Simmer down, sweetness. You'll hurt yourself.”

He only struggles for a small few seconds, then swiftly runs out of energy. His anger remains, slowly melting like a candle, eating itself alive. — “Wh-Why won't, w-won’t you let me go? Please, just, j-j-just sto-pp t-touching me!”

The list of the stranger's creepy, condescending mannerisms just keeps growing ever longer. This time, he pets his hair affectionately, humming a sympathetic, yet disapproving sound. — “I am not letting you go because you need help. You are shivering like a leaf, poor thing. You can barely move. Barely talk. You cannot take care of yourself.”

“I can, I c-can!”

“No, you can not.” — The facade of gentle kindness slips just a tad, his voice, while still pleasant, cuts with an edge that wasn't there before. There is a finality to his words, almost parental; however, the danger feels much more intimidating than just a usual scolding. The rumble of the stranger's tone right next to his ear doesn't help either. — “Be patient. I will show you how well I can take care of you, you'll see. I am very generous. It's the least I can do, after all.”

It takes an indescribable amount of will to force himself to even understand the extent of his situation, much less fight and argue with a mad man, so he just weeps in silence, going limp once again. He is slowly, excruciatingly warming by the fire, at least. One of his worries will be solved, and he is still alive. That is definitely a good thing. Now if only he wasn't basically kidnapped for that to have happened.

He holds out hope for when he feels better. Once he can move and speak like normal again, and stand his ground — or even just stand, period — he will fight him off, or look for an exit.

For now, he is exhausted. The warmth surrounding him, however unpleasant, relaxes him further into the arms of his captor. His still damp hair is becoming room temperature. His quivering is fading, bit by bit. He still twitches, his lungs still feel less than adequate, and he is just so incredibly tired. The stranger stands up at some point, leaving him for a while. Says he will return with some warm soup — must have gotten bored of waiting in silence. Without the support of the other man, he leans to the side and ends up curled up on the floor, dozing off.

By the time the man returns, steaming hot soup in his hands, he finds his gift passed out, cocooned up in the middle of his living room, right under the christmas tree. It's a delightful sight, even more so once he notices his rough wheezes as he sleeps, a perfect background noise in tandem with the quiet Händel playing in the hallway. It's so peaceful — the snow has covered everything outside with a thick coat, the sun has gone down, the fireplace has warmed up the whole cabin and the food is ready. It is the most perfect Christmas evening, made flawless by having such a pretty little present sleeping soundly under the tree. Vulnerable, gorgeous, far from home and with the sweetest little tears still glistening on his cheeks rose red from the cold.

Nothing could ruin this, least of all an unruly present.

The stranger sits down on his couch, watching intently the delicious sight, sipping on the delicious vegetable soup. He looks so defenceless like that. Naked, bundled up, unconscious. So many awful ideas spawn in the stranger's mind as he fantasises about all the things they will do together. All the fun they will have.

He could keep him in the shed, but not just yet, it's much too cold. He can keep him in his house, but then he will not have his own room. Then again, his gift doesn't need his own room. He could stay in the stranger's bedroom, locked up nice and safe. They could sleep in the same bed… maybe he could even chain him to the bedpost. Have a sweet thing like him always be right where he belongs. He does not need to leave, all he needs to do is let himself be taken care of. Yes, that sounds just delightful.

He will have to make sure to keep him in check. He can already tell this boy will be trouble if left to his own devices. He will need to be tamed. Carefully. He will need to be taught his place. He will need to be punished harshly for every wrong thought that crosses his mind. That's how he will be good enough to keep. Good enough to spoil with all the attention and care he could ever imagine. A good boy, who will keep him company out here, all on his own. The stranger will make him perfect.

No one will hear him scream. He can yell and fight all he wants. He cannot leave here. Not now that he was given to the stranger like this. The best Christmas present he could have ever asked for.

Hopefully by the time next year's Christmas comes around, he will have learned to be thankful for all his owner had done for him on this day, and will have had plenty of reminders carved into his skin, marking him as property, that he will be able to admire from the sofa like he does today. He will watch him wheeze in his sleep, and curl up bare in front of the crackling fire, and he will go up to him then and remind him of the day he was given to him as the most perfect little present.

Masterlist I Ko-fi

#whump #creepy whumper #intimate whumper #my writing #whump writing #fear #sadistic whumper #hypothermia #captivity #noncon touching #noncon stripping #nsft #suggestive #crying #this came out a bit late but eho cares its still Christmas in my heart #it is not massive tho! i have defeated my curse! i can write shorter things!

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