Who: Crowley, Aziraphale, and Rusty What: Tormenting the thief When/Where: After Rusty tried to take Crowley's casino/Basement dungeon of said casino Warnings: I don't even know where to begin. So. Yes. NWS. Violence and sexual, most likely.
It wasn't exactly pleasure that Aziraphale found in beating the thief. It was certainly a high of some sort, a release of endorphins that made him almost giddy. He felt a little light headed, as he brought the cat o' nine tails down on the man's back, giving him a moment to call out the number. 17. Not yet two dozen hits, and already his backside was a criss cross of wounds, a river of blood smearing his pale skin. Tears rolled down his face, pooling on the floor by his bare feet. Zira wondered how much Rusty could take, and was willing to push to find out.
Rusty's feet shifted with the next hit. His knees buckled. Zira looked to Crowley, offering a small smile as he afforded the thief a moment to adjust himself. With his hands bound and suspended above his head, he wasn't going to fall to his knees. "Dear boy," Zira said with a slight sneer in his voice, "you rather look like a pinata." Another hit rained down on Rusty's back. "Pardon? I didn't hear you."
"Nine," Rusty grunted, "teen." The word was barely distinguishable, for his crying.
Zira clicked his tongue. "So disappointing, boy," he muttered, and delivered the next blow.