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In a secure facility, several hundred feet below the surface, Coil released his grip on the boy’s hair, allowing him to collapse to the floor. As he tucked himself back into his pants, the boy’s ragged breathing echoed through the dimly lit concrete room. Outside, his soldiers stood guard, ready to intervene if Coil needed it.
He wouldn’t. Despite the initial struggle after calling Regent to his office and ordering his men to seize him, the boy had come along quietly after that. Had remained so even after Coil yanked the boy to his knees and shoved his throbbing length between his pretty little lips. Throughout it all, Regent had simply looked up at Coil through those long lashes of his, staring at the man with an impassive expression as he simply did as he was told and sucked.
And now, Coil would have normally found his satisfaction, closing the timeline after successfully venting off a fraction of the razor sharp tension that eternally buzzed through his head. But he found himself distinctly… unsatisfied.
It was quiet. Too quiet. It was always noisy after most of his ‘sessions’. He was used to the sobbing, the soulful peals of his victims as they unraveled from the horror of what had just happened to them. Sometimes there was anger, the indignant rage of knowing that Coil had just taken everything from them, had reached into them and ravished their very being.
There was none of that here. The boy was naked, knees scraped raw by the concrete floor beneath him. A bruise was developing on his left cheekbone from when he had initially tried to bolt, realizing that Coil didn’t intend for their meeting to be a simple debrief. Despite all that, the boy’s exposed chest rose and fell in an even rhythm, his blank gaze idly fixed on the fluorescent lights above, as if he were trying to zone his way out of a particularly boring session of math class.
After obtaining his powers, Coil had become intimately familiar with his various… proclivities. He enjoyed seeing beautiful things wrecked beneath himself. It was the joy of shattering an ornate vase just to see how the shards flew, held sure in the knowledge that no consequences would ever come. The irreversible breakage, much like the exhilaration of standing on a cliff’s precipice, was what warmed the ice cold blood in his veins, what made his shriveled heart sing.
If Regent wasn’t going to give that to him, perhaps he’d just have to take things further.
With practiced ease, he drew his pistol from its holster. A violent tug of the hair brought Regent’s forehead flush with the barrel. Coil watched with anticipation as the boy’s eyes crossed, converging onto the point where Coil deliberately caressed the trigger — his very life hinging on the curl of an index finger.
“Oh.” And that was it. The boy’s sole response to the grim assurance of death aimed directly between his eyes. Those eyes wandered up to Coil’s face, briefly assessing, never wavering. He said nothing else.
With practiced restraint, Coil held back the twitch that threatened to rip through his stone cold expression. “For someone staring down the barrel of a gun, you seem remarkably calm.” He punctuated his sentence by increasing the pressure on the boy’s forehead.
Much to Coil’s surprise and subsequent displeasure, Regent’s lips curled upward into a sardonic smile. “Not the first time it’s happened to me.” He let out a sigh, followed by a dry swallow. “Probably the last, though.”
Despite himself, Coil felt an eyebrow raise. “No begging? Those in your position typically bargain with utmost desperation, offer up anything to escape their fate. Or they try their damndest to escape. You have your power, why not use it as a last ditch effort?”
Regent just stared up at him, the smile fading somewhat. “What’s the point? You’re a smart guy, I’m sure you’ve got back-up waiting behind that door. Plus, we’re a million fucking miles underground. I’d never get out of here alive.”
Coil resisted the urge to curl his lips in a snarl. “Begging, then.”
"What would that do for me? I’ve seen your face, you're clearly going to kill me anyway. You just want to see me squirm before you do it." The curly-haired boy snorted, his eyes going distant for a brief moment. "Dad was like that too. Could never change his mind about anything."
Coil was silent, finger resting on the trigger as he observed the boy's body language. He wasn’t hiding anything, wasn’t masking his panic with a veneer of placidity simply to spite the man about to kill him. The boy was simply accepting — not even a defeated sort of acceptance, but the same way one would accept that the sky was blue.
That, of course, didn’t stop him from pulling the trigger. The shot rang through the empty room, followed by the dull thump as Regent collapsed like a limp doll. He didn’t bother savoring the moment, the splatter of brain matter across the walls, just collapsing the timeline as he closed his laptop in the other one.
He felt... distinctly unsatisfied.
Physically, he was satisfied. The boy was a good lay, clearly experienced with that mouth of his. Mentally, though, that damned tension remained unresolved, thrumming in his chest and ready to snap like a knife pressed to a pulled bowstring.
He'd brought Regent to his knees, used and discarded him like a disposable plaything, and yet Coil was left with the distinct impression that the boy hadn't truly broken. Or — if his history and uncharacteristic sexual prowess were anything to go by — he had already been broken by another. If that were so, it was unlikely that Coil could make his own impression on what was, in the end, damaged goods.
But Coil was never particularly concerned with the restraints of probability. No, when Coil wanted something, he would roll the dice again and again until he achieved his goal.
Coil wanted to make this boy beg.