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Ricky's hair clings to his face, damp with sweat, as Pericles' claws brush it aside. His vision swims; nausea washes through him like waves pounding shore; he feels like he's going to black out.
(Again. Black out again. He's lost count of how many times now.)
"Say it," says Pericles, deadly gentle. Ricky spits at him.
"Give it up," he snarls. His breath comes in ragged gasps. "I won't lower myself--"
"Then I will lower you," says Pericles, tucking Ricky's hair behind his ear, and presses the button again.
