[fanfiction] I will be your prisoner.
365 Gay Sharks
Day 247, Word Count: 770
Theme: September; Camp
This post is part of the 365 Gay Sharks project. If you would like to learn more about this project, click here to read more about it. :D
Fandom/Pairings: Bandom/Killjoys; Mikey Korse
Rating: R
Pre-Notes: I . . . Maybe kindasorta borrowed teh_slush's Mikey and Korse from You Are Not My Savior. Yeah.
Disclaimer: This isn't even my universe.
Summary: It's hard to tell what's Mikey and what's pill now, hard for him to even sort it out in his brain. All he knows (all he wants to know) is the stark white of his facilities and the smooth white plastic of his collar making him as Korse's prisoner. As Korse's property.
I will be your prisoner.
When Mikey first comes to Korse, he behaves exactly as his brother would expect. He fights back, refuses to tell Korse anything, and Mikey doesn't know when it changes. When he changes. The beginnings of it are there when he first opens up his mouth to tell Korse something, when he first breaks down and admits that maybe he is weaker than his brother hopes. Maybe he is weaker than he himself hopes.
That's not the moment Mikey finally succumbs, though. They both know that, because they both know when Mikey maybe stopped being Killjoy and started being BL/ind, because it's permanently branded upon Mikey like he's some sort of sick trophy, some sort of awful thing to be held as bait. Except . . . Except Korse fastens the collar around Mikey's neck and it's like magic, like a mystic seal binding him to Korse, because it should feel like a shackle and instead it feels like a symbol. Like something he should wear with pride and honor.
But perhaps that's the happiness pills talking. It's hard to tell what's Mikey and what's pill now, hard for him to even sort it out in his brain. All he knows (all he wants to know) is the stark white of his facilities and the smooth white plastic of his collar making him as Korse's prisoner. As Korse's property.
Korse uses it when Mikey sucks him off, tugging Mikey back and pressing the collar against his Adam's apple until he can hardly breathe, until he's gasping, and then lets go. Let Mikey breathe again. Lets Mikey live again. And yeah, yeah sometimes Mikey runs his fingers over the collar and curls his fingers around it. It's in those moments that he doesn't know what he wants anymore.
He doesn't know if he wants this sense of belonging of . . . of love, or if he wants his brother back. Because, Mikey knows, he cannot have both and he has to choose. He has to pick blood or love.
It's okay, though, because the pills make all that go away. The pills tell him what to feel and when to feel it, so he doesn't have to think through his emotions. He just has to let them wash over him like piss-poor beer in a wavehead bar. He just has to ride out the effect, pick what he wants to feel and when.
Fuck if it isn't easier like that. Fuck if Mikey prefers the mindless happiness that the pills offer, versus the complexities of what the collar means and who Mikey is. Then again, Mikey doesn't fucking know who he is anymore. He doesn't even know how long he's been there, how long his "friends" have forgotten him. Or is it searched for him?
Mikey curls his fingers around the collar once more and swallows. He presses the button for the happiness pill and slowly feels his face rearrange itself into a fake, plastic smile. Feels all the complicated thoughts fade away to a pleasantly white static. He knows Korse can see him, knows that there are cameras recording every time he pops a pill or takes a piss, but he also knows that Korse can't tell what he's thinking. BL/ind hasn't gotten that far into everyone's lives yet, and Mikey's head is still his own.
That is, when he's in it. When he's lucid and not blissed out on artificial happiness.
On most days, Mikey can't hear a single thought in his head. He can't dream of the colors and the danger and the desert. He can't even dream in sketchy black and white, like drawings Gerard has made for him, because Mikey can't dream at all. He can't have nightmares about what Korse is really doing, ghosted memories breaking through the barrier of chemicals. Mikey can't fucking process anything at all except the rote motions of living.
So he wakes, he eats, he sleeps, he takes his pills, he talks to Korse. That is everything there is for Mikey now, and it's safe. He's not sure whether that's a good thing or bad, but Mikey knows this: he knows that he likes the collar.
It's just that he's not entirely sure what it stands for.
He doesn't care, not anymore, but there is no grand meaning behind his symbols anymore. There are no codes and doublespeak, not a single crazy thing out of the ordinary. Not a single tiny thing out of place, because BL/ind makes sure that everything stays in place. They make sure nobody is extraordinary.
And Mikey can't see what's wrong with that any more.
This entry originally posted here. Original entry currently has
comments. :D
Day 247, Word Count: 770
Theme: September; Camp
This post is part of the 365 Gay Sharks project. If you would like to learn more about this project, click here to read more about it. :D
Fandom/Pairings: Bandom/Killjoys; Mikey Korse
Rating: R
Pre-Notes: I . . . Maybe kindasorta borrowed teh_slush's Mikey and Korse from You Are Not My Savior. Yeah.
Disclaimer: This isn't even my universe.
Summary: It's hard to tell what's Mikey and what's pill now, hard for him to even sort it out in his brain. All he knows (all he wants to know) is the stark white of his facilities and the smooth white plastic of his collar making him as Korse's prisoner. As Korse's property.
I will be your prisoner.
When Mikey first comes to Korse, he behaves exactly as his brother would expect. He fights back, refuses to tell Korse anything, and Mikey doesn't know when it changes. When he changes. The beginnings of it are there when he first opens up his mouth to tell Korse something, when he first breaks down and admits that maybe he is weaker than his brother hopes. Maybe he is weaker than he himself hopes.
That's not the moment Mikey finally succumbs, though. They both know that, because they both know when Mikey maybe stopped being Killjoy and started being BL/ind, because it's permanently branded upon Mikey like he's some sort of sick trophy, some sort of awful thing to be held as bait. Except . . . Except Korse fastens the collar around Mikey's neck and it's like magic, like a mystic seal binding him to Korse, because it should feel like a shackle and instead it feels like a symbol. Like something he should wear with pride and honor.
But perhaps that's the happiness pills talking. It's hard to tell what's Mikey and what's pill now, hard for him to even sort it out in his brain. All he knows (all he wants to know) is the stark white of his facilities and the smooth white plastic of his collar making him as Korse's prisoner. As Korse's property.
Korse uses it when Mikey sucks him off, tugging Mikey back and pressing the collar against his Adam's apple until he can hardly breathe, until he's gasping, and then lets go. Let Mikey breathe again. Lets Mikey live again. And yeah, yeah sometimes Mikey runs his fingers over the collar and curls his fingers around it. It's in those moments that he doesn't know what he wants anymore.
He doesn't know if he wants this sense of belonging of . . . of love, or if he wants his brother back. Because, Mikey knows, he cannot have both and he has to choose. He has to pick blood or love.
It's okay, though, because the pills make all that go away. The pills tell him what to feel and when to feel it, so he doesn't have to think through his emotions. He just has to let them wash over him like piss-poor beer in a wavehead bar. He just has to ride out the effect, pick what he wants to feel and when.
Fuck if it isn't easier like that. Fuck if Mikey prefers the mindless happiness that the pills offer, versus the complexities of what the collar means and who Mikey is. Then again, Mikey doesn't fucking know who he is anymore. He doesn't even know how long he's been there, how long his "friends" have forgotten him. Or is it searched for him?
Mikey curls his fingers around the collar once more and swallows. He presses the button for the happiness pill and slowly feels his face rearrange itself into a fake, plastic smile. Feels all the complicated thoughts fade away to a pleasantly white static. He knows Korse can see him, knows that there are cameras recording every time he pops a pill or takes a piss, but he also knows that Korse can't tell what he's thinking. BL/ind hasn't gotten that far into everyone's lives yet, and Mikey's head is still his own.
That is, when he's in it. When he's lucid and not blissed out on artificial happiness.
On most days, Mikey can't hear a single thought in his head. He can't dream of the colors and the danger and the desert. He can't even dream in sketchy black and white, like drawings Gerard has made for him, because Mikey can't dream at all. He can't have nightmares about what Korse is really doing, ghosted memories breaking through the barrier of chemicals. Mikey can't fucking process anything at all except the rote motions of living.
So he wakes, he eats, he sleeps, he takes his pills, he talks to Korse. That is everything there is for Mikey now, and it's safe. He's not sure whether that's a good thing or bad, but Mikey knows this: he knows that he likes the collar.
It's just that he's not entirely sure what it stands for.
He doesn't care, not anymore, but there is no grand meaning behind his symbols anymore. There are no codes and doublespeak, not a single crazy thing out of the ordinary. Not a single tiny thing out of place, because BL/ind makes sure that everything stays in place. They make sure nobody is extraordinary.
And Mikey can't see what's wrong with that any more.
This entry originally posted here. Original entry currently has
comments. :D