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“Are you gonna to do as I say, kiddo?” Jack is straddling Rhys, one hand wrapped tight around Rhys’ throat as the other effortlessly holds down Rhys’ flailing arm. Rhys’ mechanical arm lies long abandoned on the desk next to Jack’s mask. He lifts his hand from Rhys’ windpipe, letting Rhys wheeze and draw in enough breath to respond.
“I-” Rhys draws another sharp breath, not meeting Jack’s eyes. Jack does not have time for Rhys to sutter his way around the question, to try and figure a way out of the situation. He can feel the way Rhys shifts his hips, and Jack grins as he grinds down against Rhys and makes Rhys snap his mouth shut and wiggle in frustration.
“Are you?” Jack prompts, digging his nails into the meat of Rhy’s arm until Rhys gasps and shakes his head, his eyes lidded and pupils blown. “Words.” Jack reminds Rhys with a twist of his wrist, leaving reddened scrapes and broken skin that make Rhys shudder.
“No.” Rhys spits, arching his back and kicking his legs, a futile attempt to act rebellious, but Jack knows. Jack knows that Rhys is pushing Jack’s buttons, know that all Rhys wants is to be beaten up until his body aches to the core.
Jack snarls and watches Rhys’ eyes slide closed with acceptance as Jack releases his arm and grabs Rhys’ throat with both hands, lifting him up into the air. Rhys struggles at the loss of air, holding onto Jack’s forearm, scraping his shorter nails across Jack’s tan skin and barely leaving trails. The tips of his boots just gaze the ground and he kicks, catching Jack in the knee.
The action earns him a slam to the ground, and he feels his head knock against the hard floor. The momentum leaves him light-headed and Rhys moans.
“Look at me.” Jack hisses in his face, and Rhys obeys, cracking his eyes open to the harsh office lights that frame Jack’s scarred face. “Gonna listen now?”
Rhys is silent until Jack lifts him by the throat again, just enough to crack his head against the floor again and drags out another moan from Rhys. “Yes!” Rhys whines out, dizzy and needy. “Yes, please, just-”
He’s cut off by Jack switching to one hand again and dragging Rhys up to his knees by his hair. Rhys reaches out dazedly, trailing his fingers across Jack’s thigh and Jack slaps his hand away, dragging down his fly himself and pushing Rhys’ face into his crotch. “Get to work, cupcake.”