Broken Doll (33/?) (J/A)
This fic is rated: D for Depressing
Fandom: James Bond: Goldeneye
Characters/Pairing: James Bond/Alec Trevelyan
Summary: James is starting to have second thoughts about the whole thing. (Little late, isn't it?)
Warnings: usual, plus angst
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: 564
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!
The dishes done, James walked back into the bedroom -- only to find Alec sound asleep. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised; between the exercises, the sponge bath, and dinner, Alec's small supply of energy had been more than exhausted.
They'd have to work on that.
Though probably not tonight; Alec's face looked pinched and drawn. His hair, badly in need of a trim, tumbled across his forehead. James bent over and brushed it back. Alec mumbled sleepily, and turned his head slightly, pressing his scarred cheek into the palm of James's hand. For a moment, James was tempted to tilt Alec's head back, kiss him awake ...
But there would be plenty of time for that later. Once Alec regained his strength. Once James dared to touch him with more than a feather-light touch, without worrying about breaking him again.
It had never been like that before. Always before, Alec had been his equal, well-matched in strength. He couldn't imagine touching this Alec, weak and fragile as he was.
Though Alec clearly had other ideas.
James studied Alec, as he unbuttoned his shirt. Tried to imagine what it would be like, fucking him again. Muscles vibrating with tension, limbs locked together in what sometimes seemed closer to combat than sex. There had never been much gentleness between them, much tenderness -- they'd saved that for their women. Though sometimes, in the night, they'd fallen asleep in each others' arms, they'd never spoken of it later. Just exhaustion, he'd always told himself in the morning.
And now?
He reached out again, but paused before he could touch Alec. Better, he thought, to let him sleep.
Everything had changed, between them. Hadn't it?
So why didn't he trust Alec?
He stood there, studying him, for a long time; the new lines of pain in his face, the gaunt, wasted limbs.
But Alec had forgiven him that ... hadn't he? He understood didn't he? They'd been fighting for survival, and if things had gone differently ...
James shook his head, feeling suddenly exhausted. He wished, for just the briefest of moments, that he'd had the sense to just leave Alec to die in Cuba. No, even that had been too late.
Maybe if Alec had had the decency to put a bullet his head, while he lay drugged in the field of statues? Still too late. He still would have known.
Arkangel'sk. That was where it had all gone wrong. If only he'd caught a bullet in the initial firefight, how much pain would that have saved both of them? He would have died believing that Alec Trevelyan was still a loyal friend, and Alec would have gone on to destroy the British economy, and somehow, he couldn't bring himself to give a damn.
He stepped out of his slacks, kicked them carelessly into a corner, and climbed into bed. Molded himself against Alec, felt the warmth from his body sink into his skin -- though it wasn't enough to reach where the real cold was.
Alec let out a contented sigh, and tilted his head back against James. That had to make everything worth it, didn't it? All the lies he'd told to M, to Natalya -- all the pain he'd put Alec through.
Because if it wasn't, then he had to wonder -- of the two of them, who was truly the more broken?
Next Chapter
Fandom: James Bond: Goldeneye
Characters/Pairing: James Bond/Alec Trevelyan
Summary: James is starting to have second thoughts about the whole thing. (Little late, isn't it?)
Warnings: usual, plus angst
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: 564
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!
The dishes done, James walked back into the bedroom -- only to find Alec sound asleep. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised; between the exercises, the sponge bath, and dinner, Alec's small supply of energy had been more than exhausted.
They'd have to work on that.
Though probably not tonight; Alec's face looked pinched and drawn. His hair, badly in need of a trim, tumbled across his forehead. James bent over and brushed it back. Alec mumbled sleepily, and turned his head slightly, pressing his scarred cheek into the palm of James's hand. For a moment, James was tempted to tilt Alec's head back, kiss him awake ...
But there would be plenty of time for that later. Once Alec regained his strength. Once James dared to touch him with more than a feather-light touch, without worrying about breaking him again.
It had never been like that before. Always before, Alec had been his equal, well-matched in strength. He couldn't imagine touching this Alec, weak and fragile as he was.
Though Alec clearly had other ideas.
James studied Alec, as he unbuttoned his shirt. Tried to imagine what it would be like, fucking him again. Muscles vibrating with tension, limbs locked together in what sometimes seemed closer to combat than sex. There had never been much gentleness between them, much tenderness -- they'd saved that for their women. Though sometimes, in the night, they'd fallen asleep in each others' arms, they'd never spoken of it later. Just exhaustion, he'd always told himself in the morning.
And now?
He reached out again, but paused before he could touch Alec. Better, he thought, to let him sleep.
Everything had changed, between them. Hadn't it?
So why didn't he trust Alec?
He stood there, studying him, for a long time; the new lines of pain in his face, the gaunt, wasted limbs.
But Alec had forgiven him that ... hadn't he? He understood didn't he? They'd been fighting for survival, and if things had gone differently ...
James shook his head, feeling suddenly exhausted. He wished, for just the briefest of moments, that he'd had the sense to just leave Alec to die in Cuba. No, even that had been too late.
Maybe if Alec had had the decency to put a bullet his head, while he lay drugged in the field of statues? Still too late. He still would have known.
Arkangel'sk. That was where it had all gone wrong. If only he'd caught a bullet in the initial firefight, how much pain would that have saved both of them? He would have died believing that Alec Trevelyan was still a loyal friend, and Alec would have gone on to destroy the British economy, and somehow, he couldn't bring himself to give a damn.
He stepped out of his slacks, kicked them carelessly into a corner, and climbed into bed. Molded himself against Alec, felt the warmth from his body sink into his skin -- though it wasn't enough to reach where the real cold was.
Alec let out a contented sigh, and tilted his head back against James. That had to make everything worth it, didn't it? All the lies he'd told to M, to Natalya -- all the pain he'd put Alec through.
Because if it wasn't, then he had to wonder -- of the two of them, who was truly the more broken?
Next Chapter