The soft sound of metal teasing metal while that blade circles makes Nathaniel whimper softly. Slowly, he opens his eyes, hips squirming on the bed, and watches Asher while he tries not to pull too much as his restraints. There is something in Asher's actions that make Nathaniel wonder how many times this erotic torture had been performed as true torture -- both by and to Asher -- because no one inherently knows how to build this rhythm.

How to lull the victim into giving themselves up into the tender mercies of one who would have their blood and their screams and their submission. It's an odd train of thought, and Nathaniel is quick to banish it, arching his chest just a little, his hands tightening into fists.