The text was not beta read by a native speaker, so I am the only one responsible for the language.
I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies
My arm is twisted behind my back. My temple and my cheekbone are pressed flat against the table-top, and still hurt after the blow. I turn my head to have a look at him. It does not work really well, but I feel him move his hand from my wrist to my palm and entwine his fingers with mine. I smile. He should not know I feel pain.
Which means I do not.
He releases me. I stand upright after a while, waiting for some trick. My arm refuses to unbend, and I keep my hiss under my breath. I turn, make sure I smile, and go to him. There is no trick: I know I am going to be grabbed and hit, this time with my back and the back of my head against the wall. It is unpleasant but lets me feel him; and he happens to be away for so long that I cannot help it. I can press the bruises he leaves with my finger one more time and imagine his hands are there.
The blow is again harder than I have expected. He smiles back, sticking someting in my neck. I can feel my own heartbeat because of the pressure, but all I understand is that it has nothing to do with a wand. The thing is cold and unfriendly.
I can squint and probably even figure out what it is, but I do not want to. It is much dearer to look into his eyes, even though his appearance is changed. So I try to part my lips:
"What is that?"
"A sort of a weapon. Quite deadly at a close distance. Never mind."
I shake my head:
"That won't do."
He lets me go and steps away. I see the thing he is holding. A weird piece of metal with a barrel and a handle, I do not like it.
"Do you want it in a bad way?"
"Yes, please." I know he likes the way I toss my head.
He throws his weapon aside and takes off his wand, and it is my turn to admire his movements.
"Imperio."
For Merlin's sake, how good it is... I cannot keep myself from sighing with relief: all the pain vanishes, and my body feels like flowing in warm water. But the mist in my head is not as thick as usual.
"You have three seconds to answer me. Now, three."
I look at his lips.
"Two."
I raise my eyes and say quietly with him:
"One."
I stay silent, and torturing me again is in his power. But he sees the way I look at him.
"Yes, I will tell you."
He grins, he is very close and whispers into my ear:
"Good."
There is still a light veil around my brain, but it does not... matter. He seems to have decided that I deserve to be rewarded; he kisses me; I feel as if something blows up inside my chest, and things seize to matter. This is the reason he does not make me scream in agony every time: he knows another way to make me completely will-less.
