[Cole has no idea what to make it of when Petre quite openly enjoys having his wind cut off. It snaps him awake as well, makes him want to jerk his hand away in horror, but Petre's craning his head back to expose more and encourage him. There's nothing wrong with it, right? That makes it consensual, which is what matters.
(He's playing with the idea of taking a life. Getting off on it. That's what matters. But he's too fogged with arousal to reach any sort of moral thought right now.)]
Fuck. [A low growl, conflicted but drenched in need.] Fuck. [And he presses harder with his hand, covers more of Petre's slender throat, meeting the pace that Petre's once again begun to set with his hips and hanging his head so as not to see the effect this will have on Petre's face. He'll go brilliantly red, then shades of purple and blue. Cole has seen it. He's done this with the express purpose of killing someone, and it's worked. He feels sick, but his hips never stop pumping, and he never stops moaning deliriously.]
no subject
(He's playing with the idea of taking a life. Getting off on it. That's what matters. But he's too fogged with arousal to reach any sort of moral thought right now.)]
Fuck. [A low growl, conflicted but drenched in need.] Fuck. [And he presses harder with his hand, covers more of Petre's slender throat, meeting the pace that Petre's once again begun to set with his hips and hanging his head so as not to see the effect this will have on Petre's face. He'll go brilliantly red, then shades of purple and blue. Cole has seen it. He's done this with the express purpose of killing someone, and it's worked. He feels sick, but his hips never stop pumping, and he never stops moaning deliriously.]