TEAM ANGST: Déjà vu, "What Dreams May Come"
Title: What Dreams May Come
Author: lillyjk ( interview)
Team: Angst
Prompt: Déja vu
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Rodney!torture
Summary: “Behold how the thing which thou hast seen in thy dream is, after a considerable lapse of time, fully realized.”
Once you've read the story, please take a moment to vote in the poll below. Ratings go from 1 (low) to 9 (high), so all you need to do is enter a single number in that range into each text entry box. You'll be able to see the Prompt and Team (Genre) information in the header above.
More details about the voting procedure can be found here.
**
Now my name is Pet.
There was a time, not so long ago, when I had a proper name.
I know this because she tells me so.
The queen can be most generous when she so desires. She tells me this repeatedly.
The queen's idea of generosity varies greatly from my own.
Just as the queen's desires vary greatly from my own.
She's never told me what my name was, only that I had a name and that such things are best forgotten. It was a bad name, a name that should not be said aloud.
There are lots of things I'm not allowed to say.
Remaining silent is a skill I have nearly perfected.
The first time I asked about my name, she smiled and stroked my hair.
The next time I asked, she splayed her hand on my chest and it was cold like ice. The ice made me bleed until the world went dark. Later she cleaned the blood from me with gentle hands. She smiled the whole time, her full lips stretching back to reveal her sharp sharp teeth.
I never asked again.
As the days passed, I found there were many things best left behind. Memories slipped from my mind as quickly as the blood flowed from my wounds.
When all else has faded away, there is only the queen...and my dreams.
***
The dreams come only when I am without my queen. When I have angered her, she sends me from her chamber to sleep alone.
More and more, I try to anger the queen. It's as easy task.
In my dreams, he comes to me. He has wild dark hair and hazel green eyes that crinkle at the edges. Usually his mouth is curved into a smile and when he reaches for me I go willingly. His touch is as warm as the queen's is cold. My heart beats faster when he pulls me close. His callused fingers sliding over my skin is the best kind of torment. He whispers things I don't understand, but his voice is soothing.
When I wake up, I am hard and aching and my eyes are wet with tears I dare not shed.
I am only allowed to cry when the queen makes it so.
His name is as much a mystery to me as my own. Somehow, the loss of his name is worse.
***
Every day begins with me on my knees before her. The floor is cold against my skin; warmth is something my body only remembers in dreams.
When the queen is pleased with me, it's over quickly.
She is rarely pleased with me.
If I meet her eyes, I am being defiant. If I look away, I am not paying attention.
I only rolled my eyes one time. She taught me that lesson in respect by slicing open the faded scar on my arm.
Now her fingers tangle in my hair as she positions me properly.
The collar around my neck is heavy and bites into my skin. The chains at my wrists and ankles leave me red and raw.
My queen likes to slide her pointed tongue along the broken skin until it bleeds.
She stops only when I can't hold back my cries of pain and the tears stream freely down my face.
She tells me I am beautiful when I cry.
I close my eyes and think of wrapping the chains around her throat.
***
When I dream, he is with me.
His body is golden against crumpled white sheets. His chest is covered with curling black hair. The dull gleam of something - dogtags - glisten against his neck. When he reaches for me his eyes are full of promise. He pulls me down to join him, his body settling over mine. His mouth presses against my neck and my hands slide over muscle and curve until I can't tell where he ends and where I begin.
When he nudges my legs apart with his knee, I open for him willingly. His fingers are gentle but urgent, teasing me until I cry out, my fingers digging into the swell of his biceps. It's only when he presses fully into me, when he's buried inside, stretching me to the edge of pain, that I remember his name.
I wake up reaching for him, but I am alone.
It is never long before my queen calls for me.
It is never long before his name is driven out of my head by the queen's sibilant whispers.
***
Sometimes I resist.
She finds it amusing when I refuse to kneel at her feet.
When she laughs it is a cruel sound.
Her nails are sharp as she digs them into my skin. When the blood flows freely she licks her lips.
I never resist for long.
***
In my dreams he is angry. His body is tense, his shoulders stiff as he turns away from me. I try to speak to him, but my mouth won't form words. He walks away from me without a backward glance.
It hurts more than anything the queen has ever done to me.
I wake up screaming, his name on my lips.
When the queen comes for me, I do not kneel.
The punishment is harsh.
***
I am cradled to his chest. His hands are covered with blood, the queen's blood. His eyes are dark with rage.
I want to touch him, but my arms lie useless at my side.
The queen's punishment has left me broken.
There are sounds of gunfire, but I turn from them. I press my ear against his chest, until the steady thump of his heartbeat drowns out everything else. If this is a dream, I don't want to wake up.
***
When I wake in the infirmary, they tell me my name is Doctor Rodney McKay. It should have a familiar ring, but it slips from my memory as quickly as everything else these days.
The other Doctor, the one with the lilting accent and kind eyes, assures me that what I've lost will return when the drugs leave my system.
The words ring hollow. I can see the doubt in his eyes even as he tries to give me hope.
I have many questions to ask, but my throat is raw and battered.
I turn my head to face the wall until I am left alone.
***
When I dream, I dream of the queen.
She reaches for me, her mouth curved into a smile, and a scream rises in my throat.
I wake up to strong arms holding me close and hazel eyes wide with concern.
When he kisses me, the nightmare of the queen fades away and only the good dreams remain.
His name is John.
His name is John.
**
THIS POLL IS NOW CLOSED. ANY FURTHER VOTES WILL NOT BE COUNTED.
Poll Vote for this story
Author: lillyjk ( interview)
Team: Angst
Prompt: Déja vu
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Rodney!torture
Summary: “Behold how the thing which thou hast seen in thy dream is, after a considerable lapse of time, fully realized.”
Once you've read the story, please take a moment to vote in the poll below. Ratings go from 1 (low) to 9 (high), so all you need to do is enter a single number in that range into each text entry box. You'll be able to see the Prompt and Team (Genre) information in the header above.
More details about the voting procedure can be found here.
**
Now my name is Pet.
There was a time, not so long ago, when I had a proper name.
I know this because she tells me so.
The queen can be most generous when she so desires. She tells me this repeatedly.
The queen's idea of generosity varies greatly from my own.
Just as the queen's desires vary greatly from my own.
She's never told me what my name was, only that I had a name and that such things are best forgotten. It was a bad name, a name that should not be said aloud.
There are lots of things I'm not allowed to say.
Remaining silent is a skill I have nearly perfected.
The first time I asked about my name, she smiled and stroked my hair.
The next time I asked, she splayed her hand on my chest and it was cold like ice. The ice made me bleed until the world went dark. Later she cleaned the blood from me with gentle hands. She smiled the whole time, her full lips stretching back to reveal her sharp sharp teeth.
I never asked again.
As the days passed, I found there were many things best left behind. Memories slipped from my mind as quickly as the blood flowed from my wounds.
When all else has faded away, there is only the queen...and my dreams.
***
The dreams come only when I am without my queen. When I have angered her, she sends me from her chamber to sleep alone.
More and more, I try to anger the queen. It's as easy task.
In my dreams, he comes to me. He has wild dark hair and hazel green eyes that crinkle at the edges. Usually his mouth is curved into a smile and when he reaches for me I go willingly. His touch is as warm as the queen's is cold. My heart beats faster when he pulls me close. His callused fingers sliding over my skin is the best kind of torment. He whispers things I don't understand, but his voice is soothing.
When I wake up, I am hard and aching and my eyes are wet with tears I dare not shed.
I am only allowed to cry when the queen makes it so.
His name is as much a mystery to me as my own. Somehow, the loss of his name is worse.
***
Every day begins with me on my knees before her. The floor is cold against my skin; warmth is something my body only remembers in dreams.
When the queen is pleased with me, it's over quickly.
She is rarely pleased with me.
If I meet her eyes, I am being defiant. If I look away, I am not paying attention.
I only rolled my eyes one time. She taught me that lesson in respect by slicing open the faded scar on my arm.
Now her fingers tangle in my hair as she positions me properly.
The collar around my neck is heavy and bites into my skin. The chains at my wrists and ankles leave me red and raw.
My queen likes to slide her pointed tongue along the broken skin until it bleeds.
She stops only when I can't hold back my cries of pain and the tears stream freely down my face.
She tells me I am beautiful when I cry.
I close my eyes and think of wrapping the chains around her throat.
***
When I dream, he is with me.
His body is golden against crumpled white sheets. His chest is covered with curling black hair. The dull gleam of something - dogtags - glisten against his neck. When he reaches for me his eyes are full of promise. He pulls me down to join him, his body settling over mine. His mouth presses against my neck and my hands slide over muscle and curve until I can't tell where he ends and where I begin.
When he nudges my legs apart with his knee, I open for him willingly. His fingers are gentle but urgent, teasing me until I cry out, my fingers digging into the swell of his biceps. It's only when he presses fully into me, when he's buried inside, stretching me to the edge of pain, that I remember his name.
I wake up reaching for him, but I am alone.
It is never long before my queen calls for me.
It is never long before his name is driven out of my head by the queen's sibilant whispers.
***
Sometimes I resist.
She finds it amusing when I refuse to kneel at her feet.
When she laughs it is a cruel sound.
Her nails are sharp as she digs them into my skin. When the blood flows freely she licks her lips.
I never resist for long.
***
In my dreams he is angry. His body is tense, his shoulders stiff as he turns away from me. I try to speak to him, but my mouth won't form words. He walks away from me without a backward glance.
It hurts more than anything the queen has ever done to me.
I wake up screaming, his name on my lips.
When the queen comes for me, I do not kneel.
The punishment is harsh.
***
I am cradled to his chest. His hands are covered with blood, the queen's blood. His eyes are dark with rage.
I want to touch him, but my arms lie useless at my side.
The queen's punishment has left me broken.
There are sounds of gunfire, but I turn from them. I press my ear against his chest, until the steady thump of his heartbeat drowns out everything else. If this is a dream, I don't want to wake up.
***
When I wake in the infirmary, they tell me my name is Doctor Rodney McKay. It should have a familiar ring, but it slips from my memory as quickly as everything else these days.
The other Doctor, the one with the lilting accent and kind eyes, assures me that what I've lost will return when the drugs leave my system.
The words ring hollow. I can see the doubt in his eyes even as he tries to give me hope.
I have many questions to ask, but my throat is raw and battered.
I turn my head to face the wall until I am left alone.
***
When I dream, I dream of the queen.
She reaches for me, her mouth curved into a smile, and a scream rises in my throat.
I wake up to strong arms holding me close and hazel eyes wide with concern.
When he kisses me, the nightmare of the queen fades away and only the good dreams remain.
His name is John.
His name is John.
**
THIS POLL IS NOW CLOSED. ANY FURTHER VOTES WILL NOT BE COUNTED.
Poll Vote for this story