[ he chokes back the moan-- this strangled, shivering moan that is bubbling in his lung, teeth gritting before it transforms-- morphs into a relieved groan. a second of reprieve, a second of cold air brushing against warmed skin before adrenaline kicks in. before jaq's eyes snap open and in an instant, he is scrambling forward, hands reaching and grasping for piter's neck.
stunner and knife forgotten and kicked aside in that frenzy-- he isn't playing games anymore, de vries. face flushed, eyes burning, and teeth bared in the most wild of smiles, he aims to press his thumbs against the mentat's trachea. feel it crack, pop, and splinter beneath his hands--
he wants to see those bruises he calls for eyes roll back in his skull. roll up black. doll's eyes. a toy's eyes. he wants nothing more than than to make him hurt. ]