giftsofglory | Breaking point

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place of politics

Breaking point

Mello had tried his patience on many levels since he'd acquired him. He'd bit, kicked, punched, clawed,and every other means of vicious attack he could try in the time he'd had him. None of that had really bothered him. Hurt, yes, but aside from the lone groin shot it had never made him angry.

Having his warnings ignored, however, did. He'd been very kind to the man on this day. He'd coddled him, let him roam loose on the grounds, and even let him attack and play without much int he way of retaliation. However, there was a point when enough was enough and he was still a healthy male in his prime.

He'd been trying to control himself because he didn't want to break his pet, but his pet insisted on doing something deliberately after finding out it was arousing? No.

That was an invitation.

Thus, that led to this, him bringing him into a room he hadn't intended to use for a few weeks yet, if that soon, and him flipping the man off his shoulders to press him down, belly down, on a soft, padded mattress. There were other things in the room, but they were nicely closeted away. No, first he'd make the man feel him, then he'd move on to -training- him.

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"Contrary to what my reactions to pain may imply to you, I'm actually highly sensitive to physical contact be it from people or objects, this room is catered to that."

Mello glanced over his shoulder.

"That just means I have to hit harder."

His lips twitched. "That wouldn't make it hurt more after what you've done to yourself."

"Thought you were all sensitive," Mello scoffed. He wasn't entirely serious, but he was clearly trying to be unkind.

"I am." He rolled his shoulders in a shrug. "I can see colors in this room you can't, my clothes are an incredibly expensive weave of cloth, and I can feel every bit of texture in your skin when I touch you. Outside of my contact with you, I always wear gloves. Do you remember that from before you came here?"

"Yeah. Whatever," he muttered grudgingly. He remembered-- but hadn't thought it important. He often wore leather gloves as well, for no better reason than that he liked them.

He sat on the bed, just on the very edge, not looking at all comfortable but rather resigned.

"Why did you bring me here?" Sephiroth always had a reason. Usually one he didn't like.

"Because you would have broken if I'd left you there."

Mello's eyes dropped to his lap. "Don't say that."

"Am I wrong?" It was said very softly.

For once, Mello answered honestly, quietly. "I don't know." A pause.

"But isn't that your goal?"

"No. If that were my goal I would have taken a very different approach."

"You've told me what you want." Mello lifted his eyes again, meeting Sephiroth's seriously.

"To me, that's the same thing."

"No. You'll understand the difference once you meet others."

Mello frowned.

"Others? What others?"

"Did you really think I intended to keep you isolated to the end of your days? I do intend to bring you out once I know I can trust you."

"You didn't answer my question," Mello pointed out coldly, ignoring his words despite the spark of excitement the word out brought to him. He wanted to go outside. Very badly.

"People I know, and eventually pet circles. Believe it or not, you would be my first pet, and I -do- want to show you off, once you let yourself be worth showing off."

Mello's lip curled back immediately in a snarl and he rose to his feet, hands clenched at his sides.

"I will not be 'shown off' for your sick pleasure to your sick friends in some freak show!"

His voice was very quiet. "I would never call them friends, my detective. And I would never allow them to touch you."

"That's not the point," he insisted loudly, viciously, and looked like he might start throwing things again from the way he was standing on-edge, eyes wild.

"Then what is?" He met his eyes, waiting.

"I keep repeating and you never listen." Sephiroth was stronger than him directly, but he suddenly made a grab for his shirt anyway, trying to yank him down to his level and spitting out, livid:

"I. Am. Not. Your. Pet. Nor will I ever be! I'd rather die!"

He allowed him to manhandle him, seeming to consider his words. "Why is that better?"

"I'd rather die as a person than live as your dog," he snarled. And this time, he meant it. He'd sunk low enough, knew there were lower depths to sink to still-- and he didn't want to go there. No matter what. He could imagine the others like Sephiroth, sick freaks bringing in their prizes on leashes, people debased so far they could barely remember their own families or friends or hobbies. No. He refused to be like that.

Shoving Sephiroth away as hard as he could manage, Mello turned from him. It was a split-second decision weeks in the making.

He was standing on his own two legs. He was uncollared. He was battered and worn, but his will was still his own.

And nobody was coming for him.

Right now, everything was bleak and hopeless and the only future available was that of slavery. Mello had never been suicidal or depressive, never favored the easy way out or condoned it; but things had changed. There was no easy. This was the only way out. He wasn't thinking straight and he didn't care, knuckles still stinging from the abuse earlier and he didn't care, breathing ragged. Nothing mattered.

He was already near the window. There were no weapons in sight and no time to be innovative.

He grabbed the lamp off the desk first, hurling it with all his strength at the window, hard enough with adrenaline and desperation fueling his actions to crack it substantially. And then he aimed to go straight through it himself. If the fall didn't kill him, there would be glass sharp enough to finish the job.

What he didn't take into account was that Sephiroth wouldn't stay still, that he never intended to allow him the harm he was clearly aiming for. No, instead it was a matter of speed and quiet caution, slipping up stealthily behind the blond to grab him around the waist to prevent his momentum from getting anywhere near the window.

"Mello, you still have -your- name. Your throat is still bare, and your back is unmarked. Do you not -understand-?"

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