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A Laying of Hands

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She’s tied face down and he knows he really should hurry, because even a simple tattoo takes time, but he can’t resist exploring. He bares skin, touches, tastes...she’s a sweet child, she really is, and as one finger burrows deep inside her, in one tight hole after another, he smiles.

Ripper’s Slayer. He casts a spell, brings up every place Rupert’s touched, sees ghost prints glow against the smooth skin, sometimes matched to a fading scar, sometimes where he imagines a guiding hand would fall, as a low voice instructs her, commands her... That thought leaves him aching as he parts her legs again and looks, thumbs rubbing peevishly at soft, slicked skin.


And so he settles for scarring her with ink.

If she’s not good enough for Rupert to fuck, he wants none of her.