[Armando's trembling, but so is Ray. It's nothing to do with fear (although he won't deny a certain amount of self-preservation shivering through him), but the cumulation of the exhausting hour they've just had, mixing itself with coke and adrenaline were making his senses go haywire. It really didn't help that Ray was an anxious enough guy as it is. Yeah, nerves. He gets them a lot. Especially when bleeding and exhausted in some mafia sex dungeon with a gun pointed at him after he's just decked the guy in the head. Twice. The coke was starting to have the opposite effect from earlier, or maybe that's just sheer tiredness on his behalf, but right now all he wanted to do was lay down and give up.
Just do what you want, just make sure to tuck him into bed afterwards.
He's half expecting some drastic ultimatum or a bullet to some not immediately lethal part of his body, but it never quite comes, and he knows he should probably consider himself lucky that he's not already writhing around on the ground with a shattered knee joint or some such, but he can't help the roll of his eyes as the negotiating happens. Well, hardly negotiating considering Armando has the upper hand in all of this, which is why this still seems a little too surprising that Ray isn't already dead or seriously injured.
But he'll go with it. He'll stand there on jittering legs as he doggedly tries to ignored all the blood and come stuck to his body, and the far too discomforting feeling of that same sticky warmth dribbling down the inside of his thigh. He'll forget all that for the sake of keeping the rest of himself intact and bullet free, and assume this Armando guy must really, really want Fraser out of the picture with Ray's aid.]
The cage?
[Oh, so not only does he have to endure being cut, fucked and objectified as a 'piece of ass', he now has to sit in some cage that looks like it belongs in a kinky strip club. But hell, who is he to argue with a guy who's got a gun shakily pointed at him? Perhaps the next shot from it won't be a miss.
So that obedience creeps back into him, still an obvious reluctance even as he tiredly moves towards the mass of bars, placing himself inside and shutting the door behind him. It's okay, he can cope with this. No different than catching some Z's in the slammer, even if this was much more confined than that.]
Just don't expect any dancin', cause you can go fuck yourself with that.
[Mumbled, like he'd rather be asleep right now, but that might just be humiliation as much as anything. He already hates himself enough as it is, he'd just really rather chick his clothes back on and crawl into a corner somewhere. He needs to forget this, put it out of his mind and focus on why he originally came.]
no subject
Just do what you want, just make sure to tuck him into bed afterwards.
He's half expecting some drastic ultimatum or a bullet to some not immediately lethal part of his body, but it never quite comes, and he knows he should probably consider himself lucky that he's not already writhing around on the ground with a shattered knee joint or some such, but he can't help the roll of his eyes as the negotiating happens. Well, hardly negotiating considering Armando has the upper hand in all of this, which is why this still seems a little too surprising that Ray isn't already dead or seriously injured.
But he'll go with it. He'll stand there on jittering legs as he doggedly tries to ignored all the blood and come stuck to his body, and the far too discomforting feeling of that same sticky warmth dribbling down the inside of his thigh. He'll forget all that for the sake of keeping the rest of himself intact and bullet free, and assume this Armando guy must really, really want Fraser out of the picture with Ray's aid.]
The cage?
[Oh, so not only does he have to endure being cut, fucked and objectified as a 'piece of ass', he now has to sit in some cage that looks like it belongs in a kinky strip club. But hell, who is he to argue with a guy who's got a gun shakily pointed at him? Perhaps the next shot from it won't be a miss.
So that obedience creeps back into him, still an obvious reluctance even as he tiredly moves towards the mass of bars, placing himself inside and shutting the door behind him. It's okay, he can cope with this. No different than catching some Z's in the slammer, even if this was much more confined than that.]
Just don't expect any dancin', cause you can go fuck yourself with that.
[Mumbled, like he'd rather be asleep right now, but that might just be humiliation as much as anything. He already hates himself enough as it is, he'd just really rather chick his clothes back on and crawl into a corner somewhere. He needs to forget this, put it out of his mind and focus on why he originally came.]
So what you got, asshole?