Smut? But you never write smut!
Title: Curiosity
Fandom: Speed Racer
Pairing: Ugh. Racercest, Inspex, I suppose it's Speed/Inspector too? Most of this is unrequited. Love triangles. *shudder*
Length: 1,930 words.
Rating: NC-17 for unadulterated smut.
Status: Complete.
Notes: Has been beta'd by princessezzy. Has a semi-prologue semi-sequel I may post if I ever get round to writing them.
This, the Inspector Detector had to admit, wasn’t a situation he was too used to. It was not like him to be thrown, and therefore he wasn’t entirely. He’d tested the cuffs; they were strong, but not painful, as long as he stayed still. He was not known for fidgeting, so this was not a problem. The chair was hard, but it could have been worse; once, he’d been standing. He wasn’t hungry, thirsty or cold, he didn’t itch anywhere and he didn’t need the toilet. All in all, the situation wasn’t that unpleasant.
Apart from the whole, you know, getting hit over the head and cuffed to a chair thing.
Sexual exploitation in hostage situations wasn’t unknown; it was an occupational hazard when one dealt with criminals everyday. This didn’t comfort the Inspector much, who was very slowly going out of his fucking mind with fear.
He decided to open his eyes to peer at the blindfold, at least; he had to shut them almost immediately as the cloth irritated his eyes, but he did manage to discover the colour; red. Familiar red… oh, shit.
A door opened and closed; soft tread on the floor. It didn’t squeak; he pushed his own toes down till they touched the floor; carpeted.
Now he was in trouble.
Either this guy was an amateur, which was bad news for him because the guy would be nervous, and if he decided to use torture he could seriously do some damage with no idea what he was doing. Or, this guy was a professional, which was very bad news for him because the guy would know exactly what he was doing and could, therefore, inflict some really bad damage. Worse still, he was no Cruncher Block, with the single lightbulb in a wooden shack method. No, this guy would be a true professional; he’d be kept in perfect comfort whilst he was slowly picked apart. Hands moved behind his head, the whisper of skin on skin; his captor was naked, and so was he. He froze.
He forced himself to take another breath, and try controlling his body. He had done this before and could do it again. Oh God, oh God... He knew if he tried now, he could 'detach' himself like he'd been 'taught' to by the time his captor decided to start… but the hand was slipping lower, and his stomach was clenched in fear, whole body thrumming with adrenaline, and he couldn’t control it, and he wanted to scream, and it was going to hurt…
The hands were removed, and the Inspector knew the worst had happened; this was going to be slow. He could handle rough and brutal; the pain was a door and he was happy to clamber through. But slow, slick burning was the most terrifying of all and he couldn’t cope. He felt panic worm back in, with a tight chest and scratchy tears beginning to prickle the back of his eyes.
He discovered that the hands had been removed because his captor had decided to walk in front of him, revealing himself (unashamedly) in more ways than one.
Okay…
So that he hadn’t been expecting.
He had, of course, recognised the red necktie-cum-blindfold instantly; he had presumed it was provocation, revealing Speed as a fellow prisoner, not the identity of his captor. Honestly, Speed didn’t look like he had it in him - even if Rex returned from the dead and begged him to do it the Inspector had been sure Speed could never do anything which would hurt someone ‘good’ - or bad, come to think of it.
The Inspector duly noted that he some character reassessment was necessary.
“There’s a first,” Speed said quietly. “You look surprised.” Speed strolled another circle, eyes boring into him. “Then again any emotion would have been a first; you don’t ever look anything at all.” Fingers trickled across his shoulder and the Inspector tried to reply, but noticed there was something in his mouth. Speed curved a finger round it and tugged; it fell to the floor. The Inspector looked down; Speed did not.
It was a sock.
It was red.
The Inspector looked up again, but still felt incapable of reply. “Curiosity is a strange thing,” Speed said, idly running his fingers through the Inspector’s hair. “Even think the word ‘cat’ and I’m going to get rather annoyed.” He grinned, and maybe it was just due to psychological links, but he thought it looked rather feline.
“You’re… curious about me?” he said slowly. Speed smiled in reply, running fingers through the Inspector’s hair. He found himself closing his eyes, moving into the caress. Speed seemed to see this as an opportunity to be taken advantage of and sat on his lap.
“Not me,” Speed whispered quietly in his ear, almost forlornly. The Inspector decided to ignore the comment when Speed’s hips twitched against his; he had hoped he wouldn’t be the breathy moany type but found his mouth was hanging open and he was panting as Speed rocked his hips and sucked on his neck. Speed sighed, neck arching back. “Stubbornness is curious…” he just about managed to get out. He hissed, clenching his fingers on the Inspector’s shoulders. “So fucking stubborn,” he gasped, grinding their hips almost desperately. He whined long and high, hormones pistoning him more than anything; pressing on his shoulders he held himself above the Inspector, hovering slightly. “Help me,” he whispered breathily.
The Inspector, with a strange, disembodied jolt of arousal, realised he was hard, and had been for some time. He also realised what Speed wanted, and, never one for the whole ‘are you sure, do you want this?’ lecture (as even human contact was so few and far between he was quite happy to ride the emotional waves afterwards) shifted his hips, scraping on the wood chair, to guide Speed above him. Speed, smiling softly, rolled his head back and sat down.
Too long…
It had been too long. He felt ready already; desperate, and oh fuck - Speed just looked - pretty was derogatory, pathetic - he had Rex’s - Rex’s - eyes -
It was interesting what the Inspector could learn from the way Speed fucked. It wasn’t so much his CIB training that kicked into effect, but just his general nature of… curiosity (fuck him if that word would ever be innocent again). Speed fucked like he drove (the words fast, hard, dangerous had never done his driving much justice, and his fucking was no exception), but with a curious predictability that didn’t come up on the racetrack; the Inspector was incapable of touching him, but he wanted to. He could tell Speed would get off on caresses, loving words; Speed’s head was thrown back, leaving the Inspector rendered helpless to whisper anything, murmur softly, make this human - but this wasn’t human for Speed, this was a fuck. This was detached, emotionless, raw. He simply stared at Speed’s neck and made himself content by licking his shoulder, which he could just about reach if he strained against the cuffs and ran his tongue out between his teeth.
Another thing he could derive from the way Speed moved his hips was that this was by no means an alien experience for him. Sure, the words tighthotwet were certainly applicable, and definitely didn’t do this any justice, but there was no sense of burning, and little resistance in regard to pain. Speed knew what he wanted, knew the pace which he needed for completion, knew how he should move his hips to whisper flesh against the places inside, but seemed to be moving against him in a way which was by no means not pleasuring the Inspector, but… almost automatically aiming to pleasure someone else; brushing against the same parts of him repeatedly, nipping on the same part of his neck (when he bothered to bend forward), fingers gripping his hips just shy of his hipbones, as if expecting them to be a few centimetres lower. The pants in his throat, the glaze in his eye… Speed’s mind was far away, and focused on someone who was definitely not beneath him. The word autopilot was a horrid, disgustingly derogatory word for the motion which had them both helplessly sweaty and bucking together, and yet seemed to fit the distant way Speed moved perfectly.
The Inspector closed his eyes and tried not to think anymore.
He didn’t think of his job, which was without a shadow of a doubt fucked if they found out what was going on. He didn’t think of Speed’s parents, who had always regarded him with such trust in their eyes, almost delivering the message that even though they couldn’t stand the fact Speed wanted to do these abysmally dangerous things as long as someone was looking out for him it’d be okay… He didn’t think of his own parents, his own sibling who he’d made all those terrible promises to. Eventually he followed Speed’s path and stopped thinking about the person above him, Speed slipping out of his mind. He blocked it all out, focused on one person, made this just another fuck in a brothel that was for nothing but completion and just so he could grasp onto that little slip of hope that maybe, just maybe...
He thought of Rex Racer, who was just so fucking good that he gave up little Speedy in tears to come work for him for the greater good. Who took missions without hesitation, who followed orders to the last point, who was too fucking perfect and naïve to even think that he - he lo - lo - who would never do this, never take advantage of an obviously distress-sse-d- upset man, b-rok-en man, someone who needed h-help, not to be destroy-ed more like he was d-doing -
He was only dragged back by his own selfish desperation, soclose, soclose, as Speed’s head fell forward and connected their foreheads gently, staring at him as he rocked faster, whispering nonsense and nipping on his lips (never kissing, never kissing), drawing every moan out of him, pulling every whimper almost painfully. He realised someone else was saying a name, under their breath, and when Speed’s mouth moved to his ear and bit on it he realised he was - saying - the name - over and over - Speed wrenching it out with sucks and licks, forcing him to say it, scream it - live it - come to it -
The single letter was effectively soundproofed by the carpet and the thick walls as the Inspector sobbed it out, moving against the cuffs, against Speed’s hands pressing on his shoulders, against Speed’s weight pinning him into the chair, trying to get closer to the owner of that single, painfully tantalising letter with no real hope of being able to. For that millennia of seconds he was that name, was owned by that name, could pretend that that single letter was saying his too…
Lost in his daze, he didn’t see Speed turn his head to one side and gasp out the same letter quickly as he came. Missed Speed standing up without a single wince and getting dressed again. Didn’t feel the cuffs snapping loose, didn’t see Speed pause, stare into a corner behind him, whisper an “I told you so” to the room’s third occupant before leaving. And when he slipped into blackness, he most definitely missed the third leave. The name that slipped out was an unrelated accident, and he entirely missed the other freeze at his address before walking out and leaving the room empty save for him and an almost broken chair.