Troubled in Paradise (7/?)
This fic is rated: I for Implications of Grown-Up Stuff
Fandom: James Bond: Goldeneye
Characters/Pairing: James/Alec
Summary: Just witty banter…or more? dun dun dun (7/? in a series)
Warnings: mentions of physical trauma and sponge bathing
Word Count: 1,327
Feedback: yes, please!
X-Posted: were_lemur, forengland
Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond. I don't own Alec Trevelyan either (alas), nor any other characters mentioned in this fic. James, Alec, etc. are all property of Ian Fleming and MGM. I'm just playing with them for a while. Not making any money, don't have any money, please don't sue!
“James?”
It’s always the first thing Alec says when he wakes up; the first thing he does is look for him. “I’m here, Alec,” James whispered, leaning over to kiss his forehead. “Can I get you something?”
“Ice, please.”
“All right.” He kissed his forehead again. “I’m going to be right back. I’m just going to the freezer in the next room.” He says this every time, too; it’s one of their rituals. “I’ll be back before you can count to a hundred.”
When Alec smiled, it was like the sun breaking through the clouds. “Even if I count fast?”
“Don’t be silly.” He bent over, kissed Alec lightly on the lips. Backed away before either one of them could give in to the temptation to make it anything deeper. Not that Alec needed much more; his breath had quickened just at that slight contact. “I’ll be right back.”
He scooped a cup of ice and returned to find Alec not counting, just lying there, his fingers pressed to his lips. He looked dazed. Not morphine-fuzzy -- at the reduced dose, he was starting to be more alert -- but slightly overwhelmed.
James could understand that. “Hey,” he said, and shook the cup. “Ice.” He fished out a chip and slipped it into Alec’s waiting mouth. He let his hand linger, reaching down to cup his cheek. Alec smiled again, the uncomplicatedly happy smile of a man in love.
That was what made it all worthwhile; all the pain he’d put Alec through, all the mindgames he’d had to play, crouching outside his door for an hour and a half, waiting for his nerve to break. Not to mention the self-denial; he was masturbating as much now as he had at fourteen. But he’d had to break Alec so he could put him back together again.
Now everything was going to be all right. Alec would heal -- that would take time -- but once the broken bones knitted back together, they’d be able to pick up where they’d left off.
Or maybe not exactly where they’d left off; the only reason Alec wasn’t on every MI-6 watch list around was because they believed he was dead. Still, that problem was months into the future. He’d deal with it when he had to.
He fed Alec a few more pieces of ice, before announcing “Breakfast.” When Alec made a face, he added “As soon as you’re well, I promise you, I’ll take you out and you can have anything you want.”
Alec grumbled something under his breath. James rifled through the supply of energy gel packets. “Let’s see, do you want citrus flavor, mixed berry, strawberry banana or vanilla raspberry?” He was perfectly willing to give Alec the illusion of autonomy, in small matters.
Alec didn’t seem to appreciate the privilege. “Each one as disgusting as the last,” he muttered.
“You need to eat to heal.”
“But why do I need to eat those?” He grimaced. “I would sell my soul for a strip of perfectly crisp bacon.”
“I bring you breakfast in bed, and all you do is complain.” Since Alec wasn’t deciding, James picked out a packet of strawberry banana and ripped the corner off it. “Come on. Time to eat.”
Alec frowned. “It’s always breakfast.”
“What?”
“Every time you give me something to eat, it’s always breakfast. It can’t always be morning when I wake up; the morphine doesn’t last that long.”
Especially at the reduced dosage, but if Alec hadn’t figured that out, James wasn’t going to mention it. “Why does it matter?”
“I don’t know.” He looked suddenly tired. “I was just -- I was just asking.”
“And putting off the inevitable,” James said, holding up the packet. “Open up.”
For a minute, he thought Alec would protest, but then he let out a sigh and opened his mouth. James squeezed in a ribbon of the gel. “The faster you eat it, the sooner you’ll be done.”
Alec swallowed the mouthful. “Hurry up, then.” When James didn’t move fast enough, he snatched at the packet. James jerked it out of his reach.
“I can feed myself,” Alec grumbled.
“I know you can.” James studied him for a long moment. He wanted to be the one to feed Alec -- his sole provider -- but making an issue of it could be counterproductive. He handed over the packet. “Eat it all,” he said.
Alec squeezed at the package. He got the first few swallows easily, but when he tried to squeeze the rest out, the stuff that had squished away into the corners, it wouldn’t come.
“All of it,” James reminded him.
He grimaced and fumbled, one-handed, to get the last bits. Finally he folded the packet over, held it between his thumb and his ring finger, and used his first two fingers to squeeze the last of it out. He swallowed it -- made a face -- and then handed the empty back to James, with a triumphant smile.
“Good for you,” James said. “Let’s see you wipe yourself. Then we’ll talk.”
Alec winced. “Low blow.”
“Or wipe.”
Alec rolled his eyes. “Juvenile.” But there was a hint of a smile. James was glad that Alec was awake enough to engage in banter, even if it wasn’t up to their usual level.
The few minutes seemed to have tired him out, though. His eyes drifted closed. James was about to reach for his book, when he spoke.
“You never did say why it was always breakfast.”
Back to this. Why couldn’t Alec ever let anything go? Was he starting to suspect -- “Technically speaking, it’s breakfast because you’re breaking your fast. No matter what time it is.”
“What time is it, anyway?”
“Why? Do you have a date?”
“With a wisecracking secret agent. Just tell me the damn time.”
“It’s a quarter ‘til nine.” He held his arm out, so Alec could see his watch.
“In the morning, or at night?”
“Morning,” James lied. “So it would have been breakfast anyway.”
Alec studied the watch for a long moment before asking, “Where’s mine?”
It was sitting in a drawer in James’s room, but he shrugged. “I’m not sure.”
“How could you not know?”
“Your clothes had to be cut off.” Limbs twisted, sprouting joints in wrong places, pale bone erupting through red, torn flesh. Too much pain even for morphine -- he’d whimpered at every touch. James shook his head to drive out the memory. “I’m afraid I had other things on my mind.”
“Find it. Please?”
“If you need to know the time -- ”
“ -- I can always ask you, and be subjected to half an hour of allegedly witty remarks about my plans for the evening.”
Evening? Did Alec know that he was lying, about the time? The conversation was veering out of his control. Aloud, he said, “5 p.m., dinner. 6 p.m., sponge bath. Exciting life you lead, Alec.”
“The sponge bath could be -- if you’d let it.” Alec held his gaze for a moment -- long enough for the blood to start rushing downstream -- and then grinned. “Aside from the importance of scheduling my life of debauchery, the watch had some … it seems a shame to lose it, after hanging on to it for so long.”
“Even though it is an old model?”
“Even so.”
James smiled, relieved but not quite trusting the feeling. “I’ll ask the doctor, at your next check-up.”
He half-expected Alec to press for more. His eyes narrowed like they did when he was about to get stubborn -- or clever. But then he seemed to think better of it. “Thank you,” he said.
“Anything for you, Alec.”
“I wish I believed that.”
James froze, feeling a trickle of ice down his spine and curl in his belly, a tendril of panic filter through his brain.
Alec grinned up at him. “If you really loved me, you’d make me pancakes.”
Fandom: James Bond: Goldeneye
Characters/Pairing: James/Alec
Summary: Just witty banter…or more? dun dun dun (7/? in a series)
Warnings: mentions of physical trauma and sponge bathing
Word Count: 1,327
Feedback: yes, please!
X-Posted: were_lemur, forengland
Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond. I don't own Alec Trevelyan either (alas), nor any other characters mentioned in this fic. James, Alec, etc. are all property of Ian Fleming and MGM. I'm just playing with them for a while. Not making any money, don't have any money, please don't sue!
“James?”
It’s always the first thing Alec says when he wakes up; the first thing he does is look for him. “I’m here, Alec,” James whispered, leaning over to kiss his forehead. “Can I get you something?”
“Ice, please.”
“All right.” He kissed his forehead again. “I’m going to be right back. I’m just going to the freezer in the next room.” He says this every time, too; it’s one of their rituals. “I’ll be back before you can count to a hundred.”
When Alec smiled, it was like the sun breaking through the clouds. “Even if I count fast?”
“Don’t be silly.” He bent over, kissed Alec lightly on the lips. Backed away before either one of them could give in to the temptation to make it anything deeper. Not that Alec needed much more; his breath had quickened just at that slight contact. “I’ll be right back.”
He scooped a cup of ice and returned to find Alec not counting, just lying there, his fingers pressed to his lips. He looked dazed. Not morphine-fuzzy -- at the reduced dose, he was starting to be more alert -- but slightly overwhelmed.
James could understand that. “Hey,” he said, and shook the cup. “Ice.” He fished out a chip and slipped it into Alec’s waiting mouth. He let his hand linger, reaching down to cup his cheek. Alec smiled again, the uncomplicatedly happy smile of a man in love.
That was what made it all worthwhile; all the pain he’d put Alec through, all the mindgames he’d had to play, crouching outside his door for an hour and a half, waiting for his nerve to break. Not to mention the self-denial; he was masturbating as much now as he had at fourteen. But he’d had to break Alec so he could put him back together again.
Now everything was going to be all right. Alec would heal -- that would take time -- but once the broken bones knitted back together, they’d be able to pick up where they’d left off.
Or maybe not exactly where they’d left off; the only reason Alec wasn’t on every MI-6 watch list around was because they believed he was dead. Still, that problem was months into the future. He’d deal with it when he had to.
He fed Alec a few more pieces of ice, before announcing “Breakfast.” When Alec made a face, he added “As soon as you’re well, I promise you, I’ll take you out and you can have anything you want.”
Alec grumbled something under his breath. James rifled through the supply of energy gel packets. “Let’s see, do you want citrus flavor, mixed berry, strawberry banana or vanilla raspberry?” He was perfectly willing to give Alec the illusion of autonomy, in small matters.
Alec didn’t seem to appreciate the privilege. “Each one as disgusting as the last,” he muttered.
“You need to eat to heal.”
“But why do I need to eat those?” He grimaced. “I would sell my soul for a strip of perfectly crisp bacon.”
“I bring you breakfast in bed, and all you do is complain.” Since Alec wasn’t deciding, James picked out a packet of strawberry banana and ripped the corner off it. “Come on. Time to eat.”
Alec frowned. “It’s always breakfast.”
“What?”
“Every time you give me something to eat, it’s always breakfast. It can’t always be morning when I wake up; the morphine doesn’t last that long.”
Especially at the reduced dosage, but if Alec hadn’t figured that out, James wasn’t going to mention it. “Why does it matter?”
“I don’t know.” He looked suddenly tired. “I was just -- I was just asking.”
“And putting off the inevitable,” James said, holding up the packet. “Open up.”
For a minute, he thought Alec would protest, but then he let out a sigh and opened his mouth. James squeezed in a ribbon of the gel. “The faster you eat it, the sooner you’ll be done.”
Alec swallowed the mouthful. “Hurry up, then.” When James didn’t move fast enough, he snatched at the packet. James jerked it out of his reach.
“I can feed myself,” Alec grumbled.
“I know you can.” James studied him for a long moment. He wanted to be the one to feed Alec -- his sole provider -- but making an issue of it could be counterproductive. He handed over the packet. “Eat it all,” he said.
Alec squeezed at the package. He got the first few swallows easily, but when he tried to squeeze the rest out, the stuff that had squished away into the corners, it wouldn’t come.
“All of it,” James reminded him.
He grimaced and fumbled, one-handed, to get the last bits. Finally he folded the packet over, held it between his thumb and his ring finger, and used his first two fingers to squeeze the last of it out. He swallowed it -- made a face -- and then handed the empty back to James, with a triumphant smile.
“Good for you,” James said. “Let’s see you wipe yourself. Then we’ll talk.”
Alec winced. “Low blow.”
“Or wipe.”
Alec rolled his eyes. “Juvenile.” But there was a hint of a smile. James was glad that Alec was awake enough to engage in banter, even if it wasn’t up to their usual level.
The few minutes seemed to have tired him out, though. His eyes drifted closed. James was about to reach for his book, when he spoke.
“You never did say why it was always breakfast.”
Back to this. Why couldn’t Alec ever let anything go? Was he starting to suspect -- “Technically speaking, it’s breakfast because you’re breaking your fast. No matter what time it is.”
“What time is it, anyway?”
“Why? Do you have a date?”
“With a wisecracking secret agent. Just tell me the damn time.”
“It’s a quarter ‘til nine.” He held his arm out, so Alec could see his watch.
“In the morning, or at night?”
“Morning,” James lied. “So it would have been breakfast anyway.”
Alec studied the watch for a long moment before asking, “Where’s mine?”
It was sitting in a drawer in James’s room, but he shrugged. “I’m not sure.”
“How could you not know?”
“Your clothes had to be cut off.” Limbs twisted, sprouting joints in wrong places, pale bone erupting through red, torn flesh. Too much pain even for morphine -- he’d whimpered at every touch. James shook his head to drive out the memory. “I’m afraid I had other things on my mind.”
“Find it. Please?”
“If you need to know the time -- ”
“ -- I can always ask you, and be subjected to half an hour of allegedly witty remarks about my plans for the evening.”
Evening? Did Alec know that he was lying, about the time? The conversation was veering out of his control. Aloud, he said, “5 p.m., dinner. 6 p.m., sponge bath. Exciting life you lead, Alec.”
“The sponge bath could be -- if you’d let it.” Alec held his gaze for a moment -- long enough for the blood to start rushing downstream -- and then grinned. “Aside from the importance of scheduling my life of debauchery, the watch had some … it seems a shame to lose it, after hanging on to it for so long.”
“Even though it is an old model?”
“Even so.”
James smiled, relieved but not quite trusting the feeling. “I’ll ask the doctor, at your next check-up.”
He half-expected Alec to press for more. His eyes narrowed like they did when he was about to get stubborn -- or clever. But then he seemed to think better of it. “Thank you,” he said.
“Anything for you, Alec.”
“I wish I believed that.”
James froze, feeling a trickle of ice down his spine and curl in his belly, a tendril of panic filter through his brain.
Alec grinned up at him. “If you really loved me, you’d make me pancakes.”