Found some original work that I threw in a Google doc last year, and had sort-of thought about turning into a fic once. It’s very bare bones, (and there are a bunch of shift changes that I’m too lazy to fix,) but I thought I’d share.
I wrote it to figure out something, so thusly it falls in a semi-personal viewpoint. It’s not an inherently sexual thing. It’s not something I can explain my reaction to exactly. I’ve twisted the truth a tiny bit, but enough that it still rings true. The situation of the characters and the scene they play in is entirely fictional. Because I wrote it for me, it probably only makes sense to me.
I dunno what the title means- I don’t remember why I wrote it. It was probably another allusion to feeling ignored by my peers.
I’m willing to talk about this, I guess, but I don’t exactly have it all figured out. It’s one of those things I don’t quite know how to talk about. Feel free to ask, though. I am probably too honest of a person.
tags: Non-Sexual Intimacy, Casual BDSM, Communication, Queerplatonic Relationships, Friendship, Gender Neutral Protagonist, Male Friend Character. first person pov.
Originally written on September 22nd, 2015.
cw: bdsm, being pinned down/immobilization? neck touching? first person pov? implied past non-con (non-sexual) touching by an un-identified female annoyance, mild panic?
If I need to tag something, let me know.
“How’re you feeling?”
“Alright,” I answered, my breath shaky. I toe off my shoes as I shut the door behind me.
“A bit.” I smiled and rubbed the back of neck awkwardly.
“You don’t have to do this, you know. You can back out at any time,” he reminds me.
I avoid his eyes but watch him as he crosses the room, nitpicking and straightening up around his apartment living space.
“I know I don’t,” I said with a sigh, “But we’ve planned it ahead of time.”
“You can still back out.”
“I know you know, but-”
“I’m agreeing with you,” I relented, “but I want to get this right.”
“It’s okay if you don’t get it right.” He gave me a look and carried a stack of cups over to the sink.
I shrug and fiddle with my keys in the pocket of my hoodie. “It’s like I told you before. It’s something I have to do.” I look up and meet his eyes. He understands, but I can still feel his concern in the air.
“Okay.” He sighs. “You ready? Need something to drink?”
“Nah, I’m good. We can start.” I take a deep breath and shrug off my hoodie, hanging it up in the appropriate places next to his on the coatrack.
“Whenever you’re ready.” He gestures to the wall to the left of the door, open space in the room that’s devoid of furniture or cabinetry.
I turn, take a deep breath, and close my eyes.
His footsteps are quiet on the carpet as he walks up behind me. He puts his hand on the back of my neck.
“Relax. Your shoulders are all tensed up.”
“Sort of hard to do that, you know,” I murmur.
He takes his hand off my neck for a moment and takes ahold of my arms, pulling them back enough to pin them together. He leans into me, weight pushing me forward, but I stand my ground.
For a moment all the hair raises on the back of my neck. My muscles tense up.
I feel her hand on my neck, pushing my head aside- the crowd muffles and all I hear is the sound of my breathing speed up-
His hand presses down slightly in the middle of my back. His fingers fan out along my spine, and I’m pulled back to present day.
“Relax,” he says again. His hand strokes up into my hairline and back down again, nails scritching lightly against my scalp. “It’s just me.”
I take a deep breath and let it out again.
It’s just him. It’s not her.
He rubs up and down along my spine as my shoulders relax the tiniest bit. I lean my forehead against the wall.
I nod. “Yeah. Go on.”
His hand moves away from my upper back and takes my forearms instead. He twists my arms up behind me, crossing my wrists over each other and holding them in one hand. His other hand grips my shoulder as he pushes me up against the wall. I turn my head to the side so my nose doesn’t get crushed.
He crowds close. I suck in a breath. I can smell his cologne.
I can feel her lips on my cheek-
“Breathe,” he reminds me.
I shiver and let out the breath I was holding, taking several more to clear my head.
“Green- I’m green,” I stammer.
“Color?” he asks again, double checking.
He pushes me harder against the wall. My cheek scrapes against the plaster. My head spins with the feeling.
“Your walls smell.” I say distractedly.
He laughs and pushes harder. “Shut up.” He places his other hand loosely on the back of my neck. His fingernails scratch idly through my hair again.
My shoulder twinges painfully and I let out a wince. “Can you move my arms? My shoulder hurts in this position.”
“Of course.” He loosens his grip immediately and moves my hands down to my lower back. “Here?”
“Mm, best not. In fact…I think we should move. My back’s starting to hurt.”
He lets go of me and pulls away. “I’m not hurting you, am I?”
“No, no. I just think it’ll be better on my back if I lay down.” I roll my shoulder in its socket.
“Should I guide you, or…”
“I’ll walk to it.”
I hear him walk over to the couch. I take a few minutes to collect myself and join him.
He looks back at me expectantly.
“Where do you want me?” I ask.
I lay down on the couch on my stomach, hands at my sides, face turned as to not get smashed against the cushions this time.
He straddles my legs, careful not to rest his weight on them. He pins one arm behind my back and lets the other lay beside me.
“How does that feel? Better?”
“Okay.” His hand gently grips my neck and squeezes.
His fingers are tucked under my jaw. He strokes up into my hairline and back down along the vertebrae of my neck. He finds that spot and squeezes gently again, and I finally relax.
I’m pinned by his hold and by his weight. I’m pressed into the couch and my muscles are loosening from their tension.
He holds me steady.
I know I’m safe. I know it’s only him.