The ex-whore took the threat of being gagged with a slight smile, a soft sound escaping him when Master Ryan’s thumb passed over the aching bite on his lip, gaze not leaving the man’s dark eyes. He didn’t understand the smirk, was the Master mocking him for asking for a little oil? Atticus didn’t like to imagine how raw going without would have left him.<br/><br/><em>"If you were any other, Louis, you had been, probably, screaming bloody murder..."</em><br/><br/>Atticus had followed the movement of Master Ryan’s hand, more curious than suspicious, but the statement drew his gaze back to those dark, deep eyes. Atticus grinned slowly. “I don’t doubt it, though I thought you liked me able to do my job... without, I’d not move for a week and the least,” he exaggerated teasingly. Even as he spoke, he wondered if Master Ryan wouldn't find another way to draw him to scream, and his eye moved without intention towards where the knife lay. If Master Ryan had been a client, half a year ago, Atticus would have urged him to use it on him. Did he trust Master Ryan less than people who paid to hurt him?<br/><br/>"You could..." he started, still looking at the blade. He trailed off, unsure. There were stages, which shouldn't be blurred. Pain before the sex, not during, not after. During, it was too easy to get hurt beyond fixing. After... after, they had no reason to want to keep you alive. He looked back up at the pale, powerful man, still wanting, not wanting, to make the offer.<br/>