#scarification whump
content warnings: torture, non-consensual body modification (scarification), branding mention.
Martin Viklund-Reid is, in all things, a craftsman. An opinionated one to boot. The artist’s eye is lauded as paramount but it kneels to two things, in his practice—first, a steady hand. Things such as these were an act of translation, figment into form, and as such a clear voice was crucial. A smooth, gently curling line? His forgeries of jealousy.
The second is simple patience.
“Good, love,” Martin murmurs. “Easy.” Pausing to take note of the quiet yet rapid breaths, he presses one hand to the middle of his boy’s back.
He thought he had prepared him enough, introducing each step bit by bit—the workroom, the restraints, the long and close physical contact, gradually increasing the time spent in tolerance of each. Had hoped a sedative wasn’t necessary, because it would just make things harder to monitor. There were certain positionings here that were necessary to minimise cramping for Lev, or waking up with a sore back tomorrow himself. More abstract, here he wanted the annealing that only pain, shared and savoured pain, could bring.
But the setup, he had to admit, was intimidating. And Lev had started breaking down as soon as he’d entered the room.
