[It isn't quite a smile that brushes on Petre's lips when he keeps the dead cigarette in his hand, looking down at Ryan like a giant looking down at a bug.]
I'm doing you a favor, Ryan. He would've just hurt you eventually.
[His tone is dripped in irony, sadistic and satisfied. Suddenly he seems like the perfect image of a young man, put together in nice clothes, honey-gold hair combed to the side, skin pale, lips red. Who could ever call him a monster when he looks like that?]
No, it's not, I can't... don't make me hurt him first, Petre, please.
[God, it's got to look pathetic, he knows it does, but he promised he wouldn't. He promised. Ryan reaches up, hands clutching at the front of Petre's shirt; what might be a threatening gesture from someone else is simply desperate from him.]
I'll stop, I won't touch him again, I swear-- anything you want but this. I'd do anything else you wanted if you just took this back, what do you want from me--
[He's grabbed but doesn't budge, sad little thoughts pouring into his head. Begging. That's good.
Petre cups his face carefully with one hand, angles his head and presses his lips against his in a quick succession of movements. While what would have been a threatening gesture to others is desperate for Ryan, what others would perceive as a tender kiss is a vicious attack in return.]
You'll thank me for this. You'll see.
[He's unnervingly quiet, unnervingly collected and soft. His fingers slip down from Ryan's skin, settle down on his shoulder.]
Don't fuck it up.
[And with a smile, he grabs Ryan's hands to force him to let go, and turns to leave.]
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I'm doing you a favor, Ryan. He would've just hurt you eventually.
[His tone is dripped in irony, sadistic and satisfied. Suddenly he seems like the perfect image of a young man, put together in nice clothes, honey-gold hair combed to the side, skin pale, lips red. Who could ever call him a monster when he looks like that?]
He's using you. It's better this way, you'll see.
[But he'd love to hear him beg some more.]
no subject
[God, it's got to look pathetic, he knows it does, but he promised he wouldn't. He promised. Ryan reaches up, hands clutching at the front of Petre's shirt; what might be a threatening gesture from someone else is simply desperate from him.]
I'll stop, I won't touch him again, I swear-- anything you want but this. I'd do anything else you wanted if you just took this back, what do you want from me--
no subject
[He's grabbed but doesn't budge, sad little thoughts pouring into his head. Begging. That's good.
Petre cups his face carefully with one hand, angles his head and presses his lips against his in a quick succession of movements. While what would have been a threatening gesture to others is desperate for Ryan, what others would perceive as a tender kiss is a vicious attack in return.]
You'll thank me for this. You'll see.
[He's unnervingly quiet, unnervingly collected and soft. His fingers slip down from Ryan's skin, settle down on his shoulder.]
Don't fuck it up.
[And with a smile, he grabs Ryan's hands to force him to let go, and turns to leave.]