like the peel of an orange (whitewulf)
05 June 2024
He became, in the moment, sharply and desperately aware of the pale body inside the shell of the exosuit. Nothing had happened; nothing specific, anyway, no turning point, no major event, just White Knight turning at the waist and grimacing and complaining of a pinch, and the map of skin bloomed into Biowulf's mind without his asking for it. He could suddenly find each seam and overlap of metal plating on White Knight's protective suit, all the gaps where he could fit the tips of his claws underneath and peel them up, careful and slow, like finding a flower that had not yet bloomed and coaxing up each individual petal, thin velvet hiding under thin velvet. Underneath - the soft animal of White Knight's body - in his imagination he allowed there to be no barrier, no under-armor, only metal and then flesh, but he could not clearly picture the flesh. He could not piece together how White Knight might be vulnerable and accessible, so pale that the blue of veins stood out at his wrists, small without the bulk of the machine he wore, maybe prickling with goosebumps - Biowulf could remember that, faintly, translucent hairs standing on end. The details could not form a whole, nevermind that he would beg to see it done. He felt suddenly as though he was swimming in too-deep water, the pressure beating on his skull."You're staring, again," White Knight said, scornful, the frown in his voice. He never cared for the way Biowulf stared at him. The devotion was meant to be expressed in private; he wasn't meant to meet eyes with his master.
"Sorry, master," Biowulf rasped, ducking his head down, and he did not think of it, he did not think of it, until his mind's eye was filled only with pale pale skin that would give way under the points of his claws.