[ Ray wasn't exactly sedated - far from it, in fact - but his energy was a much more controlled affair, a hum that stayed under the surface, and didn't so much as make a blip on the serene, controlled mobster thing he had going. It couldn't, really, he'd figured that out quickly enough. He had to maintain that no matter how afraid he was, no matter how wired, no matter how ethically compromised. That was the job.
So he was still with it when Ray shouted and snarled at him, threatening impossible things that quite possibly reflected the sensation of being high perfectly; that feeling of impossible invulnerability, of the ability to perform considerable feats of strength all off the back of adrenaline. There's something about the threat that reaches deep into his pleasure center. Maybe it's just been too long, maybe that's it. Nobody would dare to threaten him like that. But Ray of course: Ray is invulnerable; Ray is a cop, Ray is a killer, Ray is a superhero. He can do anything he wants, threaten anyone he wants. He's not scared of anyone or anything.
Hell, he hadn't been to start with, the coke had just enhanced that feeling, given the detective the confidence to genuinely believe it.
Ray's eyes are on his hand, but Armando's eyes are on Ray's face, not letting him out of his sight. As he hardens, his hand comes away from Ray's thigh, nudging the ring a little further along the length. He glanced down, checking his progress, curling his fingers around him and stroking upward--once, twice, again.
God. Okay. So this wasn't exactly something he did naturally, but he hadn't realised how much he missed the thrill of arousing another human being, hadn't realised how much he'd missed it himself. It had been longer than just a year (not much longer, but long enough, and he could blame Fraser for that; nobody looked at the guy standing next to Mr. Fucking Perfect.) Ray had a very nice cock, he thought distinctly, and then double took his own feelings because wow, not the kind of thing you thought about another guy's penis, Vecchio. He needed to get laid more often, this was unacceptable. ]
Fuck me? Sure. Fuck me. You break out of those bonds and my ass is yours. Come on.
[ But Ray wasn't going anywhere. He curled his own upper lip, still stroking, and then pulled his hand away, reaching up, digging his fingertips, his nails, into the wound he'd cut across Ray's chest. He leant forward after them, digging his teeth into the cut too, sucking hard on the skin just underneath his nipple, bruising it. He didn't linger there, not because it wasn't safe, but because it wasn't his place. It was practically consensual, got a bit too close to sensual, and he had to remind Ray that he wasn't doing this for his benefit.
He drew away, circled the chair again, this time just keeping his distance, watching. He paced one way, turned and paced back, admiring the sight of him writhing, then stopped, cocking his head to one side. ]
Choices. We all gotta make them. You want a choice? You try and kick me, you even try, and I tie up your feet. That'll be it. No kicking, no more moving, no nothing. [ He tried an approach, moving tentatively forward. Decisions, decisions. Get between his knees--he could work from there. Just get close enough... ]
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So he was still with it when Ray shouted and snarled at him, threatening impossible things that quite possibly reflected the sensation of being high perfectly; that feeling of impossible invulnerability, of the ability to perform considerable feats of strength all off the back of adrenaline. There's something about the threat that reaches deep into his pleasure center. Maybe it's just been too long, maybe that's it. Nobody would dare to threaten him like that. But Ray of course: Ray is invulnerable; Ray is a cop, Ray is a killer, Ray is a superhero. He can do anything he wants, threaten anyone he wants. He's not scared of anyone or anything.
Hell, he hadn't been to start with, the coke had just enhanced that feeling, given the detective the confidence to genuinely believe it.
Ray's eyes are on his hand, but Armando's eyes are on Ray's face, not letting him out of his sight. As he hardens, his hand comes away from Ray's thigh, nudging the ring a little further along the length. He glanced down, checking his progress, curling his fingers around him and stroking upward--once, twice, again.
God. Okay. So this wasn't exactly something he did naturally, but he hadn't realised how much he missed the thrill of arousing another human being, hadn't realised how much he'd missed it himself. It had been longer than just a year (not much longer, but long enough, and he could blame Fraser for that; nobody looked at the guy standing next to Mr. Fucking Perfect.) Ray had a very nice cock, he thought distinctly, and then double took his own feelings because wow, not the kind of thing you thought about another guy's penis, Vecchio. He needed to get laid more often, this was unacceptable. ]
Fuck me? Sure. Fuck me. You break out of those bonds and my ass is yours. Come on.
[ But Ray wasn't going anywhere. He curled his own upper lip, still stroking, and then pulled his hand away, reaching up, digging his fingertips, his nails, into the wound he'd cut across Ray's chest. He leant forward after them, digging his teeth into the cut too, sucking hard on the skin just underneath his nipple, bruising it. He didn't linger there, not because it wasn't safe, but because it wasn't his place. It was practically consensual, got a bit too close to sensual, and he had to remind Ray that he wasn't doing this for his benefit.
He drew away, circled the chair again, this time just keeping his distance, watching. He paced one way, turned and paced back, admiring the sight of him writhing, then stopped, cocking his head to one side. ]
Choices. We all gotta make them. You want a choice? You try and kick me, you even try, and I tie up your feet. That'll be it. No kicking, no more moving, no nothing. [ He tried an approach, moving tentatively forward. Decisions, decisions. Get between his knees--he could work from there. Just get close enough... ]