An Exercise In Defiance (J/A) (28/?)
This fic is rated: S for Sneaky Alec
Fandom: James Bond: Goldeneye
Characters/Pairing: James Bond/Alec Trevelyan
Summary: Alec sits up
Warnings: medical stuff, mentions of masturbation
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: 600
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 recognizable 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!
As soon as Alec heard the shower start, he dumped the book off the side of the gurney, and hunched forward, trying to sit up. No dice -- even after four and a half days out of the brace -- measured by the lines he scratched in the plaster of his cast every time both hands of his watch hit twelve-- he was too weak. He got his arm behind him and shoved against the back of the gurney, his hand sinking into the pile of pillows, until he finally managed to get himself upright. But only for a moment -- his arm was shaking under his own weight.
He considered for a moment -- there was the overhang of plaster that connected the casts on his legs, to give him a little privacy. It might hold his weight -- at least he hoped it would, otherwise James would know what he'd been up to. He concentrated, estimating time and distances -- and then swung his hand out from behind him and reached.
He was fast enough; his fingers closed over the thick overhang of plaster, and it held. He flexed the muscles of his arm and pulled and then he was sitting -- almost -- upright.
He looked around. Not much he hadn't seen, but that wasn't the point. No, the point was to be ahead of where James expected him to be, even if it was only by a bit.
It was, he decided, a matter of principle.
His arm was tiring, starting to hurt, but still he clung to the lip of plaster with grim determination.
And for the first time, he contemplated the plaster itself. Wondered at its purpose. He'd thought it was just there to give him a bit of privacy, prevent one more indignity -- but James certainly hadn't worried overmuch about his dignity during the past three and a half months.
It was, however, a very effective barrier to keep his own hands away.
After all, James wouldn't want me to be able to toss myself off.
Just one more aspect of his life that James had complete and utter control over.
And how, he wondered, was he supposed to feel about that? He didn't know, so he tucked it into the back of his mind to think about later, and concentrated on holding himself up.
And then he heard the shower shut off. He released his grip on the plaster -- he couldn't deny the relief coming from his cramped fingers -- and dropped back onto the bed. Tried to catch his breath before James came back.
And then James walked through the door, his hair still damp -- lucky bastard; Alec couldn't wait until the casts came off so he could take a shower.
James looked at him, eyes narrowed with worry. "Are you all right?"
"Yes. I dropped my book." He managed a chagrined smile. "If you could drag the table over here, I'd have somewhere secure to put it ... "
"Of course." James dragged the table over, then picked the book up and set it where Alec could reach it. "Anything else?"
"Ice, please?"
He hadn't meant to say it -- since he could sit up, he could drink water like a normal human being. But -- he told himself that if James thought he still wanted ice -- still wanted to be fed ice -- it would allay his suspicions.
And, God help him, he did want it. He was tired, he was thirsty -- and most dangerous of all, he wanted the closeness.
God help him.
Next Chapter
Fandom: James Bond: Goldeneye
Characters/Pairing: James Bond/Alec Trevelyan
Summary: Alec sits up
Warnings: medical stuff, mentions of masturbation
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: 600
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 recognizable 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!
As soon as Alec heard the shower start, he dumped the book off the side of the gurney, and hunched forward, trying to sit up. No dice -- even after four and a half days out of the brace -- measured by the lines he scratched in the plaster of his cast every time both hands of his watch hit twelve-- he was too weak. He got his arm behind him and shoved against the back of the gurney, his hand sinking into the pile of pillows, until he finally managed to get himself upright. But only for a moment -- his arm was shaking under his own weight.
He considered for a moment -- there was the overhang of plaster that connected the casts on his legs, to give him a little privacy. It might hold his weight -- at least he hoped it would, otherwise James would know what he'd been up to. He concentrated, estimating time and distances -- and then swung his hand out from behind him and reached.
He was fast enough; his fingers closed over the thick overhang of plaster, and it held. He flexed the muscles of his arm and pulled and then he was sitting -- almost -- upright.
He looked around. Not much he hadn't seen, but that wasn't the point. No, the point was to be ahead of where James expected him to be, even if it was only by a bit.
It was, he decided, a matter of principle.
His arm was tiring, starting to hurt, but still he clung to the lip of plaster with grim determination.
And for the first time, he contemplated the plaster itself. Wondered at its purpose. He'd thought it was just there to give him a bit of privacy, prevent one more indignity -- but James certainly hadn't worried overmuch about his dignity during the past three and a half months.
It was, however, a very effective barrier to keep his own hands away.
After all, James wouldn't want me to be able to toss myself off.
Just one more aspect of his life that James had complete and utter control over.
And how, he wondered, was he supposed to feel about that? He didn't know, so he tucked it into the back of his mind to think about later, and concentrated on holding himself up.
And then he heard the shower shut off. He released his grip on the plaster -- he couldn't deny the relief coming from his cramped fingers -- and dropped back onto the bed. Tried to catch his breath before James came back.
And then James walked through the door, his hair still damp -- lucky bastard; Alec couldn't wait until the casts came off so he could take a shower.
James looked at him, eyes narrowed with worry. "Are you all right?"
"Yes. I dropped my book." He managed a chagrined smile. "If you could drag the table over here, I'd have somewhere secure to put it ... "
"Of course." James dragged the table over, then picked the book up and set it where Alec could reach it. "Anything else?"
"Ice, please?"
He hadn't meant to say it -- since he could sit up, he could drink water like a normal human being. But -- he told himself that if James thought he still wanted ice -- still wanted to be fed ice -- it would allay his suspicions.
And, God help him, he did want it. He was tired, he was thirsty -- and most dangerous of all, he wanted the closeness.
God help him.
Next Chapter