( No Title )
Frightened, half-sedated whumpee on their knees in their cell, bound, hands and feet, unable to move more than to squirm against their bonds.
Whumpee has been there for hours, cold, alone, half-conscious and frightened.
Finally whumper comes in the cell and kneels down behind them, putting their arms around whumpee from behind nuzzling them and playing with their hair, calling them a poor, pathetic thing.
And whumper is warm, and soft, and whumpee is so cold and hurt they can’t help but lean into whumper’s touch, even knowing who they are.
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