Sam didn't give anything away. Besides the scars and piercings, the markings, and a small scar to his breastbone that was almost invisible, unless seen up close, nothing was outwardly visible, at least in so far that it was exposed, or open. Sam concealed what everything meant with his simple pose.
No, it was only the one marking that could mean something to anyone, and Eliot would have to be educated to be able to read it--after all it was Lucifer's sigil, in enochian. A brand left there by the archangel himself, as ownership. Eliot would never bear any similar mark.
Sam stroked himself, steadily, standing solidly with his legs squared shoulder width apart. Even so, as he approached the edge of orgasm, quickly and efficiently, he didn't so much as tremble where he stood. He halted seconds before spilling over, his face pink, cock engorged, a fine sheen of sweat over his body, and approach Eliot, carefully crouching down to take a fine blade from the suitcase.
"This was mine, when I was still...still me. I used it to fight demons; kill them. It's one of the few things that can. It was the first blade that was ever used on my back." He placed it high, at the point of Eliot's shoulder, and dragged it down, cutting - not deeply - as far as his spine. The cut matched his own perfectly, even to the point of depth, and to complete the act...
Sam almost made no sound as he came, but the hot splatter of his come on the wound and down Eliot's back was unmistakable. He came down to his knees behind him, just a moment later, almost trembling where they touched, his breath a little fast, his body radiating heat, and his voice was shaky and rattled as he spoke:
"That's all you'll wear until I say otherwise. Blood and come. I'll decide when it's cleaned away. I'll decide when you're worthy to wear clothes again. It stings, doesn't it?"
no subject
No, it was only the one marking that could mean something to anyone, and Eliot would have to be educated to be able to read it--after all it was Lucifer's sigil, in enochian. A brand left there by the archangel himself, as ownership. Eliot would never bear any similar mark.
Sam stroked himself, steadily, standing solidly with his legs squared shoulder width apart. Even so, as he approached the edge of orgasm, quickly and efficiently, he didn't so much as tremble where he stood. He halted seconds before spilling over, his face pink, cock engorged, a fine sheen of sweat over his body, and approach Eliot, carefully crouching down to take a fine blade from the suitcase.
"This was mine, when I was still...still me. I used it to fight demons; kill them. It's one of the few things that can. It was the first blade that was ever used on my back." He placed it high, at the point of Eliot's shoulder, and dragged it down, cutting - not deeply - as far as his spine. The cut matched his own perfectly, even to the point of depth, and to complete the act...
Sam almost made no sound as he came, but the hot splatter of his come on the wound and down Eliot's back was unmistakable. He came down to his knees behind him, just a moment later, almost trembling where they touched, his breath a little fast, his body radiating heat, and his voice was shaky and rattled as he spoke:
"That's all you'll wear until I say otherwise. Blood and come. I'll decide when it's cleaned away. I'll decide when you're worthy to wear clothes again. It stings, doesn't it?"