It is more pain than it is anything else, but once he knows what is happening, once he has resolved to bear through it, some of that panic pulls back from the forefront and he can just focus on surviving what can only be described as an assault.

The moments where he is allowed to take fuller breaths come out of nowhere for him, and seem only to be there just to see if he will resist, even just out of reflex, and his body wants to. It's when the most sound can be pulled from him, where his jaw, his throat, the back of his head, all of it wants relief, and it won't end yet. But it's not much more than the stutter of a whimper. Uncertainty what is happening and being pulled headlong into it again.

When at last his mouth is released, it is with a gasp after a valiant effort not to choke or worse, gag. The redness in his face will take a moment to recede as air returns. But as surely as he can feel a stream of seed escaping the corner of his mouth, he can feel his eyes beginning to burn.

How is he here? How is this happening again?

The hand on his chin takes his attention from that thought, sends it somewhere to the pit of his stomach to fester. All while all he can think of is the feeling of too-strong fingers on him and eyes that shoot ice into his limbs.

And as sickening as it is, his body commands him to answer that unspoken question. To do what he has been taught to do, because this is the face and the Dark Urge is the name of who holds his fate now. This is who will deem him worth protecting, or comforting.

Until I'm a burden.

And all he feels like is dead weight right now. And how dare he make him feel that way? How dare He? How dare anyone?

The vehemence that rises up in his expression would be deadly if an expression could cut like a knife. It wants him to act, but the tears that fill from his eyes chase some of that heat out of him.

Probably better it stole any will he had to act or speak, because he likely would have chosen poorly.