It was what he managed to gasp out, as the metal bound him together, like the old chains of Hell. And he felt something quell in his chest as he fought down the urge to writhe in pain, though he let out a series of short, pained, blood-laden gasps as he choked on the fluid in the back of his throat.
When it was done, when the iron had fallen, when the silver had finished, he wanted nothing more than to burst from his host, but he did not. No, he would not run away, because this person was young. And this person had absolutely no idea what they were fucking with. And if Crowley died -- and somewhere, in the back of his mind, he knew he would die -- then he would come back and rip it out of this person's ass, because no one fucked with Crowley.
And soon, his breathing slowed, as he got a grip, and he continued to talk, his voice hoarse as he coughed up another mouthful of blood.
"Torture only breeds hatred and discontent and it is pointless, you pathetic little insect, and you may do whatever you like to me in your sick little games to attempt to get whatever you like out of me, you can keep in mind that you know nothing about torture."
And, Crowley, despite the fact that he was covered in silver and iron and Devil's Traps and inches from death, choked out a laugh, ignoring the blood.
"So, please, do what you want, kill me, torture me, but keep in mind that I will never beg for mercy and you are the animal."
no subject
It was what he managed to gasp out, as the metal bound him together, like the old chains of Hell. And he felt something quell in his chest as he fought down the urge to writhe in pain, though he let out a series of short, pained, blood-laden gasps as he choked on the fluid in the back of his throat.
When it was done, when the iron had fallen, when the silver had finished, he wanted nothing more than to burst from his host, but he did not. No, he would not run away, because this person was young. And this person had absolutely no idea what they were fucking with. And if Crowley died -- and somewhere, in the back of his mind, he knew he would die -- then he would come back and rip it out of this person's ass, because no one fucked with Crowley.
And soon, his breathing slowed, as he got a grip, and he continued to talk, his voice hoarse as he coughed up another mouthful of blood.
"Torture only breeds hatred and discontent and it is pointless, you pathetic little insect, and you may do whatever you like to me in your sick little games to attempt to get whatever you like out of me, you can keep in mind that you know nothing about torture."
And, Crowley, despite the fact that he was covered in silver and iron and Devil's Traps and inches from death, choked out a laugh, ignoring the blood.
"So, please, do what you want, kill me, torture me, but keep in mind that I will never beg for mercy and you are the animal."