Fic: going sideways down [Rush/Young, NC-17]
Pairing: Rush/Young
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: minor through 1.08
Word Count: ~1750
Notes: Another one for the Kink Meme. Prompt was Rush/Young - bondage.
Summary: The gap of trust between them is a frustration of his. A chasm evidently impossible to bridge, so why even try? Better for Rush to make his own path, on the Destiny, then to play Young's game to lose.
~*~
"Rush."
That's fascinating, isn't it? Young's voice is as soft as ever -- and that was one of the first things that interested Rush, about him, yes, he spoke softly and clearly and didn't feel the need to exert his own presence, that's fascinating in someone of Young's position -- but the softness, now, is soaked in emotion.
Emotion. It's complex, it's hardly quantifiable. Rush has seen scientists struggle tooth and nail to distill emotion into number and equation. Rush doesn't do that. He grew up rough. His emotions helped him survive.
That they can't be entirely understood, especially within another person, is the necessary price to pay.
"Rush."
"Quiet," says Rush. He intends it as an order, but it comes out more of a suggestion. He doesn't need the distraction. Fingertips brushing up the inside of Young's arm, light touch where the polyester of the straps meets contradictorily delicate skin.
A brief flare of tendons along Young's arm, tension that Rush can see. A hint of skin going white around the straps.
Young is struggling. No, not struggling. Just -- pulling.
"Stop it," says Rush. "You'll only hurt yourself."
"Damnit, Rush--"
Rush slips his thumb into Young's mouth. An easy, long slide against his tongue, and he draws his thumb down the line of Young's lips. Leaves them wet.
He pulls back. Yes, he likes that.
Young closes his eyes. Teeth gritted, if the movement of muscle along his jaw is anything to go by. Evidently, he doesn't know why he agreed to this. Is it regret, or just simple conflict? Young can say no, at any time. Rush prefers a willing partner.
Truth be told, Rush isn't entirely sure why Young is letting him do this, either. The gap of trust between them is a frustration of his. A chasm evidently impossible to bridge, so why even try? Better for Rush to make his own path, on the Destiny, then to play Young's game to lose.
Only -- this doesn't feel like losing. And it doesn't feel like a battle, either.
Rush sits back on his heels, hand stroking down Young's stomach. He can do anything he likes, right now. Young is tied down, helpless until Rush decides to release him. And yet, he finds, right now, that what he wants -- well, it isn't exactly what he wants. It's to justify this to Young. Convince him. Seal some unspoken bargain that they never made.
"Do you trust me?" asks Rush, his hand paused, over Young's navel.
"Rush."
A non-answer. Try again, Colonel. "Do you?"
Soft exhale, now. It's not exactly a refusal to answer, but Rush may understand this. Young can't answer no, not like this. It's a lie. But something in him won't let him answer yes, either.
Or maybe he's already answered yes, just by doing this.
"I could devise," murmurs Rush, "the most torturous way to make you come and you would take it, wouldn't you?"
Interesting, contradictory reaction here. Rush can feel the little jerk of arousal; he can see the way Young's features tighten up, lock down. A pull away and a little push towards. Both at once.
That's dealing a blow, that's winning a battle. But not a battle Rush wants to fight, for once.
"I think I recognize that," he persists. "It's not want, is it? It's need."
"Goddamnit, Rush--"
And Rush presses a hand down, over Young's mouth. "Quiet," he says. "I won't make you say a word."
There's that furrow, between Young's brows, the one that appears when he's frustrated or concerned or confused. Or thinking too hard.
"Not if you don't choose to," finishes Rush.
Rush withdraws his hand. And Young is silent. Which could either mean he understands or he doesn't understand but he's going with it anyway, and what the hell is Rush doing? He doesn't know Young well enough for this. This is -- too vulnerable. And not just on Young's part.
Rush turns away, letting the moment of panic pass, and then looks back to Young. Dark eyes, bound hands, and a silence that's not antagonism or frustration or empty air.
He moves over Young, presses a kiss to Young's stomach, and that's it, the personal space between them has been shattered. There's no bound of propriety keeping them apart anymore. No one else is here, just them. Them and their hangups and neuroses and problems and everything that makes them human.
Rush presses three fingers into Young's mouth, this time. Purposeful, and businesslike, not teasing. Ship's supplies don't include an overwhelming amount of lubrication, and none of what they have is intended for the human body. Not that Rush would advise wasting it, if it was. No, saliva would have to be enough, with careful preparation.
Young's tongue flicks against Rush's fingers.
And Rush imagines that he's the only one Young could ever want, that this is for him and him alone. That the trust was something that was there all along, not something that Rush had to fight tooth and nail for. Something that was given, not something that was wanted.
Not the truth, though. Rush is too intelligent a man to delude himself.
He slides his fingers free, and reaches down, between Young's legs. Smooth, slow circles, not even pressing inside, and Young is already reacting.
Rush adjusts the angle of Young's thigh. Because the perfect kind of angle isn't just from simple mathematics, symmetry or congruence; it's function over form. It's the lure of Young's body and the best way to fuck him, all at once.
The first push of his fingers inside, and Young is ready for it. Practically welcoming it, easing under Rush's touch, until Rush has three fingers buried in the tight grip of Young's body, stretching him open gentle and inexorable, until Young is breathing harsh, murmured curses that aren't quite words, the way his hands tug, aimless, wanting, at the straps binding him down.
It's going to be tight, but it has to be now.
Rush withdraws, and spits, slicking his own erection. It's not enough, but it has to be enough, and he doesn't want to hurt Young and he wants to break Young open and make him beg and -- well, he's forced to admit that he doesn't entirely know what he wants, but he can read what Young wants in every line of his body. And that's something new.
Young is tight, incredibly tight, tense in a way that's not at all good.
"Rush," and Young's voice has that same tension in it, the same fear -- "I don't know that I can do this," his tone shivery, heavy and rough.
"You can," reassures Rush, and he presses a kiss to the inside of Young's thigh. "Trust me." Not a question, this time, not 'do you trust me' but just 'trust me', soft and sure.
Young tips his head back, in a kind of surrender.
"We'll keep it shallow, then, yes?" It's breathed more than said, and Rush does. True to his word. Shallow and slow, and on the second thrust he feels the reaction, from inside, a white-hot jolt of pleasure. "There you are," and Rush falls forward, sort of folding Young up beneath him, and Young's not tensing up anymore. Not tensing up and fighting Rush movement, but tensing up and pressing into it, his body begging for more even if he wouldn't trust himself to fall that far.
Rush draws Young on, chasing sensation with brutal accuracy. Won't draw out Young's agony, but just let it twist through him, as long as Young wants to feel it.
The way Young breathes, it's like he's on the edge of pain, and Rush realizes, suddenly, how close Young is, how he's driven Young to the brink. Amazing, to have that kind of control over another person, but this sort of control is a mystery, because he doesn't know how to read Young, can't know what exactly he's doing right. All he can do is fumble until he happens on the right kind of connection, and then it's mostly Young's mind, his perception, that does the work for Rush.
Rush thrusts in harsh, fast, his own climax catching him completely by surprise, he was so absorbed in Young.
Young isn't quite finished yet, when Rush withdraws. And, in another circumstance, Rush may have been a little annoyed at that. Now, though, the dominant emotion is curiosity. Interest. There are so many options.
He slides four fingers inside Young, at once, slipping through come and saliva, pressing down hard against the involuntary arch of Young's back.
"You think you could come from this?" asks Rush.
"No," says Young, "don't."
That -- that's absolutely genuine.
So, of course, Rush can't do anything but obey.
He palms Young's erection; a soft, hungry noise from Young's throat, and then his hips buck up and he's coming, helpless in Rush's hands.
Young is still breathing harsh when Rush pats Young's thigh and moves to his feet, getting off the bed. No query from Young as Rush rinses off his hands, wets a spare piece of cloth and steps back to the bed.
Young is watching him, now. His fingers curl, over the edge of the straps. "You gonna untie these now?" he asks.
"In a moment."
Rush presses Young's thigh down, against the bed. Wipes the head of his cock, the come streaked on his stomach, leaving the skin moist, but clean. The same thing between Young's legs. Not brisk or clinical, but like a lover would. Taking care.
And Young -- Young closes his eyes, relaxing. Not pulling against the bonds, not watching, not cautious or guarded or conflicted.
Rush likes that.
It's with reluctance that he finally unwinds the straps. Tries not to spend too much time touching the thin red lines left on Young's skin, from pulling too hard. He's shown enough weakness.
Young's fingers close, lazily, around Rush's wrist. "Stay," he murmurs.
"I have work to do," Rush points out. "The master code, remember?"
"It can wait."
Young pulls Rush down and kisses him. Shallow. Chaste, and sweet enough that Rush wouldn't have tolerated it, outside of an emotional bond like this one.
"So it can," Rush agrees, and he curls up, against Young.
Yes, this -- this was what he wanted.
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: minor through 1.08
Word Count: ~1750
Notes: Another one for the Kink Meme. Prompt was Rush/Young - bondage.
Summary: The gap of trust between them is a frustration of his. A chasm evidently impossible to bridge, so why even try? Better for Rush to make his own path, on the Destiny, then to play Young's game to lose.
~*~
"Rush."
That's fascinating, isn't it? Young's voice is as soft as ever -- and that was one of the first things that interested Rush, about him, yes, he spoke softly and clearly and didn't feel the need to exert his own presence, that's fascinating in someone of Young's position -- but the softness, now, is soaked in emotion.
Emotion. It's complex, it's hardly quantifiable. Rush has seen scientists struggle tooth and nail to distill emotion into number and equation. Rush doesn't do that. He grew up rough. His emotions helped him survive.
That they can't be entirely understood, especially within another person, is the necessary price to pay.
"Rush."
"Quiet," says Rush. He intends it as an order, but it comes out more of a suggestion. He doesn't need the distraction. Fingertips brushing up the inside of Young's arm, light touch where the polyester of the straps meets contradictorily delicate skin.
A brief flare of tendons along Young's arm, tension that Rush can see. A hint of skin going white around the straps.
Young is struggling. No, not struggling. Just -- pulling.
"Stop it," says Rush. "You'll only hurt yourself."
"Damnit, Rush--"
Rush slips his thumb into Young's mouth. An easy, long slide against his tongue, and he draws his thumb down the line of Young's lips. Leaves them wet.
He pulls back. Yes, he likes that.
Young closes his eyes. Teeth gritted, if the movement of muscle along his jaw is anything to go by. Evidently, he doesn't know why he agreed to this. Is it regret, or just simple conflict? Young can say no, at any time. Rush prefers a willing partner.
Truth be told, Rush isn't entirely sure why Young is letting him do this, either. The gap of trust between them is a frustration of his. A chasm evidently impossible to bridge, so why even try? Better for Rush to make his own path, on the Destiny, then to play Young's game to lose.
Only -- this doesn't feel like losing. And it doesn't feel like a battle, either.
Rush sits back on his heels, hand stroking down Young's stomach. He can do anything he likes, right now. Young is tied down, helpless until Rush decides to release him. And yet, he finds, right now, that what he wants -- well, it isn't exactly what he wants. It's to justify this to Young. Convince him. Seal some unspoken bargain that they never made.
"Do you trust me?" asks Rush, his hand paused, over Young's navel.
"Rush."
A non-answer. Try again, Colonel. "Do you?"
Soft exhale, now. It's not exactly a refusal to answer, but Rush may understand this. Young can't answer no, not like this. It's a lie. But something in him won't let him answer yes, either.
Or maybe he's already answered yes, just by doing this.
"I could devise," murmurs Rush, "the most torturous way to make you come and you would take it, wouldn't you?"
Interesting, contradictory reaction here. Rush can feel the little jerk of arousal; he can see the way Young's features tighten up, lock down. A pull away and a little push towards. Both at once.
That's dealing a blow, that's winning a battle. But not a battle Rush wants to fight, for once.
"I think I recognize that," he persists. "It's not want, is it? It's need."
"Goddamnit, Rush--"
And Rush presses a hand down, over Young's mouth. "Quiet," he says. "I won't make you say a word."
There's that furrow, between Young's brows, the one that appears when he's frustrated or concerned or confused. Or thinking too hard.
"Not if you don't choose to," finishes Rush.
Rush withdraws his hand. And Young is silent. Which could either mean he understands or he doesn't understand but he's going with it anyway, and what the hell is Rush doing? He doesn't know Young well enough for this. This is -- too vulnerable. And not just on Young's part.
Rush turns away, letting the moment of panic pass, and then looks back to Young. Dark eyes, bound hands, and a silence that's not antagonism or frustration or empty air.
He moves over Young, presses a kiss to Young's stomach, and that's it, the personal space between them has been shattered. There's no bound of propriety keeping them apart anymore. No one else is here, just them. Them and their hangups and neuroses and problems and everything that makes them human.
Rush presses three fingers into Young's mouth, this time. Purposeful, and businesslike, not teasing. Ship's supplies don't include an overwhelming amount of lubrication, and none of what they have is intended for the human body. Not that Rush would advise wasting it, if it was. No, saliva would have to be enough, with careful preparation.
Young's tongue flicks against Rush's fingers.
And Rush imagines that he's the only one Young could ever want, that this is for him and him alone. That the trust was something that was there all along, not something that Rush had to fight tooth and nail for. Something that was given, not something that was wanted.
Not the truth, though. Rush is too intelligent a man to delude himself.
He slides his fingers free, and reaches down, between Young's legs. Smooth, slow circles, not even pressing inside, and Young is already reacting.
Rush adjusts the angle of Young's thigh. Because the perfect kind of angle isn't just from simple mathematics, symmetry or congruence; it's function over form. It's the lure of Young's body and the best way to fuck him, all at once.
The first push of his fingers inside, and Young is ready for it. Practically welcoming it, easing under Rush's touch, until Rush has three fingers buried in the tight grip of Young's body, stretching him open gentle and inexorable, until Young is breathing harsh, murmured curses that aren't quite words, the way his hands tug, aimless, wanting, at the straps binding him down.
It's going to be tight, but it has to be now.
Rush withdraws, and spits, slicking his own erection. It's not enough, but it has to be enough, and he doesn't want to hurt Young and he wants to break Young open and make him beg and -- well, he's forced to admit that he doesn't entirely know what he wants, but he can read what Young wants in every line of his body. And that's something new.
Young is tight, incredibly tight, tense in a way that's not at all good.
"Rush," and Young's voice has that same tension in it, the same fear -- "I don't know that I can do this," his tone shivery, heavy and rough.
"You can," reassures Rush, and he presses a kiss to the inside of Young's thigh. "Trust me." Not a question, this time, not 'do you trust me' but just 'trust me', soft and sure.
Young tips his head back, in a kind of surrender.
"We'll keep it shallow, then, yes?" It's breathed more than said, and Rush does. True to his word. Shallow and slow, and on the second thrust he feels the reaction, from inside, a white-hot jolt of pleasure. "There you are," and Rush falls forward, sort of folding Young up beneath him, and Young's not tensing up anymore. Not tensing up and fighting Rush movement, but tensing up and pressing into it, his body begging for more even if he wouldn't trust himself to fall that far.
Rush draws Young on, chasing sensation with brutal accuracy. Won't draw out Young's agony, but just let it twist through him, as long as Young wants to feel it.
The way Young breathes, it's like he's on the edge of pain, and Rush realizes, suddenly, how close Young is, how he's driven Young to the brink. Amazing, to have that kind of control over another person, but this sort of control is a mystery, because he doesn't know how to read Young, can't know what exactly he's doing right. All he can do is fumble until he happens on the right kind of connection, and then it's mostly Young's mind, his perception, that does the work for Rush.
Rush thrusts in harsh, fast, his own climax catching him completely by surprise, he was so absorbed in Young.
Young isn't quite finished yet, when Rush withdraws. And, in another circumstance, Rush may have been a little annoyed at that. Now, though, the dominant emotion is curiosity. Interest. There are so many options.
He slides four fingers inside Young, at once, slipping through come and saliva, pressing down hard against the involuntary arch of Young's back.
"You think you could come from this?" asks Rush.
"No," says Young, "don't."
That -- that's absolutely genuine.
So, of course, Rush can't do anything but obey.
He palms Young's erection; a soft, hungry noise from Young's throat, and then his hips buck up and he's coming, helpless in Rush's hands.
Young is still breathing harsh when Rush pats Young's thigh and moves to his feet, getting off the bed. No query from Young as Rush rinses off his hands, wets a spare piece of cloth and steps back to the bed.
Young is watching him, now. His fingers curl, over the edge of the straps. "You gonna untie these now?" he asks.
"In a moment."
Rush presses Young's thigh down, against the bed. Wipes the head of his cock, the come streaked on his stomach, leaving the skin moist, but clean. The same thing between Young's legs. Not brisk or clinical, but like a lover would. Taking care.
And Young -- Young closes his eyes, relaxing. Not pulling against the bonds, not watching, not cautious or guarded or conflicted.
Rush likes that.
It's with reluctance that he finally unwinds the straps. Tries not to spend too much time touching the thin red lines left on Young's skin, from pulling too hard. He's shown enough weakness.
Young's fingers close, lazily, around Rush's wrist. "Stay," he murmurs.
"I have work to do," Rush points out. "The master code, remember?"
"It can wait."
Young pulls Rush down and kisses him. Shallow. Chaste, and sweet enough that Rush wouldn't have tolerated it, outside of an emotional bond like this one.
"So it can," Rush agrees, and he curls up, against Young.
Yes, this -- this was what he wanted.