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Liam falls backwards to the ground, gazing up at Lucas. He nods, trying to steady his breath enough to speak.

"I'm not asking you to do anything by halves," he finally murmurs.

The boot slides up to rest on Liam's throat carefully as Lucas pulls a book of matches out of his pocket.

"From this moment on, I do not stop until I choose to. Even if you beg."

His voice is still weirdly quiet and gentle, even as he lights one of the matches and lifts it.

"You will remove your shirt and then lie back in this position."

Liam nods again. He can feel the pressure of the boot on his throat when he swallows.

He wiggles out of his shirt, fast but not too fast, dropping it to ground and laying back down. He can't tear his eyes away from the lit match.

His boot descends again and he watches Liam's eyes as he counts slowly out loud in Russian. Without warning, he drops the match onto Liam's stomach at "восемь" and holds him still with the boot.

Liam cries out immediately. He thrashes under Lucas's foot, tears stinging in his eyes, but doesn't succeed in doing anything more than increasing the pressure on his throat.

"Get it off, please--" he begs, twisting his hips.

"Not until you are still."

His eyes scan up and down Liam's body, idly looking for the evidence of other sessions like this. It gives him fuel to work with when he can see what the other is accustomed to.

With immense struggle, Liam forces himself to lie still.

His body is smooth, slight, no marks more serious than faded bruises. Bruises fade, scars have been carefully removed. But he's too desperate to care about lasting marks anymore.

"Good."

The boot lifts from Liam's throat and moves down to nudge the match off with a delicate toe. He tilts his head as he moves it back up to Liam's throat and lifts the matches again.

"Now you know what is expected of you." He lights another.

He shakes his head almost imperceptibly at the sound of another match being lit. But he doesn't move, he doesn't speak.

"Why did you come to me?"

He's goading Liam, forcing him to admit that he asked for this, even as he tilts the flame down toward Liam's chest and holds it with two fingers.

"Because..." Liam struggles for words, chest tight with the anticipation of pain.

"Because I want this. I want... I want you to hurt me. I want this. I want you to make me cry and not stop even if I beg--"

Lucas makes a noncommittal humming sound and lets the second match fall.

Liam squeezes his eyes shut with the effort of not moving, biting through the skin on his bottom lip to stop himself from making any sounds. He's not sure if Lucas will allow that.

"Better. Much better." As a reward, he lifts his boot away and simply watches for a moment.

"You may brush it away when it becomes too much." As he waits, Lucas pulls his tattered shirt up and over his head. He's skeletal from starvation and too much junk in his system and his veins look heavily diseased on the insides of those stick arms.

Liam holds out as long as he can, clenching his fists as he attempts to let the match burn itself out.

He blinks his eye open, momentarily distracted by Lucas's body.

He nods, brows up, to acknowledge that he is a bit impressed at Liam's fortitude. Then Lucas drops down to his knees, one at a time, straddling Liam's hips and sitting back to keep Liam's legs still. This also means that he can grind down and back if he chooses to.

Liam smiles a little at the contact, staying still and silent on the floor. One hand moves to his stomach to finger the new burn bubbling there.

"Do not touch."

Lucas reaches one hand up quickly to catch Liam by the throat and grip as firmly as his tired limbs make possible.

Liam inhales sharply, dropping his hands back to his sides.

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

"You are about to be."

His grip stays firm as he arches his head down and laps his tongue along that burn mark. After a moment, he leans down further and bares his teeth, digging them in and biting down into the raw mark.

Liam shivers when he feels tongue, but cries out sharply at teeth.

"Ow, Lucas, don't--" he protests in vain. Tears of pain sting the corners of his eyes, but he still wants more. He thrashes, just to feel the bite harder.

As he grinds his teeth together and tightens his grip on Liam's neck, he pushes backwards with his hips and watches the reactions he causes.

Liam is having trouble breathing, the pain and the pressure on his neck are causing stars to dance around his tear-blurred vision.

He manages a strangled sob, pushing his hips up into the bite.

Which is when he releases both and leans back again, rocking into him.

"Mm?"

Translation: Why did you stop? But the friction caused is more than enough to satisfy him.