[ Amos feels the body slump, the way even the little bit of remaining resistance just completely gives out - and not because of the direct violence being inflicted on him, but because John willed it. It's a level of intimacy - however manufactured, still intimacy - he could never even begin to process.
He can still appreciate the style, though. It's not the sort of thing that he gets a kick out of but seeing the way it works for John is maybe, he thinks, the closest he'll ever really get to empathy.
He shoots John a look when he steps back, says he can have his own turn. The don't kill is disappointing, but yeah. Makes sense. This isn't about him.
Amos looks at the kid, turning his body around in his grip so that they're face to face. He ignores the cry of surprise, the pained moans coming to the surface now that he's not dealing with John anymore, and studies the kid's face, trying to gauge what he can really get away with. He's very, very easily the strongest one in this room; anything with the head is probably automatically out.
But yeah, the way John lulled him into almost... accepting? Appreciating? the blows... that's not going to happen with him.
Amos takes another moment to consider his options and then, teeth bared, low growl emanating from his throat, drops and then picks the kid up by the throat before he so much as has a chance to fall and slams his back into the wall. Not the head - he's careful to avoid doing any damage there - but he holds him up by the neck, pinning him to the wall, noses almost touching from how closely he's invaded his personal space, soaking in the scent of sudden and overwhelming fear and panic.
He lets his fingers dig in, just enough to break skin, get his nails only a little bloody. The kid's pulse is fluttering wildly now and he feels every little bit of it, relishes in it, actually genuinely smiles at it, all teeth.
His entire life has been dominated by violence; it would be fucked up if he didn't enjoy the hell out of it.
He's got the entire torso available to him. Amos goes for a couple of quick jabs there - the solar plexus to knock the wind out, the spleen - and upon hearing the rasping gasps for breath, the pained whine that should be at an inhuman pitch, unceremoniously lets go and lets the body fall back to the floor.
He abandons all interest in the aftermath - there's no challenge here for him - and looks back at John, eyes bright. ] You good to go again?
no subject
He can still appreciate the style, though. It's not the sort of thing that he gets a kick out of but seeing the way it works for John is maybe, he thinks, the closest he'll ever really get to empathy.
He shoots John a look when he steps back, says he can have his own turn. The don't kill is disappointing, but yeah. Makes sense. This isn't about him.
Amos looks at the kid, turning his body around in his grip so that they're face to face. He ignores the cry of surprise, the pained moans coming to the surface now that he's not dealing with John anymore, and studies the kid's face, trying to gauge what he can really get away with. He's very, very easily the strongest one in this room; anything with the head is probably automatically out.
But yeah, the way John lulled him into almost... accepting? Appreciating? the blows... that's not going to happen with him.
Amos takes another moment to consider his options and then, teeth bared, low growl emanating from his throat, drops and then picks the kid up by the throat before he so much as has a chance to fall and slams his back into the wall. Not the head - he's careful to avoid doing any damage there - but he holds him up by the neck, pinning him to the wall, noses almost touching from how closely he's invaded his personal space, soaking in the scent of sudden and overwhelming fear and panic.
He lets his fingers dig in, just enough to break skin, get his nails only a little bloody. The kid's pulse is fluttering wildly now and he feels every little bit of it, relishes in it, actually genuinely smiles at it, all teeth.
His entire life has been dominated by violence; it would be fucked up if he didn't enjoy the hell out of it.
He's got the entire torso available to him. Amos goes for a couple of quick jabs there - the solar plexus to knock the wind out, the spleen - and upon hearing the rasping gasps for breath, the pained whine that should be at an inhuman pitch, unceremoniously lets go and lets the body fall back to the floor.
He abandons all interest in the aftermath - there's no challenge here for him - and looks back at John, eyes bright. ] You good to go again?