[When he'd got into this mess he'd expected the typical beat downs, cuts, maybe even a few bullets, what he hadn't been expecting was to be held at knife point while some mafioso lathers up his ear with his tongue like Ray's some two-bit whore from Vegas.
He doesn't appreciate it, of course he doesn't, but he does endure, jaw clamped tight in annoyance, even as the blade creeps down and flattens against his chest, and even as his head is yanked backwards with a hand fisted into his hair.
While Armando speaks, he keeps his mouth shut, heart raising and breath huffing out in steady breaths as his throat is laid bare. He still can't tell if this guy is for real or whether this is some big bluff that's used to scare the captives. It's effective enough; threatening to fuck a guy would put the fear into plenty, just as effective as cutting off fingers. Actually doing is effective too, leaving a lasting impression for any that do push their luck. And Ray had pushed his luck, in front of far too many witnesses, but he was just expecting to be shot for it, not this.
He snarls at the sting of a warm tongue on his fresh wound, and then snarls all over again, sharper, as teeth drag across, and he does have to give credit for dragging out the pain from the smallest of cuts and abrasions. It wasn't always about the wounds, but what you did with them that counted, not that Ray knew all that much about torture techniques beyond what he'd seen in movies. Chicago cops really shouldn't be getting involved in this sort of shit. This was way over his pay grade.
Throughout it, he can't seem to drag his gaze away from the mirror ahead, catching the gaze of the other and locking it, like he could some how portray just how pissed off he was by a reflected glare alone. It's his annoyance that has him grunting at the sliced arc on his torso, rather than any shout of pain, but then again the cuts like that were the least of his worries at the moment. He could endure surface wounds like that just like he could endure injuries in a brawl, they'd heal quick enough, but his pride was something that took a lot longer. Knife wounds didn't hurt his pride, but a mobster talking about screwing him sure as hell did.]
Why don't you give it a try, scumbag? Wanna risk seein' if my bite is worse than my bark, huh? C'mon, I fuckin' dare ya.
[Bearing his teeth in something caught between a snarl and a smirk, all but ready to use them. And he would. Right now he'd genuinely consider ripping the tongue out of this guy's mouth if he got the chance.]
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He doesn't appreciate it, of course he doesn't, but he does endure, jaw clamped tight in annoyance, even as the blade creeps down and flattens against his chest, and even as his head is yanked backwards with a hand fisted into his hair.
While Armando speaks, he keeps his mouth shut, heart raising and breath huffing out in steady breaths as his throat is laid bare. He still can't tell if this guy is for real or whether this is some big bluff that's used to scare the captives. It's effective enough; threatening to fuck a guy would put the fear into plenty, just as effective as cutting off fingers. Actually doing is effective too, leaving a lasting impression for any that do push their luck. And Ray had pushed his luck, in front of far too many witnesses, but he was just expecting to be shot for it, not this.
He snarls at the sting of a warm tongue on his fresh wound, and then snarls all over again, sharper, as teeth drag across, and he does have to give credit for dragging out the pain from the smallest of cuts and abrasions. It wasn't always about the wounds, but what you did with them that counted, not that Ray knew all that much about torture techniques beyond what he'd seen in movies. Chicago cops really shouldn't be getting involved in this sort of shit. This was way over his pay grade.
Throughout it, he can't seem to drag his gaze away from the mirror ahead, catching the gaze of the other and locking it, like he could some how portray just how pissed off he was by a reflected glare alone. It's his annoyance that has him grunting at the sliced arc on his torso, rather than any shout of pain, but then again the cuts like that were the least of his worries at the moment. He could endure surface wounds like that just like he could endure injuries in a brawl, they'd heal quick enough, but his pride was something that took a lot longer. Knife wounds didn't hurt his pride, but a mobster talking about screwing him sure as hell did.]
Why don't you give it a try, scumbag? Wanna risk seein' if my bite is worse than my bark, huh? C'mon, I fuckin' dare ya.
[Bearing his teeth in something caught between a snarl and a smirk, all but ready to use them. And he would. Right now he'd genuinely consider ripping the tongue out of this guy's mouth if he got the chance.]