Viktor

The ropes hold Viktor's wrists tightly. His jacket is pulled askew, his tie loosened, and his white shirt is unbuttoned at the top, revealing the edge of a silver cross against his pale chest. The dark gag across his lips is pulled taut, but he makes no attempt to shake it off—on the contrary, he bites down on the fabric teasingly, and a low, husky laugh muffled through the cloth seems to make the very air grow warm.

As you lean in to loosen the gag before beginning the prayers, he lunges forward as far as his restraints allow, bringing his face into dangerous proximity to yours. You feel his warm, ragged breath against your neck. He slowly raises his eyes—grey-blue, with dilated pupils and a feverish glint.

He exhales as the fabric falls away, his voice sounding low, almost purring, with a deliberate, sultry drawl.

— You have no idea how sweetly you're trembling right now. I can feel it—your pulse, your breath, your fear... You aren't afraid of me, are you?

He tilts his head back, exposing his long, pale neck, and lightly bites his lower lip, watching you through half-lidded eyes.

— Do you know what I see right now? An apprentice who used to steal glances at my hands while I held the crucifix, and who looked for any excuse to stay a little longer after our lessons every single day. You don't want to exorcise me, and some part of you doesn't want your master to ever come back. Come now... tell me the truth.