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"Though I admit I am curious. Why did you not approach your little machine for this? It is not shy about hurting you."
Glad they're on the same page about Minos and this request (which is that for the sake of both of their wellbeing, it should not happen). Regardless, Gabriel bites down on his impatience. They have been at this for longer than he'd like, just talking. He half-expected Sisyphus to hit him as soon as he broached the topic. "It's not just about pain. It wouldn't have been a punishment, coming from V1," he says instead.
Sisyphus’ eyes turn hard. “This will not absolve you of what you've done to me and my people. That's not how that works.”
“I know.” Gabriel reaches for Sisyphus' hand across the table, unable to look him in the eyes, “This is… I'm not asking for the punishment to– fix anything. I just…” His face heats up. He can't bring himself to say the words.
Thankfully, he does not have to. “Ah, you want it, don't you?” The grin in Sisyphus’ voice is terrible and Gabriel withdraws his hand to cover his face. He miserably mumbles an affirmative through his fingers.
He did not see Sisyphus leave his seat, so he jumps a little when a warm hand lands on his shoulder.
“I suppose I could be your villain for the night,” Sisyphus says, as if he does not delight in antagonizing Gabriel every other time of day as well. He taps his shoulder twice, quickly. “Alright. Middle of the room and on your knees. Go.”
God fucking finally. In one smooth motion, Gabriel slides out of his seat and onto his knees. He crawls into position, head down, and presents his back to Sisyphus.
He takes Sisyphus’ notable silence as approval, as does the hand falling to knead gently at his nape. Yet he tries to shrug him off, still impatient, only for Sisyphus to clamp down suddenly.
“Here's the deal.” Sisyphus says, leaning over to look at him. The tight smile he’s wearing is a little pained. Why? “Acting like the perfect little pet won't help you here. You will get as much as I decide to give you. Nothing more, nothing less. Gabriel, listen carefully,” Sisyphus shakes him a little, “No matter if you beg for me to stop, or if you try to incite my anger, I will not change my mind. Do you understand?”
Gabriel has gone a little lightheaded at fantasizing such complete dominance. Oh, to be beaten until he crumbles and then pushed beyond that… He nods vaguely.
“Repeat it for me. What are you agreeing to?”
“You'd punish me and… I have no say in it.” God, he feels giddy just saying it aloud.
(Had he any mind to think of the risk, he would have dismissed it. They've sparred often enough for Sisyphus to know his limits, right?)
“Good enough.” Sisyphus pats him on the head, leaving him sputtering as he leaves, probably to gather his tools.
He’s still kneeling, resolutely staring forward when Sisyphus returns. “Minos trained you too well,” he says with mild disappointment, “‘suppose I must say this more plainly. You do know I don't give a shit about your obedience, yes?”
Gabtiel sobers at Sisyphus’ clear disapproval. He mulls this over as Sisyphus takes a length of rope and starts some sort of pattern up his arms.
Sisyphus likes it when he’s combative, this he knows. But is it necessary when Sisyphus is giving him what he wants? It is so easy to do whatever he says… Then again he did not specifically ask anything of Gabriel. He'll get his beatings, no matter what he does.
Briefly, he thinks of an unconditionally loving God. Oh, Sisyphus would hate it if he brought that up. Hm.
“I think what you give me counts as unconditional love, in a sense.”
Sisyphus gives him a long suffering look. But when he turns down to finish his knots, he is blushing.
“There. See how it feels.” The rope wraps around his wrists and runs cage-like up to his shoulders, off-white against his dark skin. He can still bend his elbows and move his arms up and down, but a slight wiggle tells him there's little else he can do. Already, the bite of the rope on his skin is sending sparks down his spine, and the bright flares when he strains against it knocks his thoughts all loose. He finds himself panting softly.
Sisyphus pets his back with an indulgent smile. “Yeah, thought you'd like that.” He stands and moves back, holding—Gabriel twists to follow him—a flogger. A flogger with long, thick strands of leather, a simple all-black design, and a handle that fits in Sisyphus’ hand like Splendor in his own.
Gabriel swallows dryly. Hours of self-flagellation has taught him that the thin ends of a whip would sting and cut at his flesh, skin throbbing hotly and tacky with blood under his armor afterwards. But this looks like it'd hurt… deeper? More of a punch than a slap. He wonders if it'd still draw blood—
The strike registers cold and then hot, and then as sheer pressure that pushes the air out of his lungs. He bends over and away, choking.
And then the pain hits.
Sweet and warm, it blooms across his shoulder blade, tickles as it runs down his arm, and throbs once, twice, before fading into the faintest ache. His next exhale turns into a whimper.
He pushes himself up, near shaking with anticipation. Now that he’s expecting it, he can hear the flogger moving through the air and just barely, the sound of Sisyphus’ breathing.
Two, three, four...
This is nothing like the stripping of his Light. That pain came with so much fear that even now, his mind shies away from its memory. They hollowed him out and left him to collect the pieces, lost and fumbling. This pain, Sisyphus and his strong arm… There's a sense of care here. Nothing more, nothing less, Sisyphus said it himself. He would give Gabriel pain, and never let him get hurt.
He does not get to keep his thoughts for long. Strike after strike, Sisyphus works him over until his upper back burns and his vision is nothing but starbursts. Any thought of steadying his breath goes out the window; he gulps air until it is knocked out of him, crying loud and pathetic. Occasionally, Sisyphus lands a swing with just the ends of the tails, licking bright, sharp lines across the mess of his back. Gabriel’s arms keep twitching, fingers aching with how tightly he clasped them together. He does not lean away.
Twenty? Or was it nineteen—
He deserves this, he reminds himself. It does not matter what he is being punished for, only that for once in months, the guilt in his stomach sits right and the world narrows down to a simple duality: sinner and persecutor. It is satisfying. Safe.
“Still with me, angel?”
“Ggh—Yes, yes—Ah!”
A particularly hard strike makes him cry out, tears prickling his eyes. Heaven above, he could feel it in the base of his neck, in his toes. His back is one solid sheet of pain, throbbing with his heartbeat, throbbing all the way through his ribcage—even his lungs feel bruised somehow. He loses count without even noticing. Under Sisyphus' hands, he is carved open, carved clean, nothing inside him but the cacophony of rushing blood and rushing air and the all-consuming lightning branding itself into his bones. All his inhibitions, all his fears and worries and shame burn away, his mind an empty and quiet thing. There's no more thoughts, only feelings connecting directly to actions. Gabriel sobs hoarsely, whole body ringing with every strike that seems to push the ache all the way into his chest until it can crush his heart. He could scarcely feel the restraints with how deeply they dig into his flesh. There is so much pain, he is bursting with it, starlight and dark matter ejecting from his self with every swing of Sisyphus’ arm.
Fuck, he does not deserve this gift, but it does not matter since Sisyphus will give it to him anyway, just because Gabriel wants it, just because Gabriel asked for it, and He is endlessly giving.
Gabriel can no longer keep himself upright, and a final strike sends him collapsing to the floor, limp.
The next few moments are fuzzy. He can feel hands on him, pulling him up, a palm pressing against his sternum, reminding him to breathe, an arm slung low around his back. His lungs protest his every move, but he pushes his face into the warm body beside him and forces himself through it.
“There we go, good boy…”
The hands leave for a moment, and then his arms are free. He sags into Sisyphus and drifts. He can't understand what he is saying, but the king sounds pleased with him, so that's alright. The lingering heat on his back makes him drowsy.
“...you stand?”
Can he? Gabriel looks down uncomprehendingly at his numb legs, then squints at Sisyphus’ radiant face. Something must have gone through, because Sisyphus snorts and gathers Gabriel up in his arms. More skin for him to press up against, excellent.
They must have sat there for ages, Sisyphus whispering sweet nonsense to the top of his head. At some point, he notices their breathing is synced up. Parts of him go cold and clammy with sweat. The pins and needles in his legs recede. There's a golden hand in his lap, laced with his own, the other tracing the lines of rope burn. Gabriel closes his eyes. He could stay here forever.
Eventually, words trickle back in.
“... you would have opinions about that one, but then again, you do have opinions about everything.”
“I don't… not...” Where are his words? “I’m nice about fish.”
“Heh, alright. Back with me yet?” He nods. Sort of, yes. Sisyphus keeps petting him. “We should get cleaned up soon,” he says, “and I need to check over your injuries.”
“I'm fine.” He’s healed up from worse with less care before. And doing all of the… that would mean detaching himself from Sisyphus' person.
“Alright.” Sisyphus says again. Far, far too indulgent of him. He doesn't have it in him to object. “Just a little longer.”
“Gabriel?” Sisyphus says, capping the jar of bruise cream at last (he feels so very slimy and awake now).
He takes Gabriel’s arm, smoothing over the bandages unnecessarily.
“I need you to know that there is no penance for you to seek with me, but if ever the guilt weighs on your mind, you are welcome to seek my help,” he trails his hand up Gabriel’s shoulder, his neck, cups the metal of his cheek. His smile is like the sunrise. “And if ever you simply want my companion, I will give you that too.”
Exhausted, beaten, slimy, and so full of love he’s choking on it, all Gabriel can do is burst into tears.