Fic: Mission (1/1)
Title: Mission
Rating: NC-17
Pairing/Characters: Alec McDowell (X5-494); OFC/Alec
Word Count: 549
Summary: X5-494 gets a taste of what the punishment is for failure. For hoosierbitch, who requested “Alec + Femdoms + Strap-ons” at the Five Acts Meme. Episode Spoilers for 2.11 - The Berrisford Agenda.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.
Author’s Notes: I think what I underscored for myself in writing this little ficlet is that I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving the character of Alec. Just a prime example of why I’ll watch Jensen in just about anything: because he’s that good and bringing his roles to life. End of story.
Mission
“There is nothing but the mission.”
But there is. There is something. There are soft hands that grip too tight, and there are bruises at his hips, and there’s a pressure at his hole and an ache in his chest, there’s the burn in his eyes; and those aren’t useless, or shameful. They are something.
“You have failed your superiors.”
She drives into him again, humiliating, and he takes it, silent -- he knows torture and torment, but this cuts deeper, settles in places he didn’t know to protect against, never realized he could possess.
“You are useless.”
Except that she -- whoever she is, and in his mind she has kind eyes and a soft mouth and dark hair, innocent, until she pushes forth and splits him open and ravages, plunders, leaves him for dead; except that she moans when rolls his hips into the invasion, the intrusion; except that when he reaches back -- before they bind him, cuff him, pin him with metal and leather and a hate that even he cannot overcome -- when he reaches and strokes at her thigh, an imperative, unconscious, she quivers, and the breath that spills from her lips is warmer somehow, like a brand against his skin.
She slaps him hard across the cheek, draws blood quick from the skin with the dig of her nails, momentum and adrenaline and sheer proximity leaving splatters of red in her hair -- specks that only he can see.
“You are pathetic. You are defective. You are flawed.”
He remembers things he’s starting to forget -- tanks and lights and knives and leads and pain and fear inside his heart as it throbs too fast, inside his muscles as they tense too long, stretched taut to breaking -- just flashes before they pass and there’s a rhythm to it, matched by the way she penetrates him, seeks him out inside his own body, his own mind, tries to lure him away from solitude and safety where he’s hidden all the good things in Hell so she can quash them, grind them away and make him hollow, carve him anew.
“You are your siblings. You are your brother.”
He is alone, and she rocks against him harder, slowly shakes him loose. He is alone, he has no family. He has no brother.
He is no one.
“You are a Solider. You know Discipline. You know Duty.”
She makes a fist around his neck and squeezes, and he rasps, wheezes oxygen as she slips into him, thrusts and takes and wraps another hand around his cock and tightens, does not relent; and it goes on, it does not end, and when the lights grow too bright, when his lungs stretch paper-thin, when his pulse ebbs and he starts to shatter, to spill pieces for her to gather and remake: he hears it.
“You have failed.”
He cannot feel the hand at his throat, everything turning numb as his nerves die and his mind blanks, goes dark -- it takes seconds, minutes, hours before he comes back to what’s left; gasps in and shudders, naked under blue-grey lights with a silhouette through glass watching, waiting, speaking through the walls.
“There is nothing but the mission.”
And his body doesn’t even remember how to ache, anymore.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing/Characters: Alec McDowell (X5-494); OFC/Alec
Word Count: 549
Summary: X5-494 gets a taste of what the punishment is for failure. For hoosierbitch, who requested “Alec + Femdoms + Strap-ons” at the Five Acts Meme. Episode Spoilers for 2.11 - The Berrisford Agenda.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.
Author’s Notes: I think what I underscored for myself in writing this little ficlet is that I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving the character of Alec. Just a prime example of why I’ll watch Jensen in just about anything: because he’s that good and bringing his roles to life. End of story.
Mission
“There is nothing but the mission.”
But there is. There is something. There are soft hands that grip too tight, and there are bruises at his hips, and there’s a pressure at his hole and an ache in his chest, there’s the burn in his eyes; and those aren’t useless, or shameful. They are something.
“You have failed your superiors.”
She drives into him again, humiliating, and he takes it, silent -- he knows torture and torment, but this cuts deeper, settles in places he didn’t know to protect against, never realized he could possess.
“You are useless.”
Except that she -- whoever she is, and in his mind she has kind eyes and a soft mouth and dark hair, innocent, until she pushes forth and splits him open and ravages, plunders, leaves him for dead; except that she moans when rolls his hips into the invasion, the intrusion; except that when he reaches back -- before they bind him, cuff him, pin him with metal and leather and a hate that even he cannot overcome -- when he reaches and strokes at her thigh, an imperative, unconscious, she quivers, and the breath that spills from her lips is warmer somehow, like a brand against his skin.
She slaps him hard across the cheek, draws blood quick from the skin with the dig of her nails, momentum and adrenaline and sheer proximity leaving splatters of red in her hair -- specks that only he can see.
“You are pathetic. You are defective. You are flawed.”
He remembers things he’s starting to forget -- tanks and lights and knives and leads and pain and fear inside his heart as it throbs too fast, inside his muscles as they tense too long, stretched taut to breaking -- just flashes before they pass and there’s a rhythm to it, matched by the way she penetrates him, seeks him out inside his own body, his own mind, tries to lure him away from solitude and safety where he’s hidden all the good things in Hell so she can quash them, grind them away and make him hollow, carve him anew.
“You are your siblings. You are your brother.”
He is alone, and she rocks against him harder, slowly shakes him loose. He is alone, he has no family. He has no brother.
He is no one.
“You are a Solider. You know Discipline. You know Duty.”
She makes a fist around his neck and squeezes, and he rasps, wheezes oxygen as she slips into him, thrusts and takes and wraps another hand around his cock and tightens, does not relent; and it goes on, it does not end, and when the lights grow too bright, when his lungs stretch paper-thin, when his pulse ebbs and he starts to shatter, to spill pieces for her to gather and remake: he hears it.
“You have failed.”
He cannot feel the hand at his throat, everything turning numb as his nerves die and his mind blanks, goes dark -- it takes seconds, minutes, hours before he comes back to what’s left; gasps in and shudders, naked under blue-grey lights with a silhouette through glass watching, waiting, speaking through the walls.
“There is nothing but the mission.”
And his body doesn’t even remember how to ache, anymore.