Work Text:
The vocational block of the asylum had gone quiet of late.
The maze of rooms—tables and tables of sewing machines—sat dusky and silent, steeped in shadow. Sometimes Eddie Gluskin still heard voices whispering through those rooms, but when he followed them, no one was there.
There had been more voices, once. Louder ones. Whimpering, screaming, sobbing, snarling. Eddie followed the voices, one by one. He had gone looking for a bride, but no bride had he found. Only disappointment, and messes, and failures he couldn’t bear to start a family with.
Eddie hummed to himself as he set down a bloody knife and wiped the blood off his hands with a handkerchief. He’d made the handkerchief himself, hemmed the edges so it wouldn’t fray. The steady churrr-thump-churrr-thump-churrr-thump of the sewing machine was a soothing sound in the quiet. Louder than the whispers that weren’t there. Louder than the buzzing itch that crept through the walls.
On the bloody table before Eddie lay a failure. It made a different sort of noise. Wet and foul. Unsightly.
Eddie tsked. “I should have known you weren’t the one, shouldn’t I? You simply... you weren’t even willing to try, right from the start.”
Thankfully, the unpleasant noise didn’t last for long.
The room faded back into silence. And stillness.
Eddie folded his handkerchief and tucked it into his pocket. He turned on his heel, away from the table, to let his gaze settle on the heavy steel locker that lay on the floor. Where he had dragged it.
Perhaps... this one.
No sewing machines in this room. In this room there was a table. Chains. Ropes. Eddie’s tools. And a saw.
The saw room was where Eddie Gluskin unwrapped his darlings.
Eddie knelt down over the locker. Normally this type of present was only unwrapped twice, but this one required three.
First—the unusual unwrapping—to pry open the locker, and extract the unconscious man inside. As the rusty lid creaked open, Eddie couldn’t help but smile. This man inside—cramped into the too-small space and collapsed awkwardly with unconsciousness—was slender, lanky, no trouble for Eddie’s strong arms to wrangle. (A promising shape for a woman.) It didn’t take long withdraw him, lay him out on the blood-stained floor.
The second unwrapping would be the sweetest... those dreadful clothes had to come off. Scratchy, beige—standard issue patient uniform. (The phrase was a clunky foreign invasion in Eddie’s head, a memory from before.) Eddie himself had been uncomfortably garbed in similar fashion, before he crafted himself some respectable clothes.
Ungentlemanly it may be for a man to see his bride naked before the night of their wedding, but there was no avoiding it. He needed this body bare, for the third unwrapping.
The third unwrapping required the saw.
Eddie let out a happy sigh. The more he admired this new suitor, the more his heart fluttered with hope. Gorgeous, almost angelic in the dull red light, the man was so beautiful he took Eddie’s breath away. Short tawny hair that he ached to run his fingers through, soft lashes shadowing high cheekbones, limp limbs sprawled on the sticky floor as though arranged by the most expressive artist.
Temptation beckoned. Eddie wanted to embrace those parted lips, pull those legs around his waist, press their bodies together and—
No.
The rules slammed down on Eddie’s desire, like a bible slammed on a wooden table. His hand shot back to his own chest (he hadn’t realized he was reaching towards the sleeping man), and he cradled it there sheepishly. He mustn’t, couldn’t, not with a man. It wasn’t allowed.
It wasn’t possible.
Because that sort of embrace was...
It was about family.
No wedding, and no bedding, save but for family. The sweet ecstasy of conception, locked in a tangle of limbs and love, the warmth that would grow inside him when he made something grow inside her...
That’s why...
That’s why this beautiful man needed Eddie’s help.
He could fix things, so that the rules won’t get in the way of their love. Their family. The light in their children’s eyes, children that he would always protect.
The perfect family, loving and safe, the way it should be. (The way it should have been.)
Eddie Gluskin could be with this man, so long as he made this man into a bride.
...Bride...
The word made him sigh, took the tension out of him. The bliss of love always took his pain away. He reached out (for love, for love, not for sin) to ghost his fingers over the sleeping man’s face. Such a lovely jaw, even with the roughness of stubble. Perfect lips, soft under his thumb, the sweetness of sleeping breath...
He was such a beautiful man.
She would make such a beautiful wife.
“Oh darling...” Eddie couldn’t resist touching those lips, tracing that silky curve. “You make such a challenge of patience. Would that I could wake you with a kiss.”
How lovely it would be, to lean over her and pull her into a deep kiss, to make her eyes fly open and her back arch under him, her hands against his chest...
Urgency made Eddie’s breath hitch. In a rush, he slipped his hands under the man’s shirt—unsightly beige, no good, no good, she deserved a gown—and pushed it up so roughly that for a moment the man grunted in his sleep.
Flat across, as it always was. That didn’t bother Eddie. She could still be a good mother, no matter what shape her chest was. And if she needed more, needed a soft ample bosom to nurture their children, he would give it to her. He would fill her with flesh—his flesh, and others’—until she was the perfect shape.
And with a shape already so lovely...
Eddie couldn’t help it, he splayed his hands over his bride-to-be’s chest, feeling the breath and the warmth beneath. Breathe. Remember to breathe, no matter how beautiful the sight...
Eddie frowned, his fingers hesitating. Two pale, crescent-shaped scars arced across his lover’s chest, under each nipple. Eddie let his fingers brush the pale lines, as delicately as if the wounds were fresh.
“Darling, who did this to you...?”
It stung to think of someone else’s knife touching his bride. Eddie let his hands slide down her body.
“I won’t let anyone else hurt you. Not ever again.”
The gentle taper of the waist, the belly relaxed with sleep and so tender... if he splayed his hand over it, he could imagine it swelling with his child. Feeling a kick under his palm.
He was letting his desire get away from him again.
Eddie took a breath to steady himself. Down, down wandered his fingertips, flitting over his lover’s bare skin like birds migrating south, searching always for warmth. Too soon, his fingers brushed the roughness of pants. An ache spread through Eddie’s chest like ink seeping onto a page. Sad and longing and lovely, flowers laid on a grave, tears washed away with too-sweet tea. Bittersweet, the knowledge of what came next.
He craved—and he feared—the act of baring his lover’s legs. That was always the... hitch, wasn’t it? The problem. This was where things went wrong.
Between the legs he would find something unreceptive to his love. Forbidden. Not meant for him.
Something that he would have to... remove.
So that they could be together.
All of it was so that they could be together. So they could have a family.
Selfishly, Eddie slid his hands up to the man’s half-removed shirt rather than tend to the pants. He worked carefully to slip it off over that tawny head, down the long fuzzy arms, without waking his drugged lover. It felt good to see the upper body bare, a blank canvas ready for his hands, his kisses, his knife.
He wanted to delay, to savor, but he might not have much longer before his sleeping beauty began to awaken. The dose would be wearing off soon.
Chemical restraints.
The words felt like a crumpled note left in the corner of his mind, scrawled and discarded. Doctors with white gloved hands said that phrase.
Chemical restraints.
Eddie kept them on hand because he knew what they did. Gentle sleepy numbness. Relaxing... he wanted that for his bride. So there wouldn’t be a mess.
There would be a mess if the man woke up too early. Men who woke up too early always made a mess. Silly, bloody messes.
Steeling himself, Eddie gripped the man’s pants and began to drag them down.
The tawny fuzz of hair that ran down the man’s chest thickened here. Guilt averted Eddie’s eyes, and instead he feasted on the sight of the waist, the hips. Such lovely hips...
A shame, a bitter shame, that he couldn’t place his hands on those shapely hips right now. To tenderly hold them close.
Soon.
Soon he...
...The pants slid down, and something was missing.
Eddie froze. For a moment, he wondered if the visions (hallucinations, the white-gloved doctors said) were creeping over his mind again. There were no vulgar parts between his bride’s soft thighs. Nothing he would have to modify.
Instead, there was...
Feverish, Eddie fumbled with the man’s pants and wrenched them all the way off those sleeping legs, tossing them aside with a violence he didn’t expect. When he shoved those legs open, the sleeping man grunted again in discomfort, louder this time.
But oh... the sight was worth it.
Receptive.
Eddie couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Familiar male shapes were nowhere to be found. Instead, between his bride’s legs, there was a tender place for him, made for him, soft with sleep, ready to welcome him inside...
Ecstasy swelled in Eddie’s chest and flowed through him in a long, blissful sigh, as of snow sliding off the leaves of a pine tree.
“Oh darling...”
Dizziness nearly swallowed him. The elation was too much. His breath was heavy, his body tingling with arousal as he brushed his hand gently up her bare thigh, towards that promising pink warmth.
“My dear, you’re perfect...”
He didn’t have to cut. No blood. He could take her to the alter now. She was... ready for him.
Ready to bear his children.
Perfect...
Perfect...
...Was it, though?
Things... things never went like this.
It was all so sweet all at once, to finally have a sense of belonging warm and living under his hands, but what if... what if when he went to claim his heart’s desire, his fingers ghosted through it like smoke? Was this was too good, a mere dream?
Paranoia crept through his mind like mold.
Something wasn’t right. Things never went like this.
When Eddie Gluskin looked for his brides, there was always... blood. Warm and slick. A trial of gore and pain, to test their love.
The blood was... important... it brought them closer. A tragedy of the universe, that women must suffer so, but what could be done about it?
...There was no blood this time.
Eddie’s thoughts were shattered by a lamb-soft groan from beneath him.
The sleeping man shifted on the floor, mumbling sleepily and blinking open his eyes. His gaze lifted, and he froze as he saw Eddie.
Eddie had thought, as he saw the man sleeping, that nothing could make him fairer. But now that those beautiful eyes were open (wide, dilated, flickering rapidly), he didn’t ever want to see them closed again. He could hear the man’s breath (his bride’s breath), the sweet sound of excitement, intoxicating.
The man’s legs tensed around Eddie’s body as though coaxing him down between them. That bare chest was heaving, his body shaking, but he didn’t try to scramble away as Eddie loomed over him. Didn’t run.
Didn’t run. The others always ran...
Silence loomed over them (like Eddie’s collection of failed brides loomed three rooms over, hung from the ceiling), broken only by quick breath. Eddie could hear his own heartbeat.
The choked, weak sound of the man’s voice was the sweetest music.
“Can... c-can you hear me?”
It took Eddie’s breath away. He couldn’t respond. He didn’t want to respond. He just wanted to listen to that voice, so loving and gentle.
“E-Eddie, right? Eddie Gluskin?”
Oh...
Hearing his name on those beautiful lips was sinful.
The voice was frightened, tentative, hushed as though afraid that loud noises would bring the whole world crumbling down.
“My—my n-name is Waylon. I-I can help you get out of here.”
Did she feel it too? The overpowering sense of belonging, of need? The loneliness seeping away, like the last of the rain banished by sunlight?
“I know that—that the doctors did this to you. The Engine did this. You’re trapped here just like I am. Just don’t... p-please don’t do anything you’ll regret.”
That little stammer. So sweet. He wanted to cradle her head against his chest.
Tentatively, trembling, she lifted a hand and reached towards him. Eddie wanted to catch her hand in his, kiss her fingers one by one, but he was too transfixed by the sight of her to move.
“Y-you don’t have to hurt me or—or do anything else to me. I-I’ll help you. We can get out of here.”
Her hand touched his arm, soft as a kiss. Eddie couldn’t breathe. Affection was blooming in his chest like the very sunrise.
“Just... let me up, okay? I’ll put my clothes on and w-we can go somewhere safer. Together. Okay?”
He could resist touching her no longer. Eddie covered his bride’s hand with his own, gently wrapping it in his fingers. She tensed, but didn’t move, breathing hard under him.
“My darling, forgive me...” Eddie lifted her hand and kissed her wrist. “I am entranced by you. I am not sure I have the resolve to wait for our wedding.”
Her eyes were widening as he kissed down her arm, her hand twisting in his tightening grip.
“Sh-shit, wait, that’s not what I—”
He cradled her neck, leaned over her—her legs tensed around his waist again, her breath rapid and frantic, wracked with terrified whines.
“F-fuck fuck fuck—”
“You have to understand, my darling, how much you overwhelm me.” He couldn’t hold back a groan as he pinned her to the floor with one hand, grabbed her lovely thigh with the other. “You’ve made things so very... easy for me.”
“N-no!”
It was a sweet noise. Men often made that noise when Eddie touched their thighs.
He wanted to hear his bride make that noise again and again while he—
—Men often made that noise when Eddie touched their thighs, when he shoved open those shaking legs, cut them up.
Cut, cut, cut, cut.
The confusing absence of blood began to pound against his skull. Eddie froze between his bride’s legs, breathing hard.
...How was he supposed to do this without blood?
“E-Eddie, please...”
Those beautiful soft eyes were shining with tears. Her voice sounded broken, pleading. It was beautiful. She was beautiful.
He wanted to sweep her up in his arms and carry her to the alter, see her resplendent in a dress he made, clasp her hands and say “I do...”
He wanted to make raw, passionate love to her right here on the floor, give her a child.
He wanted to grab a knife and cut her into something perfect—
Eddie pressed a hand to his pounding head, squeezing his eyes shut against the cacophony. The desires were all too loud, clanging with contradictions. The usual chain of events was being disrupted, he was at a loss—
Don’t want to be lonely, need a family to not be lonely, need a wife to have a family, need to marry her to have a wife, needs to be a woman to marry her, need to make this man a woman, need to be blood blood ripping screaming slicing to make this man a woman—
He didn’t realize his grip was loosening until she slipped out of it.
In a flurry of kicks and whimpering, Eddie’s bride wrenched herself out from under him and scrambled away. A snarl ripped out of Eddie as he grabbed for her kicking legs, the brutish need to have her back under him, but she had already slipped out of his reach. Her stumbling footsteps thumped away into the darkness amid ragged breath as Eddie lunged to his feet.
No no no no no—
Slippery, skittish, like a spooked hare, she was gone from the room and pattering away through the vocational block before Eddie could stop her. Eddie slammed his hand down on the bloody table.
A long, deep breath.
His anger, simmering, began to soothe.
Eddie’s next footsteps were slow, measured. The floorboards creaked as he left the saw room behind, wandering into the shadow where his bride had fled.
“I can hear you, darling,” he called to the darkness.
Quick, panicked breath, somewhere nearby. Perhaps crouched beneath the tables, or pressed behind a door.
He couldn’t let this one get away, even with the... confusion she caused. He would figure it out.
Maybe...
Yes. A little dance with his knife, a little blood on her wedding dress. Symbolic... Some sweet red slickness to coat her thighs as he moved between them, christening the conception of their child. Yes. Yes. That would make it right.
He would make it work.
For her. For their family.
He couldn’t let this one get away. Not this one.
All of the messy disappointments made sense now. Why each man had failed to become a woman properly, no matter how hard he tried... None of the others had been right for him, because they weren’t her.
She was the one.
Lazily, Eddie’s hand wandered to his belt and slipped out a heavy knife, still sticky from his last bride. He slipped the handkerchief from his pocket and wiped it slowly down the blade. The rooms were dark, labyrinthine, but Eddie had haunted them long enough to know them well. The rows of tables, the sewing machines. His bride wouldn’t get far.
Even with her on the run, Eddie’s spirits were high. How could they not be? He was in love.
And love...
Eddie’s fist tightened around his knife. He hummed to himself as his footsteps thumped through the shadows.
Love was worth hunting for.