Page 32 of He Who Sleeps

Chapter 13

Petra dried off fromher 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.”