Awake (J/A) (15/?)
This fic is rated: S for Strategize-y
Fandom: James Bond: Goldeneye
Characters/Pairing: James/Alec
Summary: Alec plots.
Warnings: none, really
This series contains sex that, while nominally consensual, takes place during and after brainwashing. As the character is incapable of giving any meaningful consent, the sex in the story would legally and ethically be considered rape. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.
Word Count: 923
Feedback: yes, please!
X-Posted: were_lemur, forengland
Series Master List
Chapter One
Previous Chapter
Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond. I don't own Alec Trevelyan either (alas), nor any other characters mentioned in this fic. James, Alec, etc. are all property of Ian Fleming and MGM. I'm just playing with them for a while. Not making any money, don't have any money, please don't sue!
Alec grabbed the guard rail of the bed, clutched it like a drowning man. He felt like he was drowning -- drowning in sensation. The dull ache that permeated his body, the burning pressure of the spine brace against his back, the throb of muscles held too long in one position.
And he was so thirsty.
He was tempted just to go to sleep. James would feed him ice when he woke; he could figure out what to do without being distracted by thirst.
But the thought of that deep blackness both tantalized and terrified him. It would be easy, so easy, just to sink back down. Surrender. But if he let himself slip down again, how long it would take him to come back?
If he ever did. He remembered how tempting it had been to just stay down there.
He had to focus.
Status check.
That was easy; he was immobilized. Flat on his back, with only one marginally functional limb. In the care of a not-quite-sane former lover.
He'd been in worse situations. Marginally.
His breathing felt easier than it had before; when he checked his chest, he discovered that the bandages that had constricted his ribs were gone.
How long had he been under? And how long had he been here before that?
He was still wrapped in casts, his spine still braced. That limited the timespan. He tried to remember how long it took broken bones to heal; three months for the spine and neck, he recalled, four months for the limbs. Approximately.
That was assuming James hadn't decided to keep him in the casts beyond the time they were medically necessary. He wouldn't put it past him. It would be an ideal way to insure his continued dependence.
He fumbled with the straps that secured the neck brace -- but hesitated. If he was wrong -- if his neck was still broken --
-- he could sever his spine. Paralyze himself for life.
That wasn't a risk he was willing to take.
His arm was already tired. Not surprising; he hadn't been moving it much. Atrophy had set in. He hated to think how weak he'd be, once the casts came off.
He hoped James was reading up on physical therapy.
He needed to talk to the doctor.
He needed --
He didn't know what he needed. Didn't know what to ask for, even if James gave him the option. He'd been lost for so long …
Black despair threatened to drown him. He was weak and exhausted and so thirsty. The deep, quiet darkness called to him. He could almost convince himself that he'd wake in a few hours, when James got up --
No. He needed those hours to plan, needed to be awake before James was, so he could plan the encounter. Control it as best he could.
He wanted ice, though.
Good. He had one thing for his list of demands. A cup of ice within reach at all times. And -- what else?
He tried to shift in the bed; his body ached. Had to do something about that, too. But not morphine. He needed to be fully aware, if he was going to match wits with James. The situation put him at enough of a disadvantage to begin with.
James controlled the flow of information. He could manipulate his sense of time, could fuck with his reality in any number of ways, and Alec had absolutely no outside verification of anything.
He needed to talk to the doctor. If he asked, would James allow it? He couldn't be sure, and if he asked and was refused, he knew James would watch him carefully.
He needed to have a more accurate picture of his physical condition. He needed to know how long he'd been here. He touched his hand to his face, feeling the growth of beard. It was about as long as it had been that one time he'd gone undercover on the fishing trawler, and that had taken close to three months to grow.
So. Three months as an outside estimate. Unless James had trimmed it, to make him think he hadn't been here as long as he had. He couldn't discount that possibility, either. He scratched at it; he wanted a shave.
Another item for the list. Practical, too; it would give him a way to mark time.
James mumbled in his sleep. He was starting to wake up; Alec needed to decide on a strategy before that happened. He tried to remember the lectures on behavior modification and game theory from decades ago.
He knew his goals. Autonomy, comfort, and some way to test his reality, in at least a small way. And James? James wanted him; awake and responsive. If James gave him something he wanted, he could reward James with a smile, a word -- even eye contact, at first, would be effective. But he'd have to be careful. If James sensed he was being manipulated, he'd try to regain control.
As a strategy, it left a good deal to be desired. But then, how many times had he been dropped behind enemy lines with only a gun and the name of a target? He could feel the trickle of anticipation in his blood already.
He heard James yawn. Stir. The foam mattress sighed, as he pushed himself to his feet. Alec shut his eyes before the lights came on, then waited and listened as James padded over to his side.
So. Let the game begin.
Next Chapter
Fandom: James Bond: Goldeneye
Characters/Pairing: James/Alec
Summary: Alec plots.
Warnings: none, really
This series contains sex that, while nominally consensual, takes place during and after brainwashing. As the character is incapable of giving any meaningful consent, the sex in the story would legally and ethically be considered rape. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.
Word Count: 923
Feedback: yes, please!
X-Posted: were_lemur, forengland
Series Master List
Chapter One
Previous Chapter
Disclaimer: I don't own James Bond. I don't own Alec Trevelyan either (alas), nor any other characters mentioned in this fic. James, Alec, etc. are all property of Ian Fleming and MGM. I'm just playing with them for a while. Not making any money, don't have any money, please don't sue!
Alec grabbed the guard rail of the bed, clutched it like a drowning man. He felt like he was drowning -- drowning in sensation. The dull ache that permeated his body, the burning pressure of the spine brace against his back, the throb of muscles held too long in one position.
And he was so thirsty.
He was tempted just to go to sleep. James would feed him ice when he woke; he could figure out what to do without being distracted by thirst.
But the thought of that deep blackness both tantalized and terrified him. It would be easy, so easy, just to sink back down. Surrender. But if he let himself slip down again, how long it would take him to come back?
If he ever did. He remembered how tempting it had been to just stay down there.
He had to focus.
Status check.
That was easy; he was immobilized. Flat on his back, with only one marginally functional limb. In the care of a not-quite-sane former lover.
He'd been in worse situations. Marginally.
His breathing felt easier than it had before; when he checked his chest, he discovered that the bandages that had constricted his ribs were gone.
How long had he been under? And how long had he been here before that?
He was still wrapped in casts, his spine still braced. That limited the timespan. He tried to remember how long it took broken bones to heal; three months for the spine and neck, he recalled, four months for the limbs. Approximately.
That was assuming James hadn't decided to keep him in the casts beyond the time they were medically necessary. He wouldn't put it past him. It would be an ideal way to insure his continued dependence.
He fumbled with the straps that secured the neck brace -- but hesitated. If he was wrong -- if his neck was still broken --
-- he could sever his spine. Paralyze himself for life.
That wasn't a risk he was willing to take.
His arm was already tired. Not surprising; he hadn't been moving it much. Atrophy had set in. He hated to think how weak he'd be, once the casts came off.
He hoped James was reading up on physical therapy.
He needed to talk to the doctor.
He needed --
He didn't know what he needed. Didn't know what to ask for, even if James gave him the option. He'd been lost for so long …
Black despair threatened to drown him. He was weak and exhausted and so thirsty. The deep, quiet darkness called to him. He could almost convince himself that he'd wake in a few hours, when James got up --
No. He needed those hours to plan, needed to be awake before James was, so he could plan the encounter. Control it as best he could.
He wanted ice, though.
Good. He had one thing for his list of demands. A cup of ice within reach at all times. And -- what else?
He tried to shift in the bed; his body ached. Had to do something about that, too. But not morphine. He needed to be fully aware, if he was going to match wits with James. The situation put him at enough of a disadvantage to begin with.
James controlled the flow of information. He could manipulate his sense of time, could fuck with his reality in any number of ways, and Alec had absolutely no outside verification of anything.
He needed to talk to the doctor. If he asked, would James allow it? He couldn't be sure, and if he asked and was refused, he knew James would watch him carefully.
He needed to have a more accurate picture of his physical condition. He needed to know how long he'd been here. He touched his hand to his face, feeling the growth of beard. It was about as long as it had been that one time he'd gone undercover on the fishing trawler, and that had taken close to three months to grow.
So. Three months as an outside estimate. Unless James had trimmed it, to make him think he hadn't been here as long as he had. He couldn't discount that possibility, either. He scratched at it; he wanted a shave.
Another item for the list. Practical, too; it would give him a way to mark time.
James mumbled in his sleep. He was starting to wake up; Alec needed to decide on a strategy before that happened. He tried to remember the lectures on behavior modification and game theory from decades ago.
He knew his goals. Autonomy, comfort, and some way to test his reality, in at least a small way. And James? James wanted him; awake and responsive. If James gave him something he wanted, he could reward James with a smile, a word -- even eye contact, at first, would be effective. But he'd have to be careful. If James sensed he was being manipulated, he'd try to regain control.
As a strategy, it left a good deal to be desired. But then, how many times had he been dropped behind enemy lines with only a gun and the name of a target? He could feel the trickle of anticipation in his blood already.
He heard James yawn. Stir. The foam mattress sighed, as he pushed himself to his feet. Alec shut his eyes before the lights came on, then waited and listened as James padded over to his side.
So. Let the game begin.
Next Chapter