Work Text:
Most of the time, Doc didn’t leave marks on Baby when they fucked. Maybe a few light bruises on his hips, but he didn’t want his driver damaged. That didn’t serve anybody’s purposes, most especially his.
But there were special occasions. Like Doc’s birthday, for example. Or the occasion of “I’ve had a hard week and I need to destroy something beautiful”.
On these occasions, Doc would bring Baby to a hotel and lay him out on the pure white sheets, tying his wrists to the headboard to keep him perfectly in place for Doc’s ministrations. He’d touch Baby’s creamy soft skin, dragging his nails down Baby’s arms and legs until there were raised welts, Baby arched and squirming underneath him, nearly crying already.
But then the real fun would begin.
Doc would walk out on the balcony of the hotel room, leaving Baby to simmer down on the bed, and smoke a cigarette until it was halfway gone. Then he would return, ignoring Baby’s whimpers and pleas for mercy, and put out the cigarette on the inside of Baby’s soft, pale thighs. Never enough to leave scars - he wanted to repeat this experience in the future, of course - but enough to make Baby howl in agony. Then he’d relight his cigarette, take a puff, and put it out on his Baby again.
Usually he repeated the process no more than three or four times; that was generally more than enough to have Baby sobbing, begging him to stop. And of course, Doc was a merciful sadist, so he would stop and rub a salve on Baby’s wounds so he wouldn’t scar, and then he’d spread Baby’s legs wider and fuck him, bumping right up against his legs to make his little Baby wail.
Most of the time, he’d kill anyone who hurt his Baby. But sometimes, he wanted to be the one who caused that pain, the one who tore his Baby apart just so he could put him back together again.
When he was done - Baby’s pleasure would occasionally be taken care of, sometimes not - he would pull out and take his time cleaning Baby’s skin very carefully, making sure every speck of ash or drop of sweat or come was gone. He’d reapply the salve with gentle fingers, wrapping white gauze around Baby’s thighs and taping it in place.
Doc helped Baby into a soft t-shirt and sweatpants that he’d packed, putting on Baby’s jacket for him and even tying his shoes for him, treating him like a young child. Baby was out of it anyway, he needed a little help. He patted Baby’s cheek, smiling. “You did well, Baby.”
Of course, this was the point at which he would reward his Baby for doing so well. He’d hurt his Baby, and now he would take care of him too. Whatever Baby had been eyeing lately, he’d give him - a piece of clothing, a new pair of shoes, yet another iPod or maybe even a new car if he’d been very good of late. He’d give Baby his present, and pet his hair while he enjoyed it.