[It hurts there's absolutely no denying that and Ryuunosuke flinches hard. He can't quite relax though even once something in his brain kicks in and the pain slowly fades. Some part of him can acknowledge that this is all sorts of wrong, that this is completely fucked up and he's fucked up and Tsukiyama's fucked up - but the overwhelming majority of his mind is lost somewhere else entirely.
Ryuunosuke starts laughing, the sound quiet for a moment before it rises into a shrieking crescendo. He's almost a little sad he can't see exactly what Tsukiyama is doing to him, but he can see the blood and even though it's that hideous shade of pink he can tell that it's different than the blood of the victims. There's something almost magical about watching his own blood spilling and there's something about this that's familiar. He doesn't know why - it shouldn't be familiar at all. He's never been injured badly enough to see his own blood, but now he's wondering why. Why would he ever want to stop this?
Even if he could speak, he sees no point in it. There's nothing left to say. If Tsukiyama can't stop (won't stop) he won't care. He wouldn't try to stop Tsukiyama even if he thought he could manage it. Instead he brings his right hand up - it's shaking badly though he's sure that's just the exhilaration of the moment - and rests it against Tsukiyama's arm. Maybe it's reassuring or maybe it's encouraging, he doesn't know. He just needs something to hold onto right now because he's pretty sure if he doesn't have something real to focus on, he'll lose himself in this sensation. It's like nothing he's ever experienced before and he's not sure he'll ever experience anything like this ever again.]
Don't stop-- don't you dare stop-- kill me; spill all my blood-- I don't care, I don't care just don't--
[He's not even aware he's speaking and it doesn't take long before he's laughing again, the sound loud and jagged and even when he has to catch his breath he can't seem to stop smiling.]
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Ryuunosuke starts laughing, the sound quiet for a moment before it rises into a shrieking crescendo. He's almost a little sad he can't see exactly what Tsukiyama is doing to him, but he can see the blood and even though it's that hideous shade of pink he can tell that it's different than the blood of the victims. There's something almost magical about watching his own blood spilling and there's something about this that's familiar. He doesn't know why - it shouldn't be familiar at all. He's never been injured badly enough to see his own blood, but now he's wondering why. Why would he ever want to stop this?
Even if he could speak, he sees no point in it. There's nothing left to say. If Tsukiyama can't stop (won't stop) he won't care. He wouldn't try to stop Tsukiyama even if he thought he could manage it. Instead he brings his right hand up - it's shaking badly though he's sure that's just the exhilaration of the moment - and rests it against Tsukiyama's arm. Maybe it's reassuring or maybe it's encouraging, he doesn't know. He just needs something to hold onto right now because he's pretty sure if he doesn't have something real to focus on, he'll lose himself in this sensation. It's like nothing he's ever experienced before and he's not sure he'll ever experience anything like this ever again.]
Don't stop-- don't you dare stop-- kill me; spill all my blood-- I don't care, I don't care just don't--
[He's not even aware he's speaking and it doesn't take long before he's laughing again, the sound loud and jagged and even when he has to catch his breath he can't seem to stop smiling.]