'Do you love me or do you love the idea of having me love you?'
The more time passed the more hopeless it felt, the distance of the ache, the guilt that gnawed at him like a rabid animal at the edges of his conscience, he couldn't even enter Leo's room, it was something that reminded him of the failure he felt, as the older brother––as well as the lack of really knowing who his brother was, who in his circle could have taken him, nothing…
There was simply nothing.
Leo was gone.
And it broke the family further.
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"Maybe if you just listened this wouldn't hurt as much," Henry grunted as he restrained Leo once more, taking in the others dishevelled, pain-ridden appearance.
His clothes were tugged at, ripped in some places, and the others' breaths fell sharply from their mouth––but, that deliciously defiant spark was still there. Glinting in [Eye Colour] eyes, there was something enchanting about Leo's whole appearance, even the redness of his wrists and ankles.
Henry reached out, grabbing Leo's jaw, grip tight, bordering on pain, and the satisfaction unfurled, heavy and heady through his body as he caught ever so slight winces from the other.
"Now that you've tried to run, I suppose punishment is in order," Henry murmured, his tone even, but dark, and it made Leo shudder from his seat. Henry grinned as he saw the faint flicker of fear.
He ignored the conflict in his chest as he roughly let Leo's chin go, and walked over to his table where a few tools were set out, clean, and glinting menacingly in the low light of the basement––
Henry paused for a moment, and leaned against the table, staring at his tools in thought, he wondered which one he would start with. Through it all there was a slight burn of excitement.
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I stare at the tools, this was something I never thought I'd come to do. Trying to subdue another human, with my hands. I pick up a pair of long-nose pliers, and I feel myself grinning as I inspect them, reach over, and grab a cloth, the microfibre familiar under my hand as I wipe the plier.
Slowly, and I let him watch, I want him to see, look at the lengths you have pushed me to, look at what you've made me, all to just keep you.
I turn slowly, deliberately, meeting his [Eye Colour] eyes, and his gaze flickers between mine and the pliers I hold in my hand, and with my left, I pick up a scalpel––he struggles as I approach.
The grin falls from my face, and I stare at him, for a moment, before setting the pliers down, and kneel before him, I inspect him, slowly. The satisfaction is there once more, burning more brightly in my chest this time, and the excitement mingles with it, I reach a hand out, and he flinches.
My lip twitches slightly, in amusement, before I grab him by the hair, it's soft. I note it, and another feeling mixes in with the already addictive feeling of satisfaction and excitement with arousal as he shuts his eyes tight, and the beginnings of tears cling to his lashes.
I tighten my grip once more, and revel in Leo's wince. I shake him slightly, my grip tight, from side to side, as if throwing a puppy around––he may have been heavier, slightly taller and more built, but he is nothing when he's bound. I continue shaking him around a bit more, finding great amusement in toying with him, then I let go; he shakes his head slightly, trying to get his bearings.
"Look at me," I murmur.
Silence rang around us, loud, chilling and charged. He looks at me.
"Good, good, you're finally listening," I murmur once more, and inspect the scalpel, the low white light, glinting off the cold metal, sharp and threatening.
"Would you like to know what your punishment is?"
Leo stayed silent, of course he did, I didn't expect anything else––I find his silence irritating, and the way he stifles himself, all of it, irritating.
I try to keep the edge out of my words as I speak up once more, "You really shouldn't run from me, I can keep you safe. You know how dangerous it's been getting, and your old friends really aren't your friends, you know that right? I care about you, and only I do."
My grip tightens on the scalpel as I yank his hand out, laying it flat on a portable table, the metal was cool, as I pinned his hand there, and raising my scalpel, I pressed it to his skin. I let the edge of the blade dig into the back of his hand, it wasn't long before there was blood, but I kept pushing.
Even as he cries out, his muscles tensing under my grip, I continue pushing, and the blood that comes out was almost sticky, and the smell, faintly metallic, my heart thumps and I start gritting my teeth, trying to focus on cutting him properly––I wasn't thoughtful in my actions, I just wanted him to feel the hurt I felt when he tried running from me, I dig the scalpel in deeper, before dragging it towards me.
His scream of pain almost startled me, and resulted in me pushing harder on the blade, before I pulled away.
Panting, out of breath; he was crying, and his blood was dripping off the table and onto the floor, I stumbled a few steps back, dropping the scalpel, and it clattered loudly on the floor, echoing briefly––i looked at my hands, the blood was there, and something curled up my chest as I chuckled slightly, before doubling over in laughter.
There was no amusement, but there was heavy satisfaction again. It was warm, heavy, comforting almost, and I found that his blood didn't nearly affect me as much as I thought it would.
I lift my hand up to my nose, and took a sniff. The metallic smell was strong, and my mouth ached slightly, and slowly I opened my mouth, and licked tentatively at the blood––the satisfaction grew––I was tasting him, I was tasting Leo.