reanbeanmachine | This has spoilers for tocs 2 end game

Sick.

[True. He's not sure if that was more of the same or something new, but so far he just feels nauseous with stress, waiting for it to kick in.]

Like I want to punch you in the mouth.

[It's more of the same, but far more of a dose than one should have at once.]

Still unrepentant.

I always will be.

[He's feeling it now, though. He's not sure if this hurts less or more than the shocks, but it is easier to think through, so that's a bonus. It's not a big enough bonus to make up for being so aroused it hurts, however, so he'd gladly go back to the shocks.

He's still refusing to whine, or give in to the want. But as it really sets in he can't keep standing no matter how hard he tries. His legs go out from under him, and he lands hard on his knees, unwilling to stop hugging himself in case he does something embarrassing. No, his hands have to stay occupied, so he's got his arms wrapped tight around his middle and his nails digging into his ribs so hard only the thin cloth of his hospital shirt is keeping him from leaving bloody gouges in his own skin.

He won't cry, either, but he is shaking, trembling with pain and desire and the effort to shut them both out. To keep himself under control, he counts his breaths -- four counts in, four counts out, over and over so as not to hyperventilate.]

I'm sorry for whatever happened to tick you guys off in the process, but I... I won't regret what I did. I'd do it again in a heartbeat, so you can just--

[He has to rein in the anger, or it'll become panic. His voice is choked with agony, but he's giving all he's got not to let it be cut through by tears.]

Kill me if you want. I'm not changing my mind.

You won't die for a long long time, as I said.

[He watches Crow drop to his knees and lets him stay there trying not to squirm, at least for a while, it's gratifying to watch him suffer but this still isn't enough so he stands and walks over to him, kneeling to brush his fingers over his face to see how he reacts.]

[He flinches. It's not very cool, but his jerk away from it is more frightened than defiant, now. There's even a tiny, barely audible noise, the cut-off squeaky start of a whimper.

He doesn't want to be touched. He wants to be in another galaxy from touch, rather than confront how much the drug is making him crave it. Worse, it's dawned on him at this point that the more he doesn't want it the more likely it is to happen. He's absolutely, definitely scared. And yet he's still glaring daggers. He's a fighter, maybe to a detrimental extent.]

Get the hell away from me.

Mm.

[He slides his fingers down Crow's jaw, and honestly the defiance and fear are what makes this satisfying.]

You don't have power to command anything here, only to grovel.

Not happening.

[No way. Nope. And to make his point, rather than shrinking away from those fingers he just bites.]

[He gets smacked for it, not even angrily, more like a dispassionate but painful slap.]

I suppose this isn't enough for you.

[He's getting up, reaching for another syringe.]

[The slap doesn't mean much, but just seeing another syringe makes him want to scream. He stops himself from any pathetic pleading, but a distressed whimper does escape him.

It's already too much. But he can't just grovel. He's too freaked out not to panic, though, so even though it's equally weak of him he's scrambling away until he nearly chokes himself on the collar. Frustrated, he yanks at it, even though he knows it won't help.]

[It's a nice reaction honestly, the fear. He lets Crow cower, waking forward deliberately and stabbing him with he third syringe without any hesitation, watching curiously to see how this will affect him with the drugs ashtray coursing through his system. It should already be too overwhelming.]

[It was already overwhelming. A third dose elevates it so much Crow can't even make sense of it. His coherent thoughts just evaporate, leaving him a trembling, hysterical heap on the floor.

He didn't know it was possible to feel this much pain. He didn't know it was possible to want so badly. He didn't know those feelings could mix in such a confusing, mind-numbing way. There isn't a nerve in his body that isn't alight with it. He can't think straight enough to care that he's crying, so hard it's making him choke and cough between hyperventilating. The only reason he's not screaming is because he's being pushed past that point. All he can do is curl in on himself and whine mindlessly, desperate for relief and too far gone to think how to get it.]

S-stop it...

[It's too late to take it back but he's nowhere near rational right now.]

Are you beginning to repent?

[The calm voice is right in front of him as the man kneels, reaches forward to brush Crow's hair from his face, fingertips deliberately lingering on his heated skin.]

No...

[Is that an actual answer or just a general complaint? Even Crow doesn't know. All he knows is it's too much. Even that tiny touch just makes him sob harder and curl up tighter. He's never been so messed up in his life.]

Don't touch me.

[There's no bite to that. It's just a sad protest. It hurts. He wants to be touched more than anything but it hurts.]

How does it feel?

[Describe it for the cameras Crow. Not that he's waiting, sliding his fingers into Crow's hair and petting him like he's a trembling cat.]

Too much.

[He's forgotten about the cameras honestly. He's having a hard time even hearing what's being said to him enough to respond.

There's nowhere to go to avoid that hand, so he just shrinks under it and shudders uncontrollably.]

What do you want?

[He's still petting Crow, asking calmly. He'll make him answer, though he didn't really care what the answer ends up being.]

[Even like this there's a part of him that's stubborn. There are several things he wants but some of them are just not acceptable to say. He can't actually form the thoughts to be sassy but he can remember that he doesn't want any of this. And that his pain and fear and anger are worse than the monstrous urge to climb onto this guy and beg to be touched.

Maybe, a traitorous thought proposes, it'll hurt less if he can fuck. Crow tries his damndest not to find out.]

Stop.

[That is in fact what he wants most. For all of it to stop, before his body and mind get totally fried.]

Perhaps it's not enough for you yet.

[His fingers slide back down over Crow's cheek and lips before he stands.]

Let's try another dose. Though at this rate it will be many more than three hours before this is over.

[He's picking up another syringe from the table.]

Ah-- don't!

[He hates this. He absolutely hates this. He can't even take what's happening now, let alone more. He'd like to be stronger, but there's no room for anything but self-preservation in his drug-addled mind. He can't hide the terror.]

[He's returning with the syringe, lifting Crow's arm to inject him yet again. By now even that probably feels incredible.]

I wonder if this will have permanent affects. Though, it won't kill you, at least.

[He's not so sure about the "won't kill you" part. His heart is hammering so hard it feels like it's going to burst. But that's secondary to the pain and the need.

He was hysterical before, but now he's just completely losing it. It's far, far beyond too much. His pupils are dilated til there's only the thinnest ring of red around them, and he can't catch his breath for even a second. The sensation of the floor touching his skin is indescribably painful and indescribably amazing -- he's desperate to escape it but too weak to manage, and that leaves him continuously squirming as he tries. Every time he tries to move the sensations jolt up his spine, making him visibly jump.

He tries for a few seconds, but eventually it's obviously not working, so he ends up holding himself up on the edges of his palms, shaking and panting and unable to get his legs to behave enough to get under him properly.

He's pretty sure he's already come and it's not helping. Nothing is helping. He's crying and he's drooling a little and hasn't even noticed, because literally all he's aware of is that it's too much. Half the noises he's making aren't even words. They're just lewd gasps and pained whimpers, between incoherent begging for it to stop, it hurts, it's too much, he's going to die.

He forgot about pride somewhere in there where the wound in his chest started to feel less like an injury and more like an overstimulated erogenous zone.]

[It's fascinating and actually starting to turn the man on a little just watching Crow's humiliation and drugged degradation. He brushes his fingers over the shell of the young man's ear, already an erogenous zone for most without the help of so many drugs.]

Can you even speak now?

[He can make words but they sure aren't intelligent ones. He can't, however, process the question. There's nothing but tortured madness in his eyes, staring at the floor with complete lack of sense. He'll feel humiliated later but right now he can't even manage that. Things like shame are not essential to self-preservation.

That touch is also not helping. He actually yelps, violently flinching away from a spike of pleasure that's very much painful. He's not even trying to deny he's needy, it's just that there's no real difference between between good and bad anymore. It's all more than one person's nerves can handle.]

Don't-- I can't--

[It's a pretty enough picture. He's an attractive young man, tall and athletic and just nineteen. He didn't really look like a terrorist leader before, but he definitely doesn't now. He just looks like a wreck. Especially when he drops to his elbows, slowly collapsing back down under the weight of it all, head hanging and tears falling unceasingly as he softly calls for someone who isn't even here.]

Rean... help me...

No one will help you.

[The man caresses Crow's ear again, dragging his fingers down Crow's neck until the collar gets in th e way then moving to caressing Crow's spine.]

Though I wonder if your friend would recognize you like this. Would he even wish to help you in this state?

[Crow does look appealingly wrecked but it's not enough. It will never, really, be enough to satisfy him, but for now watching Crow's pride disappear while he pants on the floor like a whore is a good start.]

[Being touched feels like heaven and like having red-hot steel dragged across his skin at the same time. He reacts accordingly -- pained cries that trail into needy moans, as his muscles convulse. He wants to crawl away but he's shaking too hard to move. Trying gets him back up onto his hands for a half second, but then he slips and ends up on his face. Which also feels terribleamazing, so his breath catches and he chokes on it.

Since trying to move is making it worse he stays down. The floor is still too much though so he's hiccuping til he coughs, face pressed to the floor, fingertips pressed against the concrete and his back arched as he tries not to let his hips touch the floor. He could not care less what it looks like as long as it's just a little easier on him.]

Stop-- [Don't touch him it's unbearable.] Please stop!

[At least he's so out of it the words aren't sinking in.]

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