There is no suppressing the startled, agonized hiss as fingers burrow unremittingly beneath his clavicle, or the sharp cry it contorts into as Fring yanks his head fiercely back. He has already begun straining anew, shoulders arching against the merciless press of metal, overtaken by pure and panicked instinct.

The pained crease on his brow deepens then smooths, eyes alight and teeth bared in a ragged, snarling, terrified grin.

"I think you're gonna blink first," Rush whispers. "Don't you?"