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No. 86589
part 2/2 (I don't know how long the character limits are here, so I just kept the same split from the kinkmeme comments)
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He remembers the hairs on the back of his neck prickling, as he didn't dare to turn around to see Amon and risk getting reprimanded for it. He remembers the anxiety making his heart beat in his chest as the anonymous chi-blocker listed the captives by name. Lightning Bolt Zolt, leader of the Triple Threat Triad. Spins, his firebending right hand. Shady Shin, the man whose proposition had gotten Bolin into this mess in the first place. Footprint Fuu, another smalltime bending thug like Shin-- and a pause.
"And this one?" Amon had asked. His voice was deep and resonating, and carried a sense of pragmatic charisma with every syllable. Bolin felt a finger hook the back of his collar and tug down and back, exposing his neck. He might as well have been naked for how that small exposure had made him feel. The equalist that had been listing names coughed, admitting that he hadn't any reports on this fifth captive. Amon made a humming noise behind his mask.
Rough, calloused fingers skirted the rim of Bolin's collar, before pressing flush against sweating skin below his shirt. They trailed up, three points of pressure and his smallest finger just barely ghosting up along with them up to the base of his hairline. They moved like water, sliding effortlessly over the pale skin. Bolin tried to squeeze up his shoulders to discourage the touch, but the man's fingers simply curled to scrape blunt fingertips through the small curls, pushing the young man's head down to look at his feet.
"The kid's got nothin' to do with this," Shin suddenly spoke up, "Bolin's just hired muscle."
"So I see," Amon's grip had momentarily tightened as Shin spoke up, an instant reaction to the noise breaking the heavy silence. It quickly passed and his grip relaxed again, his thumb stroking idly against Bolin's. The seconds ticked by, each marked by the man's thumb caressing the sensitive flesh below his ear. "The same earthbending boy that plays for the Fire Ferrets, by any chance?"
Bolin nodded, taking the chance to attempt to wiggle his head out of Amon's grip. His efforts were greeted by a chuckle that echoed around in his skull like a bad omen. Amon leaned forward to speak to Bolin more directly-- with the man's grip on his neck Bolin could only watch out of the corner of his eye as the white mask breached his peripheral vision.
"What a surprise," Amon chuckled. It was a horrible, throaty sort of chuckle that put to mind things that lit Bolin's face with a fiery flush. "You could say I'm a big fan. I hope you enjoy my show as much as I enjoy yours."
Afterwards, Bolin became a first hand witness to the Revelation. He watched as Amon placed his hand on the back of Lightining Bolt Zolt's neck. Roughed, calloused hands-- hands that could be found on a man that grew up on a farm, hands that worked the precious earth and toiled and through labors and knew it intimately-- Bolin watched as they removed Zolt's bending. The succession of the cold electric light and static air that made his hair stand on end to the warmth of the fire blasts to nothing was etched into his memories.
Bolin does not want to remember that hand on his neck. He does not want to remember those fingers sliding up into his hair. He does not want to remember how that thumb rested on his pulse.
He does not want to remember, but as he lies awake in bed-- sweating despite the encroaching cold of winter-- it is sometimes all he can think about.
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