Work Text:
His tears, so sacred, as they pour out in thick, fat beads. They drip off of his face, falling to the tile floor. He wrinkles his face into a sniffle before a wet sob escapes his throat. His large, hulking form trembles within the brute's grip, praying to any God above. More twinkling tears caress his cheeks.
"Shh, shh, Frankenstein. It's alright." The man says and uses his fat thumb to wipe a tear away. He leans in, breath hitching close to skin and cups his face. Red, blue eyes make contact with his pale grays.
He always says this.