[002.] WOULD YOU KINDLY

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Title: Would you kindly..?
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Bioshock
Characters: Jack/???
Summary: Things always seem a better idea at the time.
Warnings: Sex, Swearing, Kinda Dub-Con.
Notes: Dedicated to Wade and Nate. Because hey, why not?

"Would you kindly get on your knees?" The words are clear, but their meaning is not. Nevertheless, Jack feels himself crouching obediently, then feels the damp floor soaking the knees of his trousers.

A hand brushes hair away from his face carefully, the action almost tender, but with an underlying savagery to its comfort. Jack doesn't mind.
As long as whoever it is doesn't mean to kill him, he'll stay obedient.
"My, my. You haven't changed, have you?" A cool smile is concealed in the Irish lilt, but Jack doesn't understand, so he just shakes his head mutely.

"Would you kindly get it out?" There's a pause, whilst Jack's confused, cotton-wool brain tries to figure out what it is. As if realising this, the hand slides away from Jack's forehead, around to the base of his skull, and tugs him forwards insistently.

Part of Jack knows vaguely that he should feel repulsed, should get out of here and go find somewhere safe to hide from all the monstrosities of Rapture, somewhere that he can shake and cry and pretend that everything's okay. But this part is overwhelmed by the strangely numb feeling of calm that this man seems to instil, and all he can think, is that he's probably just safest here.

He unbuckles the belt in front of him with fumbling fingers that feel heavy and tired, like they're filled with lead.
He's eager, but god, he's tired.
With clumsily orchestrated movements, Jack finally unzips the fly, and stares at the flaccid organ in front of him with an odd sense of betrayal.
The eagerness filters away, leaving him suspended in a fog of disconcertion and fear until the calm voice floods his brain once more.

"Would you kindly place it in your mouth?"
Yes. Why didn't I think of that? He wonders, opening his jaws obediently. Cold flesh hits Jack's tongue, alien and intimate all at once.
"Now, Jack, would you kindly make it hard?"

He obeys, of course, he's powerless not to. And of course it's so much easier to go with the tide than swim against it.
The hands at the back of his head pet his hair encouragingly, coaxing and gentle; Jack hasn't been on the receiving end of anything but hate for what seems like forever - it's only polite to reciprocate gestures of tenderness, isn't it?

"Good, Jack," A murmur, kind, almost paternal. "Would you kindly, tell me how good it feels?"
Jack knows that a low noise and a slight nodding of his head will suffice, will be acceptable to the man he's so eager please.
Because of course it feels good - what could feel better than loving someone this much? Than giving someone your whole body?

He steadies his kneeling form by grabbing onto the backs of the man's legs, like a child learning to walk for the first time, taking clumsy licks and open mouthed kisses around the steadily hardening flesh.

A breathless moan from above him spurs him on, the groan of need sending tingling sensations of pleasure down Jack's spine. It's the giddy thrill of excitement, the happy obedience that's unrivalled by anything he's ever felt before.

His mouth is sloppy, a cross between a dog and a man, teeth scraping gently up and down, just enough to make the other man shudder and writhe silently against the wall.
"W-Would you kindly... Ahh," He hesitates, making Jack sit up and take notice, waiting for his next order. "Stand up."

Jack stumbles to his feet, breathing heavily, stands eye to eye with the man who stares back at him wildly.
"Would you kindly-"

It's cut off, as Jack mashes their faces together, his teeth clicking against the other man's. He knows what to do - he knows everything and nothing about this man, and somehow he can predict exactly what he wants.

"Would you kindly... Let me touch you..?" This time there's an inflection at the end, and it's almost like Jack's got a choice.
"Yes." He croaks in a hoarse, obedient voice; it's the first he's spoken since this whole strange affair started. In fact, he doesn't remember speaking properly for a long time.

"Good." a hand traces his, across the palm, and then the wrist, one thumb brushing across the tattooed chains that Jack's somehow sure are very important. His hands feel odd - it's the first time he's really seen them since he began using plasmids.

One hand, his left one, is gnarled and darkened with a collection of tiny scabs and marks in the inside of his forearm, remnants of the EVE hypos jammed so flippantly into the veins that now bulge and twist crazily across his skin.
He stares down blindly at it, at the man's hand, closed around his wrist, fingers curled loosely around the scabbed flesh.

It begins to move upwards steadily, possessive and demanding now, flowing like water across his ruined skin until the hand is gripping his chin, and the man's breath is warm and harsh on his lips.

"Would you kindly... Give yourself to me." A breathless demand, snarled out in that way that means Jack can't even think about resistance.

"Would you kindly beg me, Jack,"
"Please... Jesus. Please..." It comes so easily, the words spilling out of his mouth before he can stop them.

There's a greasy, lukewarm feeling somewhere not far from the base of Jack's spine, where he's dimly aware that something alien is invading him. A wriggling, twisting sensation that he's sure should hurt more than it does.

"Would you kindly spread your legs?" There's a hand on the inside of his thigh anyway, coaxing and somehow clinical in its tenderness. Jack presses his palms to the wall, opening himself up as the methodical pumps continue relentlessly and slickly

"Are you ready?"
Ready for what? He wants to ask. It isn't safe here. Why are you doing this to me?
All he can say is a dull, "Yes."

The wriggling is replaced jerkily by something more solid, more painful. It's clumsy, nearly hesitant, and Jack knows in some tiny, locked up part of his mind that this can only ever end in agony.
"... Yes." He says again dimly.

Minutes blend in to one another, flowing past in a torrent of dim recollections and a slow, grinding burn in the back of his mind and the top of his thighs.
Behind him there's the fuzzy blank spot that is his partner. His lover.

Then with what seems like no warning, there's brutality. Disjointed, feral thrusting, and he's so close - god, they both are; a hand is fisted in his hair, twisting and yanking him back and forth like he's an overenthusiastic dog on a leash.
All Jack feels is the brutal smack of the man's hips against his buttocks, and the tension in his wrist as he pushes back using the wall as an impromptu aid.

Beneath the crackling of the plasmid and the warped skin of his fingertips, the wall feels cold and slimy. It's a direct contrast to the rush of sweat and the heat behind him - almost enough to make him remember; But whatever he's forgotten constantly eludes him, dancing on the outskirts of his mind, fluttering out of reach.

A breath against his ear - Jesus, I'm going to come. Ohgodohgod...
Then startling clarity as the voice demands one final thing.
"Would you kindly say my name?"

Jack loses it, finally, and comes violently, bellowing out the name of his sickeningly unexpected bedfellow. His voice and his recognition are muffled by a hand.
By Frank Fontaine's hand.

He takes in the face, which suddenly looks so wrong, so warped and repulsive staring back at him with a twisted half-smile.
"You..!" Jack finds his hands clenching instinctively, gearing himself to swing a fist as Fontaine pulls out. He finds his fist stops mere inches away from the grimy smirk.

"Would you kindly let me go?" He says in a whispery, grinning voice. Jack feels his stomach plummet away into nothingness as Fontaine steps back.

By the time he's swung his fist, it hits thin air, and Fontaine is long gone.