Admit three guilty pleasures and/or embarrassing facts about yourself.
Oh darling, I’m never guilty about pleasures ;)
No, but really. I try to avoid feeling bad about things that make me happy (you know, so long as they don’t bring me joy at the expense of others). I’m also hard to embarrass, given how often I willingly make an idiot out of myself. I guess if I had to pick, my guilty-but-not pleasures include impulsively buying books I’ll never have the time to actually read, portraying fictional homosexuals on the internet, and The Vampire Diaries. Though, I blame netflix & a nasty summer cold for that last one.
“I will kill you slowly, agonizingly, until you’re begging for me to end it," Andrew snarled, one hand pulling the man's head back until he could see the cords in his neck straining. "Just like you've done to so many countless others."
The man beneath him laughed, strained and choked from the pressure on his neck, but a laugh nonetheless.
"You wouldn't be the first to try, and you're not going to be the first to fail."
He’s been here for too long— hours, he thinks, or maybe it just feels that way by the slow manner Owen drags out his games. He’s got all new scars and bruises to add to the others, and he can’t seem to rid the metallic taste of his own blood in his mouth.
The splicer in question paces around the counter Jin’s secured to, a shark smile appearing across his lips. “Isn’t this fun?” The masked cultists behind Owen seem to share his sentiment, eyeing their victim and seeing him only as their next sacrifice.
Jin avoids looking at them and instead fixes Owen with an incredulous look, twisting in his restraints uncomfortably.
"Don’t flatter yourself."
There’s a pause, and a thoughtful humming as Owen pauses in his pacing, watching the rebel with that same sinister flash of teeth.
"Kiss me."
“What?" Jin isn’t sure he’s heard that right.
"Oh don’t be so dramatic.” He pauses, fingers tracing the edge of the counter. ”You’re visiting my home today, you might be wise to start showing some respect…to your host.” It’s clear the other is having a good time of his dramatics, but there’s underlying threat in his voice.
Meanwhile, the disbelieving look doesn’t leave Jin’s face— but it becomes quickly apparent that Owen isn’t kidding about this at all. Like every part of this situation, this is another power play.
"Right here," Owen continues— he taps his own cheek, before laying his palm flat on Jin’s chest.
"Y-you’re out of your mind if you think that’s happening."
An unpleasant grin tilts at the corner of Owen’s lips. The hand drags up to his throat as the other leans over him from the head of the table, until Jin can feel the other’s breath on his face. Blood. The man smells like blood. Jin lurches instinctively, intending to bite if it’ll bring him any closer to getting out of the situation.
Owen seems to be expecting that, though, and quickly recoils easily out of Jin’s limited reach. “Ah-ah, pet,” he says, again, voice a chiding purr, irritatingly gentle. The other laughs as he cards fingers through his hair, and then yanks his head back hard against the surface of the counter. Jin’s teeth grind in a wince as he fixes Owen with the full power of his hatred in his eyes.
He thinks, bitterly that he’d rather the other kill him than have to submit to anything, as Owen’s fingers return to curling over the pulse point on his throat. He twists in an attempt to retreat from the touch, uselessly. It starts gentle, teasing, and then it becomes bruising, and hot. He realizes too late that the skin is burning there, sizzling under the man’s plasmid-lit fingers and he gasps, eyes darting up to the man’s smug expression. Simultaneous, even, to the air shuddering from his chest.
He writhes, fighting to no avail to weather the burn. There’s nowhere to go. The water from the bucket above hits his forehead again, freezing, sharp against the searing burn of the man’s hand on his throat. I’mtrappedI’mtrappedI’mtrapped. A choked scream rips up his throat unrestrained, nerves on overdrive, breath just barely gasping past the pressure.
To his credit, he holds out for as long as he can, until he knows, with dread that there will be a dark ashy handprint left there on his skin— but he doesn’t want to die like this. His body gives in first, anyway. “S-stop,” he chokes out— instantly horrified by his own betrayal, horrified to relinquish that last bit of power to Owen.
The hand releases him, the other laughs, Jin feels the sinking of regret. He’s shaking, he realizes dully, as the result of a horrible burn screams through him. The man steps back around to the head of the table, leans down close again, make Or maybe I could play with one of your friends, instead." That hand hovers near him again, still hot, still a threat as Owen pats him on the cheek mockingly.
"But you don’t want that, do you, Jin?”
Jin tries not to get a look at the smug expression, straightening up to appear as tall as he can—given the circumstances, and tilts his head up slightly, having to strain just so to brush his lips against the other’s cheek. He feels the pain of the mark Owen’s left in every nerve ending, but more than that he’s stricken with the fear that Owen will follow up on his threat to involve the others. He then immediately falls back against the cold counter with a snarl on his mouth, feigning brave.
