29 Days of Smut 2016
Dec. 21st, 2015 05:55 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aftanithA self-imposed challenge of my own creation, running from February 1, 2016 to February 29, 2016. I only plan to start these stories (producing around a thousand words for each), not to finish them within the month.
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Men [1/?]
Date: 2016-02-25 08:31 am (UTC)"You okay?" came the unavoidable question, and Simon just rolled his eyes as he brought his tepid can of beer back to his mouth. Of course he wasn't fucking okay. "Wanna talk about it?"
"No."
Sam Noble was victor #120 to Simon's own #123, and for all the years he'd been here, reduced to nothing more than a plaything of the Circle, Simon would've thought he'd know better than to ask if another victor was "okay"--or at least to take no for an answer when it came to talking about why it distinctly wasn't. But, perhaps rather expectedly since the rest of Simon's life had already gone to shit anyway, he didn't; the other man pressed on, a look of concern on his face that might have been subtle if Simon didn't already know what game he was playing at.
But Sam Noble was not going to make him feel better. The idea of feeling better was a pipe dream at this point; there were few things more unlikely than that.
"Who were you with?" he asked, playing the role of pushy bastard perfectly. A qualified therapist he was not. "Not Donahue?"
Simon shook his head, fully intending to put as little effort as possible into this. Perhaps if he was sullen enough, Sam might just go away.
He had no such luck. "Who, then?"
For a moment, the words "go fuck yourself" were right on the tip of Simon's tongue; Sam neither needed nor deserved the answer, and Simon didn't have any real reason to share his shame with this veritable stranger. But, in the end, he was only trying to help; he'd been here for years, after all, and he hadn't gone insane yet. Perhaps there was something Sam knew that Simon didn't; he should probably put a bit more effort into hearing him out, at the very least.
"Frost."
Sam nodded. "Ah. New Chancellor. That explains why you're looking so..." He gestured vaguely toward Simon's person, and Simon raised a skeptical brow.
"So what?" he demanded, not really caring to hear the answer but put off by the accusation nonetheless.
"Shell-shocked," the other man answered simply.
"And how does that explain it?"
Sam shrugged. "He just jumped to highest position of power in the entire Circle. Of course he's taking advantage of all the little... perks of his new job. At least it's not Donahue."
"He's not much better," Simon said bitterly, staring down at his can. "Donahue's a bastard, but this guy's almost worse. Donahue just uses you; Frost..."
"I know. Though he hasn't taken as much interest in me or Gwen as he has you and Izzy. I'm sure it's that he knows I'll be leaving soon, assuming nothing goes wrong with the next Cull; you, though... well, I suppose I'm not really helping anything pointing that out, am I?"
Simon took another drink. "I don't suppose you are."
"I would try to say 'look on the bright side'," Sam said with a sigh, "but that's bullshit. We can look on the bright side all we want, but that doesn't change a thing. Even if a few of them bother doing things we don't mind--even if one or two of them lets us do what we enjoy--we're still being raped. We're still fucking slaves. The only bright side here is that once they start to lose interest in us, they'll eventually let us go."
Simon let out a tiny, derisive snort. "And then what?" he demanded. "What am I supposed to do after that? Pretend this never happened? Pretend they can't just call me back here whenever they want, do whatever they want to me all over again. There isn't freedom after this. How many victors end up married to the Circle or become some kind of... kept lovers, anyway?"
Flexible [2/?]
Date: 2016-03-04 09:22 am (UTC)"What a relief."
Sam shrugged, as if he was going out of his way to pretend it didn't bother him as much as Simon was sure it must. How long would it be, Simon wondered, before he found himself doing the same? Would this time next year see him putting on the same brave facade to soothe the fears of whoever survived the Culling next? It was a horrible thought.
"We have to take what we can get," Sam said finally, and Simon had to roll his eyes.
"Why hadn't anybody just fucking killed these bastards?" he demanded, his voice loud and furious in the tiny room, but Sam didn't flinch.
"Because," he said, giving Simon a surprisingly stern look, "the consequences of that would be much worse than anything they've done to any of us so far."
Simon's scoff was bitter. "You don't know what the fuck they've been doing to me--not any more than I know what the fuck they've been doing to you."
"It's all about the same," the victor said with a shrug, then paused. "What, you think you have it worse than the rest of us?"
There was a part of Simon that wanted to say yes, wanted to insist that what he had been through the past few months was beyond the pale, and yet he couldn't quite bring himself to say it. Like he'd already admitted, he had no idea what Sam and the others were dealing with when they were out of his sight; it could've been nothing compared to what Frost and the rest of the Circle had done to him, but it could also have been vastly worse. He wasn't sure which possibility was more frightening.
"Because I'd be very surprised if you did," Sam said. "Take Gwen, for instance. She fucks mostly men, and that's more dangerous for her than it is for us, isn't it? She's taking for granted every time she fucks that the fertility suppressants she's on are working, that no one's tampered with them or made some kind of mistake with the dosage that'll get her pregnant with whatever sadistic cock has decided to fuck her this time. I'm quite thrilled to not be worrying about that."
Simon stared at him. "We all fuck mostly men, don't we? Although, if there's an opposite program I can get myself signed up for, let me at it."
Sam surveyed him for a few moments, silent and speculative, before he continued. "You don't like men?"
He felt the muscles in his jaw tighten for a moment, frustrated and tense, and did what he could to relax. "I haven't gotten the impression that it matter what my answer is. Not to these worthless fuckers. If it's got a hole, they're going to fuck it, cunt or no cunt."
"You're not wrong," Sam admitted. "Not entirely, at least. There are plenty of them who're looking for a rod, not a hole, after all."
"Alright, point me toward them, then. That might at least be better than what I've been putting up with so far."
"They're just not willing to let you have control yet," Sam said evenly, as calm as if they were talking about the weather instead of Simon's torment. "They can still tell how angry you are--how volatile. They're not going to let you in any position to hurt them until they're sure you've learned to listen to safewords."
Simon barked out a harsh laugh. "Safewords," he repeated derisively. "Right. Let me know when I'm allowed that luxury, will you?"
"With the Circle? Never. If you want to be treated like an actual person, you're going to have to find your own partner."
He couldn't help his sneer. "Oh, is that what I'm supposed to be doing? I should sign up for a dating site, maybe? It'll be kinda hard to balance a relationship with my 'getting fucked up the ass' duties, of course, but I guess if I try really hard--"
Sam's voice cut in through his budding tirade, putting an end to what had been threatening to turn into an unstoppable rant. "Most of us just fuck each other."