Sweetness (8/?)
This fic is rated: B for Boy-Kissage
Fandom: James Bond: Goldeneye
Characters/Pairing: James/Alec
Summary: James brings Alec a treat
Warnings: The aforementioned boy-kissage; mentions of physical trauma and intimations of hetero-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.
Word Count: 1,653
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 stared up at the watch on his wrist -- James’s watch, not his own -- and willed the hands to move faster. Willed James to hurry back. It hadn’t even been two hours yet; James had said he’d be back in three.
Just before noon, James had told him that he would have to go out for a few hours. They were running low on supplies, and there were other things he needed to take care of. He’d be back in only a few hours, three at the most. Could he do that? Could he be brave?
He wished, now, that he’d taken James up on the offer for an extra shot of morphine -- just go to sleep, and when he woke up, James would be back. But he’d wanted to be brave. Wanted to show James how brave he could be. Wanted to show James that he didn’t need him quite so badly.
“I can do it,” he’d said, “As long as I know when you’re coming back.” And so James had let him borrow his watch, kissed him on the forehead, and said he’d be back in three hours. “I’ll bring you a treat,” he’d said, on his way out the door.
Now, though --
He’d wanted to show James that he didn’t need him? Who the hell was he kidding. He needed James. Not just for physical survival -- that was a given. But if James decided tomorrow that taking care of him wasn’t worth the trouble, and dropped him off at the nearest hospital?
He could imagine it all too easily. An anonymous patient in a charity ward, checked once an hour by a perfunctory nurse with cold hands. Abandoned. Alone.
He’d die.
“That is not going to happen.” Would it?
He could tell himself rationally that it wouldn’t -- that if James had put up with his screaming, his wild accusations, why would he leave now?
Maybe it’s the smell?
He wished he hadn’t thought that. James had been keeping him as clean as possible, but large areas of his body that were under bandages and casts. A sponge bath was all well and good, but he’d been sweating. He smelled.
He wanted a shower. And a shave. He scratched at what was, truthfully, more a beard than stubble, now. What he wouldn’t give to be clean --
But James didn’t care. James loved him. James would never give him up.
He’d be back. Of course he’d be back. He stared at the watch, willing it to move faster. Finally it reached two hours.
Where had he gone? How much time did he really need to pick up some more of those disgusting energy gels packets? How far did he go?
What else was he going for?
A woman? There was always a woman, with James.
Natalya, perhaps?
He felt nausea rise, remembering the last time he’d seen her. On the helicopter, flying from Cuba to -- wherever they’d ended up.
He didn’t even know where he’d been brought. He hadn’t even thought of that. Didn’t even know where he was. England? Somewhere in South America? Or had he been brought to the United States?
And where was James? That was the big problem. Staring up at the ceiling, putting his hand up to look at the watch -- for short spurts of time only; he didn’t have the strength to keep it up for long. He couldn’t stop wondering where James was. Imagining him with Natalya. Pretty, clean Natalya, with all her parts working.
He remembered waking up on the helicopter, to find her staring at him. Remembered the look on her face, like someone looking at a bug pinned to a board, and realizing the bug was still alive. The hatred and disgust in her eyes he could take; he’d earned them. But her pity had been more than he could bear.
And now James had gone to her.
He raised the watch again. Two and a half hours.
Was he sitting with her, laughing? Telling her how he’d screamed, how he’d begged, how he’d cried? How he’d broken?
Two hours and forty-five minutes. Was he reluctantly getting out of her bed? Being pulled back down into her embrace? Deciding, perhaps, to stay a little longer?
Two hours and fifty minutes. Fifty-five minutes.
Three hours. No James.
He let out a moan deep in his throat. He was late. He wasn’t coming back --
The door swung open. “Hi, honey,” James called. “I’m home.”
“Cutting things a bit close, aren’t you?” Not the best comment he’d ever managed, but it was the best he could do while his brain was flooding with relief.
“I’m on time.” James came around, and pointed to the watch. The minute hand was still pointing straight up. “See? Made it.”
“Yes.” Alec turned his wrist, caught James’s hand in his. “You did.”
“I told you I’d be back.”
“I should never have doubted you. It’s just -- when I’m alone -- I think things. Bad things.”
“There are no bad things here, Alec. Just you and me.”
“You know that’s not true. Death can come at any time. Out there…in here…no one is safe. You could do errands and get hit by a bus. You could be standing here and have an aneurysm. And where would that leave me?”
“If you’re determined to be pessimistic: an asteroid could smash into the Earth and destroy everything.”
“That wouldn’t be so bad,” Alec murmured. “At least we’d die together.”
James smiled. “You’re such a romantic.”
“Hmm…so what did you bring me?”
“Bring you?” James asked, with exaggerated innocence.
“You said you’d bring me a treat.”
“So I did.” He grinned, and pulled something out of his pocket. A handkerchief. He unwrapped it to reveal --
-- strawberries. Half a dozen of them, small and red. He could smell them. His mouth started to water.
James selected one, and popped it into his mouth. He bit in, and sweetness burst into his mouth. He chewed slowly, and swallowed reluctantly. “Oh, God, that’s good.”
“Here. Have another.”
This time, James let his hand linger as Alec chewed. How much more could he want? Other than a shower, of course -- but if James didn’t mind, how bad could it be?
“Thank you,” he whispered.
“A few strawberries -- it’s the least I could do.”
“No,” he whispered. “For coming back.”
“Hey.” James stroked his hair. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“Good. Now eat your strawberries.”
He did -- and all too soon, they were gone. He finished the last one and swallowed reluctantly.
As he did so, a plan started to form in his mind. “What about you?” he asked.
“What about me?”
“Didn’t you have any strawberries?”
“No. All for you.”
Good. “Have a taste,” he said. He underscored the invitation by running the tip of his tongue along his lower lip.
James hesitated for a moment, then leaned over. Leaned closer, until Alec could feel the warmth of his body.
And then, abruptly, jerked back. He stood over him, gasping. “God, Alec, don’t do that!”
“Why not?” he demanded.
“It’s not -- we can’t -- ”
“Can’t what? Can’t kiss?” He smiled up at James. “My mouth works.”
“I noticed.” James put one hand on his shoulder, then jerked it away to put it on the rail of the bed. “Alec, I’m not going to take advantage of you.”
“What advantage?” He looked up at James. “I want this.”
“You’ve got enough morphine in your system to knock out an elephant. How can you know what you want?”
Alec rolled his eyes. Fine time James picked to start worrying about the niceties of consent. “I know I want this. Want to be kissed, to know you love me.”
“Haven’t I shown you enough, by taking care of you?” James demanded, his eyes narrowed with irritation.
“There’s love, and then there’s love.”
“Oh, that’s deep.” James sounds more irritated by the minute; not at all what Alec wants. Try as he might, the words keep slipping out of his control. His mouth may work, but the brain it’s hooked up to isn’t functioning quite as well.
“I don’t want your pity. I don’t want you looking at me like I’m some thing that needs to be cared for, more helpless even than a baby.”
James looked down at him, then ran his hand along the cast that went from foot to waist. “Unfortunately, I don’t think you have much choice in that matter.”
Alec let out a moan. “Please. I want -- I want to know that somewhere, deep down, you still want me. That it’s more than pity that keeps you here.”
“And a kiss will prove it?”
“Yes!” He hadn’t planned to beg, but here he was. “Please. One kiss.”
“If I give you a kiss, will that be enough?”
“Yes!”
James smiled. “And you won’t just ask for another, and another?”
“I won’t.”
“Do you promise?”
It’s a bad deal, he knows it’s a bad deal, but still he finds himself saying “Yes.”
“All right then.” James leans in, and gives him a tiny, closed-mouth peck on the lips.
He opens his mouth to protest, and James is there. Lips on his, just the tip of his tongue sliding inside his mouth. The kiss is gentle, and sweeter than strawberries, and he wants it to go on forever. He wants more, wants to grab James and hold him close, but he’s afraid that if he presses the matter, James will pull away. He can’t resist, though, putting one tentative hand on James’s arm, feeling the steel-cable strength of his muscles.
And then, too soon, it’s over. He gasps as James pulls away, wants to beg him for more, but he’s promised he wouldn’t. James slides out of his grasp, leaving him with only the memories of sweetness.
Next Chapter
Fandom: James Bond: Goldeneye
Characters/Pairing: James/Alec
Summary: James brings Alec a treat
Warnings: The aforementioned boy-kissage; mentions of physical trauma and intimations of hetero-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.
Word Count: 1,653
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 stared up at the watch on his wrist -- James’s watch, not his own -- and willed the hands to move faster. Willed James to hurry back. It hadn’t even been two hours yet; James had said he’d be back in three.
Just before noon, James had told him that he would have to go out for a few hours. They were running low on supplies, and there were other things he needed to take care of. He’d be back in only a few hours, three at the most. Could he do that? Could he be brave?
He wished, now, that he’d taken James up on the offer for an extra shot of morphine -- just go to sleep, and when he woke up, James would be back. But he’d wanted to be brave. Wanted to show James how brave he could be. Wanted to show James that he didn’t need him quite so badly.
“I can do it,” he’d said, “As long as I know when you’re coming back.” And so James had let him borrow his watch, kissed him on the forehead, and said he’d be back in three hours. “I’ll bring you a treat,” he’d said, on his way out the door.
Now, though --
He’d wanted to show James that he didn’t need him? Who the hell was he kidding. He needed James. Not just for physical survival -- that was a given. But if James decided tomorrow that taking care of him wasn’t worth the trouble, and dropped him off at the nearest hospital?
He could imagine it all too easily. An anonymous patient in a charity ward, checked once an hour by a perfunctory nurse with cold hands. Abandoned. Alone.
He’d die.
“That is not going to happen.” Would it?
He could tell himself rationally that it wouldn’t -- that if James had put up with his screaming, his wild accusations, why would he leave now?
Maybe it’s the smell?
He wished he hadn’t thought that. James had been keeping him as clean as possible, but large areas of his body that were under bandages and casts. A sponge bath was all well and good, but he’d been sweating. He smelled.
He wanted a shower. And a shave. He scratched at what was, truthfully, more a beard than stubble, now. What he wouldn’t give to be clean --
But James didn’t care. James loved him. James would never give him up.
He’d be back. Of course he’d be back. He stared at the watch, willing it to move faster. Finally it reached two hours.
Where had he gone? How much time did he really need to pick up some more of those disgusting energy gels packets? How far did he go?
What else was he going for?
A woman? There was always a woman, with James.
Natalya, perhaps?
He felt nausea rise, remembering the last time he’d seen her. On the helicopter, flying from Cuba to -- wherever they’d ended up.
He didn’t even know where he’d been brought. He hadn’t even thought of that. Didn’t even know where he was. England? Somewhere in South America? Or had he been brought to the United States?
And where was James? That was the big problem. Staring up at the ceiling, putting his hand up to look at the watch -- for short spurts of time only; he didn’t have the strength to keep it up for long. He couldn’t stop wondering where James was. Imagining him with Natalya. Pretty, clean Natalya, with all her parts working.
He remembered waking up on the helicopter, to find her staring at him. Remembered the look on her face, like someone looking at a bug pinned to a board, and realizing the bug was still alive. The hatred and disgust in her eyes he could take; he’d earned them. But her pity had been more than he could bear.
And now James had gone to her.
He raised the watch again. Two and a half hours.
Was he sitting with her, laughing? Telling her how he’d screamed, how he’d begged, how he’d cried? How he’d broken?
Two hours and forty-five minutes. Was he reluctantly getting out of her bed? Being pulled back down into her embrace? Deciding, perhaps, to stay a little longer?
Two hours and fifty minutes. Fifty-five minutes.
Three hours. No James.
He let out a moan deep in his throat. He was late. He wasn’t coming back --
The door swung open. “Hi, honey,” James called. “I’m home.”
“Cutting things a bit close, aren’t you?” Not the best comment he’d ever managed, but it was the best he could do while his brain was flooding with relief.
“I’m on time.” James came around, and pointed to the watch. The minute hand was still pointing straight up. “See? Made it.”
“Yes.” Alec turned his wrist, caught James’s hand in his. “You did.”
“I told you I’d be back.”
“I should never have doubted you. It’s just -- when I’m alone -- I think things. Bad things.”
“There are no bad things here, Alec. Just you and me.”
“You know that’s not true. Death can come at any time. Out there…in here…no one is safe. You could do errands and get hit by a bus. You could be standing here and have an aneurysm. And where would that leave me?”
“If you’re determined to be pessimistic: an asteroid could smash into the Earth and destroy everything.”
“That wouldn’t be so bad,” Alec murmured. “At least we’d die together.”
James smiled. “You’re such a romantic.”
“Hmm…so what did you bring me?”
“Bring you?” James asked, with exaggerated innocence.
“You said you’d bring me a treat.”
“So I did.” He grinned, and pulled something out of his pocket. A handkerchief. He unwrapped it to reveal --
-- strawberries. Half a dozen of them, small and red. He could smell them. His mouth started to water.
James selected one, and popped it into his mouth. He bit in, and sweetness burst into his mouth. He chewed slowly, and swallowed reluctantly. “Oh, God, that’s good.”
“Here. Have another.”
This time, James let his hand linger as Alec chewed. How much more could he want? Other than a shower, of course -- but if James didn’t mind, how bad could it be?
“Thank you,” he whispered.
“A few strawberries -- it’s the least I could do.”
“No,” he whispered. “For coming back.”
“Hey.” James stroked his hair. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“Good. Now eat your strawberries.”
He did -- and all too soon, they were gone. He finished the last one and swallowed reluctantly.
As he did so, a plan started to form in his mind. “What about you?” he asked.
“What about me?”
“Didn’t you have any strawberries?”
“No. All for you.”
Good. “Have a taste,” he said. He underscored the invitation by running the tip of his tongue along his lower lip.
James hesitated for a moment, then leaned over. Leaned closer, until Alec could feel the warmth of his body.
And then, abruptly, jerked back. He stood over him, gasping. “God, Alec, don’t do that!”
“Why not?” he demanded.
“It’s not -- we can’t -- ”
“Can’t what? Can’t kiss?” He smiled up at James. “My mouth works.”
“I noticed.” James put one hand on his shoulder, then jerked it away to put it on the rail of the bed. “Alec, I’m not going to take advantage of you.”
“What advantage?” He looked up at James. “I want this.”
“You’ve got enough morphine in your system to knock out an elephant. How can you know what you want?”
Alec rolled his eyes. Fine time James picked to start worrying about the niceties of consent. “I know I want this. Want to be kissed, to know you love me.”
“Haven’t I shown you enough, by taking care of you?” James demanded, his eyes narrowed with irritation.
“There’s love, and then there’s love.”
“Oh, that’s deep.” James sounds more irritated by the minute; not at all what Alec wants. Try as he might, the words keep slipping out of his control. His mouth may work, but the brain it’s hooked up to isn’t functioning quite as well.
“I don’t want your pity. I don’t want you looking at me like I’m some thing that needs to be cared for, more helpless even than a baby.”
James looked down at him, then ran his hand along the cast that went from foot to waist. “Unfortunately, I don’t think you have much choice in that matter.”
Alec let out a moan. “Please. I want -- I want to know that somewhere, deep down, you still want me. That it’s more than pity that keeps you here.”
“And a kiss will prove it?”
“Yes!” He hadn’t planned to beg, but here he was. “Please. One kiss.”
“If I give you a kiss, will that be enough?”
“Yes!”
James smiled. “And you won’t just ask for another, and another?”
“I won’t.”
“Do you promise?”
It’s a bad deal, he knows it’s a bad deal, but still he finds himself saying “Yes.”
“All right then.” James leans in, and gives him a tiny, closed-mouth peck on the lips.
He opens his mouth to protest, and James is there. Lips on his, just the tip of his tongue sliding inside his mouth. The kiss is gentle, and sweeter than strawberries, and he wants it to go on forever. He wants more, wants to grab James and hold him close, but he’s afraid that if he presses the matter, James will pull away. He can’t resist, though, putting one tentative hand on James’s arm, feeling the steel-cable strength of his muscles.
And then, too soon, it’s over. He gasps as James pulls away, wants to beg him for more, but he’s promised he wouldn’t. James slides out of his grasp, leaving him with only the memories of sweetness.
Next Chapter