Consequence of Action: Groundless
This would take place about two weeks after their rescue ☺ TW: flashback, post nightmare, caning, stress position (sort of), noncon mention, recovering whumpee
Quinn closed his eyes and tried to breathe through the feeling of phantom fingers crawling across his skin.
Focus on something else.
Focus on something that is real.
One, two, three, four, five...
Today wasn't a good day.
He swallowed down another wave of nausea and tilted his head up to the ceiling as he swayed even from his seated position on the edge of the bed. The grounding techniques weren't working. They usually did help, at least a little bit, but today, simply sucking in enough air to fill his own lungs was enough to send him tumbling over the edge.
He cast his mind back to last night, to the nightmares full of the most macabre display of his own lived out pain and humiliation that plagued him in his sleep. Something in those twisted memories must have followed him back into his waking consciousness. Still, it was no different than any other night.
Why was today so much worse?
The clothes on his body felt suffocating, itching across his skin, and the floor warmed beneath his feet in a way that made him want to be sick again. He pressed the back of his clammy hand against his mouth and swallowed thickly, his skin prickling with sweat.
It was too hot.
He twisted the hem of his shirt between his fingers, trying to just feel the material.
Let it calm you down.
Let it ground you.
You're safe and you're free and you are allowed wear clothes and to not be on display for anyone that might want to bend you over the fucking desk and fuck you open until you bleed.
A cold sweat broke out across his body and his arms moved without his permission, stripping off the soft shirt and letting it slip from his fingers to the floor. He could smell his own fear, seeping out from his pores and being soaked up into the loose fibers.
That shirt was safe. It belonged to Collins, smelt like him.
Quinn didn't want it to smell like something else.
Sweat and salt and something bitter and cloying filled his senses as a tear slipped down his face. His fingers begged him to pick up the shirt again and bury his face in Collins' scent. It would help him. Ground him. He knows it would.
Fuck.
Is this what he's become?
Collins hadn't even been gone for more than 20 minutes and Quinn deteriorates into some quibbling heap for him to clean up when he gets back. He didn't even want to leave him this time. Quinn had to assured him he would be okay for an hour.
Of course he'd be okay.
He felt himself slip off the side of the bed and sink to his knees. The world seemed to right itself in some awful way as he pressed the palms of his hands against the cool floor.
This was right. He belonged on his knees.
Fuck! Please don't do this.
One, two, three-
Quinn opened his eyes and blinked back his surprise at finding his own thighs still hidden beneath his pants.
That was wrong.
His fingers curled and his nails scraped against the metal of the ship. His pants felt heavy and too hot as a phantom touch dragged down his side, scraping at the hem of the pants he wasn't supposed to be wearing.
A shiver quaked through Quinn's body and he hooked his thumbs underneath the waistband, pulling them over the curve of his ass. The phantom fingers touched him there, cool and poking and prodding at the exposed flesh. They were pleased with him now, demanding more.
He dragged the pants down his thighs and shifted on his knees to pull them off his legs, one by one.
Sweat cooled on his body and he shivered in his nakedness, his heart calming its frantic pace slightly.
This was how it was supposed to be.
His knees already ached painfully, shooting barbs of electricity deep into the joint and down his shins. He pressed down harder. The pain was grounding.
That was good, right? Wasn't it?
He didn't think so.
The brush of touch with no body ran up his spine and he dropped his head down like he was supposed to do, exposing his neck, allowing them all the access they desired.
He was good.
He knew his place.
His mouth dropped open unbidden and his world narrowed, a darkness washing at the edges of his vision and obliterating his senses. Up was down and he couldn't trust himself to move. That wasn't his place anyway. He didn't have to worry about that anymore. The Captain would move him as he sees fit. Spread him open and break his hips to keep him in place- wouldn't he?
Quinn flinched back hard at the sound of the cane against his palms. He looked down at his hands, startled to see his slight pink of his palms and no bright red from the strike.
He'd felt it though. He knew he'd felt it.
No. Please.
–
Quinn screamed behind his clenched teeth, dropping his head as the cane came down hard across his palms.
It felt like a he was being beaten with a hot knife. He swore that the Captain was shattering every delicate bone in his hands with each strike.
He shuddered violently as the tip of the cane came up to press just beneath his chin, tilting his face up.
“Eyes on me, boy. I've already told you once. I wont tell you again.”
Quinn sucked in a wet breath, lifting his eyes to where they belonged.
“Yes, sir,” he whimpered. He wanted to cringe back at the brokenness of his own voice, but he was broken, wasn't he. He sounded exactly as he was supposed to sound.
He watched as the Captain smirked down at him, trailing the cane down Quinn's cheek and over his outstretched arms.
The Captain swung his arm up sharply and Quinn braced, eyes firmly on the Captain, as the cane whipped through the air and struck against his palms.
Quinn screamed.
His fingers curled, desperate to protect the swelling, tender flesh of his palms as Quinn fought against his own body to stretch them out again.
A whimper peeled out of his throat when the cane brushed lightly against his hands. The Captain tisked as he rolled the thin, smooth length of the cane across his fingers, forcing them open again.
“Your punishment hasn't even begun yet, boy.”
Quinn fought to keep his trembling fingers straight and his arms outstretched as the Captain circled him, the tip of the cane grazing over his naked, exposed flesh. A shiver traced the path of the cane as it was trailed down his back and over his ass, back up towards his shoulder and down his arm to his throbbing hands.
Tears welled up in his eyes and spilled down his face, obscuring his vision but the moment the Captain was back in front of him again, his eyes were where they belonged.
Please stop.
“That's my good boy.”
The Captain whipped the cane back and struck his palms in rapid succession. Quinn braced with each punishing strike, pulling his hands back into position the moment the force of the cane struck them down again.
He never looked away.
With another vicious strike, the Captain cursed loudly, reaching out and roughly grabbing Quinn's left hand.
“Fucking pathetic piece of shit. That's going to fucking scar.”
His palm had split open, bright red and weeping against the violent purple of his palm.
His hand was dropped and Quinn risked pulling his throbbing hands to his chest and folding his body over them as the Captain turned away, tossing the cane across the room.
“Get up,” the Captain demanded as he pulled off his jacket, “If you're going to fucking bleed all the over the place, I might as well enjoy myself. Get over here, over the desk.”
Quinn lifted his head and moved immediately do as he was told. He stood on numb, shaky legs and stumbled towards the desk as the Captain unbuttoned his pant.
He practically fell against the edge of the desk, allowing himself to be pushed down and his legs kicked apart. He watched his own blood seep onto a stack of papers and idly wondered if they were of any importance.
Quinn shifted his hips and spread his legs open even wider as fingers ghosted over his flesh.
He heard the Captain hum his approval.
Just be good.
It won't hurt so bad if you're good.
--
That took far longer than Collins had thought it would. Prim was planning to land on the nearest friendly planet to stock up on supplies and had needed to go over security measures and new protocols, etc., etc.
It had taken forever. He needed to get back to Quinn.
Collins forced himself to slow down his pace as he turned the corner to the crew's quarters. He was fine. Quinn would be fine. He was only gone for an hour. He looked at his watch and grimaced. Well, almost two hours now.
He felt his heart flip as he neared their door and he took a moment to slow his breathing before sliding it open. Quinn didn't need to know how much he worried when he was out of his sight. He had enough to deal with without Collins adding his own fears to the pile.
The door slid open and his heart dropped.
“Quinn?”
It took more strength than he cared to admit for him to tear himself from his spot by the door and enter the room.
The air felt thick and heavy, stepping inside was like approaching the open maw of a bottomless cavern. Collins forced himself to take the few steps it took to reach Quinn and knelt down, his hands held out in front of him in a calming manner but he didn't think it mattered.
Quinn was gone.
“Quinn? Can you hear me?”
Sweat had slicked down his naked body and wet the floor beneath his knees. He was trembling violently with his eyes shut tight. His entire body had tensed when Collins had entered the room and he'd curled himself up even tighter.
“Goddamn it,” Collins swallowed back his panic and reached out to touch Quinn's jaw, if only to close his mouth. It looked painful how wide he was holding it open. Nausea swelled in his gut as Quinn flinched bodily at the soft touch and opened his mouth even wider.
“No, Quinn. It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you.”
The whine that tore out of Quinn's throat sliced a piece off of Collins' own soul and laid it at his feet.
“Quinn, can you hear me? It's Collins. There's no one else here, okay? Quinn?”
He watched as Quinn's mouth lost some of its tension and his brow creased in confusion. His chest began to heave in rapid succession as he waited, his hands balled up into fists on his thighs and his eyes still firmly closed.
Collins didn't know what to do. Every single instinct that resided in his body felt wrong. He wanted to be gentle with him, to smooth his sweaty hair back from his face and kiss the corners of his eyes until they finally opened and awareness cleared his vision. But he knew. He knew every single touch would be felt as if it was coming from someone else's hand.
Collins stood abruptly, turning to the shower and flipping it on as cold as it would go. The sound of the water cascading down filled the room and seemed to clear some of that heavy fog that had settled around them.
His put his hand over Quinn's shoulder and the man flinched violently, almost falling off his knees before righting himself.
Collins decided he had to move quickly. He didn't want Quinn thinking he was about to be assaulted for even a fraction of a second longer than he needed to be. Collins bent down and hauled Quinn into his arms in one sweeping motion, stepping to the shower in two quick strides.
The terrified, broken sound that cracked out of Quinn's chest tore at his mind but he stepped quickly into the stall with Quinn in his arms and slid them both down to the floor.
Quinn gasped out in shock as the freezing water shattered whatever specter of memory had gripped his mind. He kicked out and Collins hissed when Quinn's fingernails scraped down his neck as he fought for purchase.
“Quinn. It's me! QUINN!” He yelled in the small space, holding the man tight against his chest until Quinn finally looked up and Collins watched his eyes begin to clear as he tried to focus on his face.
“Hey,” Collins said, pressing his fingers into the back of Quinn's neck and hoping to god that it was soothing instead of horrifying, “You're okay. You're here, with me. He's fucking dead, Quinn.”
Quinn suddenly jerked in his arms and scrambled out of his reach, sliding across the shower floor into the opposite corner, his chest heaving as he frantically looked as his hands in some kind of horror.
Collins had frozen in place, his one hand outstretched and his jaw clenched tight, as Quinn desperately tried to piece his world back together again.
A panicked breath forced itself from Quinn's chest like a punch as realization fully hit him.
“Oh fuck,” Quinn breathed out, sinking back against the shower wall and dropping his head into his hands, “Collins-”
The last came out on the edge of a pained whimper as Quinn swallowed repeatedly, trying to force the hitching sobs back down his throat.
“I'm here,” Collins reached out but held back just shy of actually touching him in the small space, “I'm right here with you, Quinn.”
The water pounded down around them. Collins' clothes were soaked through and sticking heavily to his skin but the freezing cold water felt almost warm with the adrenaline burning itself through his veins.
He wanted so badly to reach out and hold Quinn close. Instead, he straightened one leg out a bit, letting their knees touch.
Quinn finally met his eyes.
Collins watched him pull in one shaky breath after another through his trembling lips before the set of Quinn's jaw hardened and he lashed out with his arm, banging the side of the shower with his fist.
“Fuck!” He screamed, digging his fingers back into his hair and pulling at the roots with his fists, “This can't keep happening.”
He shivered hard and Collins leaned forward slowly, eyeing Quinn carefully before reaching up and turning the water to just slightly warmer but still cool.
Quinn's eyes tracked his every movement. He seemed to force his body to release a shred of the tension buzzing viciously underneath his skin.
“I'm here, Collins. I know you wont hurt me,” Quinn said, dropping his hand to rest over Collins' ankle, his thumb brushing back and forth over his now thoroughly soaked pant leg.
“I know,” Collins tried to assure him, “but when you're- lost, like that, you don't know it's me.”
“Lost,” Quinn repeated, his body slumping against the wall of the shower as if the word stole all his remaining strength away. He met Collins' eyes. “I'm sorry.”
Collins rested the side of his head against the tile, letting the water wash away the droves of adrenaline. He wanted to gather Quinn up in his arms and soothe away all the pain that was etches across his face. He reached out and covered his bare knee with his hand instead, hoping that the touch would calm them both.
“What do you remember?”
“I don't know,” Quinn said as he looked down at his palms, curling his hands into fists and opening them again. “I remember that my clothes felt wrong somehow, like they didn't belong on my body, and I knew I was starting to panic again. I couldn't focus on anything. I tried to do what you said but-”
His voice broke and he swept a hand through the rivulets of water mixed with tears streaming down his face.
“I was back there-,” he tried again before his face crumbled and he moved the two feet it took to draw himself back up against Collins' side. Collins opened his arms and let Quinn decide how close he wanted to get. Quinn dropped his weight back into Collins' arms and tucked his legs up against his side and Collins felt the tension in his chest begin to ease back.
“They didn't have to hurt me like that,” Quinn whispered, “They didn't have to fucking tear me apart until there was nothing left.”
“Hey,” Collins spoke loud enough for Quinn to hear him clearly over the drone of the water, allowing himself to finally brush Quinn's wet hair back from his face, “You're still whole, Quinn. You're still you.”
He felt Quinn shake his head against his chest.
“I'm not.”
“You are,” Collins said wrapping both his arms around Quinn and letting the water wash freely over them, “You're still strong and kind and honest... and an angry little shit when you need to be.”
Quinn huffed out an incredulous laugh as Collins continued, “I know we didn't know each other much, before, but I remember, one time, when you were programming something on the console that I wont pretend to understand and Murphy came over and flipped the wrong switch or something. You were so pissed. I remember thinking your jaw was going to shatter from you trying to hold back whatever it was you wanted to say. You still have that in you. That fire.”
“He deleted half of my work with one press of a button,” Quinn said, “Paid me double for the day though.” He paused, his tone soft in remembrance, “I miss him. He was a good man.”
Collins felt his throat try to close with guilt, instantly regretting bring up Murphy at the sorrow in Quinn's voice.
He couldn't respond. He didn't have the right.
He had no right to share in that grief.
Quinn might not be as he was before, but he was still a far better man than Collins could ever hope to be.
Quinn shifted a little, stretching out his left leg as if his hip hurt, and leaned further against Collins, letting the last of the adrenaline finally bleed out of his system.
“You ready to get out?” Collins asked.
“In a minute,” Quinn said as he rested against Collins' chest, his eyes fixed to the faint line that crossed his palm.
He flinched, only slightly, when Collins placed his hand over Quinn's. He brushed his thumb over the scar and Quinn let out a surprised breath when that light touch didn't hurt.
"Never again," Collins whispering against the wet mess of Quinn's hair as he placed a gentle kiss on the top of his head.
Quinn felt himself smile. The water was cool against his skin but Collins’ warmth was enough to keep him from shivering. He pressed his now healed palm against Collins’ chest and closed his eyes.
"Never again."
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