FIC: Three Mistakes
Feb. 17th, 2010 03:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nilchanceTitle: Three Mistakes
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nilchance
Rating: Adult
Pairing: AKB, Jeremy/m, non-con. References to institutionalization.
A/N: In my head, I totally call this '8 Times Oral Sex Changes Jeremy's Life'. So this is 2/8.
Jeff doesn't know. Jeff can't ever know.
***
Jeremy's stronger at first, even with the sedatives sloshing through his blood, slow and muddy as the Mississippi. He snipes through group, his arms wrapped around himself like bony straitjackets, furious for all the other patients who drone and flinch through the halls. Angry at the locked doors and the barred windows and the cot without bedsheets so he can't hang himself.
Then (Jeff doesn't come for him) then he gets angry enough to raise his voice when they ask if his father ever fucked him. He gets on his feet and he scares the therapist, some pretty kid fresh from college, and he is bitterly glad. The guard grabs his arm. Jeremy shoves him away, trips the asshole over one of the cheap folding chairs and takes him clattering to the floor. The crazy people (he isn't like them) scatter, and there's a code called over the PA, and suddenly there are too many people in the room.
He fights back. That's his first mistake.
***
Wrapped up in cold sheets, fucked up on haloperidol so bad he can't see straight, it takes him a minute to realize that the dick in his mouth isn't Jeff's. For the first minute, he sucks. He hates himself for that.
But the guy, he tastes nothing like Jeff, doesn't palm Jeremy's head like Jeff would. His grip is too tight in Jeremy's hair, the chunks of it growing back raggedly, and it wakes Jeremy up. The room is dark. It smells like bleach. He can't move to grab the guy's wrists, but he grunts and jerks against the belts holding him down.
"Shh," the guy hisses, and wrenches his fistful of hair until Jeremy's vision waters. "Shut up. Shut up."
The next jerk nearly gets Jeremy loose, the gurney thumping loud against the floor, but the guy thumps his head back into the metal hard enough to make everything wobble. Jeremy huffs through his nose, can't breathe, and in that second the guy pulls out just enough. Fills his mouth with spunk.
He chokes. He wonders sometimes if he should've just drowned in it. When he tries to spit, the guy (the guard, his uniform swimming out of the dark) shoves his palm over Jeremy's mouth. "Swallow," the guard says, no budging in his voice. "Spit and I'll fucking smother you."
He's scared. He swallows. That's his second mistake, if he doesn't count not screaming for help: no evidence. It goes down rough, his stomach jerking in the effort not to bring it right back up.
The guard zips up, his fingers digging twin bruises into Jeremy's cheeks, and then lets go all at once. He leaves. The door shuts.
Jeremy lays there for a while, shivering. Not thinking. If he doesn't think, he isn't really here.
He sees the red light of the security camera. He thinks he's saved.
***
"Mr. Sisto, if you persist in telling these lies, I don't see how you'll ever get out of here."
"There are tapes, you fucker. There's a camera. I know there's-"
"There's no camera."
"- you're just trying to cover your ass-"
"There is no camera. Will you go back to your room quietly, or should you be sedated again?"
Trying to tell someone is mistake 3.
***
It happens. It happens and it happens and it happens.
Or maybe it never happened, and he's too crazy to tell the difference.
Jeff doesn't know. Jeff can't know.
Author:
nilchanceRating: Adult
Pairing: AKB, Jeremy/m, non-con. References to institutionalization.
A/N: In my head, I totally call this '8 Times Oral Sex Changes Jeremy's Life'. So this is 2/8.
Jeff doesn't know. Jeff can't ever know.
***
Jeremy's stronger at first, even with the sedatives sloshing through his blood, slow and muddy as the Mississippi. He snipes through group, his arms wrapped around himself like bony straitjackets, furious for all the other patients who drone and flinch through the halls. Angry at the locked doors and the barred windows and the cot without bedsheets so he can't hang himself.
Then (Jeff doesn't come for him) then he gets angry enough to raise his voice when they ask if his father ever fucked him. He gets on his feet and he scares the therapist, some pretty kid fresh from college, and he is bitterly glad. The guard grabs his arm. Jeremy shoves him away, trips the asshole over one of the cheap folding chairs and takes him clattering to the floor. The crazy people (he isn't like them) scatter, and there's a code called over the PA, and suddenly there are too many people in the room.
He fights back. That's his first mistake.
***
Wrapped up in cold sheets, fucked up on haloperidol so bad he can't see straight, it takes him a minute to realize that the dick in his mouth isn't Jeff's. For the first minute, he sucks. He hates himself for that.
But the guy, he tastes nothing like Jeff, doesn't palm Jeremy's head like Jeff would. His grip is too tight in Jeremy's hair, the chunks of it growing back raggedly, and it wakes Jeremy up. The room is dark. It smells like bleach. He can't move to grab the guy's wrists, but he grunts and jerks against the belts holding him down.
"Shh," the guy hisses, and wrenches his fistful of hair until Jeremy's vision waters. "Shut up. Shut up."
The next jerk nearly gets Jeremy loose, the gurney thumping loud against the floor, but the guy thumps his head back into the metal hard enough to make everything wobble. Jeremy huffs through his nose, can't breathe, and in that second the guy pulls out just enough. Fills his mouth with spunk.
He chokes. He wonders sometimes if he should've just drowned in it. When he tries to spit, the guy (the guard, his uniform swimming out of the dark) shoves his palm over Jeremy's mouth. "Swallow," the guard says, no budging in his voice. "Spit and I'll fucking smother you."
He's scared. He swallows. That's his second mistake, if he doesn't count not screaming for help: no evidence. It goes down rough, his stomach jerking in the effort not to bring it right back up.
The guard zips up, his fingers digging twin bruises into Jeremy's cheeks, and then lets go all at once. He leaves. The door shuts.
Jeremy lays there for a while, shivering. Not thinking. If he doesn't think, he isn't really here.
He sees the red light of the security camera. He thinks he's saved.
***
"Mr. Sisto, if you persist in telling these lies, I don't see how you'll ever get out of here."
"There are tapes, you fucker. There's a camera. I know there's-"
"There's no camera."
"- you're just trying to cover your ass-"
"There is no camera. Will you go back to your room quietly, or should you be sedated again?"
Trying to tell someone is mistake 3.
***
It happens. It happens and it happens and it happens.
Or maybe it never happened, and he's too crazy to tell the difference.
Jeff doesn't know. Jeff can't know.
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Date: 2010-02-17 08:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-17 08:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-17 09:06 pm (UTC)