Submission - Linksano/Linkara fanfic. Sequel to Obedience.
Title: Submission
Rating: R
Word Count: 2,644 (aprox.)
Characters, Pairings: Linksano/Linkara, past Linksano/Holokara
Disclaimer: I own nothing and mean no disrespect.
Warnings: Stockholm Syndrome. Reference to rape. Dub-con due to questionable mental state. D/s.
Summary: Linksano tells Linkara everything.
Sequel To: Obedience
A/N: So we were all feeling sorry for Linksano after the last fic, but then I had exams and didn’t have time to finish off the sequel where things get somewhat resolved. But now I have!
At first he was frightened of Linkara. The man had calmly threatened his life, promised that if Linksano stepped out of line or tried to betray them, he’d find himself trapped on the planet with Vyce in an instant.
But after the initial few weeks of living in constant fear, the months of paranoia and anxiety, and finally what turned into a year of pockets of distrust and panic … the fear had begun to twist into something more palatable, something more manageable. It’s slow at first, and it’s not until he’s jerking off in the shower thinking of Linkara’s face and shoulders and strong hands that he realizes how far gone he is. He finds himself wanting to follow Linkara’s orders, not out of fear of retribution, but out of a desire for praise from the man. It’s pathetic, how many of his fantasies start to include kneeling at Linkara’s feet like a good dog. He wants to be good, wants Linkara to pet him instead of kick him, though Linksano would take kicks over indifference. At least then he’d know what Linkara thinks of him, indifference only makes Linksano more anxious, fearful of what’s going on inside Linkara’s head.
Stockholm syndrome. Such an easy way to describe so many conflicting emotions.
Recognizing what he has doesn’t help Linksano, there’s no one he can tell, no one he can trust, confide in, unburden his mind to. Linksano can’t imagine telling any of this to an Earth therapist, they wouldn’t be able to understand his situation, his status as a refugee from another world. They’d only think he was delusional, give him some pills at best. Linksano doesn’t want pills, doesn’t want to dull his mind, even if it would save him some pain.
But Linkara is going to find out. It’s only a matter of time. After all, Holokara found out. He saw. Saw the way Linksano looked at Linkara out of the corner of his eyes, the way his face turned red whenever Linkara gave him a kind word or a pat on the shoulder … and worst of all, Holokara knew about all the times Linksano masturbated on Comicron-1 while watching one of Linkara’s videos, or perusing pictures and gifs of him on tumblr.
Something has to be done, and soon.
~*~
Linksano sits down at the kitchen table across from Linkara. He puts a broken scanner on the table and takes off his goggles.
“This is the scanner we couldn’t reach you on. After we lost contact with you, I didn’t try to repair it. I told Pollo and Harvey and the others that I was … but I wasn’t.”
Linkara stares at him, and at the broken scanner.
Slowly and deliberately, Linkara draws his magic gun and places it on the table, sets it down by his right hand, keeps his hand on the table.
Linksano feels a good shiver run down his spine. Fucked-up … so broken … you don’t deserve his pity … There’s an eerie calm settling on him, the idea that soon all of his pain and confusion and waiting and longing and anxiety will be over forever.
“Where do you want us to do this?” Linksano asks, clasping his hands together to stop them from shaking. Backyard … probably make me dig my own grave …
“I don’t know if I’m going to do anything, yet. Tell me why.”
“It doesn’t -”
“Yes, it does matter, Linksano. So unless you’d rather get shot in the head than explain yourself, start talking.”
Linksano squeezes his eyes shut. Linkara wants to know. Of course he does. He’s too much of a hero to just shoot someone without asking questions first.
“You know what he did to Harvey and 90’s Kid?” Linksano asks, eyes fixed firmly on the floor. He doesn’t have to specify whom he’s talking about, Linkara knows.
“Yeah. He … he hurt them. Squeezed 90’s Kid’s heart, Harvey’s throat.” Linkara sounds queasy just talking about it.
“He … he did more. To me.” Linksano swallows, mouth going dry, sweat trickling down his neck. Hold still, dammit, you don’t deserve to show him your fear … he shouldn’t feel sorry for you - you don’t deserve that …
“More?” Linkara asks. He doesn’t understand: if he did, his tone would give it away.
“He … he backed me against a wall and … touched me.” Linksano’s voice falters. Don’t make me say it please don’t make me say it please …
“He … no. No. He … Linksano, did he … rape you?” Linkara’s voice is hoarse.
“He found a way.” Linksano says, lips twisting in disgust.
There’s a pause.
Linkara coughs, sounding like he’s trying to conceal some kind of hyperventilation.
“Linksano, I’m so sor-”
“Don’t.” Linksano moans, curling in on himself. “Don’t … don’t … I … you need to listen. Please, just listen. Then … then you can …” Kill me. Exile me. Lock me in the airlock on Comicron-1 for weeks so I’m too frightened to fall asleep. I deserve it. I’m sick and filthy … don’t deserve your lovepityrespect …
“He told me to stop trying to get back in contact with you. Stop trying to fix the scanners. Told me the others would believe I couldn’t fix them, that I was just incompetent. He said he’d keep … he’d … no matter what I did he’d keep … but if I didn’t try to fix the scanners he’d pretend to …” Linksano feels his control slip, feels his voice catch in his throat.
“Linksano, please,” Linkara reaches across the table, takes Linksano’s hands in his.
“Don’t touch me!” Linksano yelps, flinches away, stands up and retreats to the wall. Don’t deserve it … don’t deserve your pity …
Linkara stays where he is, doesn’t pursue Linksano. “God, it must make you sick to even look at me, hear my voice, after what he …” Linkara shudders. “I … Linksano, you don’t have to stay here.”
Linksano cringes, but doesn’t protest. Exile - he can accept that. Noble Linkara, the Champion of Earth, has shown mercy before. He’d dared to hope that Linkara would show him the same courtesy as he did to Vyce.
“I’d miss you, but I can’t ask you to stay here if every time you see me you’ll be thinking of him. That wouldn’t help you recover, that would only keep hurting you.”
What? Linksano looks up at him, confused. “But … but I …”
“Linksano, you have nothing to apologize for. Nothing. Is it different, where you’re from, your universe? Did you expect me to blame you for what he did to you? He’s the monster, you’re not to blame at all.”
“Yes, I am!” Linksano whimpers. “Please … you aren’t listening! He said, if I didn’t try to fix the scanners, he’d keep … touching me, and he’d pretend he was you while he did it.”
Linkara blinks, as the words sink in. “That was incentive?”
“Yes.” Linksano hangs his head.
There’s a pause.
“Linksano, after that, did you try to fix the scanners or not?”
“I … I didn’t do anything.”
“And you lied?”
“Pollo and Harvey asked me three times how my progress was coming. I told them that there were no improvements.” Technically true, but also concealing the whole truth.
There’s a much longer pause. During it, Linksano imagines Linkara picking up the saber from the umbrella stand, drawing it out, and driving it into Linksano’s guts, pinning him to the wall.
It actually excites him, that idea. There is the mild fear of death, of pain, which is almost entirely obscured by the wave of anticipation of the relief that would come from dying, and the guiltily pleasurable streak of arousal thinking of Linkara killing him so personally like that.
Linksano decides to break the silence. He takes a few steps towards Linkara and sinks down onto his knees.
“I know I don’t … deserve any kind of mercy … but I am sorry.” Linksano chokes out.
Punish me. Put me out of my misery … No, exile me, please … No, forgive me, I’m so sorry, just please don’t get rid of me …
“Linksano what … what can I do? What do you want from me? What can I do for you?” Linkara’s voice is strained, as if he’s holding back tears.
Linksano has never seen Linkara cry. He doesn’t especially want to.
Linkara crouches down in front of Linksano; tries to meet his eyes.
Linksano looks away. I want to kneel at your feet and be your dog. Please, let me do that, just stroke my hair and tell me I’ve been good, that I’m a good person, please. Even if you killed me I wouldn’t care, just please touch me …
“I don’t know,” Linksano admits. “There’s a million things I want you to do to me, but I can’t ask you to do any of them.”
“You could try.”
“You don’t want to hear them.”
“If it would help you, I’ll listen as long as you want.””
Linksano stays silent, mulling that over.
Linkara coughs. “Should I guess? I’ll ask questions and you can … say yes or no?”
Linksano shrugs.
Linkara grabs him by the chin, forces him to look him in the eye. “Do you want me to punish you, Linksano?”
Linksano feels a shiver run down his spine. It’s a good shiver: his toes curl; he can practically feel his pupils dilate. “Yes,” he breathes.
Linkara gulps, but nods and lets go of Linksano’s chin. “Okay, then, um … safeword?”
“I don’t -”
“Yes, you do. I don’t know a lot about you, your life, your past … if I accidentally hit some memory of yours, you should be able to tell me to stop.”
Linksano sighs. “Fine: Spoonette.”
Linkara raises his eyebrows, but nods.
“Wait here,” Linkara says. His tone is slightly different. Not harsh, but a lot calmer than before, more authoritative. “And don’t move.”
Linksano stays perfectly still. The mere act of taking orders from Linkara is causing some of his anxiety to abate. The thought is troubling, but at this point he’ll take whatever solace he can get.
He hears vague movements down the hall, the rustle of fabric, the sounds of heavier items being moved. Then Linkara’s footsteps, coming back.
Wordlessly, Linkara hauls Linksano up by his shirt, drags him down the hallway. He doesn’t have to pull too roughly, Linksano follows willingly enough.
Linkara’s bedroom: Linksano hasn’t been in here before. It’s a spacious enough room, with the signs of recent reorganizing going on around the bed and desk. A section of the desk has been cleared off, there are piles of papers and comic books stacked on the floor beside it.
“Now, I was wondering if this would fit you …” Linkara picks up something from the desk, a circle of leather with a few metal studs on it. A collar. Not new, either, the edges are slightly worn.
Linksano blinks. “Whose was it?”
“That’s none of your concern,” Linkara reaches forward, fastens it around Linksano’s neck.
Linksano stiffens, wills himself to relax, to realize he’s not being choked, the collar is so loose that Linkara can slip two fingers between it and Linksano’s skin.
“There, see? There’s nothing to be scared of. You’re safe here.” Linkara runs a hand through Linksano’s hair.
Linksano leans into his touch, rubs his head against Linkara’s hand. He wants more, needs more …
“Ah ah ah!” Linkara shakes his head, withdraws his hand. “You said you wanted to be punished.”
Linksano nods, hangs his head, feels an honest-to-god whine building in the back of his throat.
“You’ll notice I cleared my desk off for you. What do you think you should do now?”
Linksano looks from Linkara to the desk. Then he steps forward and bends over it, hands flat on the wood. His shoulders are tense now; he’s not sure what to expect.
“Count off.”
That’s all the warning Linksano gets before Linkara’s hand comes down. The strikes aren’t that painful at all, Linksano never feels the need to yell or even cry. Linkara is being careful with him, going slow.
Linksano counts dutifully, and after twenty Linkara stops, drags Linksano up by his collar.
“Do you think that was enough?”
Linksano shakes his head.
Linkara grins wolfishly. “You’re right, it wasn’t. Lie down on my bed.”
Linksano freezes, ice in his veins. The image of Holokara above him, reaching down, smirking, swims into his vision.
Linkara puts a hand on Linksano’s shoulder, dragging him back, grounding him. “Hey, hey, sssshhhhh … it’s ok. You’re safe here. I’m not going to hurt you. If you don’t want me to touch you, I won’t touch you. This is your choice. You can tell me to slow down, to stop, and I’ll listen. You’re in control.” He lets go of Linksano.
Linksano rocks back on his heels. He could stop this, yank the collar off, pretend this never happened. He knows now that Linkara isn’t angry at him, not about his … feelings, what he did with Holokara. The lies are what upset him, not the attraction. Their lives would be odd but manageable, allies, perhaps friendship in the coming years.
Linksano knows this is a possible route. But he can’t summon the will to walk out the door, doesn’t want to, at least not now, not today, not in this moment.
Later? Maybe later. Not right now.
Linksano smiles softly and lies down on the bed, face-up. He keeps his eyes on Linkara.
Linkara circles around to the right side of the bed, climbs on, crouches over Linksano. He slides a hand up and underneath Linksano’s shirt, nails grazing Linksano’s skin.
“Are you worried that I’m going to fuck you?” Linkara asks, softly.
Linksano gasps: Linkara never swears.
“I’m not interested in that today. Maybe not ever. Definitely not today. So take that thought right out of your mind.” Linkara’s voice is smooth and eerily calm, like he’s talking about his plans to go grocery shopping later and pick up some cereal.
Linksano feels himself relaxing, with every brush of Linkara’s hand, every word he speaks.
“Turn over, please, onto your side.”
Linksano does, back to Linkara, a queasy feeling in his stomach rising in response to having his back to someone, anyone …
And then Linkara’s hands are in Linksano’s hair, stroking, massaging, dragging … soothing.
Linksano isn’t sure how long they stay like that, Linksano letting out soft murmurs of pleasure and trying to hold them back, and Linkara moving from Linksano’s hair and scalp to his neck, his shoulders, his arms, his back, his lower back …
Linksano arches, whimpering. He’s got an erection and he knows Linkara can tell.
“I told you, I’m not going to fuck you,” Linkara drawls, voice barely above a whisper, and the combination of him swearing and that tone is doing very confusing things to Linksano’s libido.
Linksano opens his mouth to plead, to complain, to do some swearing of his own … and then Linkara is gone. His hands are gone and he’s off the bed and standing on the floor and why …
Linksano rolls onto his back, looks up at Linkara.
“Now, I want you to wait here, stay perfectly still and wait for me. I have to film next week’s episode.”
Linksano stares.
“You can move for an emergency. If I’m longer than an hour, you can take a bathroom break. But I expect to find you right back here, perfectly still, once I’m finished.”
And then Linkara is gone.
Linksano knows he can move. He’s capable of movement, can control his own body. But he doesn’t even twitch his feet as a test. He stays perfectly still, breathing slowly and deeply, and waits for Linkara.
Rating: R
Word Count: 2,644 (aprox.)
Characters, Pairings: Linksano/Linkara, past Linksano/Holokara
Disclaimer: I own nothing and mean no disrespect.
Warnings: Stockholm Syndrome. Reference to rape. Dub-con due to questionable mental state. D/s.
Summary: Linksano tells Linkara everything.
Sequel To: Obedience
A/N: So we were all feeling sorry for Linksano after the last fic, but then I had exams and didn’t have time to finish off the sequel where things get somewhat resolved. But now I have!
At first he was frightened of Linkara. The man had calmly threatened his life, promised that if Linksano stepped out of line or tried to betray them, he’d find himself trapped on the planet with Vyce in an instant.
But after the initial few weeks of living in constant fear, the months of paranoia and anxiety, and finally what turned into a year of pockets of distrust and panic … the fear had begun to twist into something more palatable, something more manageable. It’s slow at first, and it’s not until he’s jerking off in the shower thinking of Linkara’s face and shoulders and strong hands that he realizes how far gone he is. He finds himself wanting to follow Linkara’s orders, not out of fear of retribution, but out of a desire for praise from the man. It’s pathetic, how many of his fantasies start to include kneeling at Linkara’s feet like a good dog. He wants to be good, wants Linkara to pet him instead of kick him, though Linksano would take kicks over indifference. At least then he’d know what Linkara thinks of him, indifference only makes Linksano more anxious, fearful of what’s going on inside Linkara’s head.
Stockholm syndrome. Such an easy way to describe so many conflicting emotions.
Recognizing what he has doesn’t help Linksano, there’s no one he can tell, no one he can trust, confide in, unburden his mind to. Linksano can’t imagine telling any of this to an Earth therapist, they wouldn’t be able to understand his situation, his status as a refugee from another world. They’d only think he was delusional, give him some pills at best. Linksano doesn’t want pills, doesn’t want to dull his mind, even if it would save him some pain.
But Linkara is going to find out. It’s only a matter of time. After all, Holokara found out. He saw. Saw the way Linksano looked at Linkara out of the corner of his eyes, the way his face turned red whenever Linkara gave him a kind word or a pat on the shoulder … and worst of all, Holokara knew about all the times Linksano masturbated on Comicron-1 while watching one of Linkara’s videos, or perusing pictures and gifs of him on tumblr.
Something has to be done, and soon.
~*~
Linksano sits down at the kitchen table across from Linkara. He puts a broken scanner on the table and takes off his goggles.
“This is the scanner we couldn’t reach you on. After we lost contact with you, I didn’t try to repair it. I told Pollo and Harvey and the others that I was … but I wasn’t.”
Linkara stares at him, and at the broken scanner.
Slowly and deliberately, Linkara draws his magic gun and places it on the table, sets it down by his right hand, keeps his hand on the table.
Linksano feels a good shiver run down his spine. Fucked-up … so broken … you don’t deserve his pity … There’s an eerie calm settling on him, the idea that soon all of his pain and confusion and waiting and longing and anxiety will be over forever.
“Where do you want us to do this?” Linksano asks, clasping his hands together to stop them from shaking. Backyard … probably make me dig my own grave …
“I don’t know if I’m going to do anything, yet. Tell me why.”
“It doesn’t -”
“Yes, it does matter, Linksano. So unless you’d rather get shot in the head than explain yourself, start talking.”
Linksano squeezes his eyes shut. Linkara wants to know. Of course he does. He’s too much of a hero to just shoot someone without asking questions first.
“You know what he did to Harvey and 90’s Kid?” Linksano asks, eyes fixed firmly on the floor. He doesn’t have to specify whom he’s talking about, Linkara knows.
“Yeah. He … he hurt them. Squeezed 90’s Kid’s heart, Harvey’s throat.” Linkara sounds queasy just talking about it.
“He … he did more. To me.” Linksano swallows, mouth going dry, sweat trickling down his neck. Hold still, dammit, you don’t deserve to show him your fear … he shouldn’t feel sorry for you - you don’t deserve that …
“More?” Linkara asks. He doesn’t understand: if he did, his tone would give it away.
“He … he backed me against a wall and … touched me.” Linksano’s voice falters. Don’t make me say it please don’t make me say it please …
“He … no. No. He … Linksano, did he … rape you?” Linkara’s voice is hoarse.
“He found a way.” Linksano says, lips twisting in disgust.
There’s a pause.
Linkara coughs, sounding like he’s trying to conceal some kind of hyperventilation.
“Linksano, I’m so sor-”
“Don’t.” Linksano moans, curling in on himself. “Don’t … don’t … I … you need to listen. Please, just listen. Then … then you can …” Kill me. Exile me. Lock me in the airlock on Comicron-1 for weeks so I’m too frightened to fall asleep. I deserve it. I’m sick and filthy … don’t deserve your lovepityrespect …
“He told me to stop trying to get back in contact with you. Stop trying to fix the scanners. Told me the others would believe I couldn’t fix them, that I was just incompetent. He said he’d keep … he’d … no matter what I did he’d keep … but if I didn’t try to fix the scanners he’d pretend to …” Linksano feels his control slip, feels his voice catch in his throat.
“Linksano, please,” Linkara reaches across the table, takes Linksano’s hands in his.
“Don’t touch me!” Linksano yelps, flinches away, stands up and retreats to the wall. Don’t deserve it … don’t deserve your pity …
Linkara stays where he is, doesn’t pursue Linksano. “God, it must make you sick to even look at me, hear my voice, after what he …” Linkara shudders. “I … Linksano, you don’t have to stay here.”
Linksano cringes, but doesn’t protest. Exile - he can accept that. Noble Linkara, the Champion of Earth, has shown mercy before. He’d dared to hope that Linkara would show him the same courtesy as he did to Vyce.
“I’d miss you, but I can’t ask you to stay here if every time you see me you’ll be thinking of him. That wouldn’t help you recover, that would only keep hurting you.”
What? Linksano looks up at him, confused. “But … but I …”
“Linksano, you have nothing to apologize for. Nothing. Is it different, where you’re from, your universe? Did you expect me to blame you for what he did to you? He’s the monster, you’re not to blame at all.”
“Yes, I am!” Linksano whimpers. “Please … you aren’t listening! He said, if I didn’t try to fix the scanners, he’d keep … touching me, and he’d pretend he was you while he did it.”
Linkara blinks, as the words sink in. “That was incentive?”
“Yes.” Linksano hangs his head.
There’s a pause.
“Linksano, after that, did you try to fix the scanners or not?”
“I … I didn’t do anything.”
“And you lied?”
“Pollo and Harvey asked me three times how my progress was coming. I told them that there were no improvements.” Technically true, but also concealing the whole truth.
There’s a much longer pause. During it, Linksano imagines Linkara picking up the saber from the umbrella stand, drawing it out, and driving it into Linksano’s guts, pinning him to the wall.
It actually excites him, that idea. There is the mild fear of death, of pain, which is almost entirely obscured by the wave of anticipation of the relief that would come from dying, and the guiltily pleasurable streak of arousal thinking of Linkara killing him so personally like that.
Linksano decides to break the silence. He takes a few steps towards Linkara and sinks down onto his knees.
“I know I don’t … deserve any kind of mercy … but I am sorry.” Linksano chokes out.
Punish me. Put me out of my misery … No, exile me, please … No, forgive me, I’m so sorry, just please don’t get rid of me …
“Linksano what … what can I do? What do you want from me? What can I do for you?” Linkara’s voice is strained, as if he’s holding back tears.
Linksano has never seen Linkara cry. He doesn’t especially want to.
Linkara crouches down in front of Linksano; tries to meet his eyes.
Linksano looks away. I want to kneel at your feet and be your dog. Please, let me do that, just stroke my hair and tell me I’ve been good, that I’m a good person, please. Even if you killed me I wouldn’t care, just please touch me …
“I don’t know,” Linksano admits. “There’s a million things I want you to do to me, but I can’t ask you to do any of them.”
“You could try.”
“You don’t want to hear them.”
“If it would help you, I’ll listen as long as you want.””
Linksano stays silent, mulling that over.
Linkara coughs. “Should I guess? I’ll ask questions and you can … say yes or no?”
Linksano shrugs.
Linkara grabs him by the chin, forces him to look him in the eye. “Do you want me to punish you, Linksano?”
Linksano feels a shiver run down his spine. It’s a good shiver: his toes curl; he can practically feel his pupils dilate. “Yes,” he breathes.
Linkara gulps, but nods and lets go of Linksano’s chin. “Okay, then, um … safeword?”
“I don’t -”
“Yes, you do. I don’t know a lot about you, your life, your past … if I accidentally hit some memory of yours, you should be able to tell me to stop.”
Linksano sighs. “Fine: Spoonette.”
Linkara raises his eyebrows, but nods.
“Wait here,” Linkara says. His tone is slightly different. Not harsh, but a lot calmer than before, more authoritative. “And don’t move.”
Linksano stays perfectly still. The mere act of taking orders from Linkara is causing some of his anxiety to abate. The thought is troubling, but at this point he’ll take whatever solace he can get.
He hears vague movements down the hall, the rustle of fabric, the sounds of heavier items being moved. Then Linkara’s footsteps, coming back.
Wordlessly, Linkara hauls Linksano up by his shirt, drags him down the hallway. He doesn’t have to pull too roughly, Linksano follows willingly enough.
Linkara’s bedroom: Linksano hasn’t been in here before. It’s a spacious enough room, with the signs of recent reorganizing going on around the bed and desk. A section of the desk has been cleared off, there are piles of papers and comic books stacked on the floor beside it.
“Now, I was wondering if this would fit you …” Linkara picks up something from the desk, a circle of leather with a few metal studs on it. A collar. Not new, either, the edges are slightly worn.
Linksano blinks. “Whose was it?”
“That’s none of your concern,” Linkara reaches forward, fastens it around Linksano’s neck.
Linksano stiffens, wills himself to relax, to realize he’s not being choked, the collar is so loose that Linkara can slip two fingers between it and Linksano’s skin.
“There, see? There’s nothing to be scared of. You’re safe here.” Linkara runs a hand through Linksano’s hair.
Linksano leans into his touch, rubs his head against Linkara’s hand. He wants more, needs more …
“Ah ah ah!” Linkara shakes his head, withdraws his hand. “You said you wanted to be punished.”
Linksano nods, hangs his head, feels an honest-to-god whine building in the back of his throat.
“You’ll notice I cleared my desk off for you. What do you think you should do now?”
Linksano looks from Linkara to the desk. Then he steps forward and bends over it, hands flat on the wood. His shoulders are tense now; he’s not sure what to expect.
“Count off.”
That’s all the warning Linksano gets before Linkara’s hand comes down. The strikes aren’t that painful at all, Linksano never feels the need to yell or even cry. Linkara is being careful with him, going slow.
Linksano counts dutifully, and after twenty Linkara stops, drags Linksano up by his collar.
“Do you think that was enough?”
Linksano shakes his head.
Linkara grins wolfishly. “You’re right, it wasn’t. Lie down on my bed.”
Linksano freezes, ice in his veins. The image of Holokara above him, reaching down, smirking, swims into his vision.
Linkara puts a hand on Linksano’s shoulder, dragging him back, grounding him. “Hey, hey, sssshhhhh … it’s ok. You’re safe here. I’m not going to hurt you. If you don’t want me to touch you, I won’t touch you. This is your choice. You can tell me to slow down, to stop, and I’ll listen. You’re in control.” He lets go of Linksano.
Linksano rocks back on his heels. He could stop this, yank the collar off, pretend this never happened. He knows now that Linkara isn’t angry at him, not about his … feelings, what he did with Holokara. The lies are what upset him, not the attraction. Their lives would be odd but manageable, allies, perhaps friendship in the coming years.
Linksano knows this is a possible route. But he can’t summon the will to walk out the door, doesn’t want to, at least not now, not today, not in this moment.
Later? Maybe later. Not right now.
Linksano smiles softly and lies down on the bed, face-up. He keeps his eyes on Linkara.
Linkara circles around to the right side of the bed, climbs on, crouches over Linksano. He slides a hand up and underneath Linksano’s shirt, nails grazing Linksano’s skin.
“Are you worried that I’m going to fuck you?” Linkara asks, softly.
Linksano gasps: Linkara never swears.
“I’m not interested in that today. Maybe not ever. Definitely not today. So take that thought right out of your mind.” Linkara’s voice is smooth and eerily calm, like he’s talking about his plans to go grocery shopping later and pick up some cereal.
Linksano feels himself relaxing, with every brush of Linkara’s hand, every word he speaks.
“Turn over, please, onto your side.”
Linksano does, back to Linkara, a queasy feeling in his stomach rising in response to having his back to someone, anyone …
And then Linkara’s hands are in Linksano’s hair, stroking, massaging, dragging … soothing.
Linksano isn’t sure how long they stay like that, Linksano letting out soft murmurs of pleasure and trying to hold them back, and Linkara moving from Linksano’s hair and scalp to his neck, his shoulders, his arms, his back, his lower back …
Linksano arches, whimpering. He’s got an erection and he knows Linkara can tell.
“I told you, I’m not going to fuck you,” Linkara drawls, voice barely above a whisper, and the combination of him swearing and that tone is doing very confusing things to Linksano’s libido.
Linksano opens his mouth to plead, to complain, to do some swearing of his own … and then Linkara is gone. His hands are gone and he’s off the bed and standing on the floor and why …
Linksano rolls onto his back, looks up at Linkara.
“Now, I want you to wait here, stay perfectly still and wait for me. I have to film next week’s episode.”
Linksano stares.
“You can move for an emergency. If I’m longer than an hour, you can take a bathroom break. But I expect to find you right back here, perfectly still, once I’m finished.”
And then Linkara is gone.
Linksano knows he can move. He’s capable of movement, can control his own body. But he doesn’t even twitch his feet as a test. He stays perfectly still, breathing slowly and deeply, and waits for Linkara.