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'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.]

[It's fascinating how Loki seems to be treading the line between lucidity and adrenaline intoxication. Balthazar is enjoying the glassy sheen to his eyes despite lingering concern. He smiles gently and tilts his head to kiss Loki's knee, then disentangles his hand.]

You are magnificent. Exceeding all my expectations. This is the endgame, so to speak. There will be four blue bands. [He touches lightly where he means to drop the wax: upper chest, each side of the rib cage, and just above the navel.

Indications made, he rises up and moves around so that he can both stabilize his lover and have access to the candle. He straddles the unbound leg, bracing the bound one with his own thigh, and rests his folded forearm at an angle across Loki's shoulder and collar area. He doesn't want to press directly on his neck, but he also doesn't care to break the patterns already laid down in wax. The position involves some shifting and adjustment, and the end result is very close and rather intimate.

Despite his prodigious libido, though, Balthazar is capable of sticking to business--or in this case, to art. He gives him a reassuring smile, but refrains from teasing. Even in his current state, though (or maybe especially in his current state) Loki may hear and feel the shift of angel wings, arching heavy and invisible over them.

The first band is dropped in a slow arc across his chest, about the width of a man's finger, and a good nine inches long. Before it has time to fully cool, Balthazar takes up the little knife and uses just the tip to draw lines across the wax, feathering the pattern in narrow points to either side of the main line. Loki likely can't see the result well, not yet, but the blade never touches his skin.]

[The result is very close and rather intimate, in a way that makes Loki stir with physical pleasure for perhaps the first time during this session. Even with him so thoroughly bound, they seem to fit together very nicely indeed, and the sight of Balthazar all but looming over him is both an alluring and strangely safe one. The world narrowing down to just the two of them, with Loki held safely down. Like this, he can't fall. It's okay. It's okay.

It certainly helps that he's at the point where he can almost see the angel's wings, even if only as shadows on the wall in the light of the flickering candle flame.

Loki's gaze, as he looks up at Balthazar, is almost worshipful. Then he takes a deep breath, preparing to let it out as the wax falls.

Almost immediately, he's glad to have taken the four strikes at the start. Loki could never have stayed still under these circumstances. It's not the brief, bright flashes of pain of the first three times, but a long, drawn out affair as pain builds and builds until he almost feels about to drown. Loki lets out a sound that's almost a scream, twisting and straining with animal impulse for a moment against Balthazar's grip. But the angel is stronger, the pattern remains undisturbed, and after a moment the adrenaline fades enough that Loki can slowly at least bring his body under control once more.]

[Balthazar wasn't quite expecting that reaction at this point, but he notices at once. Ohh, that's not going to help his concentration any. Still, it's more than a little gratifying that his lover can take physical pleasure from the closeness. That, combined with the look in Loki's eyes makes his own pulse pick up noticeably.

Still, his hand remains steady. The shout of pain makes him bite his lip briefly in sympathy, but a moment later he's murmuring reassurance.] Easy, easy...it's all right, love, you're doing so well. Just a little longer.

[Rather than let up on the pressure holding him down, he brings the curve of a wing in close enough to brush his cheek and shoulder, a pleasant stimulation to distract from the burn. And he uses some familiar Enochian words, soothing endearments. My heart, my treasure.]

The next two will be shorter lines; perhaps not quite as terrible. But remember, if you need to stop, you still have the clicker. [He'll give him a moment to think about it, too, and to let the amount of wax he needs soften and build up.]

[He might give him a minute to think about it, but Loki shakes his head immediately at the offer to stop. He also works to redouble his efforts to control himself. No. He wants to be strong enough to take this. The fact that he knows he can be weak, perversely, makes it easier to push on and be strong. Maybe because he knows it's a choice, not an inevitability or a necessity. Something he genuinely wants to do for his lover, to earn more comfort with pain.

The sounds of pain slowly trail away to keening whimpers and sighs, that take on a note of something almost longing at the brush of phantom feathers. Loki gives a short nod of gratitude and acknowledgement at the gesture, still breathing hard through his nose, as he readies himself for the next bands.

He's in no fit state even to notice what's being done with the knife, let alone see. But he trusts that they are in the endgame.]

Good. I'm proud of you. [He almost whispers, and reaches for the candle again. He withdraws the feathery touch for the moment, but the arc of wings is still over them both, shielding him protectively, hiding him possessively.

The bands across the ribs are done more quickly, each roughly five inches in length, curving across the contours of rope and flesh. He lets him rest between each one, making a few delicate alterations with the knife blade, and then pausing to stroke his hair as the wax melts for the last line.]

Once this is done, I'll fetch the full length mirror from the guestroom, and bring it to you. I want you to see yourself bound up and gagged, as well as see the pattern we've made. There's just one more. [One more line, and he's feeling a strange sense of urgency to complete the task they've set for themselves, if only to let his lover rest and enjoy the results.

The final band begins almost in the hollow of his right hip, winding across the sensitive skin of his stomach, with a gentle curl at the end of the line. It's wider, and the progress is likely all but excruciating, but Balthazar does his best to steady Loki through it, all quiet commands and gentle endearments:] There, love...that's fine, you're doing beautifully...sshh. Almost there...

[There are downsides to being as whipcord thin as Loki is. Namely, that he has very little protection between himself and sharp sensations, especially heat. Around the thin skin of his hips and stomach, he's especially sensitive.

By his ribs, it's easier, if only because the process is shorter. His expression is contorted with the effort of not screaming, with keeping the sounds escaping him to hisses and keening whines of pain. And he can't help but shift and squirm a little in Balthazar's grip, but not nearly enough to break it. He even manages to nod his acknowledgement of the words, the promise - yes, he does want to see, very, very much.

Then the last band is begun, and there's no swallowing a scream of searing agony then. Loki's hands curl into tight fists where they're bound at his sides, knuckles standing out white, only just avoiding hitting the clicker. It might just be the heat of the moment and the thrum of adrenaline, but he almost fancies he can hear his skin sizzling over the pounding of his heart.

But just as Loki is at the point of wondering if he'll really, truly have to, if he'll die otherwise, when the marks are done.]

[Balthazar's eyes are damp by the end of it, between concentration, sympathy, worry, and admiration. And now, as he blows out the candle and sets it and the knife aside, he notes his hands are a little shaky.

Good, then, that the delicate work is over.

He eases the pressure on Loki's chest, moving so he's propped up over him, legs still entwined, and just catches his breath for a moment, stroking with a wing. He could ease the pain or force a quick and easy healing, but at this point that would almost be an insult to his lover's endurance and determination. So the best he can do is soothe him while he catches his breath, murmuring gently, reminding him to breathe, encouraging him to relax once more.]

You did it, darling; it's complete, and not a drop out of place. [He slips his hand into Loki's and squeezes gently.] In a moment, I'll get the mirror. Are you all right?

[The heat slowly fades as the wax hardens, leeching the pain with it and, eventually, leaving only numb, trembling exhaustion behind. Loki is paler than usual with exertion, which really only makes every else about him stand out all the more sharply - his dilated pupils, his tousled hair plastered to his face in places with sweat, the bruises, the rope, and the pattern sketched in multi-colored wax.

He gasps, tries to breathe, and understands from the sudden loss of pressure that it is truly over and done with. When Balthazar squeezes his hand, he squeezes back, almost on reflex. And then...

...is he all right?

Loki makes a sound that might almost sound like choking, at first. At first, it is, something bubbling up in his chest that sticks in his throat for being so unfamiliar. But then, like a dam breaking, it trickles forth - the sound of laughter around a gag. Adrenaline intoxication lends the sound an almost giddy air, to the point that he's almost giggling. The sound is genuinely amused, if nothing else, which is rare enough to hear from Loki at the best of times.]

[That's a slightly more ambiguous answer than Balthazar was looking for, although it tells him volumes about Loki's state of mind. He smiles, able to tell that it's born from positive emotion, and strokes his thumb across his lover's knuckles.]

Easy, love. Don't choke yourself. You're certainly colorful at the moment, and not just the wax. I'm afraid I've left bruises. [He knew he would, though.

Slowly, he shifts away to Loki's side and pets his hair, then pulls a couple additional couch cushions over to prop up his bound leg. Once the fit of laughter has wound down, he places a couple featherlight kisses on his cheek and forehead, then rises and steps around him.] I'll be less than a minute, but click if you need me.

[He retreats, going first to their bedroom to arrange a couple things on the nightstand (water, aloe vera ointment, candy, fruit juice, ice, towels), and then to fetch the mirror.]

[The look Loki gives Balthazar is probably much less ambiguous, mostly due to the fact that it's a common look between the two of them. Do stop fussing. Not that he wants Balthazar to entirely stop fussing, of course. Just...not to worry, and the two sentiments often come across as very similar from him.

He's not the least bit surprised about the bruises, either.

Loki settles the best that he can against the blankets with a grateful hum, though in doing so he's increasingly aware of how cramped and sore he's becoming from holding this same position for...however long they've been at this. He can't see the clock from where he's laying. Not that it matters, of course. He tilts into the kisses, before nodding his acknowledgement and giving the clicker a little wave once more. He'll be all right.

However long Balthazar is gone, it feels like an eternity and the blink of an eye all at once. Loki finds himself...drifting, staring more or less blankly at a random spot on the wall where he just happened to turn his head.]

[That glance tells him everything, so much so that he has to bite back a giggle of his own. When he returns with the mirror, he's scrubbing a tear out of the corner of his eye, but he's calm. Satisfied that he hasn't gone too far, at least. Anything else can be amended.

Loki still seems to be in an altered state, judging from his expression when the angel returns. Balthazar makes a mental note of that, and chooses his words as he sets the mirror down.] I haven't shown them to you, but when I was negotiating with my vessel, he made sketches of me. He was a career artist; quite talented, I thought, but I'm biased.

He never actually saw me, but somehow he knew what to put on paper based on what we said to one another. It's not literal, but it captures everything I could have hoped for someone to see in me. I'll show you another time.

Sometimes a true-to-life drawing doesn't say as much as something more abstract. That's all I want you to know. [He tilts the mirror carefully to allow Loki to see as much of himself as possible. He looks pale, exhausted, tapped out, blue-violet bruises on his face...but oddly triumphant, even bound and gagged. Balthazar hopes Loki can see that as clearly as he himself does.

Meanwhile, the network of rope winds its way around his body like a net or cage of black and blood-red. It also serves as a frame for the pattern in wax. The base layers of white and black are simple, very abstract. One could see them as dark suns over a white snowscape, or a white flower with inky stamens, perhaps. Over the top, the blue and green is more literal. The flecks of green fall in just the right pattern to look like leaves or new blooms, and the blue--it's not quite the right shade to match Jotun skin, but perhaps close enough to recall it--the blue design is a series of curving branches, graceful organic curves across his chest and belly. Each is lined with the thorns which the angel drew in the wax with the tip of his knife.

The overall impression is an almost alien landscape, unwelcoming but elegant and very much alive.

Once the mirror is in place, the angel circles back around to his lover's side, kneeling beside him and holding his hand.]

Loki manages to look up with a faintly startled twitch at the sounds of Balthazar's return. His gaze fixes immediately on the mirror, but he also gives a hum to show he's listening to the words being spoken.

It's...an interesting enough bit of detail, but he's not entirely certain he understands. Maybe only because he has see Balthazar's true form, and it was one of the most agonizing and terrifying things in his existence. "Abstract" really seems the only way to describe it without gibbering.

Comprehension dawns maybe a split second before the angel finishes moving the mirror into place, and Loki finds himself suddenly confronted with the image of...himself. At the pattern in fine lines and few colors, painted with him as a canvas. Even in his altered state, the longer he stares the more those colors and shapes come together into...oh.

You're like a great big knot of thorns and every time I reach out to touch you I get jabbed, and I don't even care.

It's beautiful. He is beautiful - transformed, molded, better. It's quite possibly the first time since discovering what he really is that Loki has genuinely thought as much about himself.

The thought is...overwhelming, to say the least. Especially after being made as fragile as he has been. Loki feels the tears welling up only dimly, as they gather in his eyes and then cut tracks along his bruised cheeks. It's not until the first cathartic sob tears in his throat that he realizes he's crying.]

[Balthazar watches Loki's reflection, at the wrong angle to see his face. Even at that rate, though, he can see every flicker of light as he breathes, watch his eyes trace the shapes on his body, and see the tears well up. Slowly, gingerly, so as not to interrupt the thought process Loki is enduring, he stretches out next to him, curling around the pillow his head rests on. Gently, he strokes his arm and shoulder, giving him time, but when he hears that sob, his eyes close and he nuzzles his hair.

Then he moves to unfasten the gag, because it's high time, and he certainly doesn't want him to choke on his own tears.] That's fine, darling. Everything's all right; I think I understand. This is coming off now, and then we'll just lie here a bit longer.

You can look as long as you want. I'm right here with you, and I'm staying for as long as you'll have me. [He goes easy removing the gag, not wanting to jar Loki's abused jaw any more than necessary, but once it's away from his face he doesn't bother to look it over, simply sets it on the table and turns back, stroking his cheek and chin.]

Now. You see why I say you're beautiful? [He kisses his temple lightly, then falls silent, taking a chance to give himself a moment of rest.]

[Loki doesn't even realize just how abused his jaw is until the gag is removed and he tries to close his mouth. Immediately, he winces, muscles and joints protesting even that slight movement after hours held immobile.

The first words he says, upon processing that he can speak again, are a frantically murmured stream of:] Damn you, damn you, damn you...

[It's the closest thing to a "yes" as he's capable of, in that moment.

It's partly with the knowledge in mind that Balthazar probably does need a moment or two to rest that keeps Loki quiet. But he also really does need a little extra time to process, to deal, to understand and to try and bring himself under control. But at long last, once breathing is no longer actively painful, once his hair is a bit damp from tears and his eyes are starting to dry, he ventures:]

All right. If I don't stop looking now, I'm not certain I ever will. [And while there are certainly less pleasant ways to die...no, not today.]

Help. [If being freed of the gag hurt that much, the ropes probably won't be much better. Best to get it over with.]