Eerin can’t speak. Can’t make noises like whimpers or whines or screams - some of Nick’s favorite sounds. All he can do, really, is breathe. Take deep low breaths, or short desperate gasps, or jagged syncopated panting.
Luckily, Nick loves to disrupt breathing.
Eerin, slender and stunning in the fragile, earnest sort of way, lies pinned on his back, straddled by his muscle-heavy friend. Coal-dark eyes gaze up at Nick with nothing short of a dire need to be everything Nick wants - and what Nick wants him to be, right now, is breathless.
Two large hands remain wrapped around Eerin’s oh-so-bruisable throat. Probably too much of Nick’s considerable strength, built up for this very hobby, is being used to cut off Eerin’s air. At the thought of the breathing that will eventually be allowed, he leans forward and pushes down, cinches his hands closer together, scrunching up his nose for a second with the force of his maniacal grin.
That jaggedly cut black hair is limp against the floor, those dark eyes wide with fear. No one, no matter how prepared they may be to be choked, is able to hide that fear once they’ve been deprived of oxygen for long enough.
Against his own instincts to comply to the very end, Eerin claws weakly at Nick’s hands. The torturer’s arms quake slightly from the continuous exertion. Oh, these bruises are going to be gorgeous. Dark splotches of black, brown, purple, blue across pale skin, an adam’s apple, that throat wrung for too long, head spinning with aches and dizziness - oh, is he going too far? Crow’s eyes are glazed well beyond panic, his useless tugging coming to an end as his hands spasm and fall.
Nick lets go.
Eerin fights so hard to get his breath back, to suck down all the oxygen he can, but it’s so quiet. The gasps are only air, no frightened sounds. There’s no grunting, no sobbing, no hapless pleading. Just stuttered, textured breaths broken up by involuntary exhales, his own body making it more messy, more complicated. His mouth is wide open, his brows are furrowed with upset.
Sadly, bruises don’t form instantly. Nick supposes he’s just going to have to spend all day with Eerin here on the floor. He’ll have to take breaks so his arms don’t get too tired. Magic will suffice to keep Eerin making wonderfully small, quiet, desperate sounds with only his breaths.
A backhand knocks Eerin’s head to the side. It doesn’t startle a gasp out of him - sudden demoralizing pain doesn’t surprise him. He’s had plenty of it. But no one, no one in his life, has ever spent all day choking him.
No one will ever get to see him as beautiful as he will be by the end of it. A throat ringed with dark bruises, a sheen of sweat across his skin, eyes long since unfocused, arms numb and useless in struggling. He’s going to be the most beautiful thing in the world.
~
Jaw stretched as wide as it’ll go, Crow doesn’t scream. His body tries, but can only force out silent exhales, ragged and raw.
His arms are twisted up behind his back. Nick’s hands are wrapped around his, keeping those arms twisted as far as they’ll go, Crow’s wrists crossed between shoulder blades that stick out like they’ll cut through that dull skin.
The magic in Nick’s hands has shattered his friend’s wrists. He squeezes them, and a rush of adrenaline courses through him as Crow takes a hitching breath.
Such incredible agony the young man must be in, but he can’t voice it. Why stop, then? Why not drive him absolutely mad with boundless, bottomless agony? Why not spend all day, every day, working on him, breaking things? Magic pressed in over and over, snapping bone, twisting joints out of place, crushing fragile things like wrists and ankles? He could do that. He wants to.
Crow does his little not-scream again, and Nick realizes with no ounce of alarm that he’s really cranking those arms too high, too far, twisting the shoulders. He felt the thunk of the joints being shoved out of place and didn’t even notice, he’s so used to doing it.
“Aren’t you sweet,” He murmurs without releasing his forceful shoving grip one bit. “Silent. It’s so peaceful, hurting you. I know you’d like to be able to use these arms again. I just want to ruin them, though, want to see you lying in a pile all shattered. I could do it, you know. Lay you out on the floor here and press magic into you, starting from your feet. Break every inch. And you’d still be alive by the time I reached your head! And still silent. Sweet, sweet Eerin.” Those arms are released, to the sweet music of an uneven inhale loaded with unspoken agony.
“I’m so glad you came to see me today.”
