As usual, Johnny doesn't know what it is he's agreed to; his wrists tremble slightly in Niall's grasp, like he wants to pull away but knows he can't; he shuts his eyes when Niall's thumbs brush rough-skinned over the edges of his burns, feeling a little wave of nausea, he knows, he saw, he read what she did. This he buries back down, obedient or simply desperate for the time away from it, which subjugation and deconstruction have always afforded him. When Niall speaks his guttural language again Johnny's eyes snap open, staring up without anything to meet him; the other man's eyes aren't on him. The words reverberate heavily, deep in his ears and his chest and his bowels, and for a moment after all he can hear is his own uneven breath.
Then he feels it, coiling around his wrists and his legs, ethereal and strange, like - ink, like smoke. It shouldn't be able to hold him fast but it does, warm (as promised) and tight, pulling him flush against the wall. His own well-beaten survival instinct claws its way up on a flood of bile and adrenaline, and he gives way to panicked struggling, unable to move apart from feeble little jerks and twitches, wriggling too much like a fly on a web, in a way he knows will only make him look more like the helpless prey the doctor wants him to be. He looks up, desperate and afraid.
"Wh- what is this?" he demands, his voice broken and strangely muffled. He tries again to tug his hands free but the otherworldly shackles are unyielding, and he lets out a frustrated whine. "Let me go, let - let me go!"
The house itself seems to react. The fire suddenly erupts as though new wood had been added, crackling louder and brightening with impossible intensity, like it wants to drown out the new shadows binding Johnny to the wall. The door swings violently open and there comes a heavy draft, like it's opened onto a vacuum, trying to pull them - no, just the doctor - back out. You're not welcome here.
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Then he feels it, coiling around his wrists and his legs, ethereal and strange, like - ink, like smoke. It shouldn't be able to hold him fast but it does, warm (as promised) and tight, pulling him flush against the wall. His own well-beaten survival instinct claws its way up on a flood of bile and adrenaline, and he gives way to panicked struggling, unable to move apart from feeble little jerks and twitches, wriggling too much like a fly on a web, in a way he knows will only make him look more like the helpless prey the doctor wants him to be. He looks up, desperate and afraid.
"Wh- what is this?" he demands, his voice broken and strangely muffled. He tries again to tug his hands free but the otherworldly shackles are unyielding, and he lets out a frustrated whine. "Let me go, let - let me go!"
The house itself seems to react. The fire suddenly erupts as though new wood had been added, crackling louder and brightening with impossible intensity, like it wants to drown out the new shadows binding Johnny to the wall. The door swings violently open and there comes a heavy draft, like it's opened onto a vacuum, trying to pull them - no, just the doctor - back out. You're not welcome here.