I am still just a rat in a cage.

Larkin could feel his fingers tighten against one another, knuckles cracking gentle. He forcefully unclasped his hands, pulling them apart and setting them on the desk's smooth, wooden surface. His eyelids fluttered with a dangerous wave of anger, held back by the weakest of forces. His breathing ceased to a shallowness and all became silent, even the fire seemed to draw back from the inward struggle of this powerful man.

Moments passed, and then Larkin's eyes flew open and he wiped his hand over his face, setting up an elbow and resting his chin in his palm. How unexpected this refusal had been - or was it? Obviously, he had not demonstrated his power to its fullest extent in Tic's presence. The young man had not seen, had not known. But would that fear win the cooperation of him? It may have, but it was not the way Larkin wanted to receive it. He wanted it a different way, he wanted Tic to tell him everything willingly; otherwise there had been a waste of his time and his company.

There was a calm wind, a calm expression. Larkin stared across at Tic and smiled slowly. This was so different to him, so unknown. The refusal, the defiance, and not from someone with strength or much skill (from what Larkin had seen) but from someone that was so younger than he, weaker, of the peasant world, the rebels. While the idea of someone refusing to do as he commanded was enraging, it pleasured him out of its mere, rare occurrence.

Larkin controlled his breathing, his tensing muscles that threatened to release themselves on the defenseless boy. But he smiled plainly and pushed himself from his chair, saw the way his movements made the boy flinch. Footfalls silent, he made his way out from behind the desk, fingers never leaving the surface, sliding across with a gentle, continuous hiss of leather against wood. The sound ceased when Larkin stood beside the chair Tic was glued to. He didn't want to do this, not the way he was going to do it. But he was not going to be patient.

He grabbed the chair, and whipped it around to face him, along with Tic in it. His hands slammed down on the arms of the chair, and he leaned over Tic, black hair cascading down around them. Shadows cast on Larkin's tightened face; his weak smile struggling to stay on his face, perfectly creased eyebrows; the only revelation of the uncontrollable, animalist anger, caged inside the man. There were a few, ragged breaths and then he spoke, the words coming out like steam.

"Look at me."