[As that hand bears down on him, Eridanus’ throat tightens once more with the dry-swallow of his fear. He will surely die here, he reasons—-if not by the hand of his man, then surely by the rapid fluttering of his own heart. The weight that pins him must be light, for he doesn’t suffocate beneath it, yet when he attempts to move out from under it, he can’t. Again, those fearful green eyes turn upwards, rimmed by the very same thick blond lashes Lucius has become accustomed to—-and even now, they fill with familiar tears. They aren’t joyful, especially when his quivering lips part to speak in the tiniest of voices.]
Who [—-or what—-] are you…?
[It’s all he can think to ask, in what he assumes to be his final moments. This man will devour him, flesh, soul, everything. He squirms reflexively beneath the weight of that palm but there is no more attempt to flee. Instead, as tears overflow from wet eyes and track down his cheeks in a mockery of scars that once laid there, he turns to begging.]
no subject
Who [—-or what—-] are you…?
[It’s all he can think to ask, in what he assumes to be his final moments. This man will devour him, flesh, soul, everything. He squirms reflexively beneath the weight of that palm but there is no more attempt to flee. Instead, as tears overflow from wet eyes and track down his cheeks in a mockery of scars that once laid there, he turns to begging.]
Please, don’t kill me… I’ll do anything!