Kink Me #37
Kink Me! #37
[Flat Kink Me! #37 is flat!]
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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)
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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.
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Like in France
cheers!
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