His eyes glitter at the sight of blood, an ugly smile staining his lips as Shinjirou crumples onto the floor. If he's lucky, the bench would have bruised Shinjirou's ribs.

But the sense of defeat that hangs over Shinjirou pleases him more than any physical harm. He lets go of his neck for the moment, kicking the bench away; he can't exactly continue yanking Shinjirou around when he's pinned down like that.

"Shut up and put your mouth to better use." As far as he's concerned, Shinjirou would have sold easier without his tongue. But right now, he's hoping his order will be refused.