They All Break
There was something about this one. Something about the vitality with which his blood pulsed - he could feel it under his palm. The tighter he held his throat, the more acute the sensation, the faint tickle turning to a distinct throb. A throb he found...gratifyingly erratic.
Fear, yes. A man would have to be daft not to be chilled to the bone to find himself in this position. But there was something else. Something in the tight coil of muscles. In the arrow-straightness of his back and the resolute, unflnching way he responded. Fight, he determined. That pulse under his palm brimmed with adrenaline, and the body against him almost vibrated with it.
It's been a long time since that word, fight, had come his way. The meat market was full of the petrified and the sniveling. Bravado died early, all reduced to begging, bargaining, bartering. This brand of stoic silence, resolute to break free? Thinking he had a snowball's chance in hell? It was endearing, in a way. But mostly...mostly it was exciting.
The prospect of whittling it out...
"They all break," he murmured the words into the man's ear, his nose brushing the side of his head for that faint whiff. His own scent mixed with the day he now wore on him, his fear, his fight - a warm, heady cocktail. He exhaled, slow and calculated, letting his breath touch and disturb as his hand moved back up to clutch the man by the jaw, blunt nails once again digging into flesh, turning it for a better look.
An interesting face. Compelling. He made a mental note to leave it unmarked. When the inevitable happened and it was time to pass him on, pliant and acquiescent, that face would keep him valuable.
Everything else though. Everything else was fair game, he reflected with a knowing smirk. The challenge should be fun.
Some time later, like a preverse repeat of the one-sided conversation, he surveyed his handywork. Reasonably bruised and battered, he'd exerted his will. But that face, that face remained unblemished. It regarded him with a gimlet eye, tired but still unfliching.
So it was to be only round one, then.
"They all break," he reiterated.
They All Break
There was something about this one. Something about the vitality with which his blood pulsed - he could feel it under his palm. The tighter he held his throat, the more acute the sensation, the faint tickle turning to a distinct throb. A throb he found...gratifyingly erratic.
Fear, yes. A man would have to be daft not to be chilled to the bone to find himself in this position. But there was something else. Something in the tight coil of muscles. In the arrow-straightness of his back and the resolute, unflnching way he responded. Fight, he determined. That pulse under his palm brimmed with adrenaline, and the body against him almost vibrated with it.
It's been a long time since that word, fight, had come his way. The meat market was full of the petrified and the sniveling. Bravado died early, all reduced to begging, bargaining, bartering. This brand of stoic silence, resolute to break free? Thinking he had a snowball's chance in hell? It was endearing, in a way. But mostly...mostly it was exciting.
The prospect of whittling it out...
"They all break," he murmured the words into the man's ear, his nose brushing the side of his head for that faint whiff. His own scent mixed with the day he now wore on him, his fear, his fight - a warm, heady cocktail. He exhaled, slow and calculated, letting his breath touch and disturb as his hand moved back up to clutch the man by the jaw, blunt nails once again digging into flesh, turning it for a better look.
An interesting face. Compelling. He made a mental note to leave it unmarked. When the inevitable happened and it was time to pass him on, pliant and acquiescent, that face would keep him valuable.
Everything else though. Everything else was fair game, he reflected with a knowing smirk. The challenge should be fun.
Some time later, like a preverse repeat of the one-sided conversation, he surveyed his handywork. Reasonably bruised and battered, he'd exerted his will. But that face, that face remained unblemished. It regarded him with a gimlet eye, tired but still unfliching.
So it was to be only round one, then.
"They all break," he reiterated.