[Jezebel smiles slightly at that, adjusting his hands so that they both wrap around Ianchus' neck in a snug circle. He presses the pads of his thumbs at the base of Ianchus' throat, settling his hands in a sure grip around him.

And then he squeezes, harsh and firm and unforgiving. There is no easing down, just the sharp jabs of pressure into his windpipe, pushing in as far as strength will let him, his arms fixed and solid.]