Thoreau gasped quietly when Rooney pressed down on the cuts, eyes squeezing shut. It felt so good. It was hard not to just whimper and hope that Rooney slapped him around a bit more. Why did he have to ask for things?
"I..." Thoreau looked down at the nails digging into his wrist. "I can walk ahead to my room and then you can follow me," he suggested. "I have a knife."
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