@herunfailingkindness
liked somewhere for a dark steve starter
“It’s really very simple, Dr. Tyrell,” Steve says congenially, grabbing the chair in front of her and turning it around, straddling it backwards and resting his arm along the back of its thick metal frame.
Casually, the hint of a smirk in his friendly smile, he reaches down and pulls a knife from the sheath strapped to his thigh. The knife dances between his fingers, flashing in the harsh lights of the interrogation room, a soundless dance in the small, quiet space. It was just the two of them, all alone for a cozy little chat; her chair was comfortable, a plastic bottle of water on a cheap, lightweight plastic table bolted to the ground next to her chair. Just the two of them — and the Captain, if he were to be honest, kind of hoping she’d put up a little struggle, be a little difficult, before giving him what he wanted.
Kind of hoping for a reason to have to get up close and personal and convince her to cooperate.
“You have information that I need to do my job, and I really like my job. I’m really fucking good at my job. I’m going to do whatever it takes to continue to be good at my job, which means that I really, really want that information you’ve got. You need to get out of here as soon as possible, hopefully in one piece and with as little of that perfect body and gorgeous face of yours worked over as possible.”
“See how much we can help each other out here, honey?” He beams at her, as though sharing a special secret with her, the knife still flashing between his fingers as he dances it back and forth, back and forth between them. “I’m really gonna have to suggest that you be helpful. Because you’re not gonna like how much I’m gonna like cutting on you.” The smile turns a little sheepish, a little aw-shucks-ma’am, all-american-mom-and-pop-apple-pie-golden-boy. “I know it’s pretty awful of me, but there’s few things that get me off more than seeing a beautiful woman bloody and crying and begging on her knees. I just lose control of myself every damn time, just wind up going crazy on her and doing all sorts of things you can probably image but that I’m sure would make a good girl like you just sick to her stomach. I’ll probably get mine eventually, I know I’ll have to pay for it somewhere down the line because of karma of whatever — but eventually’s not today, is it, Dr. Tyrell?”
The knife stops dancing, and he brings it up to his mouth, lips parting sensually as he catches her eyes, traps her gaze; brings the tip of the knife up to his lips, flicks his tongue against it. “So — got anything you’d like to talk about, Doctor?”