The knife twirled in his hand freely, as if it were a red pen, oozing out dark, crimson ink with every flick he made. With every stroke, he pressed down just a little bit harder, until he could feel the tip of the blade scratch against bone. He stopped with a pout, tilting his head, as if he were attempting to observe the slapdash of scratches and red the scattered across his guest’s forehead.
Moriarty snarled at the work, quickly stopping to do something with a bit more composure. He circled to towards the back of Loki’s head, slid the blade in the gap where his skin and his clothing met, and began to cut the fabric down the center until he could tear it off of him. He held the side of the knife just at the top of the clavicle, pressing the harmless part of the blade firmly against the trickster’s bare skin.
With his other hand, Moriarty began to play with the back of Loki’s hair, as if he were making a mock-worthy attempt at comforting him. “Dear, the more you cry, the more you’ll strain those lips of yours. You might even be able to talk through that gap you’re tearing,” he murmured.
As Loki felt the knife leave his skin, he opened his eyes again and tilted his head up ever so slightly. Although when Moriarty’s footsteps moved around to the side and then behind him the god was tempted to lean back again.
Before he could do anything however, Loki felt the knife slide down his back, the cold metal on his skin sending a visible shiver down his spine. Feeling the hand in his hair made Loki cringe, tilting his head forward a little more to try and pull away from the patronising attempt at comfort.
Moriarty’s words only made Loki clench his jaw together, biting the inside of his lip in an inward gesture of defiance. The thread through his lips had torn into his flesh even more, the holes slowly getting larger. One or two of them had nearly torn through completely and his chin was stained red, blood slowly dripping off to mingle on his clothes with the blood from his hand.
Moriarty slid the knife right through Loki's skin, the organ slicing off like bread on butter. On his shoulder, a great portion of his epidermis peeled off, leaving red areas of tendon exposed. The skin still hung onto Loki's body, Moriarty pursing his lips at how neglectful he was with the blade. He hacked the last bit off carelessly, the whole chunk coming off.
He held the strip of skin between his own two fingers, swinging it in front of his captive's eyes like a hypnotist's watch. The skin was tapered poorly. Anyone could easily see the meticulous precision used to thinly flay the shoulder, compared to the thick chunk of flesh on the end. Though disappointed in himself, Moriarty's eyes still gleamed. A tickle of adrenaline climbed up his spine.
He could see distress paint across Loki's face, his eyes softening. His head tilted to one side, a comforting smile coming with ease. He brought his hand up to Loki's cheek to stroke it, the piece of skin held with the same grip.
