Under normal circumstances, Ziraga has exquisite control over his mental contact with his human slaves, probably better control than any other wizard. He has to, because he hates it when he ends up changing something about them by accident, and it's much, much too easy to do if he's not paying close attention.
It's probably been six hundred years since the last time he did something to someone's mind that he didn't fully intend to do.
His careful self-control collapses like a paper castle in the rain.
He loves this beautiful furious terrified boy. This weak soft fragile ephemeral mortal. He doesn't even know his name—he hardly ever bothers learning names, not from people who'll last a hundred years at best if he takes good care of them—but suddenly he's the most important precious perfect thing in the world, suddenly it hurts to be hurting him, it hurts to have ever hurt him—
—he can't be in love, that's stupid—he can't be in love with a human, that's worse—he can't be in love with a human, if the other wizards ever get the faintest inkling of it they'll take his beloved mortal away and torture him to death just to be cruel, just to gain an advantage over Ziraga in the endless game—and he'll break the truce and destroy them over it but that won't solve the problem—
—he can't believe this is happening to him—he can't believe he didn't notice this happening to him—what did he think he was feeling, when he admired his strength, his courage, his anger, when he wanted to dive into his mind and wrap himself in it like a blanket—he should kill him now before the other wizards find out and use it against him—he should kill him now before Seva himself uses it against him, he's pouring his whole heart out into the mind of someone who hates him for very good reasons and it hurts and he can't stop—but he doesn't want to kill him, killing him would be terrible—
—there's probably no solving the hatred without mind control and the prospect of mind control is even more disgusting than usual, he's not doing it, he hurts even thinking about it, but maybe he could at least make the boy less miserable if he tried—it feels very important that Seva be happy and safe and have everything he wants—it's terrifying to care about anyone this much and ten times as terrifying that the person he cares about knows it and hates him—
—and there's still a part of him that wants to hold Seva down and rape him and hear the pretty sounds he makes when he's in pain, but his whole soul flinches from the horror of hurting him like that—he wants Seva to like him, to want him, so they can do beautiful things together, but he is never going to have that, even if Seva might forgive him after a few hundred years he'll be dead long before then and Lord Death does not yield his people to anyone—
All this tumbles through his mind and straight out into Seva's, a torrent of raw emotion, before he finally, finally manages to blink. He's still on top of Seva, still pinning him to the bed, but there's no force behind it anymore and he no longer looks sensual and predatory. He looks lost and sad and frightened and like he may be about to collapse.