𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐝.

𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐫 — (n.) 𝘖𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺. 𝘈 𝘱𝘭𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘳.

You.

Raw, next question.

The knife is soon flipped onto its spine, the duller, thicker edge that still rolls into a point at the apex. That more softly glides down her center and across covered lips.

"Gettin' real shaky here, ain't'cha?" The flat of his palms pushes against the other's hips, apply some pressure as he tries to ensure they stay steady. Or he'll just nick her, whichever came first. "Tremblin' is a look I would't've thought to expect, but it ain't so bad."

There's my fluffy li'l problem.

Spit it out, angel.

*Want* ain't the word, but I do invite it. So long as you don't mind the appropriate punishment in turn.

It isn't long before he's leaving her all but bare, but here he takes his time. Slower moments as the cool of steel kisses it's flat and edge to her skin.

Way ahead of the little mechanical angel here, she ain't gotta fret none. The blade's tip digs in and with a deft precision shreds at the fabric keeping her decent.

Why not find out for yourself.

Don't you fret none li'l imp, I can tolerate plenty before dishin' back what's owed.

Ain't fair if I'm the only one dishin' it out. Gotta get what you can give.

A much more interestin' thought came to mind for that task.