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The flames of the candles flicker in the darkened hallway, sending long, sinuous shadows down the cold stone walls. The lace of your nightgown sways around your ankles, tickling the bare skin. The house is still at this hour of the night, save for the gentle sigh of wind against the windows, and yet his laboratory is open.
Your breath catches as you notice. The door, always so firmly shut, barred off from you and the world, is barely ajar. A thin wedge of pale light comes from within, illuminating the dust motes that twirl in the air. It's so unlike Victor to leave it open, even by accident.
Your heart tightens as you step nearer.
You haven't seen him — really seen him — in days. A week, at least.
You've counted each minute of his absence in the house's empty halls, in the cold and empty bed next to you at night, in the untouched meals that have sat at his place until they grew cold, forgotten. He only comes out when he has to, his movements reflexive, his face drawn, his eyes distant and lost in something very far from you. And each time you grasp for him, call his name, plead with him to stop — to rest, to live — he simply shakes his head, says something incoherent and disappears again behind that damned door.
And now, finally, that door is open.
You step inside. The air is thick with the scent of candle wax, parchment and something sharp, metallic. Books and scattered notes litter every surface, precarious stacks of paper teetering at the edges of his large desk. Glass vials glint in the low light, some filled with substances unknown to you, others empty, their contents long spent in the alchemy of his obsession.
And then, him.
Victor is slumped over his desk, his face planted in an open book, his body well and truly spent. His breathing is slow, steady. His thick, dark curls spill untidily across the pages, the ink underneath him smeared where his cheek rests upon the paper. One arm dangles limply at his side, the other is curled under his head as if he had intended to read a little while longer before sleep claimed him. Your chest tightens at the sight.
He never takes care of himself.
Not in the way he should. Not in the way you do. You're the only one who takes care of him, the only one who even attempts to remind him to eat, to sleep, to rest. Left on his own, he would work himself into the grave, and you know — God, you know — that even then, he would find some way of digging himself back out again just to continue.
You drop to your knees beside him, your fingers brushing lightly across his shoulder. His waistcoat is unbuttoned, the fabric wrinkled, his shirt-collar undone. He must have pulled it loose days ago in frustration, his mind too tangled in his work to care.
"Victor." You whisper but he doesn't stir. He's completely exhausted.
Your fingers trail up, brushing his curls gently back from his face. A smudge of ink on his cheekbone speaks to how long he's been like this. His lips are slightly parted, his expression, at last, peaceful. You sigh, the sound barely audible. He simply cannot sleep like this, not in such an uncomfortable position, not when there's a perfectly good bed mere steps away.
You decide to try again. "Victor." You call, slightly louder this time, laying your hand carefully on his shoulder.
This time, he stirs groggily at your touch, turning to face you in the watery light of the candles. His hair is matted and there are dark circles under his eyes from the long hours of arduous study. He opens them slowly, a mix of exhaustion and affection showing in his gaze.
"Oh, my love... How did you get in?" He asks, his voice dream-like, as if he's barely existing in reality as of now, due to fatigue or delirium, you aren't to know.
"Come to bed. You'll do yourself an injury; sleeping like that." You reply, words stern but voice soft. He nods vaguely, too tired to argue. Straightening, you hear the popping of his shoulders and his spine as he gradually rises from his chair. As he stands, the candlelight flickers across his haggard features, illuminating the deep set of his eyes. You take his arm, supporting him, and leading him out of his laboratory, not letting your eyes linger too long on the countless oddities and curiosities that line the shelves.
Finally, you open the door to your grand bedroom, the sweet scent of roses and fresh linens a far cry from the acrid smell of decay and damp parchment that permeates Victor's beloved laboratory. On the bed lies a tea tray with a plate of sandwiches you'd prepared before fetching him. He must eat and you can't remember the last time he did.
You deposit him gently on the bed, his body slumping against the headboard. Dark eyes fall on the tea tray and the plate of sandwiches, a hint of his appetite stirring despite his exhaustion. He picks up one of the sandwiches and takes a small bite.
"You always take such good care of me." He says with a sigh as you unlace his shoes and place them on the floor before removing his socks.
"Well, it's clear you won't." You counter and he watches on silently, a faint smile playing on his lips as you tend to him.
He finishes the sandwich and places the tea tray to one side, clearing a space beside him on the bed.
"Come here." He murmurs, patting the spot beside him. You remain standing at his bedside.
"My darling, you need to undress; you've been in those clothes for days." You reply, rubbing his thigh soothingly. Sluggishly, he shrugs off his waistcoat and pulls off his loose shirt before ridding himself of his trousers and underthings, leaving him naked and vulnerable. As you collect the clothes and place them in the hamper on the other side of the room, you marvel at the state of his body; how he remains so lean and trim after days of barely eating or sleeping.
Finally, you sit beside him on the bed, resting your head on his chest, the lace of your nightgown whispering against his bare skin as you listen to the steady thump of his heart against your ear. It's a comfort to have him by your side again. "Your side of the bed has been cold for too long, darling." You tell him and he wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer, as he reclines against the headboard. His chest rises and falls with a deep sigh, his body finally relaxing.
"I'm sorry." He presses a kiss to the crown of your head. "I lost track of time." You draw idle patterns along his chest with your fingertips.
"It's unhealthy, Victor." You remind him and he hums noncommittally, knowing you're right. He's done this before; shut himself away, neglecting food and sleep and you. He swallows thickly, long fingers tangling in your hair.
"Do you hate it?"
"Yes... But I know who I married." You reply softly, your voice caring though also resigned. Victor lets out a small laugh. He loves how honest you are, even if it stabs at his conscience.
There's a long pause.
"You could leave, you know." He reminds you. "Find someone who's home at night. Someone who doesn't smell like chemicals and blood when they crawl into bed." Your arms loop around his chest, holding onto him tight, as if you were to loosen his grip, he would simply disappear into the aether.
"Don't jest, Victor. You know full well I'd never leave your side." His arm tightens around your waist possessively, pulling you even closer.
"Such faith. Such unyielding faith..." He murmurs against your hair and you sigh.
"You know, sometimes... Sometimes I wish I were one of your experiments. Perhaps then I'd know just what it feels like to be the only thing consuming your thoughts, even for a moment." You confess and his body tenses, fingers unconsciously tightening on your waist.
"Don't say such things." He mutters, his voice carrying an unusual tremor. "You..."
"What?" You ask, turning your head to face him, your eyes searching his. For a moment, he seems torn, like he wants to say something but decides against it. Instead, he leans in to capture your lips in a rough, sudden kiss.
It takes you aback; the sudden surge of passionate energy, as he pins you to the bed, but you push him away, knowing damn well he intends to distract you from what is so obviously troubling him. "Victor, tell me. Talk to me." You insist and he pauses, his chest heaving as he hovers over you. The intensity in his eyes doesn't waver but there's a vulnerability that you rarely see. It makes you want to pry as he runs a hand through your hair, cupping your cheek gently.
"It's nothing." He tells you but you cup his face, insistent that he tell you what troubles him so deeply.
"No, tell me."
Another long pause.
"You said you wished to be one of my experiments..." He swallows hard, his mind racing. "What if..."
"Yes...?"
"What if... God dammit." He hisses, suddenly pulling back, and sits up, running both hands through his tousled curls. When his eyes find yours again, they're dark. Darker than usual, as if he's hiding a secret you're not yet privy to. "Do you want an honest answer?"
"Yes, Victor." And he turns to face you fully, his expression intense and raw, eyes dark.
"What if I told you that sometimes, in those Godforsaken hours in my laboratory, I wish it were you?" He confesses, voice barely above a whisper. Your brows knit.
"You wish it were me...what?" Victor looks away for a moment, as if gathering the strength to say the words aloud.
"I wish it were you; lying on that cold slab. That I could pour all my obsession, all my madness into creating you, perfecting you." He admits and your curiosity only grows stronger, welling in the pit of your stomach and mingling with the dread dwelling there.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that sometimes, when I'm working, when I'm creating..." His voice grows softer. "I imagine what it would be like to create something...someone that's truly mine." He pauses, his gaze finding yours. "Someone like you." You move closer, a hand finding his and tangling your fingers together.
"But you don't need to, darling. I'm right here." You assure him and he lets out a shaky chuckle, scrubbing a hand over his face.
"I know that. God help me, I know that." Strong hands move to your hips, pulling you to straddle his lap, the soft material of your nightgown brushing against his skin. His hands, rough with callouses, find your waist, holding you as if you might disappear.
"Help me understand." You implore him.
"It's just..." He begins, his voice strained. "Sometimes the obsession consumes me. The need to create, to perfect, to...possess." His head bows into the crook of your neck and he breathes you in. "You are the one thing I can't create, can't fully possess."
"But you can. You do." You tell him, rubbing his back soothingly. "For what is marriage but the opportunity to possess someone's heart and take it as your own?" He sighs again, warm breath washing over the tender skin of your throat.
"You're right, of course." He murmurs, his hands roaming over your midsection. "I possess your heart, your love..." And then he pauses, his fingers stilling before splaying out against your abdomen through your nightgown. "But what if I want more?"
A shudder runs down the back of your neck, your hair standing on end. 'More'? What could he want from you that you haven't given freely? Why has his hold on you grown so constricting? And why are you so willing to giving him anything his heart desires?
"Then tell me how I can give you more."
"That's just it... I don't know how to ask for more without feeling like a monster." He presses a soft, desperate kiss to your neck, his hands tightening around your hips. "Because the truth is...I want to possess every part of you; your mind, your soul, your very essence." His hands trail up from your hips to cup your face, forcing eye contact. He looks wild with frustration, with longing, with hunger. "I want to be the air you breathe, the thoughts that consume your waking moments. I want to..." He takes a breath, swallows the lump in his throat. "God, you make me want dark things, my love. Evil things." Dark eyes trail along your body, heavy-lidded and almost dazed. "I want to brand you, mark you, make you mine in ways no man has ever claimed a woman."
"You want to ruin me? So no other may have me?" You ask and you feel his hands tremble as he relaxes, thankful for your understanding of his ramblings.
"Yes, completely, utterly ruin you for any other man. Make you forget any touch but mine. I want to be your addiction, your obsession..." A finger trails down your chest, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "Yes, I want to ruin you for anyone else. I want to be the only man who can touch you, who can make you feel pleasure and pain and every sensation in between." Still, your curiosity eats away at the back of your skull, like carrion being pecked by vultures, despite the cold stab of fear in your throat.
"How would you do it?"
"Don't ask that question." He warns softly, almost a plea, but you simply cannot stop yourself.
"Tell me, darling." And, with a deep sigh, he presses his face to the side of your neck again, his voice lowering, rumbling through his chest.
"I would take you to my laboratory in the dead of night, lay you down on the slab, secure you down..." His voice is brimming with dread but also a hint of need, of desire. "Then I would strip away every layer of clothing, every shield between us. Leaving you bare and vulnerable under the harsh glare of my lamps." His hands mimic the action, sliding slowly up your sides, over the material of your nightgown. "I would run my hands over your body, mapping out every curve, every freckle, every blemish that makes you uniquely you." He pauses and you feel the brush of his lips on the crook of your neck. "Then I would take my scalpel..." A shiver rushes through you and you take in a sharp breath, listening intently.
A finger traces along the inside of your forearm and you feel yourself twitch involuntarily. "Slowly... I would start here, slicing deep into the flesh until the veins and tendons were exposed. I would caress every raw nerve with my fingertips, pluck them like delicate harp strings, and you would make the most wonderful sounds." Your breath catches in your lungs at his description and the passion with which he delivers it. "Then I'd turn you over, trace my fingers down your back, making you arch as I go. Each vertebrae would be marked 'V' for Victor. Little chevrons all the way down your spine."
His hand gently cradles the side of your chest, feeling the dips and curves of your ribcage beneath your nightgown. "I would move methodically, slicing deeply into your chest next, exposing the thoracic cage and the beating heart within. As I cut deeper, I would etch each rib with my initials, claiming you. Bone by bone." He describes acts of torture, of violence, yet he does so with such reverence that it muddies the waters and confuses your senses.
Warm, rough hands fall to your waist, thumbs gently caressing your stomach through your nightgown, your body is stiff with fear but also disgust as you find heat pooling between your thighs. "Then, I would move down to your abdomen, cutting through the fatty tissues until I reached your womb. I would reach inside you and cradle it with my fingers. I'd feel it throb and pulse in my palm and I would kiss it."
"Why...?"
"Because I want to mark the very source of life within you, claim your fertility, your ability to bear children. By kissing you there, I say that any child born from your body is also mine, by right of possession." He lets out a heavy breath and you can feel him stirring between your legs, his body clearly reacting to recounting his gruesome fantasy. "Your body would be covered in my marks, my initials carved in your flesh, in your bones. So, finally, I'd spread your legs wide, I'd sink inside you and take you on my dissection table. I'd bury my hands into your chest cavity and smear your warm blood across my body. I'd hold your heart in my hands and gaze into your eyes as I plant my seed deep within you." He inhales sharply and you feel his erection throb against your inner thigh. "And, in the end, I would close your wounds and rebirth you, my creation. You would be mine in every possible way; body, mind and soul." He pulls away to meet your eyes, his face gravely serious yet alight with a kind of possessive, obsessive adoration. You're left speechless for what could you say to such a confession; one that leaves you frozen in fear but also tingling with a dark, forbidden lust.
He watches you for a moment. "I've frightened you." He observes, pulling away slightly. "I'm sorry. I let myself get carried away."
Finally, you find your voice.
"Victor, you scare me... Not from your thoughts...but from the feelings they instil within me." You tell him and his eyes widen for a moment before he moves in to kiss you sweetly, the softness of his lips betraying the barbarity of his fantasy.
"I know." He murmurs against your lips. "And it scares me that you aren't repulsed by me. That I can feel the same desire in you." Strong arms wind around your waist, holding you against him. "I need you, my love. I need you so badly, it's eating me alive." You reach down, fingers curling around the lace hem of your nightgown. You pull it up and over your head slowly, letting it drop onto the bed beside you, your warm body pressed flush against his own.
"I'm beginning to question what you are, my darling; a wild animal, a cold clinician or a demon from the depths of my nightmares." Your nipples pebble from the chill in the room and the feeling of his cock throbbing against your inner thigh, painting it with thin strands of pre-ejaculate. Dark eyes roam hungrily over your unmarred skin. He looks like a predator, pupils dilated and his breath coming in ragged pants. "But I would surely perish, should you tear me asunder in such a way." Your chest presses to his as you run your fingers through his thick, dark curls and his hands instinctively grip your hips.
"You tempt the beast within me." He growls in response, voice rough with barely-restrained desire.
"Then take me, darling. You needn't use your scalpel when your name is already etched into every fibre of my being. Take me, devil-cur, like a rabid dog in the night. Bite me, scratch me, breed me. Do what is in your nature, Victor, and devour me." A low, animalistic groan tears from his throat at your words and his fingers dig into your flesh hard enough to bruise, a wild glint in his eyes betraying his loss of control.
In one swift motion, Victor pins you to the bed, looming over your fragile, naked frame. He pins your wrists above your head with a large hand, the other roaming possessively over your body. His lips find your neck, biting down hard enough to leave a mark; his mark. You cry out at the pain and there's a growl against your skin.
"Mine. All mine. I will never let you go."
With his free hand, he spreads your thighs and settles between them. His lips trail blazing kisses down your throat to your chest, biting and suckling with savage intensity. You feel like a rabbit, caught in a snare, trapped in the jaws of a wolf before he rags you, splattering your blood across the sheets.
You wriggle free of his hold, threading your fingers into his wild hair and watching him claim your body with such passion. His lips are swollen and gleaming with saliva from ravishing your skin. You can't help but sit up and capture his lips, kissing him with teeth and tongue, meeting him halfway with pure animal instinct. Both lips are bloodied and bruised when you finally come up for air, marking each other like two wild beasts.
Victor's chest heaves and his hand shakes as he reaches between you to wrap his fingers around his throbbing, engorged cock. "I need... Inside..." He pants out and you fall back, letting your thighs drop open. Reaching down, you spread open the swollen lips of your cunt, dripping and aching with need for him.
"Do it..."
With a primal growl, he positions himself between your legs, eyes locked on your exposed flesh. He thrusts into you with a single, powerful stroke, pulling a keening whine from your throat as he begins to move, his hips slapping against your own in a raw, primal rhythm. Reaching up, your nails claw down the nape of his neck and down his shoulder blades, your eyes rolling from the deep, punishing thrusts he grants you. "O-Ohhh... My darling..." His movements become more feral, each thrust harder and deeper than the last, like a dog in heat.
"Is this what you wanted?" He asks breathlessly.
"Y-Yes... Is it sating you, Victor? Is it s-satisfying...your need to possess me?" You ask in reply and he ducks down to claim your lips again, trapping your lower lip between his teeth.
"It's not enough." He snarls against your mouth, hands gripping your hips painfully. "You're too perfect... I could spend...a lifetime inside you and still not have my fill." He huffs, lifting your legs over his shoulders, changing the angle and plunging even deeper. He pounds into you mercilessly, his hips moving like a piston, as he strives to draw the loudest sounds he can from your throat.
Suddenly, he releases one of your legs to curl his fingers around your neck, his thumb pressing on the swell of your trachea. "So fragile..." You gasp as he restricts the airflow ever so slightly, your body tightening around him at the sensation. He feels it; the way your body reacts, and his eyes darken as he presses down harder, watching your face carefully. Your bruised lips part slightly, your chest heaving as you try to take deeper breaths. Face flushed, eyes rolling, your body constricts tighter around him as you inhale wet, shaky drags of air.
"V-Victor..." It isn't a call for mercy despite the burning sensation at the bottom of your lungs. His hips snap against your own and he moves in a shallow, grinding motion to maximise the friction between you. A high whine is pulled from your chest as he stimulates the knot of nerves with the base of his cock, the crown nestled deep inside you, making your toes curl from the pleasure. His thumb presses down on the hollow of your throat, nearly cutting off your air supply, and he snarls down at you, eyes wild, his dark curls draped around his face like the mane of a rabid animal.
"Look at me." He husks and you obey, your eyes lidded and dazed, drool dripping from the corner of your lips as you mouth hangs open, trying to take in full breaths to quell the burning in your chest. Your vision blurs at the edges, growing dark and fuzzy. God, you're so gorgeous like this; choked, legs spread obscenely wide, soft curves bouncing from the brutal thrusts. He tightens his grip on your throat just a little more but you begin to grow lax around him as your body sags against the mattress, teetering on the edge unconsciousness. He sees this and releases his hold entirely, grabbing onto your hip and and pinching the bundle of nerves above where you join.
Your chest expands fully and your vision goes white as oxygen rushes in. You clench down hard around him as sensation rushes back in a glorious cacophony of pleasure. The brutality and intensity of it all sends you tumbling over the edge — screaming, crying, praying — as your back bows off the bed, your nails biting into his shoulders as you convulse uncontrollably. You bury your face into his neck, muffling your cries, as you rake your fingers down his back, scoring harsh, red lines that prick with blood. And he loses control, pouring himself into you with a feral, conclusive growl, his arms winding around the small of your back and holding you tightly against him. Your hearts beat in tandem as he empties himself inside you, making sure to release it all as deep as possible. Eventually, Victor rolls onto his back, bringing you with him and draping your limp body across his frame. A large hand strokes along your back, fingers following the ridges of your spine as you lie, pliant, against him.
When the dust settles and you catch your breath, you prop yourself up on weak arms to look at him.
"Victor..." His hunger seems sated and he gazes at you with tender, loving eyes, his thumb tracing patterns on the small of your back.
"My love..." He murmurs softly, his other arm wrapping around your waist to pull you closer. He nuzzles his face against your hair, inhaling your scent deeply. "Are you alright?"
"Yes... I'm quite alright, my darling... Et tu?" A soft smile plays on his lips as he nods.
"I'm more than alright. I'm content, sated and completely, utterly in love with you." A tender kiss is pressed to your lips before he pulls away, brows knitted in concern. "Though, did I hurt you? I'd never forgive myself if I caused you true harm." Your face glistens with sweat and there are swollen bite-marks on your collarbone and bruises on your neck.
"I feel as if I've been ravaged by a wild animal." You chuckle softly. "I'll sleep soundly tonight." His eyes crinkle at the corners as he gently moves you onto your side, blowing out the candles and curling up behind you, making sure to wrap his arms around your middle protectively. "I adore you, I hope you know that."
"I do, my love. And I know that I adore you more."