Chapter 13
P etra dried off from her shower, refreshed.
The scene with Snake had been hot, if not awkward.
They would have to work on things of everything progressed, but that was for later.
She checked herself in the mirror, seeing the progress.
She was already healing, some of the scratches already closed, and the slice down her sternum wasn’t bleeding anymore.
Not that she wouldn’t wear Ghost’s scars with pride. Whatever happened after this weekend, whatever he chose to do with her, because she knew he wouldn’t hold back anymore, she would bear it.
And Snake, well, the scars were of a different variety, but they would figure it out together.
They had to. It eased her heart somewhat to know that he was invested and did want to work on his issues.
All this time she’d thought he didn’t like her, but it turned out that he was just in his own world of damage, trying to protect himself the only way he knew how.
She’d have to approach him like a frightened colt, softly and slowly so that he didn’t bolt or kick out.
But now was for her next appointment, one she had been waiting for. Padding out of the bathroom, she grabbed a robe, slipping it on, and smiled when she saw Stitches standing in her doorway.
“Hey.” She smiled and went to him, wrapping herself around him. Leo was comfort and need and desire, and she knew where she stood with him. No confusion or turmoil...just Leo.
"Hey, yourself!" He gave her a wide grin and it was so easy to believe a cold-blooded killer didn't lurk under that open charm. "You smell good."
She leaned in and breathed him in. “So do you.” With a grin up to him, she went on tip toe and pushed her lips against his.
"Tsk tsk," he chuckled, pulling away. "Getting ahead of yourself, aren't you?" He smacked her ass, although it was padded by the robe, and stepped back out into the hallway. "You have to earn my kisses with pain. Come down to my room."
He took her hand and she walked with him, enjoying their dichotomy. He was playful, and she appreciated it, but he was also buzzing over what he was planning, and she was both nervous and excited. The pain would be worth it because of the reward. “Will you take pictures?”
"Not me. Plague. You know how much he loves photographing you, so I said he could look in with his camera."
She shivered and smiled to herself. “Okay. And he knows...” she looked and motioned to his face. “Or are you going to do it with your mask on?”
"I'll take my mask off." He opened the door to his room and ushered her in.
"I need to see what I'm doing to make sure I don't hurt you.
" It was bullshit and they both knew it—it wasn't the first time he'd stuck needles in her and he'd never had a problem doing it with his mask on before, but if that was what he wanted the narrative to be, that was what it was going to be.
"Get yourself seated," he told her, gesturing toward a massage chair that stood stark and alone in the room. "Robe off. Obviously."
The robe slipped to the floor, and she took in the space as she made her way to the chair.
Black walls, the chair, the light above framing the space she would sit.
This wasn’t Leo’s bedroom, but it was his workroom, and as before the space didn’t make her feel worried, but grounded.
She supposed it was because it wasn’t clinical, no white tile and antiseptic smell.
"I am going to make you a masterpiece," he murmured, rolling a small table across that had a stainless steel tray on it containing his needles and supplies.
As usual, it was all in medical packaging and sterile.
He wouldn't risk her getting an infection of any kind.
"I'm going to have to do some prep," he said, rolling a stool over so he could sit behind her, but for a moment he just simply stared.
Looking over her shoulder, she grinned at him. “It’s kinda hot how you are looking at me, Stitches.” His posture was one of coiled attention, but it was also relaxed, and she knew he was in his zone.
"I'm hot all the time," he told her with a smirk, wetting a cotton swab with alcohol and swiping it over her back.
“Ah!” she started, the cool wetness making her jump slightly. “Was not ready for that!” The drag of the cotton left trails of tingling cold.
"You're lucky Plague isn't here yet. He'd be lighting this shit up like a bonfire," Stitches snorted. "Stop squirming. I need to mark out where I'm stabbing you."
“Yes, Sir.” Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes, feeling the cool points of whatever he was marking her with.
“You know, I did look this up, since last year. The art of it...the kink. The first time it scared me, but I came so hard I decided to explore it. I look at it with open eyes now. I mean, when I was younger, I used to sew my fingers together. It’s not the same, but.
..I didn’t think I would ever trust anyone to do this, but here you are. ”
"Well that was fucking stupid," he told her bluntly. "You could have given yourself all sorts of horrible infections. You could have lost a finger or a hand. You'd better promise me you won't do anything stupid like practice this on your own."
“I was a child in an orphanage, with few friends and no one to tell me different. I would never do this now, so you don’t have to worry. Only you, Stitches.”
"Good. Because if one of us has to come to the hospital because you're septic, you don't wanna know the kind of punishments we'll rain down on you," he told her.
She was about to say something else when there was a knock on the door and Plague slipped in, without waiting for an answer.
"Right on time," Stitches said, setting down his pen. "I just finished marking her up."
"Nice. Although if I'd been here earlier, I could have photographed the blank canvas without the marks."
"Not my problem, dude." Stitches shrugged.
"I told you what time she'd be here. Just do your thing while I do mine.
" Plague lifted his camera and snapped some shots of her back as Stitches reached for the first needle, peeling open the packet with a small plasticky crinkle. "You ready?" he asked her.
“Yes.” Closing her eyes, she waited, wondering about Plague. How would he react to all of this, to her being so accepting, so familiar with Stitches...and what would it mean for them?
"So how did it go with Snake?" Stitches asked as he pinched a section of skin and slid the needle through it.
She breathed out, the slight pain of the pinch sending heat through her body.
“I... I think it went well. He...we need to work some things out,” she said finally.
It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Stitches; she just felt that what had happened with Snake was between them, and she didn’t know if Snake would be okay with talking about what happened to them.
To her surprise, he blew out a sigh of relief and she could see Plague giving a small nod. "Well that's good," he said, placing the next needle opposite the first. "Working stuff out means he's open to it. Did any of the others tell you that we talked about petitioning the Elders?"
“Snake mentioned it. Which is why he wants to work things out,” she offered and winced slightly.
“Ghost...” she smiled. “He didn’t say much, but then he never does.
Not even after...” she shook her head. “Well, he didn’t say much after I got to look him in the eye.
” She looked to Plague, to see how he would take that information.
"And Devil?" Stitches slid another needle home. "We told him about your little mask-pulling stunt, by the way. Neon and I. He knows you've seen our faces." Plague didn't say anything, moving silently around the room, the only sound he made being the shutter on his camera.
She giggled. “Any time with Devil is worship. He fucked me over his altar, making me wear his mask, then let me see him.” She smiled as she closed her eyes and felt another shard of metal slide through her skin.
"I thought he might do something like that." He sat back to study his work for a second before reaching for the next needle. "You need a break?" he asked as he pinched her skin again. "We're about a quarter of the way through."
“No.” Gods, it felt like foreplay to her, and she knew without a doubt that she would never feel like that about this with anyone else.
Not Ghost, or Snake or Goblin... Just Stitches.
It was just for them...a man that understood something about this she didn’t.
She was safe with him, at least in this, and it was heady to know.
"That's my girl." He sounded smug, pinching another piece of skin and sliding the needle through.
Plague ghosted around them, taking dozens of photographs from every angle, while Stitches worked methodically from her upper back down toward her pelvis, the needles getting closer together the lower he worked.
The sharp scratches and the adrenaline were buzzing in her blood, filling her with endorphins to the point she felt almost high.
"Done," he said finally. "You were such a good girl, I'll let you choose the ribbon.
" From the second tray down on his little rolling table cart, he pulled out a wooden box and moved around to stand in front of her.
Cracking it open, he displayed neatly rolled balls of satin ribbon in every color of the rainbow.
She looked them over, choosing a sheer and velvet in black, and looked to him. “Can I choose two?”
"If you want. It'll hurt more," he warned. "The lacing with two is more complex."
She considered it. “The pain isn’t the worry,” she said finally. “I just thought if there are pictures, I wanted them to be something special. Since this would be a first.” Not only, first.