Jan. 4th, 2017

valarltd: (writing)
CN: Self-harm

So it went. The work of Ligatos’ liaison to the United States was endless and engaging. The nights, however, stretched cold and empty and lonely. David hadn’t taken a lover. He didn’t want one. Adric left after the appointed time, and David found his bed was too large.

He had Adric’s king-sized taken out and a twin moved in. He piled it with comforters and flannel sheets, all the softest comfort he could find.

He limited the trips to the club, no more than once every eight weeks, when the need to be used grew in him until he wanted to scream. And for a night, he lost himself in pain and screams and orgasm.

By the end of his third year in Philadelphia, his life had a pattern. He rose early, ate what Elanor made him for breakfast and went to work. At his office, David worked from eight until noon, pausing for a sandwich from the cafe in the building. Then more work from twelve-fifteen to six and home. Elanor had dinner ready, every night, and there was always brandy. He drank one.

He chain-smoked his way through the evening, a pack and a half between supper and bed, as he stared at the fire or worked on his handheld. He went to his room, smoking his last cigarette.

Elanor suspected, he knew. He wasn’t as careful as he should be about making sure the cigarette looked as if it had been put out in an ashtray. But he couldn’t tell her that he needed that last bit of pain, that it let him sleep.

He was careful. The scars were nowhere that would show in his ordinary course of things. James hadn’t even called in person for over a year and David was suspecting he might never have the man in his bed again. They got noticed at the leather bar, sometimes, and those who did tended to go harder on him.

The straight razor was a mistake and he knew it the moment he picked it up. The sleek mother of pearl handle fit his hand as if made for it. The glint on the blade itself made him hard in his pants. He bought it, along with a strop, mug, brush and soap, knowing he would never used the latter three.

He tried. He did shave with the straight razor once, loving the soft lather and the smooth glide. But he knew what he truly wanted to do with it, even as he delayed the event itself. He added a step to his evening routine of stropping the razor.

August 2017

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