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undo me, make me whole

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“Just to be clear,” Mike sucks in a hurried breath, shivering at the feeling of huge hands smoothing down his sides, “I’m expecting everything to be in the same place at the end of this.”

“It will be,” the Boneturner’s voice rumbles straight through to his core, impossibly deep and layered with the sounds of flesh and bone shifting and straining under the surface of his skin. “I’m precise in my work. Although it’s a shame you won’t let me sculpt anything new, I’m sure I could make an addition or two you’d be fond of.”

“Right,” he watches the path his hands trace over his body, feeling their strength in every press into soft skin despite the fact that their owner has, thus far, been shockingly gentle. He’s only used two hands up to this point, but the writhing mass of movement under his oversized coat suggests that he likely has plenty more to work with. Mike struggles not to squirm under his attention, frustrated by the fact that while he’s been stripped bare to be subjected to the Boneturner’s whims, the man himself has most of his body covered. “Well, I’ll be sure to let you know if I change my mind.”

The Boneturner nods, and Mike can’t begin to guess if he caught the sarcasm in his tone. His hands pause in their exploration of Mike’s smaller frame, resting heavy with his palms on his hips and long, thick fingers digging ever so slightly into his sides. Before he can decide if he wants to question his sudden inaction, the hands at his side tighten and Mike is flipped onto his stomach in one fluid motion. He gasps, the air flying from his lungs in a rush, and his cheeks heat at the irony of it.

“You need to relax,” the Boneturner rumbles, fingers splaying across the skin on his back and tracing over the branches of his scars. 

“The point of this isn’t relaxation ,” Mike huffs, “I just want to feel… Well, you know–”

“Grounded?” He chuckles, and the sound is both wetter and crunchier than he would like. Mike rolls his eyes, but he’s spared from thinking of a retort when those powerful fingers start kneading into tense muscles. He sinks immediately into the mattress, eyes fluttering shut gratefully. He moans when he feels his thumbs press circles under his shoulders, and when one of those skilled hands start running carefully down his spine it takes a moment for him to realize that the fingers have started sinking under his skin as easily as if it was a hot knife running through butter. “Don’t move, now.”

His instincts tell him to thrash, to kick and claw at the man that’s reaching into his body as he lies beneath him, prone. He forces himself to take a breath and lies still, biting the pillow when he feels the fingers reach bone. The Boneturner gets to work, and each pull and prod against his spine is white-hot agony. Mike briefly contemplates that all it would take to leave him permanently paralyzed would be a quick tug on a vertebrae, and then his focus is shifted entirely to trying not to scream at the sound of his bones shifting and popping unnaturally under the machinations of the Boneturner.

Quicker than he can hope to process, the hand that had buried itself in his back pulls away with a wet pop . And he feels... Well. He feels nothing short of amazing, once the pain fades, and all the tension he’d been carrying washes away with it.


Mike just groans, content in that moment to lie motionless and content beneath him. That is, until those awful, lovely hands are on him again, lifting his hips up off of the bed and– Oh, the hand that strokes at the spot between his legs is not one of the two that are holding him in place, and he can’t help but to whimper at that realization. 

“Ah, you’re already wet.” To illustrate his point, the Boneturner slides a finger along his slit and Michael bites his lip at the realization that, yes , he’s undeniably and achingly aroused and all it took was a pair of monstrous hands rooting around beneath his flesh. He tries not to let the implications of that mortify him. "You needed this, didn't you?"

Mike grunts, trying to arch up into his touches but meeting the roadblock of the firm hands keeping him in place. The Boneturner chuckles again, but mercifully chooses to pause his teasing to slip a finger into his core. Mike gasps, somehow not expecting the girth of the digit despite the fact that he’d had plenty of time to grow accustomed to just how huge its owner is. When he moves, he’s sure to explore every inch of the hole he’d chosen, stroking along the walls and curling into the soft flesh in between shallow thrusts. By the time he slides a second finger in alongside the first, Mike is close to abandoning what remains of his composure and demanding that he just take him , already, but the feeling of the Boneturner scissoring his fingers inside of him and spreading him deliciously apart is more than enough to have him abandon the thought with a low moan. He’s almost worried that he’ll decide he isn’t deep enough and sink his hand into his body, again, but he’s finding it more and more difficult to even mind.

Without another word, the Boneturner slips his fingers from Mike’s hole. Mike gasps, sorry for the loss but practically vibrating with the anticipation of what was to come next. He hears the slide of fabric above him, and catches out of the corner of his eye as the oversized coat he’d been wearing is tossed carelessly to the side. He tries to crane his neck, to finally catch a glimpse of the body that he’d been so curious about, but the Boneturner grips the back of his neck with one firm hand and presses his head down into the pillow. The pair at his hips squeezes insistently, and he can’t help but moan when he feels the blunt head of a cock against his hole. The press of it as it slides into his body is slow enough that he can feel inch after inch after inch, and god, just how big is he? Mike shudders, nerves alight and feeling so damn full he’s sure that the Boneturner must be using his powers to reach even deeper into his core than should have been possible. When he finally bottoms out, a delirious part of Mike’s brain wonders if a hard enough thrust would have him spilling out the other side.

After he pulls back, his first real thrust is deep enough to rock Mike’s body forward and he grips desperately at the sheets in his fists for purchase. The pace he sets is slow, measured, and each thrust reaches so deep into him that the pressure makes Mike’s head swim in the best possible way. He can barely even process the pain of the stretch, and when the Boneturner stills again he whines, frustrated, into the pillow.

“Seems a shame…” He starts, and Mike can barely follow the garbled mess of his words through his haze. “To not make good use of both holes.”

“Wha–” Mike yelps as he’s flipped over for the second time that night, and what he sees when he blinks up at the Boneturner is, well. Hard to describe. He can discern no fewer than six arms, most of which have at least five fingers at the end of each hand, and the torso they protrude from is predictably massive. The flesh that comprises it shifts and pulses as he stares, muscle and bone and skin working in tandem in a grotesque spectacle that he can’t tear his gaze away from. He’s so distracted, in fact, that he almost forgets the Boneturner’s previous comment– Until he hears the telltale sound of a bottle being uncapped, followed by the obscene gush of an ungodly amount of lube being poured into a waiting hand. It takes the slick head of a dick, another dick, pressing between his cheeks to return him to his senses. “Wait, Jared, I can’t–”

The Boneturner clearly disagrees, because he doesn’t wait for him to finish his protest before he drags his body forward, popping the heads of both cocks into his holes in a single thrust. Mike’s sentence devolves into a broken groan, and he claws desperately at the massive arms holding him in place as he starts to sink further. The Boneturner must not be quite satisfied with the position, because he reaches down with one of his many hands and it sinks into Mike’s hip, yanking at the bones it finds there and wrenching his legs apart at an angle that he certainly couldn’t have managed, otherwise. Mike whimpers at the onslaught of pain, choking on the sound when the Boneturner pulls them flush together. The hands at his waist tighten, and he realizes belatedly that he’s been lifted completely from the bed as he starts to move him back and forth along the length of his cocks, using him like he was little more than a toy. 

The hands that aren’t being used to hold him aloft as he’s fucked senseless drag across his chest, digging into the soft skin they find. He gasps when a nail catches on his nipple and is surprised by another finger slipping into his open mouth. He moans desperately around the intrusion, face slick with tears and drool. The Boneturner catches one of his hands in his own, guiding it to rest on his stomach so he can feel it distend with each thrust as it cores into him. It’s so much, far too much, and Mike can do nothing but whine when a final hand finds his clit and begins rubbing circles into it with an eager thumb. When Mike comes it’s shockingly quiet, body going taught and then falling almost completely limp, able to do nothing but cling half-heartedly to a grotesquely muscled arm as the Boneturner finishes using him and spills deep inside of his misused holes.

He allows Mike to drop onto the bed, and the familiar feeling of vertigo is a blessed relief for just a moment before a large palm presses down on his throat with an accompanying growl from its owner.

“Stop that,” he demands, and Mike realizes with a start that he’d been exerting his power on the both of them. He shakes his head and the feeling dissipates, and the Boneturner sighs before brushing hair away from his half-lidded eyes. “Stay still, you’re almost done.”

Mike can’t imagine what else they still have to do, but he’s amply reminded when his hip is gripped again and his bones are wrenched back into their proper place. He’s sure that the feeling should’ve been more painful than it was, but he’s not complaining. He watches as the Boneturner rises from the bed, retrieving his abandoned coat and beginning to cover up his mass of flesh. He walks into Mike’s bathroom without a word, and when he returns it’s with a damp cloth that he uses to begin wiping away the mess he’d left on the much smaller man.

"I still think you would look lovely if you allowed me to make a change, or two," his voice is as gentle as he wipes at his thighs, and Mike hums thoughtfully.

"Maybe. But I happen to already be quite fond of this body of mine."

"Ah. Then, it's already plenty beautiful."

Mike laughs, and can't help but think that Jared also looks quite lovely as he smiles down at him, mouth quirked fondly to one side.

"Well then, Mr. Hopworth. When are you free to do this again?"