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BIOSHOCK KINK MEME
Let not light see my black and deep desires
- bioshock trash crew proverb
PROMPTS AND FILLS WITH INFORMATION ON BURAL AT SEA 2 ARE SPOILERS.
THIS POST IS A SPOILER FREE ZONE UNTIL APRIL 27th.
PLEASE ADD ALL SPOILERY PROMPTS AND FILLS TO THIS POST UNTIL THAT TIME.
Spoilery comments to this post will be deleted, and their authors vanished in the night to volunteer in our city's fine Protector Program.
Thank you for your attention. Have a nice day!
Welcome to the Bioshock kink meme.
You can find a semi-frequently-updated list of prompts, with links and an indication of whether they've been filled, here at the index.
it is a kink meme. people anonymously (or not) request fic and pictures; other people anonymously (or not) write that fic and draw those pictures. everyone masturbates, peace is achieved.
there are two ways to take part!
1) start a new comment thread with a pairing/ship, and a kink. there's a kink masterlist here if you find yourself strapped for ideas.
2) swoop into an existing comment thread, and fill the person's request with art or writing. if someone's already filled the request, go for it anyway -- the more the merrier! if you need somewhere to upload/host images, try imgur.
there are some beautiful gems on the old kink memes. if you want an example of how this whole thing works, or you're digging for gold, look no further: on Livejournal, on Dreamwidth.
NOW GO FORTH AND MULTIPLY, MY CHILDREN
"Absence" 2/2
(Anonymous) 2014-03-28 09:47 pm (UTC)(link)"Hold still," Atlas says. "You're on the mend, but it'll take a few minutes. Just...relax. Don't move. I saved your life, the least you can do is listen to me."
"Thank you," Jack tells him. He holds still, and places the other man's voice as coming from somewhere above him. Close, though. Jack blinks, and Atlas swims into focus, sitting on the couch with Jack's head on one of his thighs.
Oh, Jack thinks. I guess he's forgiven me. A moment later there's a hand in his hair, stroking it back from his forehead.
"I hope you realise what a nightmare you are to keep alive," Atlas says in a conversational tone. "And don't you try and tell me otherwise, I know what I'm talking about. You throw yourself head-first into fights with monsters three times your size-"
"And I win," Jack points out.
"And sometimes you win. Wherever you came from, they clearly didn't breed you for self-preservation, and I'd love to have a few words with them about that oversight."
"I don't think self-preservation is something you can breed for," Jack says uncertainly, and Atlas makes a dismissive gesture.
"You'd be surprised." He cards his fingers through Jack's hair, giving it a firm tug. Easily the most pleasant rebuke Jack can remember; he closes his eyes and tilts his head back. Throat exposed. Vulnerable. His instincts should be screaming, flashing blinding red warnings inside his skull, but all he finds is silence.
"You're quite a revelation, you know," Atlas says. He pushes a hand through Jack's hair again, fluffing it up in odd directions. "Not what I was expecting."
"Is that bad?"
Jack opens his eyes and finds Atlas looking at him speculatively. "Haven't decided yet. I suppose we'll just have to wait and see, won't we?"
Jack smiles. Wait and see. That implies time, maybe a great deal of time; he's often wondered what Atlas' plans might consist of, once Ryan is out of the way. Whether they include him. But it seems Atlas will keep him, and the thought eases a tension Jack hadn't even noticed before now.
Ryan has to die. And after that, there'll be sunshine. He can almost feel it on his face, and it's more than worth the things he'll have to do to get there.
Atlas jiggles a knee impatiently under his head, and Jack sits up with no small amount of reluctance. He doesn't quite dare complain, though he'd have been happy dozing off where he was. But Atlas must have things to do, and Ryan can't be left where he is forever.
"How're you feeling now?" Atlas asks. "You healing up? It shouldn't be taking this long to mend, should it?"
Jack shrugs. He doesn't know.
"Well, only one way to find out then. Hold still, would you? And don't look so worried; I was a doctor for a few months once, I'm pretty sure I remember some of it." Atlas pulls a lethal-looking knife out of his pocket. The bandages part easily underneath it, revealing blood-smeared skin, and no damage whatsoever. Everything as it should be. It's nothing special to Jack; this is what happens when he hurts himself, and presumably it's the same for other people as well.
Atlas seems fascinated by the change. He grazes his fingertips over Jack's abdomen and ribs, where the worst of the blood reveals the shape his wound took, while it still existed. It doesn't anymore. As far as Jack is concerned, they can forget about it now. A healed wound is nothing special.
Being touched is a different matter. It's something he has no experience with, as far as he knows; do people normally have warm fingers? Are they all so careful (and there's something in the back of his mind that remembers clinical, rubber gloves and needles, but it's gone before he can grasp for it), so needlessly wary of pressing too hard?
"I'm fine," Jack points out. Atlas gives him a distracted smile.
"I see that. I knew you would be, it's something I specifically- but seeing it in the flesh is something else. You're a walking miracle, boyo. Nobody else like you in the whole world."
That can't be true, Jack thinks. But he doesn't point this out. If Atlas thinks he's something valuable, unique, why disabuse him of the notion? How strange it is to feel appreciated. Treasured, even; he follows the path of Atlas' fingers with his eyes, where they can't seem to keep from touching him. No longer pretending it's the wound they're looking for. Jack breathes slow and deep, and lets Atlas press a palm to his abdomen. And then higher; he stops with his hand on Jack's chest, over his heart.
"I told you I was fine," Jack says. His voice rasps more than it usually does. He can't work out why.
"Nothing I hate more than an 'I told you so', kid," Atlas tells him, but there is amusement in his voice and Jack doesn't take the comment to heart.
"Sorry," he says. "For worrying you."
Atlas removes his hand from Jack's chest, strokes it through his hair again; Jack ducks his head and lets it happen. He could spend a great deal of time like this. If only time and Ryan would stop existing, and he could stay here. Atlas has firm hands; he knows Jack won't break is his hair is tugged on to the point of pain (but never over. Atlas knows where the limits lie, better than Jack himself).
"Are you now?" Atlas asks. "Will you be more careful from now on?"
"Only where you can see me," Jack says before he can stop himself. He looks up, worried he might have pushed too far- and finds Atlas laughing.
"It's like I said; you're a nightmare, and a whole lot more trouble than you're worth. Don't know why I even bother trying with you, I really don't."
He pushes Jack's fringe out of his eyes, fussing with it until it sits where he wants it. Traces down the line of Jack's nose with a fingertip, and then cups his chin in one hand. Warm, again. Jack is very aware of every inch of contact between them, and every inch of space where contact should be. He wants- but what does he want? His instincts seem to have a few ideas. They make suggestions he hesitates to obey, if only because he doesn't know. He doesn't dare push too far with Atlas. Rapture is a cold and lonely place, rotting from the inside out, and Jack has no one else he can trust.
So he waits. Watches closely and sees the change in how Atlas looks at him, how his eyes dart to Jack's mouth and flick away again. Go on, he thinks, hoping Atlas will hear it somehow. I want this to be what I remember of this place. Not killing Ryan, not bleeding out all over the floor. Make this something even Rapture can't ruin. Like the flowers in Arcadia.
That's a pleasant memory. Jack smiles, and then Atlas is leaning in, holding his chin in place between thumb and forefinger.
It's a good kiss. Jack senses this even through the dizzying sparks it ignites in his chest, and the haze of his own inexperience. A skilled kiss, that understands his uncertainty and reassures; teaches him to tilt his head and follow his partner's cues. He forces down the part of himself that tells him to turn and run (nobody who gets this close ever means him anything but harm. They have needles and stethoscopes or they have guns and pipes, drills and Plasmids), because Atlas wouldn't hurt him.
Atlas is scruffy hair and stubble that scrapes, and he smells of motor oil, sweat and (barely, but it's there, he'd know it anywhere) what traces of Jack's blood he didn't manage to wash off entirely. He's more patient than Jack deserves, and more gentle than he needs to be. Jack reaches for him blindly, sliding his arms loosely around the other man's waist. He doesn't cling. And he doesn't run.
It ends too soon, as with all good things. Jack finds himself strangely breathless; his heart pounds like it does mid-combat. He licks his lips and thinks, yes. This is something he could try again. Get used to, even. He goes to says so and stops before he gets as much as word out.
Atlas doesn't shove him off, or even move away from him. But his expression alone is enough of a warning that Jack freezes in place.
"Ah, fuck," Atlas says quietly. "That right there might be the biggest mistake I've made since letting Peach Wilkins into the fold. Dammit."
This makes no sense whatsoever. "I haven't tried to kill you," Jack points out. He still has his hands resting awkwardly at Atlas' waist, and doesn't know if he should remove them or not. He doesn't understand what the problem is.
Something political, he thinks wearily. Something ridiculously, pointlessly complex. Nothing is simple here. And nobody gets to be happy. It seems so wrong to him, that they should both give so much of themselves for a city that doesn't appreciate it, and for no thanks whatsoever. No spare moments to spend together, no time to build on their alliance. No time for sharing silence.
"Yet," Atlas says; it takes Jack a moment to work out what he's talking about, and then he shrugs it off as impossible. "I mean it. Don't make this harder on yourself than it needs to be. We leave it here, it never happened, and later you'll thank me for sparing you the extra hurt."
"I'm not sure you've noticed," Jack says wryly. "But the hurt never lasts long. Whatever happens, I'll heal. You don't need to worry about me."
Atlas shakes his head. "Clueless. Well, suppose I can't fault you for that. It'll be your funeral in the end."
"You're not making any sense," Jack says. It gets him no response, and that's good enough for him. He leans in, tilts his head like Atlas showed him and brushes his lips against the other man's. Does it again, and again, until he feels a response. Until Atlas wraps a hand around the back of his neck and takes control again.
For the first time in memory, Jack feels an absence of fear; it has a name and a face, and it shakes him to his core.
He ends it, at last. Because he has to. All good things crash and burn if he enjoys them for too long, and this will be no exception. It's better to stop and treasure the memory. Earn himself another. He has a job to do.
"I'll make sure Ryan never hurts anyone again," Jack swears, and means it. He looks Atlas in the eyes and burns with how much he means it. "For you. And me. And when it's done you'll get to feel the sunshine again, like you wanted. Everything will be fine."
Atlas shakes his head; there's a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. An odd expression. Not quite pleasant. "Doesn't work that way, Jack. Hold onto your dreams if they make the road smoother, but don't mistake them for reality."
"The only part of this place that feels real is you."
"You poor bastard. You just don't listen, do you?" Atlas laughs, a jagged sound Jack doesn't understand. "Never mind. We got ourselves a tyrant to depose, and we can't do that if I'm keeping you here. Run along now." He gives Jack a playful shove, and Jack moves reluctantly. Finds his stained clothing (soaked in cold water and draped over a few chairs to drip; he puts shirt and jumper on wet and barely notices the discomfort).
"I'll be on the radio if you need me," Atlas says, walking him to the door. "Might see if I can dig you up a map, this place is like a rabbit warren for tunnels. And watch out for Big Daddies. There's this incredible thing called 'dodging', I'm not sure if you've heard of it-"
"I have," Jack assures him.
"Could've fooled me."
Jack hugs him. It's not something he consciously planned to do; it just happens (Atlas feels so warm against his chilled skin and clothing, and better still, he feels strong. He'll be fine on his own. Jack doesn't need to worry about his safety), and he's stepping back before Atlas can do anything about it
"Bye," he says, and heads down the corridor at a jog. Into the maze of tunnels that will lead him into the heart of Hephaestus, and to Ryan. It's a long, dark road, but Jack imagines sunlight on his shoulders and back, and fingers stroking through his hair. After that, the journey is easy.
Re: "Absence" 2/2 (op here)
(Anonymous) 2014-03-29 08:52 pm (UTC)(link)enough rambling... thank you for filling this!! I hope to see you write more in future fills :'D
Re: "Absence" 2/2
(Anonymous) 2014-04-03 04:32 pm (UTC)(link)Re: "Absence" 2/2
(Anonymous) 2014-04-07 04:51 am (UTC)(link)Omg this is so great. I love the way you played the characters, and Atlas was fantastically done.