bakerstreet | (no subject)

(no subject)

The HURT ME Meme
For kinks of pain: physical and emotional.

WARNING: Prompts will contain sexual and violent content and triggers. Click with caution!

THE PHYSICAL:
1 - Slapping. Bare-handed: including spanking, face-slapping.
2 - Flogging. With a leather flog, as soft or hard as you want.
3 - Breathplay. Cut off their oxygen.
4 - Beating (soft). Leaving bruises and marks.
5 - Waxplay. Feels like a burn, but isn't.
6 - Biting. Use your teeth.
7 - Gunplay. It might be the hurt, or the threat of it.
8 - Bloodplay (soft). Just a few cuts…
9 - Sexual exhaustion. Forcing them just a little too far, until it hurts more than it feels good.
10 - Suspension. Bind them so they can't (or can only barely) touch the ground, and wait for it to do its trick.
11 - Dubious consent. Don't know if they want it or not.
12 - OTHER.

THE EMOTIONAL:
1 - Loss. You've taken away something they care about deeply, perhaps destroyed it - or killed someone close to them.
2 - Rejection. All they want is you. Best to crush their feelings into the dust.
3 - Humiliation. Take away their pride.
4 - Punishment. They've done wrong. Time to let them know exactly how.
5 - Revenge. They've hurt you personally, and you want to hurt them back.
6 - Deception. Use the truth, or a lie, to make them hurt.
7 - OTHER.

THE HEAVY:
1 - Beating (hard). Draw blood, leave scars.
2 - Whipping. As hard as you want.
3 - Choking. The hard side of breathplay.
4 - Burning/Branding. Leave your marks.
5 - Fisting. The whole hand.
6 - Oversize Penetration. Double, triple, or just larger than they can take.
7 - Mutilation.
8 - Amputation.
9 - Vore.
10 - Guro.
11 - Non-con. They don't want it, but you'll force the issue.
12 - OTHER.

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[Loki lets out a faint whine at the brush of fingers against his forehead, tilts his head a little into the touch. Yes, it feels like a reward. One he's earned. And a reassurance - he's doing well. He's not doing wrong. It's okay. It's okay.

He opens his eyes in time to see Balthazar recover his composure. Loki's gaze is steady and mostly calm, though what's building is clearly still excitement and interest over distress. He does watch, albeit with a mostly passing interest, as his leg is bound. The red cord stands out against his skin as surely as blood on the snow.

Once he realizes that he's slowly being put off balance, Loki growls a little as he struggles to stay on his back, brow furrowing with effort. Around about the time he realizes that that's impossible, he realizes that that's the point anyway. It's definitely a vulnerable feeling, like a turtle that's wound up on its back. But the compliment soothes some of the bruising to his pride.

This time, the look he gives Balthazar is one of invitation - to keep looking, and definitely to keep talking.]

[Balthazar's pupils are slightly dilated, although his body language is still controlled. There's something incandescent behind his eyes now, though, feverish as he studies the picture before him, trying to memorize everything down to the most minute detail.

Most of the time, Balthazar doesn't look especially angelic, but every now and again his gaze can be otherworldly at its most intense.

He holds out a hand absently, bringing the candles closer with telekinesis, one by one, and setting them out beside him without looking away from Loki.]

I have a thousand eyes, and they're not enough. [He sighs again, the sound of mixed pleasure and regret.

His idea was initially to render the man helpless, passive, a canvas for Balthazar to embellish. He does so like art, and the inherent mild objectification seemed like an ideal way to bring about the altered state of consciousness Loki wants. The plan of action doesn't need to be changed, but Balthazar's not sure how objective he's feeling.

He licks his lips, then picks up the black candle and turns it in his hands.] This is paraffin; the hot wax will sting, but it shouldn't blister.

I believe I said before, you're already a work of art. This is gilding the lily, but I always say if a thing is worth doing, it's worth overdoing.

So this is how it will work. [A snap of his fingers, and the wick sparks to life.] There will be four layers of color. Black, white, green, then blue. You don't need to worry about the end result. That's my responsibility.

Your responsibility is to stay still. Don't roll too far to the side, and don't flinch. [The latter command comes out almost fiercely.] You can make as much noise as you want, but don't move.

Every time you move--if you do--I will slap you, either across the face, or the back of the thigh. But for every layer of color you get through without wincing, you'll be rewarded. And when the design is done, I'll bring you a mirror so you can see.

[The wax hasn't melted yet, but he moves closer, candle held aside so it doesn't drip before he's ready; he curls the backs of his fingers against Loki's chest and strokes once. What he meant to be objectifying may in fact feel more like a kind of painful, bittersweet worship. In a lot of ways, that matches their relationship better, though.

His hand drops to touch Loki's, fingers slipping to press his palm.] Squeeze twice to show me you understand and consent.

[Balthazar has Loki's full and utter attention - indeed, he's looking at the angel almost as though he's the only thing in the world. The light dancing on the end of the candle wick is reflected in his slightly glassy eyes.

His breath grows noticeably faster, taking on a ragged edge, because oh, this is wonderful and insidious in how likely he is to fail. Even now, knowing what's about to come, he feels that long-ignored part of him twist and shy away in terror at the sight of the slowly melting wax and good. Let him fear, let him burn.

He doesn't want to fail, he wants to be rewarded, he wants to see the end result. Loki shivers bodily at the caress, unable to hold back a soft moan from behind the gag.

In the end, he doesn't break their locked gazes as Balthazar touches his hand. But he does squeeze - once, twice, no more.]

[He's enchanted by that expression, the widened eyes and glimmering reflections. Even as Loki squeezes his hand to acknowledge and consent, it's a struggle to maintain the illusion of control. It's never felt so intense before. Doubtless, that has a lot to do with the bond they already have. Balthazar's only ever played this game with short-term flings or one-night stands in private clubs. People he liked, certainly, but not people he loved. Part of him wants to comfort Loki already, but mostly he wants to take, consume, and keep.

Loki's assessment of his flaws was certainly perceptive, if not comprehensive: arrogant, selfish, and possessive.

The angel draws in a breath and releases it slowly, with a grave nod, and pulls his hand away. He lets the first drops of wax fall on his own inner arm, testing the temperature, then, satisfied, braces his free hand on the other man's throat lightly.]

You're almost guaranteed to jump at the first drop, so I'll give you a freebie, so to speak. But from there, I expect you to try to control yourself. [He doesn't necessarily expect him to succeed.

He holds the candle over him, not quite at arm's length, but far enough to let the falling wax cool on its way from wick to skin. The first scalding drops land over his mid-chest, making a dark pool about the size of a quarter.]

[Loki nods his understanding and appreciation for this allowance, but his gaze is fixed on the candle as it drips and burns, tracking it as it hovers. His chest is heaving a little, anticipation of pain and instinctual revulsion leaving him hypersensitive already.

This is going to hurt. But even with the angel's generous allowance, he resolves to try and control himself.

It seems to take an eternity for the wax to fall, but the reaction when it touches his skin is instantaneous. Loki lets out a twisted yowl from behind his gag, expression contorting in agony. He twists and writhes a little on the floor, almost overbalances entirely, but by curling his toes against the floor and deliberately tensing his muscles, he at least manages to stay on his back. The cry trails away to a growl, fading as the pain does, hissed through teeth clenched as tightly as he can around the rubber ball. It probably won't last too long tonight.

But the pain goes deeper than skin. Scouring. Cleansing. Good. Dragging in a few ragged breaths, he prepares for the next drop.]

[The hand cradling his throat moves to card through his hair, but the angel's expression is impassive. He gives the reassuring touch generously, but doesn't couple it with words this time. And then his hand drifts to brush over the cooling-but-soft wax on Loki's chest, wondering briefly.

Truthfully, he wasn't expecting that intense a reaction. Due to his own elemental affiliation, the burn of melting wax strikes him as little more than a brief sting. But then, that's the point, isn't it? That this is a thing so counter to Loki's own nature, that this will hurt all the worse because of that.

So he stays the course, turning the candle in his hands thoughtfully to let it melt evenly.] There's so much anticipation in this. Letting the temperature rise, letting the wax heat, drop, and watching it cool again. I like how it goes opaque as it goes back to room temperature.

I think it's a good reminder about the reward of patience. Not that I've ever had much.

[This time, he raises the candle higher, and spills the liquid a couple inches below the first drop. It's about the same amount, but the natural contours of Loki's body, and the fact that his chest is rising and falling so quickly, make it spread further.]

[Loki makes a sound that might almost be a laugh. He's slumped back against the floor in such a way as to leave his head slightly tilted to the side. But some sixth sense, some awareness of the heat, makes him raise his gaze to the candle once more in time to see the wax fall once more. There's already a note of something decidedly worshipful in his gaze, though more for the candle than for Balthazar himself at this point.

This time, knowing what sort of pain to expect, it's...easier. Or, if not easier, more controlled. He growls - a visceral, animal sound of pain - visibly tensing, fingers flexing, but doesn't flinch more than a hair's-breadth. Not that Loki is even entirely aware that he's managed that far, so as awareness returns once more, he finds himself braced for a slap anyway.

As much as it's a visible, painful effort, however, he manages to stay still through the layer of black.]

[He extinguishes the candle with a thought, setting it aside, and leans in to blow gently over the surface of the cooling wax. His breath is warm, but cooler than the paraffin, and might be pleasant in itself, but that's not the reward he promised.

The angel moves to rest one elbow beside Loki's head, lowering to murmur softly into his ear.] There. You did well, that time. Breathe, and relax a moment.

[This time, the caress through his hair is more lingering, openly tender.] Have I told you how much I adore your stubborn streak? Stubborn's not the right word...willful, maybe? Mm...or obdurate. Obdurate, and iron-nerved.

I'm sure it's been a source of tremendous frustration for most of the people who've loved you. And it probably will be for me, as well, in time, but I love it anyway.

[It feels very pleasant, under the circumstances. Loki sighs, long and content and relieved, understanding even before the angel speaks that this part, at least, is over. He goes slack, eyes falling closed, expression almost peaceful by comparison to before.

Rest. Breathe. Almost on command, he does - a long, deep, shuddering breath that rasps a little around the rubber ball still clenched tightly between his teeth. Though he still shivers a little at the breath and words suddenly so close and near, near enough to reach out and touch if only he could. Loki tilts his head against the caress and listens.

Obdurate. Always has been. Even when he consciously wanted to give up, some part of him just...never does. Frustration. Frustrating. Yes, he's very frustrating. He is to everyone. Even Thor. Especially Thor. Balthazar says he doesn't mind. Hopefully he will continue not minding.

Loki manages to open his eyes and turn his head to look at Balthazar, his gaze almost apologetic.]

[He murmurs softly in Enochian, eyes drifting closed for just a moment, tasting the endearment on his own tongue. It takes the space of a few heartbeats, a few breaths, before he can steel himself to straighten and begin again.

He's impassive once more as he meets Loki's gaze, but that shifts to mild surprise at the expression he sees. This is not Loki as he's used to him. It's like a layer of defense has been peeled back. The angel's breath hitches, and he allows himself the indulgence of one more caress to Loki's hair.]

You're doing beautifully. Now it's time for the white candle. [He places his hand in Loki's.] Squeeze if you're all right to go on.

[Loki feels like a level of defense has been peeled back - flayed, perhaps, or scoured away. It's a heady, almost dizzying feeling, one he could never have achieved on his own. He would find it fascinating, were he in remotely any position to get contemplative. As it is, his thoughts are splintering, fracturing, coming in short bursts and pieces of emotion and impulse.

Those murmured endearments make him moan softly, a pleasure almost as intense as the fading burn of wax. But he feels Balthazar move away, and gives a little nod of acknowledgement. When he feels a hand pressed into his once more, Loki gives it a squeeze, only just stopping himself from squeezing twice as he had before. Only then does he manage to open his eyes, though when he does his gaze is drawn as though on a winch to the candle once again.

Unfortunately, it quickly becomes apparent that the rest was, perhaps inadvertantly, its own form of punishment. With the previous layer of wax still itching at his skin, and time to come down from the adrenaline-fueled high of pain, the first dollop of white wax is an unexpectedly fresh hell. Loki isn't aware at first that he actually is biting through the rubber ball, but manages to stop himself with minimal tearing at first.

But as it is, he won't get too much further before he actually does flinch, his body momentarily overwhelmed enough to act entirely on his own, without any conscious thought or registration that he's done so.]

[He almost wishes Loki could speak; he's curious what he would say now, if anything. Perhaps before it's all over, he'll get a chance, but the gag is part of the scene and stays where it is for now (although Balthazar would certainly worry if he were aware the rubber was tearing; it must not be rated for Asgardian bite strength).

The white candle has a faintly sweet scent. Vanilla, maybe, or even gardenia? Like the previous one, he tests before using it, and like the black candle he holds it a fair distance over Loki's body before dropping the wax lower on his abdomen. This time, though, he lets more fall, and some of it drips to the side in rivulets.

And there's the flinch. Balthazar knew that was coming, but he has to steel himself for what comes next, anyway. All his impulses are turned toward comfort and praise, and he has to deliver the opposite now, as promised.

His free hand comes down to grip Loki's upper arm, as if to force him to stillness again, clamping over a stack of ropes in a way that's sure to press the pattern into his flesh.] Ah. You moved.

[It's quiet and matter-of-fact, but he blows out the white candle and sets it aside.] You haven't altered the design, though, so at least there's that. You remember what I told you?

[He's sure Loki remembers, so he's not really waiting for a response, simply buying time while he looks him over and considers.] Three strokes. The less you tense up, the easier it will go.

[That's all the preamble he gives, to spare himself the anticipation. And his eyes go distant as he strikes: left cheekbone, right cheekbone...pause...and the left again. He chooses the face this time because it's more shocking, more intimate, but it also means he has to pull his blows. Loki may never realize how much calculation it takes to deliver the three open-handed slaps, enough force to hurt, to bruise, without cracking bone or damaging muscle.

The hand gripping Loki's shoulder drifts to his hair, afterward, to curl and tighten in the locks. He's not pulling, simply holding him steady, but it's clearly meant to feel like a directly opposing sensation to the earlier caresses.] Breathe. Recover.

[Loki winces audibly as Balthazar takes hold of his shoulder. His grip isn't quite bruising, not to a Jotun, but it's definitely noticeable and, for a moment, he doesn't even entirely understand why.

Except...he moved? He doesn't remember moving. But Balthazar says he did, so he must have. And Loki does remember what that means. At least he didn't mar the design. That's good. That's something, and lets out a soft exhale of relief upon hearing as much.

This is a punishment. That's fair. A lesson in how much easier this will all be if he doesn't tense, doesn't fight. That's good. Loki nods his understanding and acceptance, just in time for the first slap to catch him without warning and snap his head to the right. Then the next, and...after just enough time for the fade to start to fade...the last. He makes very little noise during each slap, to the point that it might sound a little like he's choking on any cry he might otherwise make. His eyes are wide and glassy and dark from how dilated his pupils are.

But somehow, the blows themselves are nothing compared to the look in Balthazar's eyes. That distance is...almost terrifying. It certainly brings up a fair few bad memories. He almost shies away from that, but the hand in his hair is grounding, reminding him to stay still.

Then the order comes, and Loki makes himself start breathing properly again - deep, shuddering breaths. In between, he makes sounds that might almost be words, were the gag not in the way - sorrysorrysorry.

But after a moment, he swallows, grits his teeth, and nods that he's ready to continue.]

[It's fortunate, perhaps, that Balthazar doesn't realize what his own expression looks like, and what memories it might bring back--because he'd have to quit immediately if he did. What he's focused on is Loki, his reactions, the words and sounds muffled behind the gag. The shuddering sounds of his breath are damn near heartbreaking, in fact, and the angel ends up closing his eyes after Loki nods.

He has to trust that the other man is cognizant enough to consent. And he does, because he's known few people in his life as determined.

The hand not grasping his hair moves down to take his hand, not to ask for a response yet, simply to hold. They're all right. This is hard, but they're all right, so when he opens his eyes again, his expression has eased back into gentleness.]

I want you to think about what just happened. Because I don't want you to feel you failed because you're weak. You're not weak, and reacting to pain isn't any kind of frailty--it's just what living things do, no matter what we're made of.

No one is invulnerable. [He takes a deep, shaky breath and releases his grip on Loki's hair, smoothing it once.] I'm going to light the green candle now. You might take it perfectly, or you might wince again and be punished. Either way, you're being brave, and I'm proud.

Squeeze once if you understand.

[Loki's fingers curl around Balthazar's in turn, acknowledging, enjoying the moment to simply hold and the silent reassurance inherent even in that simple gesture. His face is still tilted away, bruises already starting to bloom on his cheeks, gaze unfocused. The wrong move probably would have broken him irreparably, in that moment.

Fortunately for both of them, Balthazar makes a right move instead. It's a clear effort, clawing his way back to proper awareness, but Loki turns to look at Balthazar once more. And he listens - his lover's words at first sound like they're coming to him through a long tunnel, but that fades more and more by the second.

He genuinely doesn't understand, at first, doesn't understand that the words mean anything beyond...words, noise to fill the silence, or the prelude to new instructions. But, like the slow break of day, it starts to filter in through his fragmented mental state. And, as he is now, Loki has had enough layers of defenses stripped away that it does register.

The idea of failure as even sometimes something that just...happens, as opposed to something that could have been avoided if you'd just done this differently or that...it's one Loki has forgotten about a long time ago, if he ever knew it. Anyone else might find such a concept of inevitability terrifying, or at least disheartening. Loki finds it...freeing, like someone's just unhooked a hook from being gouged into his flesh.

It's a lesson that will take some time and probably a few more sessions to truly sink in, but for now, he lets out a long, shuddering sigh of relief, even as his eyes shine a little at Balthazar's words. He's proud. It's okay. Loki failed, but he's not a failure.

It's a fine, but important distinction. And so he squeezes once.]

[It's a struggle for Balthazar to keep his own eyes from misting over. Really, it's only the need for an illusion of control that keeps him from giving up on the painful part and just curling around his lover to comfort him. The angel reassures himself with the thought that he can make up for all of this with the aftercare. And in the meantime, he seems to have said something right, at least one of many things he dearly wants Loki to hear.

He squeezes back, with one of his sweeter, slower smiles, then lets go and picks up the green candle, lighting it with a flick of a fingertip. It's a pretty color, a pale, glacial sea-green with no scent at all.]

This will drop much closer to your skin. It will be hotter, but I'm going to use several small spatters, rather than a pool of wax. Try breathing out when the pain hits you. It might help you stay still.

[Had he tried, Loki would have immediately hit the clicker. He wants to finish this. Needs to. If nothing else, the sheer curiosity would drive him mad, even after recovering his wits - just what sort of pattern is Balthazar etching on his skin?

But then he looks up to see his lover smile, and the sight sets off something soft and warm in Loki's chest. Even if he failed, even if he was punished, the sight of that smile leaves him feeling like he's just been rewarded.

Then, once again, his gaze drifts to the candle, fixes there. His eyebrows raise very slightly as he recognizes the color - it is very nice.

He has no doubt that it's going to look very good on him. In the meantime, Loki draws in a breath in preparation for the first drops - and then, just as it splashes against his skin, he lets it out in a hissed rush.

It does help. Not much, but enough that he'll be able to get through this layer without flinching.]

Oh, well done. [The angel murmurs after the first drops settle, beaming now.] Very well done. Keep trying that, you're doing beautifully.

[It seems like the time for praise and encouragement is now, from the way Loki is reacting to it, and the final layer, the deep blue, will be harder still, so Balthazar is more than happy to build him back up a little first. He continues murmuring as the green droplets fall in three carefully calculated waves.

He's even more pleased when Loki gets through the whole set without a wince. It's his own parameters being followed, but somehow it still feels like a gift from his lover to the angel. He blows out the green candle and sets it aside, then rises and circles around to sit on Loki's other side, sliding in close enough to touch his knees to the other man's hip and help support the awkward weight of that bound leg.

So, part of the reward is that little bit of rest, but he also blows gently across the cooling skin and pets his hair.] ...I don't think I have the words right now to tell you how pleased--how much it means to me that you've given yourself to me in this.

[It's almost humbling, in fact, but he won't delve deeper into that emotion until later.] I know you don't give this lightly. I may not be the only person you'd ever trust like this, but I know I'm one of very, very few, and I can see how hard you're working for me. It's beautiful, and you're beautiful.

[He leans to give him a light kiss on the forehead.] In just a little while, you'll get to see what we've made together. I know you can be brave for me for the last layer. After a rest.

[Loki still hates himself just a little for needing to lean against the offered support as much as he does, but there's no resisting it. By now, he's trembling, finely but visibly, with exhaustion and pain. Balthazar's assistance is only helping him manage the pain, not diminishing it. Perhaps continued exposure will, but not right now. Right now, he just leans into the support with a shuddering sigh, welcoming the touch that he knows he's earned.

But it's the words that feel like the greatest reward. Words of praise and love that he knows are far from empty, are spoken for him and only him. For all that their relationship can be somewhat barbed at the best of times, in a way it only makes these moments of genuine tenderness all the sweeter. Especially when Loki no longer has the energy to disbelieve.

He can't kiss Balthazar back, and that seems like a bitter shame, but Loki still lifts his head enough to nuzzle against Balthazar's cheek before his lover can pull entirely back. Then he settles back, takes a deep breath - feeling the pressure of the warm, hardened wax against his skin - and nods. There's a definite note of exhaustion in his eyes, but he otherwise seems lucid, aware, maybe even more than he did just a minute ago.]

[It's the words that are meant to be the main reward, particularly because Balthazar has an idea Loki wouldn't accept them at any other time. Right now, not only can he not object due to the gag, but he's also in a slightly delicate mental state, and the angel isn't above taking advantage of it in this case.

Hopefully later Loki will remember that Balthazar promised to only tell the truth, and take that under consideration when he recalls what was said to him.

He spends a few more moments caressing him, while carefully observing his body language, checking to see if his breathing is steady. It's obvious Loki won't be able to respond much longer, though he seems to be getting air. It's time for the last stage.]

The blue candle is next. It's going to be more painful still, because I'm going to lay the wax down in bands, and then feather the pattern to the sides. It's also the most detailed layer, so I'm going to give you a choice.

You can either take four strokes to the back of your leg now, and I'll hold you still as I finish the pattern so there's no chance of you moving and altering it. Or you can tough it out on your own, and we'll see what happens.

[Even this choice is meant to make a point, and Balthazar is hoping he'll choose the first suggestion, to let him help even if it hurts the Asgardian's pride. But either way will give him something to love and to praise, so he smiles as he slips his hand into Loki's.]

Squeeze once if you want me to hold you down. Twice if you want me to let you stay still on your own.

[Even in his badly dazed state, it doesn't take Loki long to realize that this is all meant to be a point. Even in his badly dazed state, he manages to half-open his eyes to give Balthazar a look, one that says he knows exactly what the angel is trying to do.

And yet...despite all of that, there's still a disconnect. Between what he wants to do, and between what he knows he should do. Loki's gaze darts every which way for a moment, as though seeking alternatives...but of course, there are none. Not now. No need to worry or torment himself grasping at what he knows isn't there.

So in the end, albeit not without a sound halfway between a growl of frustration and a sigh of resignation, he squeezes Balthazar's hand once, and only once. It's in part for the angel's sake that he does so, but maybe there's some value in that as well. The understanding that his choices don't just affect himself. Not if they want to have any hope of making this - whatever this is - work.]

[Oh, he's caught. Balthazar wasn't sure whether Loki would pick up on the message just now. It's almost hard not to laugh at the look. Almost; part of the angel still wants to cry, instead, and he's a bit concerned the one action would set the other off. He strokes his thumb across Loki's knuckles gently, nodding, then withdraws and fetches both the candle and the small knife he's brought, the latter to shape the wax after it's dropped.

Without lighting the candle, he braces one hand on Loki's bound leg and delivers the blows with the other, striking along the lower plane of hip and thigh, close to the pressure point of the sciatic nerve. The first slap falls relatively lightly, but he escalates his force on the second, already hitting this spot harder than he struck his face.

The third blow is gentler again, an attempt to keep him guessing. But he pauses to light the candle before delivering the final slap, the sharpest of all. He has to bite his own tongue to keep from wincing at the sound, but that's certainly the least he can do, given what Loki's borne up under.]

[As Balthazar settles into position, Loki draws in a deep breath, preparing to let it out on impact like he has for the wax. It works the first time, the breath hissing as it leaves him with the edge of a growl. Then the second strike comes, and his expression twists into a grimace as he lets out a yowl of shock and pain. The third strike really only prolongs the pain, yet is comparatively light enough to make Loki wonder if he's miscounted the slaps. His vision is swimming a little, enough that between that and trying to catch his breath, he doesn't really notice Balthazar moving.

When the final strike down come, it's hard enough to make him see stars, arching a little off the ground. The noise he makes is airless and twisted, almost as though all the breath had been knocked out of him. He soon slumps back against the pillow, panting raggedly, eyes wide.

It feels as though he'll be lucky to be able to walk again, after that. But after a moment, remembering himself, Loki nods for Balthazar's benefit. He's still here.]

[The angel eases into a pose that allows him to support that bound leg against his own side, aware that the blows he's just delivered will make it even harder to hold in position. He slips his hand into Loki's as he nods, reassured, but giving him a chance to catch his breath and signal.

The blue wax is melting now, but he needs a fair volume of it, so there's no hurry. He strokes the other man's knee patiently.] There...that part's over, darling, and you're doing well.

Don't fret, I have plans to help you settle in and recover after the painful part is over. [Hopefully Loki won't mind a bit of active, fussing aftercare. Balthazar can give him space if that's what he needs, but he'd much rather treat his bruises and tuck him into bed.]

Take your time, but squeeze my hand twice if you can breathe well enough. And if you start to feel nauseous, don't forget to click, all right?

[Loki sighs, almost whimpers, with relief when the support returns. Loki's breathing is still audibly ragged, gaze going dark and glassy once more beneath his half-open eyelids as he loses himself a little in the sharp, throbbing pain. "Darling" makes him let out another almost-purr.

Help in recovering was actually one thing Loki never doubted he would receive. Later on, he might laugh at how this little session offered Balthazar the opportunity to more or less fuss over him with impunity. For now, however, it just...seems like a fact. An inevitability, though not an unpleasant one, in the same way the dawn is an inevitability.

He'll probably need at least some space, but not until being settled into bed and given some tea. Maybe after being carried to bed.

Loki makes a noise of acknowledgement before squeezing - once, twice. He can breathe, though it certainly helps that he can't even close his mouth. The rubber ball is definitely frayed around the edges, but seems to be holding up under the initial damage. And then he gives the clicker a little wave, at least as much as he can from his bound position, just to reassure his lover that he remembers that it's there.

But after a few minutes to recover as much as he can, Loki's breathing at least steadies as some of the renewed adrenaline rush fades. So he squeezes again - once, twice, turning his gaze up towards Balthazar once more.]