[Fic] Loopholes
Title: Loopholes
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Robert/Browning
Word Count: 641
Summary: Fill for inception kink prompt.
Every graceful kiss placed upon soft, nubile skin was the yearning to unravel the secrets that Robert Fischer had. The boy might have been eighteen but by that age he had a sombre piece of knowledge that he could only dream for. He tried to uncover its secrets with subtle questions, pointing at ornately framed photographs or knitted sweaters that hide at the bottom of his closet.
What was it like to have a mother?
Did she let you get away with a lot of things?
What was her cooking like?
Robert doesn’t let go of this information under any other condition then when he has teary eyes and his body is throbbing and sore, the time when he looks he most needs a mother. He fucks him roughly because that’s the only thing he understands, the harsh cruelty that a father bestows and none of the kindness that a mother slips in with paper bag lunches and goodbye kisses. His own mother left him with father when he was but two so he doesn’t remember her. He doesn’t have a memory as a point of reference and only his father’s alcohol fuelled rants to give him any sort of idea of what a mother is.
A whore, a tramp, that no good bitch - his father, by no means an educated man had managed to use every malicious and colourful word in the English language to try and convey what his mother was. The only term that he doesn’t hear from his father comes from the priest at his local church. He’d gone to Sunday mass only once his existence, one lazy summer morning when his father was soundly asleep cradling a bottle of beer. After sitting through three hours of sermons he didn’t understand he’d approached the elderly father and asked him about his mother, as if he, being a man of god, had to have an answer for him. Anyone else he’d ever asked had no answer for him, as if she, his mother, whoever she was, had been stricken from their memory.
The man gave him a piece of bread, made the motion of the cross, gave him a kiss on the forehead and told him that his mother had been the devil.
It’s only natural that later on in life he majors in law and dedicates his life to knowing the loophole to any written law known the man. It was his birthright.
Robert, his boss’ shy little son was the person he felt that he could relate to the most, but whom he also envied greater then any other man. This boy once had a mother, and he’d coax out gentle whispers of images of golden curls and smiles that lit up the room. She had been an angel, adamant in her mission to keep the Fischer family together. For the years she had been alive, they could call themselves a family.
With every forceful finger he desperately probed for the answer to the spellbinding ‘what if?’ that haunted him. If his own mother had been alive, even if briefly, what would his have been like?
Robert is but a fragile bag of bones and wishes that he can bend to his will, but with every angelic moan he elicits and immoral kiss that he steals he decides that it is better to be broken, to be human, then to be unable to at all.
Peter Browning could buy a soul or trick another unwitting mortal out of one with hidden fine print but he could never use it for himself. This binding fact wouldn’t phase him - he’d give it to Robert in a heartbeat if it was possible.
Because for every night of sinful pleasure it is followed with a morning that he can turn over in the bed and still see a body there.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Robert/Browning
Word Count: 641
Summary: Fill for inception kink prompt.
Every graceful kiss placed upon soft, nubile skin was the yearning to unravel the secrets that Robert Fischer had. The boy might have been eighteen but by that age he had a sombre piece of knowledge that he could only dream for. He tried to uncover its secrets with subtle questions, pointing at ornately framed photographs or knitted sweaters that hide at the bottom of his closet.
What was it like to have a mother?
Did she let you get away with a lot of things?
What was her cooking like?
Robert doesn’t let go of this information under any other condition then when he has teary eyes and his body is throbbing and sore, the time when he looks he most needs a mother. He fucks him roughly because that’s the only thing he understands, the harsh cruelty that a father bestows and none of the kindness that a mother slips in with paper bag lunches and goodbye kisses. His own mother left him with father when he was but two so he doesn’t remember her. He doesn’t have a memory as a point of reference and only his father’s alcohol fuelled rants to give him any sort of idea of what a mother is.
A whore, a tramp, that no good bitch - his father, by no means an educated man had managed to use every malicious and colourful word in the English language to try and convey what his mother was. The only term that he doesn’t hear from his father comes from the priest at his local church. He’d gone to Sunday mass only once his existence, one lazy summer morning when his father was soundly asleep cradling a bottle of beer. After sitting through three hours of sermons he didn’t understand he’d approached the elderly father and asked him about his mother, as if he, being a man of god, had to have an answer for him. Anyone else he’d ever asked had no answer for him, as if she, his mother, whoever she was, had been stricken from their memory.
The man gave him a piece of bread, made the motion of the cross, gave him a kiss on the forehead and told him that his mother had been the devil.
It’s only natural that later on in life he majors in law and dedicates his life to knowing the loophole to any written law known the man. It was his birthright.
Robert, his boss’ shy little son was the person he felt that he could relate to the most, but whom he also envied greater then any other man. This boy once had a mother, and he’d coax out gentle whispers of images of golden curls and smiles that lit up the room. She had been an angel, adamant in her mission to keep the Fischer family together. For the years she had been alive, they could call themselves a family.
With every forceful finger he desperately probed for the answer to the spellbinding ‘what if?’ that haunted him. If his own mother had been alive, even if briefly, what would his have been like?
Robert is but a fragile bag of bones and wishes that he can bend to his will, but with every angelic moan he elicits and immoral kiss that he steals he decides that it is better to be broken, to be human, then to be unable to at all.
Peter Browning could buy a soul or trick another unwitting mortal out of one with hidden fine print but he could never use it for himself. This binding fact wouldn’t phase him - he’d give it to Robert in a heartbeat if it was possible.
Because for every night of sinful pleasure it is followed with a morning that he can turn over in the bed and still see a body there.