Work Text:
One’s back is like a canvas. A lover, the artist.
Each mark left there has purpose. It is strategically placed by a masterful genius, who plays with lines and curves with a lustful smile. Nothing is without meaning. Everything is intentional. A mixed media piece put together using nails, skin, teeth, blood, and pain. And this canvas is ever-changing, as it includes an element that some art can never attain—healing. The lines vanish, and new lines replace them. Over and over again.
Frankly, I’d never given it much thought.
Sexuality, to me, was something wrapped tightly in a box. It was a Taboo that existed only between a married pair, a law so harsh and unbreakable that I’d never even considered broken skin. My body, I’d long presumed, would be touched by no one. There was no artist out there for me—the man doomed to die a bachelor as he swung an axe at a tree endlessly.
Imagine my shock when he confessed his love to me, after whisking me away on a grand adventure. I could consider sexuality now, free of the chains that held me to that damned tree. Love came softly, I might say, and at first, it felt gentle. The warmth of Kirito’s lips against mine. The gentle softness of his fingers running through my hair. The way his body caressed mine as we first crossed that line.
But this time, things were different.
We were not new to this sensation. It was time to create. I stepped into the room, gazing over at him in the moonlight that poured through the window. The curtains were pulled open, and his naked body would have been in full view of the world if we weren’t so high up in the Cathedral. His skin was smooth and beautifully kissed by the moonlight. I stepped over to him, removing my own clothing as I approached him. He turned to me and gave me a cocky grin.
“Shouldn’t I be removing those for you?” he asked, reaching over to undo the ties that held my clothing together. “Let me help you.”
His hands ran down my back and slipped under the waistband of my underwear so that his palms cupped my ass. He gave me a firm squeeze and leaned over to steal a kiss from me. His naked chest pressed up against mine. His skin was warm. Before I knew it, my back was pressed against the sheets, our naked legs were tangled up and rubbing against one another, and our mouths were locked together. I slipped my tongue into his mouth. I felt his brush against mine. His hands traveled up my body and traced along my neck until he held my head between his fingers. I grasped his back, and my fingernails scraped across his skin. He twitched a little in surprise.
“I…I’m sorry,” I stammered.
Kirito laughed and shook his head.
“It’s okay if you leave marks,” he said, his voice teasing. “So long as I’m allowed to leave some of my own.”
The teasing tone of his sounded almost musical. I’d never pictured sexuality in this way before. There was only one way to know if I liked it. I smiled back and nodded at him.
“Do with me as you please,” I whispered. “I want to know you completely.”
That was all that needed to be said. I knew he wouldn’t hold back now. And he wanted the same from me. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I proceeded as usual. I gently stroked him, choosing to start with what was familiar to me. He gasped a little as I played with him; I wondered when it would be appropriate to “leave marks,” as he put it. I didn’t have time to think. He reached down and started to reciprocate, and my train of thought was disrupted as his thumb traced the tip of the head, sending the electric sensation of pleasure pulsing through my veins. Kirito leaned forward and pressed his lips against my neck just under my jaw.
His warm breath tickled my neck. He continued to stroke me, and I subconsciously let go of him. My hand was slick from playing with him. As I thought about where to place my hands now, Kirito opened his mouth and tested biting down on my neck. I let out a gasp. He lifted his head and looked at me. I nodded for him to continue. His hand stopped for a moment while he focused on sinking his teeth into the soft part of my shoulder. His bite was harder this time. Kirito pulled his mouth away, hummed, and then brushed his tongue over the spot.
“Too hard…?” he whispered.
I shook my head. Swallowing, I felt I should try to bite him in return. I was scared to bite too hard, but he’d bitten me with quite a bit of force. Before he had a chance to try and bite me again, I grasped his dick and gave it a gentle squeeze. His eyes closed, and his head tilted back, giving me the chance to bite him in the same place he'd bitten me. Kirito’s gasp was more pronounced than mine, and for a moment, I thought I’d hurt him in an unpleasant way. I went to pull away, but he leaned into me.
“…again…” he mumbled.
Surprised, I sat back for a moment, but when he repeated the word, I leaned forward and bit him harder. He gasped again and tilted his head, baring more of his neck and shoulder to me. He dug his nails into the skin of my back as I leaned into him. I felt my skin breaking apart, stinging a bit as the opened flesh hit the cool air around us. I let out a sharp exhale through my nose and let go of him. Somehow, the sting felt like pleasure running across my skin.
Feeling that it was the proper time, I reached down and slipped my finger into him. He grunted as I played with him, first teasing with one finger and then moving on to a second. As I fingered him, I kept nibbling on his neck. Kirito tasted of sweat and passion. I lowered my head and bit him again and again while I played with him. His strong chest, his perky nipples, his soft stomach—I wanted to leave a mark on all of him. My teeth marks started to cover his body. As I bit into the soft space above his hip, he leaned his head back and groaned. I lifted my own head and pulled out my fingers. He gasped and leaned forward again.
He pressed his head against the crook of my neck as I thrust into him, a moan escaping from his mouth only to be muffled against my skin. His grip on my back tightened. Nails sliced open flesh, opening more wounds to the cool air. It felt like white-hot irons branding my back. The sensation was painful, but something about it was intoxicating. I felt his lips part, and his teeth met the soft place between my neck and shoulder. He moaned through his teeth as I penetrated him. He let go of my skin as I pulled out and thrust again. This time, I grasped his dick again and rubbed the head. Kirito let out a loud cry as he came.
His hands traveled over my shoulders and scraped against my chest. The stinging feeling pricked at my skin, and the chill of the air kissed the fresh wounds on my skin. I continued to thrust into him, eager to hear him scream. He clutched me as I entered him each time, no longer afraid to break my skin. I found myself longing to leave red lines going down his back and chest as well. I would have to mark him up with my nails later. With this silent promise, I kept at my momentum. He finally screamed as he came. I gave him a final thrust, and I gasped as I felt the rush of orgasm, spilling into him.
Kirito’s hands let go of me at last, and I pulled out of him to lay down beside him. Our bodies were slick with sweat, and I could see that his hair was damp. I slipped my bare legs between his and reached over to run my hands down his body. There were bruises starting to form all over his neck, arms, and torso. I smiled and traced my fingers over the bite marks I’d left in his skin. He smiled back at me.
“I’ll have to let you scratch me next time,” he said, giving me a coy wink. “And maybe I’ll leave some bite marks on you.”
I pulled him closer and reached down to cup his ass cheeks in my hands.
“I look forward to it,” I said, breathing heavily into his ear.
Kirito traced his own fingers along my back, hitting all of the points that he’d scratched.
“Was I too rough with you?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“I’ve never felt more pleasured,” I said.
He chuckled and playfully kissed and nibbled at the base of my jaw. Tonight had been a poetic one for me. I’d seen that the marks on my body could hold a beautiful, intoxicating meaning. Kirito’s love was etched into my skin as if it were calligraphy gracing a piece of fine parchment. I was his canvas, and he was mine. Together, we were works of art, too beautiful for any other to behold.
For this was a private gallery, meant only for the artists themselves.