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[hiskillingjar]

Woundfucking (Lawrence/OC)

something something, i am the wound that never heals, i am the turning knife, yonic metaphors, etc etc.  day 3: woundfucking second person, law x transfem oc (this one). cw for gore and some internalised transmisogyny

“Motherfucker…”

You took in a pained hiss through your teeth as you stared down at the open wound on your thigh, analysing the layers of skin, fat and muscle, all covered in a garish sheen of blood, like something out of a horror movie.

The scalpel did an expertly clean cut, better than any rusty knife you might have had in your collection, and your body was well numbed from a cup of Lawrence's tea, so you couldn't feel the (surely) agonising pain you were both putting your body through in service of a morbid curiosity and a twisted sexual proclivity. 

But even so, it looked diabolical.

"How do you feel?" Lawrence asked, their flat monotone strangely calm as they pulled the scalpel blade away from your skin and looked up towards you. 

There was a cold and almost analytical look in their grey eyes, without a hint of remorse or sympathy present, though that was to be expected from them.

You had begged for this for weeks, knowing they’d get as much enjoyment from it as you, so why would they feel anything close to sympathy for you?

There might have been a little bit of excitement, too, though that could be your imagination.

"It's...weird not to feel it," You murmured, feeling something close to a shiver between your temples as they set the scalpel down on their desk and keened up on their knees, the bloody tarp crackling beneath them, inspecting the open wound closer. "Like, it looks like it should hurt, but it doesn't...almost like it's not a part of me or something."

Lawrence nodded, their eyes flitting back down to the wound.

"Well...you'd be surprised how good our mind is at disconnecting us from our body sometimes...especially in a situation like this."

They picked up their phone, turned on the torch with a slide of a bloody finger over cracked glass, and began looking deeper into the cut, their eyes flicking over the flesh and bone of the exposed muscle.

“Like, adrenaline, right?” They continued, thoughtfully staring into the cavern of flesh and sticking their free hand inside, calloused finger tips stroking each layer. “It’s even better with anaesthetic in your system too. You’re not bleeding nearly as much as you should be, in this situation…”

"Fucking gnarly," You said with something close to awe, shivering again (or as close as you could manage)  when they reached forward and pressed a thumb against your thigh...well, your femur, if you remembered your bones properly. "Like one of those surgery videos."

Lawrence couldn't help but smile at that (eerie, empty, honest, the way they smiled around you and no one else), their gaze continuing to flit from spot to spot, studying it meticulously. 

"Yeah...like one of those surgery videos." They said, before looking up at you. "Can you move your leg at all?"

"No," You said. "It feels like I can't move any part of me.” You attempted to shrug but couldn’t manage it, resulting in just an involuntary twitch of your neck. “I mean, neck up, I guess, cus I can talk and blink, and...you know, be alive."

"Yeah...that's the drugs doing their thing." They said with a little nod, looking back down at the wound as their thumb sank deeper, against the bone. "I used a natural anaesthetic, jasmine and quinine and…stuff,” Their voice trailed off for a moment. “So, you're still completely conscious, but you won't be able to move a muscle without my say-so."

"Hot," You said with a little grin (probably a little manic, despite the lack of pain). "Like I'm your weird, little experiment, huh, Law?"

Now that got an actual laugh out of Lawrence, wheezing, high and deep all at once, sounding a little like they were being choked.

You didn’t mind. 

It was the laugh they hadn’t practised, after all, so it felt all the more authentic to you. Like they could truly be themself around you, without the practised smiles and laughs and gestures that made them appear normal.

“Y-you could say that," They said with another little chuckle.

"Hhh," You took in a breath, watching as their hand slid up the length of the wound and held your thigh tightly, big hands making the limb look small and delicate. "Is it weird that I like it?"

Lawrence paused for a moment and looked up at you, examining the expression on your face, probably trying to determine if your admission was just the drugs talking. Once they figured out that wasn’t the case, they laughed again, another eerie (gentle, dreamy, lovely) smile forming on their face.

"No...it’s not weird at all." They murmured. "Why do you like it?"

"It's like...yonic, right?" You laughed, nervously licking your lower lip as their fingers stroked over each layer of muscle, each fold, like they were stroking a cunt that you didn’t have. "Like...I don't have what we want, so you did the next best thing and carved one for me. It's, like, crazy intimate, if you think about it like that."

Lawrence nodded, their smile growing further into the shallow, rictus grin that you liked so much, and their long, bony fingers gently flexed and curled as they continued to examine the wound, caressing the cut with the most gentleness and care.

"Intimate…” They repeated in a hushed whisper. “Yeah, I guess it is, isn't it?"

"Feels like…” You added, as their fingers sank further into the wound, slicked with blood, like fluid, like semen. “M-Maybe you could fuck me like a girl like this." 

They paused then and their eyes flicked up to yours, brows knitting together, the expression on their face hard to gauge. 

"Really? You'd want that?" They asked, their empty, grey eyes boring into yours, unblinking, looking right through you.

You wondered what they could see..

"Mm," You nodded hesitantly, licking your lips again. They tasted like botanicals and rot, an aftermath of the tea that made you taste like they did. "Yeah. You should try, see if it feels good..."

"You're really too much," Lawrence mumbled, though the slightest amount of tone to their flat voice indicated a kind of fondness as they stood to their feet, plastic crackling beneath their toes. "You really want this, huh?"

"It’s your only chance of fucking a pussy with me," You said with a self-deprecating laugh, watching as they slid their jogging bottoms down their thighs and slowly worked their cock to full hardness, straddling your slack knee as their wrist jerked. “You should be jumping at the chance.”

"You don't know that," They said quietly, wrapping their free arm around your shoulders and leaning close, their cold lips pressed to your cheek. "I thought your insurance at the cafe could cover SRS...you could always ask, if you don’t know…"

"Mm, maybe…" You couldn't chase after another kiss, but you didn't mind that so much.

It felt good to play the slack doll, instead of admitting to what you wanted.

Just like it felt good to play the sarcastic trans girl who was above bottom surgery and enjoyed having a cock, instead of admitting that you wanted a pussy so badly that it made you want to scream.

"Maybe," They repeated, kissing down your face, their stubble soft on your skin. "I don’t need to jump towards anything, though…this is way more than enough.” They cleared their throat with a little sigh, gripping themselves tight. “You're���better than anyone else for doing this, you know..."

"You're sweet to me," You said with an unexpected smile, eyes flitting down to see that they had worked themself to full hardness. "It's a shame I can't feel it."

"Mm, yeah, it is…" They agreed, pressing the head of their cock against the open wound, a rush of blood coating the skin with each press. "It would...ah," They groaned as they eased it into the space against your femur, the wet slide of muscle rubbing against their cock. "It would be agony, though. You wouldn't enjoy it. It would be really distracting."

"You have a point," You said, keeping your eyes locked down. Another stream of blood ran down your skin and covered the tarp beneath the two of you, collecting pools of blood, ready to be collected and used. "Can you tell me how it feels then?"

"Mm...it feels amazing," They murmured, their head sinking down to your shoulder as they pressed closer, their heaving chest against yours. "It's not tight at all...and I can feel your body opening for me, like you're adapting for me to take..."

"Yeah?" You didn't know what the drugs were doing to your blood, but it meant your face didn't feel nearly as hot as it usually did when Lawrence treated you to this kind of dirty talk. "Wet and open, huh? Like a cunt should be?"

"I-I wouldn't know," They stammered, breathing hard against your collar bone (you could feel enough to feel the cool wheeze of their breathing). "I've never fucked anyone else but you."

"God, you're cute," You said, unable to hold back a fond chuckle. "Which hole do you prefer then?"

"Mmf," They took their lip between their crooked teeth, their bumped nose pressing against your neck as they eased even deeper, your blood smearing against their soft (very cute) belly and dying the blonde hairs at the base of their cock. "They...hah, they all have different things I like about them…I can’t pick just one."

They built up a consistent pattern of thrusting into the open wound then, rutting against your knee as they clung tighter onto you, like a babe clinging to its mother while it fucked her open wounds.

"I...like your mouth. It's soft and warm, and I," They stammered through a broken, croaking moan, pushing deeper still which caused another tear up your thigh, skin splitting and ripping up to the beginnings of your hip. "I like the way you sound when I'm fucking it."

"Mm..." You moaned, once hazy eyes widening at the torn flesh, a shaky smile coming to your face, thinking about how it was going to look afterwards. 

An open slit up your leg. Better than any other pussy any other girl could have.

"I like your ass." They then said, placing their free hand on your other thigh, tracing the holes in your fishnets, where they had been ripped to accommodate this demented foreplay. "Tight and hot and...nhhh, feels dirty, too."

"Dirty?" You asked, looking up at their hot face.

"It's not supposed to feel good," They slurred, hiding their face against your shoulder again. "Not...hah, supposed to..."

"It's where I feel good, though." You whispered, sighing as they nuzzled into you, pinning your skinny body against the chair, forcing it to rock and tilt. "It's where I was made to feel good, up there with all the shit and mess.” You breathed out, feeling an odd thrum of arousal in your unfeeling body. “Maybe it feels good, because of how dirty it is…"

"Maybe," They slurred, their face buried in your hair, masked by strands of black and green. "I like this hole too, though. I like that you let me do it."

"Yeah?"

"It’s hot and slick. It's going to scar so fucking bad."

They were starting to shake, holding onto you even tighter.

"Yeah," You smiled. "Like Rosanna Arquette in Crash. That huge fucking scar on her thigh…bodies shaped into fetish objects. That’s what you’ve made me, Law."

"They might have to cut it off, you know. If I cum inside it. Ruin the wound."

"You'd like that wouldn't you?"

They whimpered but picked up the pace of their thrusts, not at all put off by the idea.

"It's okay to like it, too. I like that you like it."

"Thank you. Thank you."

"You're welcome, baby."