Warnings: Slash. Noncon. Dark. Don't read if this squicks you.
Summary: "But sometimes you just need to be pushed further than you're willing to go."
Feedback: Is appreciated. Flames will be used for massive bonfires.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Everything belongs to Disney.
There is a gash on my forearm and it's leaking crimson droplets. They look almost black in the dim light of the tavern. I must have been careless on my way here, though I don't recall. It seems however, that I should be able to pinpoint a time. It's not deep, but a thin winding line and it's usually those that hurt the most. The surrounding skin is blotched with red and white, it certainly looks painful. I cannot feel it.
I reach out and wrap my hands around an awaiting mug, I do not drink it. Instead, I study my wrists. Blacks, greens, and purples melt into each other, imitating cuffs as they loop around my wrists. The sight of it knots my stomach and I feel for a moment that I might be sick.
To this I close my eyes and drop my head back on the stone wall behind me. Once again, there is impact, but no pain. This is not where I want to be now. And so I drift.
I remember the day you had discovered that I still harbored a fear of the open sea. I had not told you, but you say I did by the way I would stare listlessly at the vast horizon. I had not been bothered by it, I had never paid it any heed.
You said I needed to overcome it and I denied the problem. Perhaps there was some resilient fear from when I was a lad on the crossing to England, but I'd never tell you.
A challenge. Yes, you challenged me that day. We were anchored at the time, no where near port nor island. You asked me to prove you wrong, to dive into the water from the railings. It shouldn't have been a problem, but as I steadied myself on the rails with the help of a rigging, I froze. Something so simple was so difficult because the act was completely voluntary, there was no threat of death or danger (as there had been every other time I swam in the open ocean).
"Jack..." I spoke as though this was a waste of time, "Why can't you accept that I'm fine in the water when I need to be? This is pointless." I released the rigging to climb back down onto the deck.
"Nonsense," you said brightly.
The next few seconds happened in such a succession that I could hardly decipher them. There was a rough, sudden pressure at my back. Then rushing air followed by a slapping crash. I remember the abrupt surge of white hot knives stabbing at me from the cold. Everything turned silent. I fought my way to the surface, struggling to stop myself from breathing in.
I emerged, gasping. The air was harsh on my lungs, burning as though they'd never tasted sea air before.
The next second I felt strong arms encircle me. "You alright, mate?" you asked laughing. You probably thought yourself heroic, diving in after me.
"What the bloody hell was that?!" I yelled, my voice rasping. I shoved him in the chest but the water prevented the move from being affective.
You continued to grin at me. "Not scared anymore, are you?"
"I was never scared."
"Mm," you pulled me flush against your body, "But sometimes you just need to be pushed further than you're willing to go."
The teasing tinge to your voice was gone by then. The anger that had flared so quickly in me receded as I became acutely aware of the distance (or lack thereof) between us. And suddenly, you were everything I could see, everything I could feel. Your face flooded my vision and you pressed your lips against mine.
I froze again, but this time I recovered and I kissed you back.
In that moment, I had felt free.
I had once been able to recall the way my skin tingled and sang, the way my heart would pound fiercely in my ears, but I can no longer. It's a ghost of a memory that I can't seem to grasp.
I open my eyes and the room spins and dances with movement. The floor threatens to upturn itself, but I vanquish it by grasping the table and shutting my eyes again.
But sometimes you just need to be pushed further than you're willing to go. I can picture each word as you say it. Oh, how foolish I was to listen to you. To trust you. To fall for you.
I fight to suppress the memory that is still so young.
We were in your cabin, the night was late. Three candles were the only illumination, they smelled strongly of sulfur.
Clothes had gone missing long before, leaving long expanses of skin that shimmered lightly with a sweaty sheen when the light could catch it. I lay beneath you, your mouth was everywhere. I couldn't keep track of your constantly moving hands either, but it didn't matter. I was lost, completely captivated by every sensation.
Things progressed further, past the line of comfort. "Jack..." I hated how uncertain my voice sounded that moment.
You paused, clearly hearing my tone. "Frightened?"
"Of course not. I'd chance with nervous and unwilling rather."
You seemed to consider my words from between my thighs. "Just a little nudge in the right direction, savvy?" you dismissed, continuing where you left off.
"I'm not joking," I warned, holding you away from my body by your shoulders.
"Nor am I." You managed to spin out of my grasp and grip my wrists with a force you never used with me before. I was pinned, unable to move. Laying beneath you so helplessly... I felt so terribly exposed, so vulnerable.
From there, everything is a blur. I remember pleading with you, though I'm not quite sure if it was voiced or not. You didn't stop, you wouldn't stop...
There's a caressing pressure at my shoulder and I shudder into reality. The room still has not focused, and the speed at which I spin my head does not help the matter.
My stomach drops out, my heart along with it. You're invading, always there. Can I not escape?
You sit beside me, running light touches between my should blades. You smile your sickeningly optimistic grin, looking as though you own the world. To think I had once fallen for your charms.
"Doing alright, love?" you whisper against my temple. I feel your humid breath sweeping across my cheek, so I turn away. Your hand dips lower, rubbing what should have been soothing circles across my lower back. Instead the touch is hot, burning and searing my skin.
What you say next, I do not know. It takes all of my strength and concentration to stand and stumble through the churning throng of patrons. I falter more than once along the way, I can't seem to keep the ground steady beneath my feet.
Somehow I manage to make my way to the docks. I stumble to a halt, grateful that the rails held my weight as I collided heavily with it. Damn the horizon... I leaned over the railing, emptying the contents of my stomach into the bay.
I kept at it until I was left with dry heaves. I sank against a wooden post, my body too heavy for my legs to support any longer.
I realize now that my breathing is broken and ragged, so I focus on controlling it. I blink wearily, and then you're there. How the bloody hell do you do it? It's quite a trick, I would have loved to learn it.
You kneel before me, looking thoroughly concerned. "Will, what's gotten into you?" you reach out to cradle my face. I violently throw my head the other way.
What's gotten into me? What sort of bloody question is that?
"I'm sorry," you whisper, looking for all the world that you truly are. I hadn't even realized I'd spoken out loud.
"You broke me..." I trail away. I begin to sob, hugging my knees against my chest. I don't care how ridiculous I must look, how weak. Why couldn't you have realized that I was no different from any other human, that I too have a breaking point? Why couldn't I be stronger...?
When I open my eyes, you're all I can see again. But now I take on a drifting ease, I feel sorely faint. Darkness creeps into the edges of my vision and I can't help but curse you with every heated word I know.
The floors are dipping again and my vision turns black. What have you done to me? What have you done to me?
"What have you done to me?"