The Worst Way (J/A) (3/?)
This fic is rated: S for Sick-Fuckery
Fandom: James Bond: Goldeneye
Characters/Pairing: James/Alec
Summary: James struggles with his demons. Sequel to Broken For Me and Last Gasp
Word Count: 2,043
Warnings: Plenty of em! Imagery of severe physical trauma and nonconsensual sex.
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.
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!
James stared down at Alec as he slept, safe in the embrace of the morphine. Free of the pain, his face was relaxed; he was even smiling faintly. James brushed a stray strand of hair back from his forehead, and studied him.
He was like a porcelain doll, James thought; carelessly dropped and smashed, but lovingly reassembled. All he would need now -- James’s lips twitched upward -- was a few months for the glue to dry.
“Then you’ll be good as new,” he murmured, and reached out to trace the line of one cheekbone with a gentle fingertip.
Even broken, he was still beautiful; maybe more so. Helplessness looked good on him; vulnerability with just an edge of fear. And let’s not forget moments of Stockholm-syndrome-induced lust.
He remembered the way Alec’s green eyes had gone dark with need, as he’d traced his lips with his thumb. He’d read the desire there, warring with fear and anger. An image came to him, then; of shaking Alec awake, climbing on top of him, and fucking his mouth. The angle was wrong, he’d half-choke, gag on the cock. James could imagine it all too well; Alec’s eyes gone big and pleading, tears trickling down his cheeks.
He turned away, shaking, nauseated. Hurried from Alec’s side, from his room, before he could make that horrific-arousing vision come to pass. In the passageway, he pressed his forehead against the cool metal of an electrical panel. “I mourned you, you bastard!” he shouted. He slammed his fist into the concrete wall, sending a satisfying shock of pain up his arm. But it wasn’t enough. He punched the wall, again and again, until his knuckles were swollen and bloodied. He slumped against the wall, and shaking with barely suppressed sobs.
At last, he straightened. He took a few deep breaths to steady himself. Finally, he felt calm enough to return to Alec, who still slept, unaware of the battle James had fought with himself.
James stared down at him, eyes blurred by tears. “Nine years. I never forgot. Never forgave myself, for not saving you.” His hand drifted down, to stroke Alec’s cheek. He turned his hand over, letting Alec’s stubble rasp against the back of his hand and catch on the split knuckles, leaving a smear of blood. “What we had -- it can’t have all been a lie. You must have felt something for me.”
But Alec was not answering.
“I never wanted this. No, that’s not true. I must have wanted it.” He could remember letting go, opening his hands, Alec’s foot slipping, slow-motion, from his grasp. But he couldn’t remember what he’d thought, what he’d felt. Angry, he supposed. He must have been angry. Hurt. Betrayed.
Again, the thought skittered through his mind, of taking Alec by force, but this time the image had no real power. It was just a reflection, he told himself, of the anger he’d felt. As well as being a suicidally stupid thing to do. Morphine or no morphine, Alec would fight back. He’d bite, and blood loss would do the rest. He’d do it even knowing that James was the only one who knew where he was, and that killing him would mean an agonizing death, trapped in his own body, when the morphine ran out.
But more than that, he didn’t want to take Alec by force. He wanted to make Alec want him, need him -- not hate him. He wanted all of Alec; not just his body. Couldn’t have his body now, anyway; not without hurting him. But that didn’t matter. He could wait. “Just a few months,” he reminded himself. A few months, until Alec was recovered. Until Alec was his.
But at moments like this -- with Alec just lying there, that faint smile on his face making him look like a sleeping angel -- James wondered how he could possibly hold out one night, one second longer.
He bent over, and kissed Alec gently on the lips. Alec’s mouth opened, just enough for James to slip his tongue inside. Alec groaned softly, his tongue slid against James’s, and his eyelids started to flutter.
James jerked back, gasping. He hadn’t meant that to go that far. Shouldn’t have done it at all.
Now that the sensation had gone away, Alec stopped fighting the morphine and sank back into sleep. If he remembered it at all, he’d think he’d dreamed it. Maybe he was still dreaming it; the smile wasn’t so faint, now.
James bolted from the room, for the second time in under an hour. If he stayed any longer, he’d give into the temptation, kiss Alec awake, and -- he wasn’t sure what he’d do, the casts and bandages didn’t leave much room for maneuver, but he knew he’d do anything to see Alec’s eyes go dark with need.
As soon as he reached his quarters, he kicked off his shoes, emptied his pockets, dropped the gun on the sink, and stepped into the shower with the rest of his clothes on. Turned the cold water on, full-blast, and stood there until his teeth started to chatter. Then he counted, slowly, to three hundred.
He shut the water off and slogged across the room, still in his wet clothes. Pulled the bottle of vodka out of the freezer, poured himself a generous slug, and downed it in a single shot.
After his fifth shot, he put the bottle back in the freezer. He stripped down, toweled off, and dressed in dry clothes. He picked up the book he’d been reading -- one of Donald Westlake’s caper novels -- but he couldn’t concentrate. He wasn’t in the mood for comic. Wasn’t in the mood for anything, if the truth be told.
He set the book aside. Without really intending to, he padded out of the room, down the hall, and back to Alec’s sickroom.
Alec was still asleep, of course. The morphine would linger in his system for a few hours more.
There was still blood on Alec’s face, James realized. He ran warm water into a washcloth, wrung it out, and wiped the blood away. Then, gently, he began running the washcloth over Alec’s face, mopping away old sweat. He moved lower, down his chin and to what little of his neck he could get to, between the edges of the cervical collar. Then down, across his chest, to where the bandages for his ribs began. Back up, to the shoulder, arm, hand. Then moving again, to the thin strip of flesh between the bottom of the bandages and the top of the cast that started just above his waist.
Through it all, Alec hadn’t moved. But when James reached into the narrow gap in the cast to wash between his legs, Alec let out a soft gasp. James finished quickly, before he ran out of willpower.
He was dangerously close.
He should leave right now, he knew. He should go back to his room, and force himself to read, or sleep, or drink himself into a stupor if need be. Anything but stay here with Alec, with the temptation.
Instead, he found himself tracing the shape of Alec’s lips with one fingertip. Soft, slightly chapped. Idly, James pulled the small tube of lip balm from the side table, took a bit off the top, and started to smooth it on with his thumb. Alec’s breath was warm on his palm.
He was definitely feeling the effects of the alcohol. It wasn’t enough to make him unsteady on his feet, but the room felt hot and stuffy. He unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt.
He wanted Alec. Wanted him in the worst way. Or maybe the best -- wanted to give him pleasure. Wanted to make love to him, bring him to the edge and tip him over, wanted to hold him as the orgasm trembled through him, look into his eyes as he came.
He found his hands tracing down the same path the washcloth had taken earlier. He ran his fingers down Alec’s chest. He tugged the bandages down just a bit, to reveal Alec’s left nipple.
He licked his finger, and began to circle Alec’s nipple. Alec sucked in a deep breath, and arched against the back brace. His eyes remained closed, though.
Emboldened, James rolled the nipple between his fingers. Alec groaned. The sound made James’s knees grow weak; he felt himself growing hard. With his free hand, he undid his belt buckle and fly. He slid his hand down, and got a grip on his hardening cock.
He should go. He knew that. Should go back to his room, and take care of himself there. But Alec looked so damn tempting, lying there, his lips parted.
They’d often played rough, enjoyed a little pain with their pleasure. But any pain that was enough to get through the morphine would be enough to hurt. Not at all the effect he wanted.
He brought a chair over, and sat on the very edge. He leaned forward, and lowered his mouth onto Alec’s nipple. Sucked gently for a minute, then flicked it with his tongue. Alec gave a little gasp. James began to suck in earnest. Alec’s breathing sped up, and he began to twist and thrash.
If he kept this up, James realized, Alec might hurt himself. Reluctantly, he backed off. Alec let out a whimper, and his hand grasped at nothing. For a long minute, it looked as if he might manage to wake himself up, but finally, his breathing slowed and his body relaxed.
“That’s it,” James murmured. “Back to your dreams.” He stroked Alec’s hair. “Am I there with you?”
He leaned over Alec, studying him, looking for any tell-tale signs of what he might be dreaming. His smile was just as enigmatic as ever. James reached out to touch him, but pulled his hand back. One touch would lead to another, and another.
Instead, he skimmed his hand along his chest, tried to imagine it was Alec’s hand on him. Moved his hand lower, across his belly, down to his cock. He closed his eyes, and let his mind drift. Places he’d fucked Alec, places Alec had fucked him, places they’d talked about wanting to fuck -- places they’d go, once Alec was better. Find some private island in the tropics where they could make love on the beach. Warmed by the sun. Cooled by the sea. Maybe they could find a waterfall. With a cave behind it, where no one could see or hear them. He’d drop to his knees, take Alec’s cock into his mouth, let the head slide down his throat.
He could imagine it so easily. He remembered the feel -- steel sheathed in silk; the taste -- nothing he could ever put into words, Alec tasted like Alec, there was no better description.
Alec’s hands tangling in his hair. Alec’s moans, audible even over the roar of the waterfall. How his hips would buck and jerk, the taste of him when he came.
How he would look as James held him down, forced him.
With that image in his mind, James came. His knees buckled; he ended up on the cold cement floor. “I didn’t mean it,” he gasped. “I didn’t mean it.”
Of course he didn’t. He loved Alec. He’d never do anything to hurt him.
It was just -- just like the games they’d played, on occasion. The ones that had ended with one or the other of them tied to the bed, or any other stationary object that happened to be handy. Harmless fantasy, as long as he didn’t act on it.
He knelt there for several long minutes, until his breathing slowed back to normal and he trusted his knees to hold him. He used Alec’s bed to lever himself up.
“Sorry you missed it.” He pressed his lips to Alec’s forehead. “But don’t worry. There’s more where that came from. So hurry up and get better.”
As an afterthought, he pressed one sticky finger to Alec’s lips. “Just a taste of what’s waiting for you.”
Then he turned and headed back to his room, for the second shower and third outfit of the day.
Next Chapter
Fandom: James Bond: Goldeneye
Characters/Pairing: James/Alec
Summary: James struggles with his demons. Sequel to Broken For Me and Last Gasp
Word Count: 2,043
Warnings: Plenty of em! Imagery of severe physical trauma and nonconsensual sex.
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.
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!
James stared down at Alec as he slept, safe in the embrace of the morphine. Free of the pain, his face was relaxed; he was even smiling faintly. James brushed a stray strand of hair back from his forehead, and studied him.
He was like a porcelain doll, James thought; carelessly dropped and smashed, but lovingly reassembled. All he would need now -- James’s lips twitched upward -- was a few months for the glue to dry.
“Then you’ll be good as new,” he murmured, and reached out to trace the line of one cheekbone with a gentle fingertip.
Even broken, he was still beautiful; maybe more so. Helplessness looked good on him; vulnerability with just an edge of fear. And let’s not forget moments of Stockholm-syndrome-induced lust.
He remembered the way Alec’s green eyes had gone dark with need, as he’d traced his lips with his thumb. He’d read the desire there, warring with fear and anger. An image came to him, then; of shaking Alec awake, climbing on top of him, and fucking his mouth. The angle was wrong, he’d half-choke, gag on the cock. James could imagine it all too well; Alec’s eyes gone big and pleading, tears trickling down his cheeks.
He turned away, shaking, nauseated. Hurried from Alec’s side, from his room, before he could make that horrific-arousing vision come to pass. In the passageway, he pressed his forehead against the cool metal of an electrical panel. “I mourned you, you bastard!” he shouted. He slammed his fist into the concrete wall, sending a satisfying shock of pain up his arm. But it wasn’t enough. He punched the wall, again and again, until his knuckles were swollen and bloodied. He slumped against the wall, and shaking with barely suppressed sobs.
At last, he straightened. He took a few deep breaths to steady himself. Finally, he felt calm enough to return to Alec, who still slept, unaware of the battle James had fought with himself.
James stared down at him, eyes blurred by tears. “Nine years. I never forgot. Never forgave myself, for not saving you.” His hand drifted down, to stroke Alec’s cheek. He turned his hand over, letting Alec’s stubble rasp against the back of his hand and catch on the split knuckles, leaving a smear of blood. “What we had -- it can’t have all been a lie. You must have felt something for me.”
But Alec was not answering.
“I never wanted this. No, that’s not true. I must have wanted it.” He could remember letting go, opening his hands, Alec’s foot slipping, slow-motion, from his grasp. But he couldn’t remember what he’d thought, what he’d felt. Angry, he supposed. He must have been angry. Hurt. Betrayed.
Again, the thought skittered through his mind, of taking Alec by force, but this time the image had no real power. It was just a reflection, he told himself, of the anger he’d felt. As well as being a suicidally stupid thing to do. Morphine or no morphine, Alec would fight back. He’d bite, and blood loss would do the rest. He’d do it even knowing that James was the only one who knew where he was, and that killing him would mean an agonizing death, trapped in his own body, when the morphine ran out.
But more than that, he didn’t want to take Alec by force. He wanted to make Alec want him, need him -- not hate him. He wanted all of Alec; not just his body. Couldn’t have his body now, anyway; not without hurting him. But that didn’t matter. He could wait. “Just a few months,” he reminded himself. A few months, until Alec was recovered. Until Alec was his.
But at moments like this -- with Alec just lying there, that faint smile on his face making him look like a sleeping angel -- James wondered how he could possibly hold out one night, one second longer.
He bent over, and kissed Alec gently on the lips. Alec’s mouth opened, just enough for James to slip his tongue inside. Alec groaned softly, his tongue slid against James’s, and his eyelids started to flutter.
James jerked back, gasping. He hadn’t meant that to go that far. Shouldn’t have done it at all.
Now that the sensation had gone away, Alec stopped fighting the morphine and sank back into sleep. If he remembered it at all, he’d think he’d dreamed it. Maybe he was still dreaming it; the smile wasn’t so faint, now.
James bolted from the room, for the second time in under an hour. If he stayed any longer, he’d give into the temptation, kiss Alec awake, and -- he wasn’t sure what he’d do, the casts and bandages didn’t leave much room for maneuver, but he knew he’d do anything to see Alec’s eyes go dark with need.
As soon as he reached his quarters, he kicked off his shoes, emptied his pockets, dropped the gun on the sink, and stepped into the shower with the rest of his clothes on. Turned the cold water on, full-blast, and stood there until his teeth started to chatter. Then he counted, slowly, to three hundred.
He shut the water off and slogged across the room, still in his wet clothes. Pulled the bottle of vodka out of the freezer, poured himself a generous slug, and downed it in a single shot.
After his fifth shot, he put the bottle back in the freezer. He stripped down, toweled off, and dressed in dry clothes. He picked up the book he’d been reading -- one of Donald Westlake’s caper novels -- but he couldn’t concentrate. He wasn’t in the mood for comic. Wasn’t in the mood for anything, if the truth be told.
He set the book aside. Without really intending to, he padded out of the room, down the hall, and back to Alec’s sickroom.
Alec was still asleep, of course. The morphine would linger in his system for a few hours more.
There was still blood on Alec’s face, James realized. He ran warm water into a washcloth, wrung it out, and wiped the blood away. Then, gently, he began running the washcloth over Alec’s face, mopping away old sweat. He moved lower, down his chin and to what little of his neck he could get to, between the edges of the cervical collar. Then down, across his chest, to where the bandages for his ribs began. Back up, to the shoulder, arm, hand. Then moving again, to the thin strip of flesh between the bottom of the bandages and the top of the cast that started just above his waist.
Through it all, Alec hadn’t moved. But when James reached into the narrow gap in the cast to wash between his legs, Alec let out a soft gasp. James finished quickly, before he ran out of willpower.
He was dangerously close.
He should leave right now, he knew. He should go back to his room, and force himself to read, or sleep, or drink himself into a stupor if need be. Anything but stay here with Alec, with the temptation.
Instead, he found himself tracing the shape of Alec’s lips with one fingertip. Soft, slightly chapped. Idly, James pulled the small tube of lip balm from the side table, took a bit off the top, and started to smooth it on with his thumb. Alec’s breath was warm on his palm.
He was definitely feeling the effects of the alcohol. It wasn’t enough to make him unsteady on his feet, but the room felt hot and stuffy. He unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt.
He wanted Alec. Wanted him in the worst way. Or maybe the best -- wanted to give him pleasure. Wanted to make love to him, bring him to the edge and tip him over, wanted to hold him as the orgasm trembled through him, look into his eyes as he came.
He found his hands tracing down the same path the washcloth had taken earlier. He ran his fingers down Alec’s chest. He tugged the bandages down just a bit, to reveal Alec’s left nipple.
He licked his finger, and began to circle Alec’s nipple. Alec sucked in a deep breath, and arched against the back brace. His eyes remained closed, though.
Emboldened, James rolled the nipple between his fingers. Alec groaned. The sound made James’s knees grow weak; he felt himself growing hard. With his free hand, he undid his belt buckle and fly. He slid his hand down, and got a grip on his hardening cock.
He should go. He knew that. Should go back to his room, and take care of himself there. But Alec looked so damn tempting, lying there, his lips parted.
They’d often played rough, enjoyed a little pain with their pleasure. But any pain that was enough to get through the morphine would be enough to hurt. Not at all the effect he wanted.
He brought a chair over, and sat on the very edge. He leaned forward, and lowered his mouth onto Alec’s nipple. Sucked gently for a minute, then flicked it with his tongue. Alec gave a little gasp. James began to suck in earnest. Alec’s breathing sped up, and he began to twist and thrash.
If he kept this up, James realized, Alec might hurt himself. Reluctantly, he backed off. Alec let out a whimper, and his hand grasped at nothing. For a long minute, it looked as if he might manage to wake himself up, but finally, his breathing slowed and his body relaxed.
“That’s it,” James murmured. “Back to your dreams.” He stroked Alec’s hair. “Am I there with you?”
He leaned over Alec, studying him, looking for any tell-tale signs of what he might be dreaming. His smile was just as enigmatic as ever. James reached out to touch him, but pulled his hand back. One touch would lead to another, and another.
Instead, he skimmed his hand along his chest, tried to imagine it was Alec’s hand on him. Moved his hand lower, across his belly, down to his cock. He closed his eyes, and let his mind drift. Places he’d fucked Alec, places Alec had fucked him, places they’d talked about wanting to fuck -- places they’d go, once Alec was better. Find some private island in the tropics where they could make love on the beach. Warmed by the sun. Cooled by the sea. Maybe they could find a waterfall. With a cave behind it, where no one could see or hear them. He’d drop to his knees, take Alec’s cock into his mouth, let the head slide down his throat.
He could imagine it so easily. He remembered the feel -- steel sheathed in silk; the taste -- nothing he could ever put into words, Alec tasted like Alec, there was no better description.
Alec’s hands tangling in his hair. Alec’s moans, audible even over the roar of the waterfall. How his hips would buck and jerk, the taste of him when he came.
How he would look as James held him down, forced him.
With that image in his mind, James came. His knees buckled; he ended up on the cold cement floor. “I didn’t mean it,” he gasped. “I didn’t mean it.”
Of course he didn’t. He loved Alec. He’d never do anything to hurt him.
It was just -- just like the games they’d played, on occasion. The ones that had ended with one or the other of them tied to the bed, or any other stationary object that happened to be handy. Harmless fantasy, as long as he didn’t act on it.
He knelt there for several long minutes, until his breathing slowed back to normal and he trusted his knees to hold him. He used Alec’s bed to lever himself up.
“Sorry you missed it.” He pressed his lips to Alec’s forehead. “But don’t worry. There’s more where that came from. So hurry up and get better.”
As an afterthought, he pressed one sticky finger to Alec’s lips. “Just a taste of what’s waiting for you.”
Then he turned and headed back to his room, for the second shower and third outfit of the day.
Next Chapter