[His attention stays rapt on Cy, finding it easy to believe that performance — how effortlessly the man instills authority in the pitch of his voice, and control in every graceful, confident movement. If not for the foundation of their relationship so far, perhaps he might have believed it too well. But he knows better. There is a bell in his hand and a word that will get him out.
He watches Cy clean off wet, glistening fingers and has to swallow past the sudden thickness in his throat. And the words, heavy and final, hammering down the nails of discipline and punishment — he is pliant as he's rearranged up against the headboard, ropes constructed into new knots that hold his upper body in a new position, leaving enough freedom to give the illusion of autonomy even when it will vanish from the first test. Because it is true, and the resentment is in the downward tilt of discolored eyes, a gaze that peers out through dark lashes with a fire burning low, dull embers. Any window of opportunity he might have to beg and plead his way out of this has closed. Is there another path? Could he play into it, pretend at submissiveness and obedience, until the man's guard is down? Not right away. It would be too obvious.
He says nothing through the evisceration of hope, and only lifts his right hand to touch the collar around his throat — avoiding any other part of his body as if in rejection of its current shape. That phrase draws a sharp look, one kept insolent despite the way it curls heat low in his belly for knowledge of what it means.]
Does it matter what I choose? Whether I tell you yes or no, you'll do it anyway.
no subject
He watches Cy clean off wet, glistening fingers and has to swallow past the sudden thickness in his throat. And the words, heavy and final, hammering down the nails of discipline and punishment — he is pliant as he's rearranged up against the headboard, ropes constructed into new knots that hold his upper body in a new position, leaving enough freedom to give the illusion of autonomy even when it will vanish from the first test. Because it is true, and the resentment is in the downward tilt of discolored eyes, a gaze that peers out through dark lashes with a fire burning low, dull embers. Any window of opportunity he might have to beg and plead his way out of this has closed. Is there another path? Could he play into it, pretend at submissiveness and obedience, until the man's guard is down? Not right away. It would be too obvious.
He says nothing through the evisceration of hope, and only lifts his right hand to touch the collar around his throat — avoiding any other part of his body as if in rejection of its current shape. That phrase draws a sharp look, one kept insolent despite the way it curls heat low in his belly for knowledge of what it means.]
Does it matter what I choose? Whether I tell you yes or no, you'll do it anyway.