Kink Me #37
Kink Me! #37
[Flat Kink Me! #37 is flat!]
CLOSED TO NEW PROMPTS
Welcome to Kink Me! Merlin #37! :D
First, read the rules before you post anything. We freeze or screen anything that breaks the rules! Got a question? Ask the mods!
So you want to post a prompt or fill?
- Click for rules on how to post a prompt!
- Click for rules on posting fills! ( Read more... )
**
It’s well past noon when Colin enters the luxurious lobby of the King’s Court hotel in Old Town Prague. Another six minutes before he’s knocking at the door.
“It’s me, Colin. Open up.”
It takes a couple minutes before Bradley answers. Colin stands frozen in his spot, taking in the man he hasn’t laid eyes on in months (outside the online stalking on Twitter and Instagram, of course).
Parts of Bradley look as expected, exactly as he remembers him. Like the color of his hair - still an alluringly dark shade of gold, lips as red as rosebuds, skin as smooth as polished alabaster. Perfect for his role in the new Underworld movie, probably.
But the important parts look nothing like the Bradley he knows.
The eyes are a dull gray… tired, cagey… unwilling to meet Colin’s like they usually do with such exuberance. The drooping shoulders, the shifting from one foot to the next, so not like the Bradley he knows.
He stands wrapped up in a white bedsheet from his neck all the way down to his toes, trembling from the cold, or maybe something else. His hair is a greasy, overgrown mess, and there’s a purpling bruise at the corner of his mouth.
“Oh, love.”
Colin steps in without waiting for an invitation and opens his arms. That’s all he does, stands in wait, and lets Bradley decide if he’s ready for the physical contact.
Bradley’s eyes water as he wobbles forward and throws his entire weight against Colin’s chest, burying his face in Colin’s neck. But when Colin tries to close his arms around him, he whimpers, unmistakably in pain.
The sound makes the blood in Colin’s veins boil. He clamps down on his rage for the moment though, knowing if Bradley saw it, he might assume it’s directed at him.
“It’s all right, love. You did well to call me. You did so well, I’m so proud of you.”
The trembling gets harder as hands clutch at Colin’s jacket with a vengeance. Colin pulls Bradley away just enough to turn him and lead him back to the bed, after closing the door behind them.
He takes a seat at the foot of the bed and continues to hold Bradley in front of him.
“Let me see,” he orders.
Bradley stutters. “I-I was so s-stupid…”
“You know you’re not allowed to call yourself names like that. Not with me.”
“Sorry, sir.”
“We'll let it slide this time. Come on then, love.”
The blond grimaces but lets the bedsheet be slowly peeled away from his body. The fabric drops around his ankles until he’s standing starkers before the Irishman.
Colin takes in a sharp breath.
There are angry rope burns on his wrists, forearms, ankles, around the knees, and some around his throat. The nipples look sore in the aftermath of clamps left on longer than they should. Lash marks creep like vines over the top of his shoulders and around the contours of his waist, as if originating from the center of his back. Like the tails of a cat o’ nine.
Signs of clear abuse stand out on the slender, hairless body - crimsons and scarlets and purples in glaring contrast to pale skin that’s not seen the sun in weeks.
“Turn around.”
Bradley hesitates.
“Do not make me repeat myself again, Jamie.”
Bradley shivers again but complies, slowly swiveling to face away from Colin. The dark-haired man bites his lip to once again suppress his torrid outburst.
Every inch of Bradley’s back seems to have been brutalized in varying degrees, from his neck to the top of his thighs.
Long, thin, bloody stripes of raised skin overlap each other, some broken and still oozing blood in places. The crisscross patterns are especially prominent on the small of his back and the buttocks - like that’s where the bastard concentrated most of his time and perversion on.
“We should report this.”
“You know we can’t.”
Bloody hell.
“Why, Bradley? How did it come to this?” he eventually asks, not really expecting an answer and of course getting none. There is more here than Bradley is letting on.
“Let me guess. No safe word?”
**
(tbc)
Reply
“Why didn’t you tell him you don’t like the cane?”
“I… tried.”
Colin’s hands traverse down to the sub's arse, hesitate before they part the cheeks as gently as possible to assess the damage. Streaks of dried blood run down his legs. Last time he was taken (fucked raw is more like it) must have been six to eight hours ago.
He’d sounded so out of it on the phone. Colin wonders how long Bradley had been alone, catatonic, spiraling into a sub drop from hell, before he gathered enough of his senses to find his phone and make a call.
Colin stands up suddenly, head swimming with so… much… red. He resists the urge to pace, wouldn’t do Bradley good to see his ex- (but also on-and-off-) Dom fidget.
“Who?” Colin demands, his voice lower than a serpent’s hiss.
“…”
He sighs, the rules of the community really sucked some days. He tries another tact. “Is he still here?”
“Principal shooting is over, maybe he left.”
Colin can’t decide if he’s glad or gutted. He wants nothing more than to find the sick bastard and punch a hole through his face and his balls, make sure he can never so much as look at anyone else again. At least it’s someone on the cast or crew. Someone he can track down later.
“Please, sir, I’m sorry…”
Colin walks up and into Bradley’s line of sight. For the first time that night, he looks straight into Bradley’s eyes. “We'll discuss how you could’ve handled things better later, Jamie. Right now… come here.”
Bradley doesn’t think twice and rushes into his Dom’s embrace. His breaths are short and shallow, and hot tears stream down his face, drenching Colin’s shirt in their wake. But through them all, he stays utterly, eerily, silent.
Colin strokes the back of his head, that’s the only part of Bradley’s body he’s not afraid to touch. “My sweet boy. You’re safe now, shh.”
At least he’s alive, and not bleeding profusely to death from wounds, self-inflicted or otherwise.
“To bed, come on,” Colin leads his charge to the king-sized monstrosity, hoping desperately this isn’t where 'it' happened. Bradley doesn't hesitate and quietly goes where he’s led. The bastard’s room then. Small mercies.
Colin turns the thermostat to a toasty 27 degrees. He removes his coat and boots, rolls up his sleeves. Then instructs Bradley to lie down on his stomach, continuing to stroke his head tenderly. “Sleep, while I go grab us a few supplies.”
“No! I’ll come with…” Bradley blurts in panic, lifting himself up from the bed. Colin gives him a second to realize his mistake. The sub reluctantly pushes himself back down till his face touches the pillow. But it doesn’t stop him from trying again. “Please take me with you, sir.”
Don’t leave me alone, which Colin understands.
“I’m just running down to the pharmacy, love. Back before you know it, promise.”
“But…”
“Would it help if I locked the door and took the key with me?”
Bradley calms, just a shade, but doesn’t confirm. Colin sighs and sits down by his boy, thinking. A minute later he tugs the burgundy tie from around his neck. “Give me your hands.”
Bradley quickly shoves his palms together, holds them up over his head as if in offering to a deity. Colin gently wraps the silk around one bruised wrist, loops the other end through the golden honeycomb pattern of the headboard, before tying the rest of it around the second wrist. It is snug, enough for Bradley to feel reassuringly restrained, but not enough to cut into his battered skin.
“Better?”
“Better.”
“Good. Now get some sleep, all right?”
Bradley nods, his breathing evened out, trusting.
“That’s my boy. Do you want the covers? No? Okay, be right back.”
Colin picks up his jacket and the Do Not Disturb sign before dashing out, leaving the blond alone with his thoughts.
Reply
Reply
How in the name of hell did he get here?
Bradley blinks repeatedly, trying to ascertain what’s real, and what’s just an alcohol and substance-induced nightmare. God knows he’d be in big (bigger) trouble if Colin finds out exactly which substances.
He tugs at the tie holding his wrists and winces in renewed pain. That was a bad idea. Nothing compared to the whole string of phenomenally, godawfully, titanically bad decisions he’s made in the last twenty-four hours, but still.
He crosses his ankles and pretends they’re tied up too. It makes him feel safe, something no one who isn’t a submissive could understand. There is safety in knowing he can’t screw up any more than he already has, in letting someone else make all decisions for him, seeing how he simply cannot be trusted to do so himself. A safety that comes with a deep, unwavering trust in one’s dominant partner.
Too bad he’s never been a very good judge of character.
Eoin still teases him about how bloody gullible he is. Bradley never took him too seriously, until last night.
He cringes as the memories return with a vengeance, an unbroken sequence of fast-cutting shots he’ll never be able to erase from his mind. He whimpers, throws his head this way and that. It doesn’t help. He wonders if a lobotomy could wipe his memory clean of last night, like in Paycheck. Hell all of the last three months, in fact, starting with the very first moment he met one Tobias Menzies.
But more than anything, God, how he wishes he could take back that one thing… that singular, impulsive, split-second decision that…
“I’m back!”
Bradley starts. He welcomes the wave of relief that washes over him as he turns to look at his raven-haired friend. His first Dom, his first love… so beautiful, so sensitive, so pure… Bradley bites his quivering lip. All good reminders of why things didn’t work out between them in the first place.
“We’re all set. Give me just one moment,” Colin says, then strides into the bathroom.
He hears the water running in the sink, Colin rigorously washing his hands. When Colin returns, he heads straight for the minibar to the left of the bed. Not for the alcohol, of course. Colin hardly ever drinks. Ironic really, how he likes to call Bradley his ‘good boy’…
He watches from the corner of his eye as Colin puts the kettle on. The Dom pulls out two ceramic cups from the bar cabinet, places tea bags he purchased at the pharmacy in them. Smells like Twining’s Irish Breakfast, Bradley’s favorite. Of course Colin would remember that.
Once the tea is ready, Colin brings the tray over and places it on the bedside table, before sitting down beside the blond he left tied up on the bed. “I’m going to undo these, all right?”
“Yes, sir.”
Bradley doesn’t move his freed limbs on his own volition. So Colin moves them down for him, pressing them gently to his sides. He doesn’t turn him over, thank God. Bradley doesn’t think he could hold his screams in if he had to put any weight on his back right now.
Meanwhile, Colin pulls some stuff out of the plastic bag he brought from the store.
“All right, we’re going to clean you up a bit. You’d probably want to distract yourself, love. So I want you to sip your tea slowly, just a little at a time. Can you reach it?”
Bradley reaches for the nearest mug and is able to pull it closer to himself, though he’s not too keen to drink from it.
“Concentrate, do not drop the cup. Remember - tiny sips, all right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good boy. Now, you’re allowed to make noises. Just don’t move, all right, love?”
“Yes, sir.”
Bradley holds himself really, really still as his benefactor douses a ball of cotton with antiseptic, and cleans his open wounds with care and tenderness. He could hiss, he could groan, he could cry his heart out if he wanted to, really. But having been on his own for the past couple of years, it’s helped dull his once-natural instincts to complain, somewhat. Reminded him why he doesn’t deserve to be treated with such care and tenderness in the first -
“Stop that, right now, Jamie.”
(tbc)
Reply
“I want you to tell me if it hurts, if it stings, even if it tickles. You’re not going to bottle any of this up, you hear me?”
How does Colin do that? Even after so much time apart, how can he fall right back into their usual routine where he read Bradley’s mind like Sunday’s bloody newspaper?
“Words, please.”
“Y-Yes, sir. It… hurts, sir.”
“Where?”
“Everywhere.”
“What hurts the most?”
“Nothing physical,” he whispers after thinking about it for a while.
He hears Colin sighing and worries he’s disappointing his Dom. Thought it won’t be the first time.
Colin continues to dab the antiseptic across his back and his cheeks. He hisses and jumps at a particularly painful spot.
“Shh…”
He tries to stay still but it’s getting harder as a whole array of nerve endings on his back are revived to fresh agony, including those that had gone numb sometime during the torturous night.
And when Colin parts his cheeks again, he whimpers pitifully, the sounds embarrassing and disgraceful to his own ears.
“Easy there, Bradley, I’m sorry this must be done. Shh…”
He finds himself rolling his hips left and right despite the pain. Maybe in an attempt to get away from Colin’s fingers, maybe to get closer, who knows? He bites his lip and squeezes his eyes shut as Colin pushes his legs apart and runs a wet wipe up and down his crack a few times. The Irishman then proceeds to clean the dried blood trailing down the insides of his thighs, from behind his ball sac all the way down to his knees.
“Please, I can’t…” Bradley pleads, hands dangerously tight around the cup full of now lukewarm tea. He isn’t quite sure what he’s pleading for. All he knows is that he feels exposed like never before, in a manner that’s grotesque and demeaning and should (must) make Colin want to look away in disgust.
Like… like a dead body on an autopsy table in that TV show he did for a while up in Vancouver. That’s what Tobias did to him - stripped him of all his dignity, his sense of self-worth, peeled him open from skin to the bone, his innards laid bare for all to see.
Worse, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever stop feeling this way.
“Hush, sweetheart. Trust me, you’ll be alright, shh…”
He gives up on the tea, and lets his head fall forward to his pillow tiredly. From the corner of his eye, he watches Colin open a jar of an aloe vera-based soothing gel. He tries not to flinch too hard when one of Colin’s fingers picks up a generous dollop, and inserts itself into his dilated opening.
He lets himself whimper ever so quietly, and Colin doesn’t shush him this time.
“I know, I know, sweet boy. But you’re teared up inside. I need to check how badly,” Colin prods deeper inside before gently twisting his finger around.
He wants to cry. He wants to die. He wants to not be reminded of how he got here, but it’s like he’s trapped inside the events of last night and cannot escape. Why couldn’t Colin just let him sleep, let him forget how incredibly foolish he’s been?
“Almost done. We got lucky, you’ll be alright.”
Bradley scoffs, but keeps his face turned away. The gel starts to feel nice, and after a while, he doesn’t mind Colin’s skillful fingers massaging his channel. But he’s still too sore to feel stimulated in any way, Colin knows that. So after a few more minutes of rubbing the gel into Bradley, he pulls out. Then he spreads more gel outside from his tailbone to the top of his thighs, spreading the coolness generously across the severely flogged surface.
Bradley sighs, and attempts to express his gratitude. “That… feels good, sir.”
“I was born to serve you, remember?” the retort is soft and teasing, alluding to their time together on the sets of Merlin. It makes Bradley smile.
He tries not to think of how Tobias had laser-focused all his sadistic desires on his backside, instead concentrates on how good the gel feels on his scorched skin. And how Colin’s gentle ministrations make him feel like he’s the ‘most beautiful boy in the world’ - Colin’s words, not his.
“All done, love. Now, I believe you deserve an award for how brave you’ve been.”
He wants to roll his eyes, but finds himself waiting eagerly, hoping the reward is more of Colin’s hands on his body, making him feel… not so disgusting anymore.
(tbc)
Reply
His mouth extends into a pout. The taste of vomit is still rank on his tongue. He couldn’t possibly keep anything down.
“Come on, sweetheart, open up,” Colin whispers, once again cajoling him into submission ever so kindly.
He wants to cry, wail like a banshee, really. Instead he parts his lips, and lets Colin slip the chocolate past them. He closes his eyes, tasting nothing but the warm thumb that caresses his lip even as he makes a herculean effort to chew.
“That’s it, one more bite, love. Just one more…”
That’s followed by another bite and another and one more after that. The soft caresses stretch from Bradley’s lips up to the bridge of his nose and his brows. Down to his chin and long column of his throat, coaxing him to obey, until Colin is satisfied with the amount of sugar and cocoa in his stomach. Frowning at the abandoned tea, he pulls out a bottle of Evian and some painkillers from the drugstore bag.
“Here you go. Easy, wash it down slowly.”
Bradley obeys without a sound. Vaguely he recalls reading about this somewhere, his - current condition - how he’s supposed to be confused, not thinking clearly. Surely that last part doesn’t apply to him. He’s pretty clear what a completely worthless piece of scum he is, and how Colin’s ten times more gullible than Bradley for falling for his bullshit and flying all the way to…
“Stop it, Bradley James. Or there will be consequences.”
Bradley jumps at the sternness in Colin’s voice. Not anger though, never anger. That’s the thing about Morgan. He never raises his voice at Bradley, or anyone really. It’s when his naturally soft voice drops to sub-decibel levels that people know he’s really miffed. Like right now.
And the waterworks begin. “I’m… I’m sorry, sir. I d-didn’t mean to…”
Just like that, Colin switches back to gentle words and assurances that Bradley doesn’t deserve but needs to hear desperately.
“Move over,” Colin whispers, turning Bradley to his side and sliding into bed beside him, facing him. He pulls the covers up around them, careful not to put any weight on Bradley’s back. Instead he holds him by the nape, gently massaging the tenseness away. He waits patiently for the deluge of emotion to pass, then once again brings the mineral water to Bradley’s lips.
Bradley sips tentatively at first, realizes how parched he is, and switches to bigger gulps. Only Colin could force-feed him and make him feel such immense gratitude for it.
“Thank you, sir,” he sighs and cranes upward demanding more water.
Colin obliges, but in exchange asks him a question he doesn’t want to answer. “Bradley, what did you call him?”
“W-What?”
“How did you address him?”
“Just M-Master.”
Colin huffs. “Well, he did an absolutely shitty job of being a master, and none of it's your fault, you hear me? None of it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“All right. Until further notice, you will call me by my given name. Colin.”
Bradley's eyes water again. “I know you haven’t been my… Dom in years, but you’re still a Dom and I’m still… y-you can’t reset us, we have an agreement.”
“It’s only temporary. I’m not going anywhere, love, I promise. This is just until you feel better again. Tell me you understand.”
Bradley burrows into Colin’s chest, as if attempting to hide himself under Colin’s skin. Somewhere he’s not asked to make such mindboggling decisions. Somewhere he feels unconditionally safe and cherished - not pitied and tolerated for the pathetic, broken piece of furniture Tobias turned him into.
“Jamie?”
“If our agreement is suspended then, y-you can’t call me J-Jamie either.”
“As you wish.”
It’s obvious what the Dom is doing. He’s trying to take Bradley back to a simpler time, a time when they were just friends and equals. A time when his sense of self-worth wasn’t held hostage by the whims of men who courted him.
If Colin meant for him to feel somehow empowered, Bradley doesn’t feel it. Or maybe he just doesn’t have the energy to care. He just wants to slip into a deep, never-ending sleep, surrounded by the strong, comforting presence of his friend, lover, Dom - whatever. He doesn’t care what name he uses, so long as he stays by Bradley’s side, like in France.
(tbc)
Reply
This beautifully captured Bradley's mind set: Like… like a dead body on an autopsy table in that TV show he did for a while up in Vancouver. That’s what Tobias did to him - stripped him of all his dignity, his sense of self-worth, peeled him open from skin to the bone, his innards laid bare for all to see.
Worse, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever stop feeling this way. I hope Colin is able to pull him through this dark time.
Reply
Like in France
cheers!
Reply
Leave a comment