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From: Christine W Indigo <christineindigo@juno.com>
Subject: {ASSM} [little Alex] Titanic: Gentlemen's Agreement (MM, nc, reluc, hist, slash)
Date: Thu, 30 Mar 2000 03:10:04 -0500
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Titanic: Gentlemen's Agreement (MM, nc, reluc, hist, slash)
by little Alex, AKA Alexandra Y. Kwan (alexmountain@hotmail.com)
http://members.dencity.com/litalex/
DISCLAIMERS AND DISTRIBUTION RIGHTS: The sinking of the Titanic is a
historic event and belongs to no one. However, all characters in this
story belong to James Cameron, who never deserved such gorgeous men in
the first place, according to Alex. It is not intended as a challenge to
his copyright. She also said, "You want to archive this? Oh, wow. Yes,
please." However, please ask her first. This story contains explicit
non-consensual homosexual sex, so if you are under 18, go away.
Alex's Notes: AU (alternative universe) on the scene where Jack Dawson
was locked up for his falsely accused crime.
A smile on his lips, Caledon Hockley stepped into the room. Both Lovejoy
and the boy Dawson looked in his direction. The Pittsburgh native nodded
at Lovejoy and Cal's valet left the room, shutting the door silently.
Hands inside his trouser pockets, Cal strode forward until the two men
were face-to-face. Lips pressed into a thin line, Jack raised his chin.
Past the metal pipes, Cal's right hand snaked out of his pocket to cup
the other man's face. Jack took a step back, alarmed, his eyebrows
jumping.
The hand moved to stroke the golden strands of hair, then the grip
tightened.
The blond jerked his head away, the pretty mouth slack with confusion and
pain. The thirty-year-old brought his hand back into his pocket and
walked around his captive, glancing up and down the slender figure, who
continued looking at the door.
"Was she good?"
Jack's head whipped to the side to face his rival. "What?"
Cal calmly smiled. "I said, was she good?"
"That's, that's none of your business."
"Considering that she's my fianc e, I'd say it's very much my business."
Cal moved in front of the blond, whose gaze followed the older man
obediently.
"She isn't going to marry you, not after--"
"Not after you fucked her?"
Jack winced. "Don't use that word."
"No? I thought that's how you, pardon, your people, describe such an
act."
"My people. Pardon, as you've said, but you know nothing of my people."
The younger man craned his neck to keep the eye contact as the older one
once again stood behind him. "And I didn't fuck her. I made love to her."
Cal shrugged. "As if you'd know the difference."
"Of course I know the difference. For example, if you and Rose did
actually marry--"
"We *will*. And Jack? You're quite apparently laboring under a false
impression. I don't care to know what you've done to my Rose." Cal's hand
stroked down the boy's spine, whose owner struggled away from the large
hand.
"But rest assured that when I'm finished with you, you'll know very
intimately what that difference is."
A trace of fear finally colored the boy's face. "A man can't fu--fuck
another man."
"Then all your time in Paris didn't teach you anything." A bubble of
laughter escaped the older man, who, with his finger, drew a circle,
through the fabric of the shirt, on the small of Dawson's back. "And you,
Jack, are merely a boy. It wasn't wise for you to try playing a man's
game, and, now, you're going to pay a man's price for it."
"No, you can't, you--"
"Go on, scream all you want." Cal roughly but easily tore off Jack's
trousers and underpants. They pooled at the young man's feet, Jack
shivering lightly at the temperature. "No one can hear you. They're all
escaping into the lifeboats."
"You're crazy, and, and --" Jack struggled to stepped forward, to put the
pipes between the two of them, but his opponent lifted him off the ground
and bent him over the pipes.
"Yes, I might be crazy, but I'll be the one living at the end of this."
The tone was dry but quite smug.
Jack ground out a low and guttural "No, you bastard!"
But the words did not deter the older man. Cal laughed. "Sorry to inform
you, but my parents were appropriately in wedlock when I was conceived."
Jack snorted, but reigned in his retorts. The older man's smart-alec
comments were annoying enough as it was. It would be idiotic for him to
add insult to his own injuries. As the silence permeated the room, Jack
realized that he could hear the soft noise of cloth rustling and buttons
slowly removed from button-holes. His mind shrieking of forthcoming
horrors, the young man tried throwing his weight toward the front, hoping
to roll off the pipes, but a steady hand on his buttocks kept him
precariously balanced.
A soft chuckle came from the older man, but Jack could not truly care at
this point. The pipes were extremely cold against his body, especially
against that very important part of his anatomy. If his appendages froze
off -- he stopped the thought before he could start screaming. No way in
hell would he give the bastard the satisfaction of hearing him scream.
The hand was then joined by its counterpart, handling Jack easily, as if
the younger man was no more than a child. The hands spread the blond's
legs, then the forefinger of the right hand snaked inside him. Jack
surged forward, but could not dislodge the left hand on his hipbone. In
fact, the hand kept him from falling headfirst onto the metal floor.
The finger forced its way in, the burn immediate. A groan escaped the
young man, and he winced, appalled at his own lack of control. Fine, so
what if the arsehole was going to, going to -- damn, the bastard was going
to 'fuck' *his* arsehole. The blond was, quite frankly, terrified. But he
refused to scream; he would take it like a man, to disprove his enemy's
words. Eyes closed, Jack chanted silently to himself, "He won't win, he
won't win, he won't win..."
Another finger drove in, and Jack bit his lip to halt the reflexive
whimper at the pain. The two fingers pulled at every angle, widening and
stretching his small entrance. They withdrew and the younger man breathed
a sigh of relief. Then he discovered that his torture was far from over.
Coated with some unknown gel, the fingers came back and slid in much
easier this time. Slowly, they oiled his passage, smoothing the way. They
departed again, and, once more, inserted themselves in, coated with the
gel, three fingers now. Then the fingers were removed, the hands softly
kneading the blond's
buttocks. They suddenly grasped Jack's hip and forced his pelvis back. A
searing pain, disguised as the older man's cock, ripped through the
blond's body.
Jack bit back another scream, only to hear the soft snort of laughter
from Caledon. The two men stayed still, very still for a long minute. The
gold-haired one not able to move because of the pain; the black-haired
one waiting for the other to relax, so that *he* could move. The man from
Pittsburgh spoke again, his tone sardonic and coldly amused, but it took
a while for the words to register in the young man's mind.
"You know, it'd actually hurt less if you relaxed, Jack."
"Hurt less" were the only words the blond truly comprehend at this point.
So he quickly obeyed, forcing himself to relax, to let in the whole of
the older man's member. It was beating like a heart inside him, hot and
pounding, each pulse lessening the pain as he himself calmed. Jack then
shuddered, the icy weather clearing his brain. His only source of heat
was from the other man's body, the body that was deliberately pulling
back and then thrusting in. The pain had finally morphed into numbness,
and the younger man did not know what to do. He hated the cold, but, but
-- Strong arms wound around the blond and they lifted his body off the
pipes, though the young man's wrists were still chained. The large hands
traced across Jack's hips to his shriveled cock. Stroking, massaging, the
hands
faithfully coaxed into existence the younger man's aroused hardness.
Tendrils of enjoyment wove into the act, pain a completely forgotten
memory now. As their rhythm steadied, Jack's erection finally made an
appearance. The blond whimpered, giving in, allowing himself the excuse
that he vowed not to moan when in pain; nothing was said about pleasure.
And pleasure it was. Great was the dose of pain, greater still the dose
of ecstasy. Jack could feel himself letting go, could feel himself also
thrusting, contributing to both men's gratification. The younger man
moaned, whimpered, and finally screamed to his heart's delight. Bliss
like this demanded a complete surrender and he gladly jumped into it. He
came then, his cock spurting semen all over Caledon's hands. The
black-haired man thrust for half a minute more, then also relinquished
his body into the depths of orgasm.
They rested for a moment, then the older man pulled out of the younger
one, drew out a handkerchief from his trousers' pocket, and wiped them
both clean. After carelessly throwing the handkerchief to a corner of the
room, he fastened his trousers, and then Dawson's. His face impassive, he
walked back to stand in front of Jack. The two men's gazes holding,
Caledon slowly took the brass key from his coat pocket. He looked down at
it for a
moment, then put the key inside the lock of the handcuffs, but did not
turn it.
Gracefully, he pressed in to kiss Jack. The blond, surprised, did not
respond at first, then slowly opened his mouth. They kissed for a while,
tongues dueling. Expression still guarded, Jack broke the kiss and lifted
his wrists, obviously wanting the older man to release him.
Caledon tilted his head, still studying the blond. "What do you think
exactly happened between us?"
Blushing, the younger man stood up from his slight slouch, but looked
down at his feet.
"A trade agreement, perhaps? You slept with me, and, therefore, you
should have your freedom? Is that so?"
A timid nod was still a nod.
Smiling, the older man grasped the younger one's chin and raised it.
Meeting those startled eyes, Cal snorted. "I don't care for whores. Now,
if you hadn't given in so easily --" His right hand still on the boy's
chin, the left one pulled back out from the lock the small brass key and
held it in front of the blond's face. "Look at it closely, Jack, for this
is the last time you'll see it." The Pittsburgh native dropped the key
back into his pocket.
Jack snapped up his head, furious now. "You took me against my will!"
Cal sneered and slapped the boy. The blond flinched, but the blow
connected solidly.
"I did nothing of the sort. You kissed me back." Then the older man
turned sharply around and marched out of the room.
Slamming the door shut, he took out his pocket watch and, looking at it,
shook his head. He wasted too much time already; better ran up and secure
himself, Rose, and Mrs. Bukater seats on the lifeboats. One last glance
at the door caused him to laugh delightedly. He had never intended to
free the boy in the first place. As always, it was so disgustingly
simplistic to mess with people's heads that he almost pitied them.
Almost.
--finis--
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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