[ Really, between telling Stanley to fight and putting his hand in full range of those teeth, he'd set himself up for something like this. He'd asked for fight, and that was exactly what he got, and before he can even realise what a fucking awful idea it was to have had his hand anywhere near Ray's mouth, let alone tug it out of range, those straight white teeth are snapping into flesh, ripping latex, digging deep with absolutely no compunction where causing pain is concerned. He feels the skin tear, the suddenly searing, lancing pain as Ray's teeth go deeper, into muscle and flesh--it leaps up his arm, through his shoulder, and his entire body buckles into the chair in response.
Idiot. Idiot. He'd wanted to give Ray something to work with, sure, but he was thinking maybe a clip to the face as he untied him, not this. This was going to scar, and it was going to look nasty, and more importantly it hurt like fuck, but then Ray didn't know he was fighting a guy who was only pretending to be a vicious Italian mobster. Ray thought he was fighting the real thing. That was good, that was the point, but fuck, he'd really taken his eye off the ball to let this happen.
He yelled, reeling his fist back as though he intended to punch the detective in the head, but managed to stop himself. If he wanted Ray's teeth to snap through the tendons in his thumb and permanently disfigure him, maybe he could go ahead and hit him. But no--no, there was no way out of this but to think about unlocking those jaws pragmatically. But his brain was fuzzing over from pain.
The funny thing was, he thought, he'd dropped the straw of cocaine on Ray's chest, white powder raining down over his bare skin, frosting his pubic hair. Okay, so it wasn't funny, it was the pain that made him whimper out laughter.
Think think think.
Okay, tools. He had tools. He had... His hand scrabbled on the floor beside him, fingers trailing across the various mostly unfamiliar objects. He picked up the metal thing it had taken him two hours of speculation to work out when he'd been down here the first time months ago. It looked more like a kitchen implement than a sex aid. A grip handle, and jaws that opened as pressure was applied, smooth metal jaws that closed into the center as narrow and smooth as a candle. It wasn't for prying open jaws, but he shoved the end of it between Ray's teeth anyway, his eyes flashing pain as he squeezed down with everything he had, it served its necessary purpose. He snarled, animal-like fury, as the metal tool forced those teeth apart.
And then he withdrew, panting, pulling his injured hand against his chest. It was bleeding profusely, and his thumb hurt to move it, but at least nothing was dangling or broken. That was always a bonus. But now injured, he ought to be furious, and that had to turn back on Ray. He couldn't afford to succumb to the agony for the sake of appearances, and that was the only reason why he kept his other hand on the tool in Ray's mouth. Hissing in pain, he reached down with his injured hand and picked up the most ridiculously large dildo he'd taken down from the shelf. He hadn't brought it over to use it, just to fuck with Ray's head, but now he shoved it through the space between the tool's wide metal jaws, and with all his strength pinned Ray between it and the back of the chair, slumping against the arm of it and glowering fiercely at him. ]
Cocksucking little shit. [ He poured all of his pain into the words, and they sounded like the bitterest, most intense loathing for it. Good, he could use that. He jerked a little on the dildo, not really meaning to choke him, but at least to give Ray the feeling that he might. Blood was pouring down his arm, dripping off his elbow onto Ray's thigh. He reached down with his good hand and manhandled the bag of cocaine, taking out the other straw and bringing it to Ray's nose. It wasn't like he could breathe through any other orifices--he'd inhale, and then Ray would retreat, throwing the makeshift gag down in anger and pacing away from the chair.
He was back just a moment later. Idiot. God. Walking away from the painkillers. He picked up the bag and stalked away with it, paced back and forth as he set about it, then set the rest down on the stainless steel surgeon's bench and shook out his hands and arms. He rubbed his nose, turned, and resumed his glaring at Ray, nursing his injured hand, trying to assess the damage. His lips were curled back. His anger, flashing in his dark eyes, made him look half insane; positively homicidal. ]
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Idiot. Idiot. He'd wanted to give Ray something to work with, sure, but he was thinking maybe a clip to the face as he untied him, not this. This was going to scar, and it was going to look nasty, and more importantly it hurt like fuck, but then Ray didn't know he was fighting a guy who was only pretending to be a vicious Italian mobster. Ray thought he was fighting the real thing. That was good, that was the point, but fuck, he'd really taken his eye off the ball to let this happen.
He yelled, reeling his fist back as though he intended to punch the detective in the head, but managed to stop himself. If he wanted Ray's teeth to snap through the tendons in his thumb and permanently disfigure him, maybe he could go ahead and hit him. But no--no, there was no way out of this but to think about unlocking those jaws pragmatically. But his brain was fuzzing over from pain.
The funny thing was, he thought, he'd dropped the straw of cocaine on Ray's chest, white powder raining down over his bare skin, frosting his pubic hair. Okay, so it wasn't funny, it was the pain that made him whimper out laughter.
Think think think.
Okay, tools. He had tools. He had... His hand scrabbled on the floor beside him, fingers trailing across the various mostly unfamiliar objects. He picked up the metal thing it had taken him two hours of speculation to work out when he'd been down here the first time months ago. It looked more like a kitchen implement than a sex aid. A grip handle, and jaws that opened as pressure was applied, smooth metal jaws that closed into the center as narrow and smooth as a candle. It wasn't for prying open jaws, but he shoved the end of it between Ray's teeth anyway, his eyes flashing pain as he squeezed down with everything he had, it served its necessary purpose. He snarled, animal-like fury, as the metal tool forced those teeth apart.
And then he withdrew, panting, pulling his injured hand against his chest. It was bleeding profusely, and his thumb hurt to move it, but at least nothing was dangling or broken. That was always a bonus. But now injured, he ought to be furious, and that had to turn back on Ray. He couldn't afford to succumb to the agony for the sake of appearances, and that was the only reason why he kept his other hand on the tool in Ray's mouth. Hissing in pain, he reached down with his injured hand and picked up the most ridiculously large dildo he'd taken down from the shelf. He hadn't brought it over to use it, just to fuck with Ray's head, but now he shoved it through the space between the tool's wide metal jaws, and with all his strength pinned Ray between it and the back of the chair, slumping against the arm of it and glowering fiercely at him. ]
Cocksucking little shit. [ He poured all of his pain into the words, and they sounded like the bitterest, most intense loathing for it. Good, he could use that. He jerked a little on the dildo, not really meaning to choke him, but at least to give Ray the feeling that he might. Blood was pouring down his arm, dripping off his elbow onto Ray's thigh. He reached down with his good hand and manhandled the bag of cocaine, taking out the other straw and bringing it to Ray's nose. It wasn't like he could breathe through any other orifices--he'd inhale, and then Ray would retreat, throwing the makeshift gag down in anger and pacing away from the chair.
He was back just a moment later. Idiot. God. Walking away from the painkillers. He picked up the bag and stalked away with it, paced back and forth as he set about it, then set the rest down on the stainless steel surgeon's bench and shook out his hands and arms. He rubbed his nose, turned, and resumed his glaring at Ray, nursing his injured hand, trying to assess the damage. His lips were curled back. His anger, flashing in his dark eyes, made him look half insane; positively homicidal. ]
You're a real son of a bitch, you know that?