By Pyrogram 126 Comments
He shuddered. Sweat dripped from his brow, hair stood on end, and his green eyes widened in alarm. The soft voice of Sangria lingered in his head as he slept, images of both redheads fought for control as the Lady in Red brandished a knife, plunging the blade deep into Augie’s stomach as Kurt gasped and woke up with a pant. “Uhh…” He quivered, shaky hands slid his white duvet away as he slithered out of bed, too afraid to even dream.
He stood there, silent, a raging storm bellowed outside of the apartment as the winds battered the door. He wore nothing save for some black shorts, his chest baring various scars as they decorated his chest as though a criminal had once sliced away at him like he was an apple. They had.
The door creaked open. “Kurt?”
“Kurt, are you there, sweetie?” He didn't respond. Backing away, the Gothic Knight gasped and closed the door to their room, placing his bare body against the wood and holding it shut. It was too much. Too much, Sangria, was too much. She had infected him her words, her body, and her intoxicating presence. Driven away his friends and driven away Augie. He cowered as his body pressed back harder, knocking the door onto the frame and causing it to make noise.
Sangria heard – She approached.
“Hm?” She mumbled, placing a smooth palm onto the handle as she tried to open the door, only to find it not budging. “What’s the matter, sweetie, is everything alright?” Her words were alarmingly disarming. Caring, an irresistible, peerless softness emanated from her red lips. She grew worried.
What had Kurt done? Her face scowled, her eyes glared, but her voice remained loving, like she genuinely cared for Kurt beyond an obsessive addiction. “Come on, darling, open the door. I promised you a fun night, remember?” She grinned. He whimpered. He opened the door, backing away and looking at his feet, the Gothic Knight was helpless. Like a child being scolded by a mother. Like a man being abused by a partner. Like he was nothing more than a plaything. He wasn't.
“Kurt…” Manicured fingers were outstretched as a potent nail was placed under his soft chin. Teasing at the skin and causing him to shudder, digging her nail up as his head was raised, she forced him to look up, into those emerald, feminine eyes. “…What’s happened? What’s the matter? I was only gone for a few hours…” She frowned, taking a single step forward as she placed soft palms onto his shaky shoulders, forcing him onto the wall with a quick spin as it made a thud, she pressed him there – Speaking. Dominating, bullying. Controlling.
“You do remember what I said, hm?” Poisonous eyes drained the Gothic Knight’s soul as she stared, as though he had lost his abilities. As though he was not a hero, not the commissioner of Gothic City nor a fighter. He was simply a man, a man too scared to even speak. “If you get yourself into trouble, I'll beat your ass, remember? – I thought you understood.” Her sharp nails dug into his shoulders. Blood was drawn, but Kurt merely whimpered again, looking away in repulsion and clenching his eyes closed in utter fear. He didn't want this.
He wanted a friend. Abigail. Augie. Noah. Higgins. Somebody. His breathing grew and grew, and her hunger grew all the same.“Kurt!” She snapped, grasping his cheeks with her hand, forcing him to look her in the eyes again. Staring him down.“Stop acting so ridiculous.” She let go and sauntered back, throwing off her red jacket as Kurt slouched back onto the wall and buried his emotion behind of a mental brick wall.
Head hanging, arms drooping, the Gothic Knight had never looked so vulnerable and defeated. Not by Charlemagne, not by the Brahma Bull, nobody – But Sangria? She had taken everything from him. Most of all, his will. Neatly placing her red jacket into the wardrobe and tying her hair back, she sauntered back over, her hips swayed rhythmically before that same nail was dug onto his chest – Onto his heart. She looked at him, licking her wicked lips.
“So, did you want to have fun, or are you just going to stand there? And anyways,” She said, flicking his nose and turning away, lying on the bed as she stretched out, taking comfort in the mattress’ softness as though her “partner” was not cowering just a foot away. “I’m glad you ditched Augie. You’re not hers, you’re mine. MINE.” She giggled. “Now, come here...” She flashed him a wicked smile, riveted by the sight of his helplessness, by his cowering – By him.