The Stains Beneath Our Skin [mxm] ✔

27.2 | Scars

a/n: I toyed a lot with putting this part in or not, but hell, Stains is dark, and it didn't feel true to them to tone them down. Casper needed a cincher for this that wasn't all sappy love, and here it is.

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CW: Sexual content, ideations/discussion/sexualisation of graphic violence, discussion of self-harm, dubious masturbation (no consent issues). You can skip to the next chapter without missing much if this bothers you

"These"—Cain brushed his thumb over the scars again— "how did you get these? They seem so ... deliberate."

Well that was a fucking shit question. Casper dipped his head, shifting Cain's hand off his cheek though it only slipped into his hair instead. Shit, he could still remember that night so well. The blood and the crimson-black madness and the hot, crazed pleasure drilling straight to his core.

"What's the matter, rich boy?" Casper put venom oozing through his words. "Do they ruin my pretty face?"

The shake of Cain's head shifted the pillow beneath the crown of Casper's head. Casper still had his chin resting against Cain's other hand and the fingers guided his head up. Something hot lay in the depths of Cain's eyes, and that smirk smouldered.

"Quite the opposite, Cassie." Casper's heart thudded and Cain dipped his head closer, forehead resting against Casper's, and his breath a spring breeze against Casper's lips. "I rather think they make it."

Oh. Casper shivered, hooked by the heat in Cain's eyes. Was it like that? A rush went through his chest, clutching at his heart. Was he like that?

"I—" Barely there croak. Fuck. Casper swallowed hard and wet his mouth, but he still couldn't manage more than a dry rasp, but by the way Cain's fingers tightened in his hair, it didn't seem like he minded a bit.

The story then. Like ... if anyone was going to look at him the same after it, it was Cain.

Jack hadn't.

"So, he—he looked a bit like me. That ex I told you about. Diego. Like it's fucked up, but the guy was my, uh—my cousin. Never knew him 'til Dad's brother came rolling into town when I was sixteen, but—but yeah, he kinda looked like me ... enough that I kept seeing it. In the mirror and in photos and ... and Di, he said too many times that he loved how pretty I was. Pretty boy, that's what he kept calling me." Casper grinned against Cain's chest, barren of the feeling that choked up his chest. He could still hear the words whispered in his ear as he mocked them. "Daddy's pretty boy."

"Did you like it?" So low Casper might've missed it if it wasn't for the movement of Cain's lips against his head. The hand in his hair and at his hips clutched him so close. So warm. "When he called you that, did you like it?"

So safe.

Nodding, Casper dug his fingers into Cain's chest. The groan rumbled beneath his hands and Cain's grip tightened, the hand on Casper's hip shifting lower to squeeze his ass.

Fuck, this wasn't happening. Casper's gut twisted, that heat that squirmed through the whole of him so deep it got hard to breathe.

"Tell me, Cassie," Cain whispered to him. "I'm listening, love. Tell me everything. I want to know everything."

The way his voice choked sounded like more than want. It sounded like need.

Made it real hard to actual bundle up the fraying threads. But he tried, scratching for this thick, steamy catharsis.