[That squeeze at his shoulder (was that reassurance? Probably wishful thinking) is gone in seconds, replaced by a shove that has him stumbling down the last step and trying to get his footing again like he's all limbs. It's hot, even for him standing there in just his boxerbriefs, that stifling sort of heat that almost instantly makes it feel like he's got sweat prickling at his forehead. Although that could just be nerves that has him sweating, because yeah, he was nervous, he could admit that. He was allowed to be when stuck in some dungeon with a fully dressed and likely psychotic mafia guy. They were all psychotic, they had to be to do shit like this. What sort of normal person has a fucking dungeon in their basement?
As Armando talks of Fraser, Ray lets the information sink in deep, letting the mental image of his Mountie in a tux trying to play it smooth in Vegas casinos sink in deep. The thought was enough to get him smiling vaguely to himself, eyes drifting up as he takes note of the mirror above them. Maybe this place did double as some weird ass BDSM room.
He watches the reflection of Armando get closer, watches him withdraw the tie from his pocket, finally dropping his gaze again as he feels the brush of fabric on his wrist. That mirror could prove useful later in seeing things he might not be able to from his current position. The darkness in the room doesn't help, but at least that mirror is a slight advantage, even if he doesn't necessarily intend to react on much of what he sees. He'll use whatever advantage he can get, even as he's led further forward by a tug at the tie.
The pat at the cheek has him all but sneering back, and it's gestures like that that make him want to punch the guy all over again, his free hand curling into a fist and just for a second he can't stop it jerking up and snapping it back. He does, thankfully, stop it before it's barrelling forward, and then he's gradually lowering it again, the threat gone like it was little more than a growl of warning. That could be his last chance to swing a hit, but he's not sure it's worth it, not by the looks of this place.]
Looks real fuckin' cushy. [He grunts, his exhale almost sounding like a snarl while he eyes up that chair, all rings and straps and not at all like anything he'd have in his lounge. But fine, he'll do as he's told, moving when the tie allows it, stepping in to take a closer look at the seat before turning and carefully perching on it, his attention snapping straight back to Armando to keep the surprises to a minimum.]
no subject
As Armando talks of Fraser, Ray lets the information sink in deep, letting the mental image of his Mountie in a tux trying to play it smooth in Vegas casinos sink in deep. The thought was enough to get him smiling vaguely to himself, eyes drifting up as he takes note of the mirror above them. Maybe this place did double as some weird ass BDSM room.
He watches the reflection of Armando get closer, watches him withdraw the tie from his pocket, finally dropping his gaze again as he feels the brush of fabric on his wrist. That mirror could prove useful later in seeing things he might not be able to from his current position. The darkness in the room doesn't help, but at least that mirror is a slight advantage, even if he doesn't necessarily intend to react on much of what he sees. He'll use whatever advantage he can get, even as he's led further forward by a tug at the tie.
The pat at the cheek has him all but sneering back, and it's gestures like that that make him want to punch the guy all over again, his free hand curling into a fist and just for a second he can't stop it jerking up and snapping it back. He does, thankfully, stop it before it's barrelling forward, and then he's gradually lowering it again, the threat gone like it was little more than a growl of warning. That could be his last chance to swing a hit, but he's not sure it's worth it, not by the looks of this place.]
Looks real fuckin' cushy. [He grunts, his exhale almost sounding like a snarl while he eyes up that chair, all rings and straps and not at all like anything he'd have in his lounge. But fine, he'll do as he's told, moving when the tie allows it, stepping in to take a closer look at the seat before turning and carefully perching on it, his attention snapping straight back to Armando to keep the surprises to a minimum.]
So what happened to him?