Fillathon Post 10
Title: Time
Characters: Spoony, Linkara, Insano
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Noncon, conditioning, drug use, prostitution, abuse
Summary: Fill for this prompt. Time passes. They hurt. Who cares?
One day. Two weeks. Three months.
He could only hear their voices.
Up. Sit. Kneel. Lie down. Hold still. Shut up. Stop crying. Wake up.
Inject. Suck. Fuck. Sleep. Wake up.
Be good. Obey. Stop that. Do it. Stop whining. Wake up.
Bitch. Whore. Slut. Stupid. Worthless. Ours. Wake up.
Be quiet.
Wake up.
*
Two days. Three weeks. Four months. A year.
He couldn’t remember.
Had it been days since he’d slept, or only hours? Had it been weeks since he’d been fed, or only days? Had it been months since he’d been taken, or only weeks?
The only way to mark the amount of time was by the needles. They came in on a regular schedule and gave them to him, and he took them willingly. They made him feel better. Warm and happy and alive before they sent him to sleep. Of course, that sleep never lasted long, but he was always grateful for it.
Whenever he woke up, he longed for more. But he couldn’t get more, not until he’d pleased them, not until he had gotten on his knees and sucked, or laid down to be fucked. He didn’t object to that. If it meant the warm, happy feeling afterward, he would do anything.
*
Three days. Four weeks. Five months. Two years.
Whatever.
He craved the sex now, as well as the needles. The sex didn’t always lead to the drugs, but it could, so he was always happy when they came in, when they pushed him down, when he was sucking on them. Occasionally, they would give him the needle, and he would feel the happiness. They gave him more now, and it was a good thing, because lesser amounts no longer held the same thrill.
He still didn’t sleep much, but now he didn’t need to. It was nice, when he was allowed, but he didn’t beg for it. It didn’t bother him.
He loved what happened to him. What he got from it. When they gave him food, he was grateful, when they gave him sex, more so. When they gave him the drug, he was delirious with delight.
Sometimes, when he was allowed to speak, he would thank them, tell them how much he loved it. And they would pet him and say he was good.
And those were the times he was happiest of all.
*
Four days. Five weeks. Six months. Three years.
Or was it? Who even knew? Who even cared?
They took him to a new place, a darker place. They dressed him in pretty cloths, black leather and makeup. They told him to stand by the wall, and smile at other men who came in, and to do whatever those men said.
When those men came in, they would look at him. Some would pass by entirely, while others would say they liked him. Then he would be led to a room with a bed, and he would do whatever he was asked to do. He loved it, he craved it, and every man always said how sweet and obedient he was. They would often leave bits of paper, which they said was good. They said that those bits of paper were money, and while all the men paid some up front, the fact that they left more meant he was very good.
He didn’t know what they used those bits of paper for anymore, but he did know that if there were lots of them, they would give him the needle and let him sleep.
So he worked harder, was the best he could be, catering to fetishes that he didn’t understand, but was glad to try. All of them were amused by his eagerness, and happy to use him.
And he was happy to be used.
*
Five days. Six weeks. Seven months. Four years.
None of it mattered.
A man was stepping up. He seemed different from the others, softer, shyer. Something in his face was familiar, like a dream, or a faded memory. It didn’t matter. He had a look in his eye that said he was interested.
“Spoony?” he whispered.
Yes. That name was familiar. His? Maybe. Probably. It didn’t matter.
“What would you like?” he asked. “Because I’m up for anything.”
The man’s breath quickened. “I…I don’t think…”
“If you’re not interested, you can walk away. Someone else will want me.”
He blinked and then nodded quickly. “I’m interested,” he said.
They went to the bedroom. He sat down on the bed, but the man remained standing. “Spoony, what happened? I’ve been looking for you everywhere! Ever since you went missing…”
He sighed. “Can you just tell me what you want?” he asked. “Because I’m really, really interested in knowing.”
“Do you even recognize me?” the man asked.
He thought back. He could remember the face, yes, but it was distant, unclear, and he couldn’t quite put a name with it. “I…I don’t think…”
“Linkara,” the man said. “I’m Linkara.”
He nodded. “Okay,” he said. Some of the men liked to give names. He would forget it as soon as this one left. “Linkara. Fine. What do you want?”
“I…I want to take you home.”
That wasn’t what he had been expecting. “This is home,” he said. “This is where I belong.” He slid off the bed onto his knees. “Here…let me show you.” He reached out, intending to pull Linkara’s pants down and give him a blowjob so he could be on his way.
Linkara backed away. “Spoony, no. This isn’t…before all this happened, you lived in a house. With a mad scientist and his son and your dog…and…and sometimes, with me.” He looked at Spoony with pitying eyes. “We’ve missed you…and I want to save you. I want you to be well again.”
“I’m perfectly fine,” he said. “I’m happy here. Happier than I’ve ever been. So I’ll just do my work and you can be on your way and I can move on to the next one.” He moved forward and managed to undo Linkara’s pants.
“Spoony, I…”
He had already started with his mouth, licking and sucking gently, eager to taste and feel it, eager to please this man, this…Linkara. He may have been timid, but he looked like he had money, so he would please him as best as he could.
Linkara was silent as he worked, but his hand moved into the dark hair, not holding him, per se, just resting on the back of his head. He came soon enough and was swallowed down gratefully. Linkara stood there a moment, petting his hair.
Finally, he broke away and pulled some of the bits of paper from his pocket. “I’ll be back,” he said, and he left the paper on the table.
*
Six days. Seven weeks. Eight months. Five years.
It was wonderful to not know.
Linkara did come back, this time with another man in tow. They came straight to him and took him back to the bedroom. There, the second man was introduced as Insano, allegedly his roommate. Linkara and Insano spent a good hour explaining to him that he didn’t belong here, that they wanted to take him home.
He refused. He insisted he was happy here, that the drugs and sex were good, that he wasn’t tired, or hungry, or in any way unwell. He told them they could do what they liked, that he just wanted to serve them, that wasn’t it good when he sucked Linkara’s cock? That wouldn’t they love to use him any way they liked?
They refused his offers, begging him to leave and come with them, that they could arrange it so he could, but he didn’t. He didn’t want to go with them. He wanted to stay here, where he would get the sex and needles. They couldn’t make him go.
They left, both looking a bit dejected, but there was a determined look in Linkara’s eye that told him that they weren’t finished with him.
*
Seven days. Eight weeks. Nine months. Six years.
Time had stopped.
They came to him and said he had been purchased. That a man had paid a large amount of money to take him home permanently.
At first, he was eager to go. Surely whoever bought him would have the same good drugs and use him in all the ways he loved being used. Yes, he was happy to be bought.
That happiness evaporated when he saw that his purchaser was Linkara.
But he was good. He knew the rules. So he followed Linkara to his car, sat in the passenger seat, willingly returned to the house with him.
The man called Insano was there, with something for him to drink. “It will help with the withdrawals,” he said. “I don’t know what they had you on, but it’s going to be nasty.”
It was. He spent the next few days feeling very ill, craving the needles, begging both of them for sex. They refused. They said he had been conditioned, that he didn’t really want them to use him and he would see that soon enough.
It hurt, but they tried to make it easier. They gave him medicine, to ensure he wouldn’t die, and they did hold him at night, so he wouldn’t thrash or come bother them. They petted him, and fed him, and let him sleep as much as he wanted. And he supposed he should be grateful for that.
So he thanked them for being kind. And they hugged him and said that he would get better.
*
One day. Two weeks. Three months.
His name was Spoony.
He had known that, intellectually, but now he really felt it. He was Spoony, and he was getting better.
The withdrawals had stopped. He was sleeping regularly now, and eating normally. He no longer shamelessly begged Linkara and Insano to fuck him. He could sleep on his own now, though one of them was usually nearby, just in case.
He felt whole. Maybe not happy, but whole.
And that felt so much better.
Characters: Spoony, Linkara, Insano
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Noncon, conditioning, drug use, prostitution, abuse
Summary: Fill for this prompt. Time passes. They hurt. Who cares?
One day. Two weeks. Three months.
He could only hear their voices.
Up. Sit. Kneel. Lie down. Hold still. Shut up. Stop crying. Wake up.
Inject. Suck. Fuck. Sleep. Wake up.
Be good. Obey. Stop that. Do it. Stop whining. Wake up.
Bitch. Whore. Slut. Stupid. Worthless. Ours. Wake up.
Be quiet.
Wake up.
*
Two days. Three weeks. Four months. A year.
He couldn’t remember.
Had it been days since he’d slept, or only hours? Had it been weeks since he’d been fed, or only days? Had it been months since he’d been taken, or only weeks?
The only way to mark the amount of time was by the needles. They came in on a regular schedule and gave them to him, and he took them willingly. They made him feel better. Warm and happy and alive before they sent him to sleep. Of course, that sleep never lasted long, but he was always grateful for it.
Whenever he woke up, he longed for more. But he couldn’t get more, not until he’d pleased them, not until he had gotten on his knees and sucked, or laid down to be fucked. He didn’t object to that. If it meant the warm, happy feeling afterward, he would do anything.
*
Three days. Four weeks. Five months. Two years.
Whatever.
He craved the sex now, as well as the needles. The sex didn’t always lead to the drugs, but it could, so he was always happy when they came in, when they pushed him down, when he was sucking on them. Occasionally, they would give him the needle, and he would feel the happiness. They gave him more now, and it was a good thing, because lesser amounts no longer held the same thrill.
He still didn’t sleep much, but now he didn’t need to. It was nice, when he was allowed, but he didn’t beg for it. It didn’t bother him.
He loved what happened to him. What he got from it. When they gave him food, he was grateful, when they gave him sex, more so. When they gave him the drug, he was delirious with delight.
Sometimes, when he was allowed to speak, he would thank them, tell them how much he loved it. And they would pet him and say he was good.
And those were the times he was happiest of all.
*
Four days. Five weeks. Six months. Three years.
Or was it? Who even knew? Who even cared?
They took him to a new place, a darker place. They dressed him in pretty cloths, black leather and makeup. They told him to stand by the wall, and smile at other men who came in, and to do whatever those men said.
When those men came in, they would look at him. Some would pass by entirely, while others would say they liked him. Then he would be led to a room with a bed, and he would do whatever he was asked to do. He loved it, he craved it, and every man always said how sweet and obedient he was. They would often leave bits of paper, which they said was good. They said that those bits of paper were money, and while all the men paid some up front, the fact that they left more meant he was very good.
He didn’t know what they used those bits of paper for anymore, but he did know that if there were lots of them, they would give him the needle and let him sleep.
So he worked harder, was the best he could be, catering to fetishes that he didn’t understand, but was glad to try. All of them were amused by his eagerness, and happy to use him.
And he was happy to be used.
*
Five days. Six weeks. Seven months. Four years.
None of it mattered.
A man was stepping up. He seemed different from the others, softer, shyer. Something in his face was familiar, like a dream, or a faded memory. It didn’t matter. He had a look in his eye that said he was interested.
“Spoony?” he whispered.
Yes. That name was familiar. His? Maybe. Probably. It didn’t matter.
“What would you like?” he asked. “Because I’m up for anything.”
The man’s breath quickened. “I…I don’t think…”
“If you’re not interested, you can walk away. Someone else will want me.”
He blinked and then nodded quickly. “I’m interested,” he said.
They went to the bedroom. He sat down on the bed, but the man remained standing. “Spoony, what happened? I’ve been looking for you everywhere! Ever since you went missing…”
He sighed. “Can you just tell me what you want?” he asked. “Because I’m really, really interested in knowing.”
“Do you even recognize me?” the man asked.
He thought back. He could remember the face, yes, but it was distant, unclear, and he couldn’t quite put a name with it. “I…I don’t think…”
“Linkara,” the man said. “I’m Linkara.”
He nodded. “Okay,” he said. Some of the men liked to give names. He would forget it as soon as this one left. “Linkara. Fine. What do you want?”
“I…I want to take you home.”
That wasn’t what he had been expecting. “This is home,” he said. “This is where I belong.” He slid off the bed onto his knees. “Here…let me show you.” He reached out, intending to pull Linkara’s pants down and give him a blowjob so he could be on his way.
Linkara backed away. “Spoony, no. This isn’t…before all this happened, you lived in a house. With a mad scientist and his son and your dog…and…and sometimes, with me.” He looked at Spoony with pitying eyes. “We’ve missed you…and I want to save you. I want you to be well again.”
“I’m perfectly fine,” he said. “I’m happy here. Happier than I’ve ever been. So I’ll just do my work and you can be on your way and I can move on to the next one.” He moved forward and managed to undo Linkara’s pants.
“Spoony, I…”
He had already started with his mouth, licking and sucking gently, eager to taste and feel it, eager to please this man, this…Linkara. He may have been timid, but he looked like he had money, so he would please him as best as he could.
Linkara was silent as he worked, but his hand moved into the dark hair, not holding him, per se, just resting on the back of his head. He came soon enough and was swallowed down gratefully. Linkara stood there a moment, petting his hair.
Finally, he broke away and pulled some of the bits of paper from his pocket. “I’ll be back,” he said, and he left the paper on the table.
*
Six days. Seven weeks. Eight months. Five years.
It was wonderful to not know.
Linkara did come back, this time with another man in tow. They came straight to him and took him back to the bedroom. There, the second man was introduced as Insano, allegedly his roommate. Linkara and Insano spent a good hour explaining to him that he didn’t belong here, that they wanted to take him home.
He refused. He insisted he was happy here, that the drugs and sex were good, that he wasn’t tired, or hungry, or in any way unwell. He told them they could do what they liked, that he just wanted to serve them, that wasn’t it good when he sucked Linkara’s cock? That wouldn’t they love to use him any way they liked?
They refused his offers, begging him to leave and come with them, that they could arrange it so he could, but he didn’t. He didn’t want to go with them. He wanted to stay here, where he would get the sex and needles. They couldn’t make him go.
They left, both looking a bit dejected, but there was a determined look in Linkara’s eye that told him that they weren’t finished with him.
*
Seven days. Eight weeks. Nine months. Six years.
Time had stopped.
They came to him and said he had been purchased. That a man had paid a large amount of money to take him home permanently.
At first, he was eager to go. Surely whoever bought him would have the same good drugs and use him in all the ways he loved being used. Yes, he was happy to be bought.
That happiness evaporated when he saw that his purchaser was Linkara.
But he was good. He knew the rules. So he followed Linkara to his car, sat in the passenger seat, willingly returned to the house with him.
The man called Insano was there, with something for him to drink. “It will help with the withdrawals,” he said. “I don’t know what they had you on, but it’s going to be nasty.”
It was. He spent the next few days feeling very ill, craving the needles, begging both of them for sex. They refused. They said he had been conditioned, that he didn’t really want them to use him and he would see that soon enough.
It hurt, but they tried to make it easier. They gave him medicine, to ensure he wouldn’t die, and they did hold him at night, so he wouldn’t thrash or come bother them. They petted him, and fed him, and let him sleep as much as he wanted. And he supposed he should be grateful for that.
So he thanked them for being kind. And they hugged him and said that he would get better.
*
One day. Two weeks. Three months.
His name was Spoony.
He had known that, intellectually, but now he really felt it. He was Spoony, and he was getting better.
The withdrawals had stopped. He was sleeping regularly now, and eating normally. He no longer shamelessly begged Linkara and Insano to fuck him. He could sleep on his own now, though one of them was usually nearby, just in case.
He felt whole. Maybe not happy, but whole.
And that felt so much better.