gurabad | 020 » just know that you won't have to do this alone

[the pumping of francel's hand only grows more desperate as ryan magnanimously satisfies all his requests. he groans and twitches with every movement of ryan's fingers, shivering with incredible sensitivity when ryan fingers his entrance — well, the entrance of his ears, anyway.

how did it come to this — being captured and degraded and now toyed with? clinging to carnal lust as if it will anchor him on this distant shore?

francel wonders, but he doesn't receive any answers — or rather, all questions and answers are quite neatly blown out of his head altogether when ryan starts sucking on his ears, and that — that is the one thing in the world that gets francel off the most, more than anything else. ryan's mouth sends a warm wet high coursing through francel's blood, like fire in his veins, filling his head with the sound of saliva and the intoxicating rumble of the man's voice.

and the pretty little elf just can't help himself, he's moaning, quite loudly, and whoever is in charge of watching the cameras is going to have a fabulous time with this particular recording:]

Yes — gods, yes — I love this, I l-love — aaaah, I c-can't even think, your tongue, your — nngh — p-praise, I'm so close, just a bit more, just a bit —

[an incredible high, an orgasm unlike any he's ever had, and he spills, wet and viscous, onto —]

[Being stuck without stimulation of any sort for a month really seems to have taken its toll on the poor man. He only had to do this much to drive him wild? Maybe that's just what people are like when they have sex. The few pornographic pop ups he's encountered would suggest as much, anyway. Having someone so reactive at his fingertips has his own arousal pooling to the point where it's becoming worrisome, but then —]

Wh—

[That release hits his bangs and his face with a wet plop, and though he tries to move back in time to avoid it it's to no avail. Horrified, he glowers down at Francel. He's about to accuse him of doing it on purpose when he realizes he should collect this sample as quickly as possible. Ruffled, he hurries away from the exam table to get a syringe to collect what he can. He rinses his hair and face afterward, then returns to the elezen's side to suck up anything there.]

Did you do that on purpose?

[francel takes more than a few moments to answer. he has to slowly come down from his high, with his eyes closed and his head resting against the back of his chair as he breathes heavily and indulges himself in every involuntary twitch of his body post-orgasm. the lab chair isn't exactly ergonomically designed, but the urge to fall asleep is an almost irresistible temptation; it takes a great strength of will to find his voice.]

...No. I'm... I'm sorry. I didn't think I would... finish so quickly.

[the fact that ryan immediately starts collecting his semen isn't even a surprise, given that francel figured it was going to happen. obediently, he holds his hand out, open-palmed, to make it easier for ryan to extract the mess that got onto his fingers. he would be more scandalized at the thought of offering his seed to someone else if not for the fact that they've already taken his urine and blood samples — one more liquid can't possibly hurt.

he chuckles, slow and tired.]

It was not at all a bad look on you... though I imagine doing this with all your subjects must not be pleasant.

[If he knew what he was collecting it for, he would be quite a bit more upset no doubt. Ryan is calm enough as Francel comes down from his high, though he knows that he has an endless amount of raucous laughter and taunting to face the second he leaves this lab. He typically doesn't make mistakes, and when he does they're small enough that he can correct them before anyone else notices. As such, he's very much up on his high horse all the time making fun of everyone else and they're going to be extremely eager to tear into him in return.

As soon as he's collected as much as he can he sets the syringe to the side to clean the elezen off and get that semen slinging weapon of a dick tucked away again where it belongs (his view of it has definitely been influenced by recent events).

And then Francel says that, while his hand is on the aforementioned penis no less!]

Wasn't a bad — with all my subjects?! Just what are you getting at here?!

[the fact that ryan seems to be angry with him and is handling a particularly sensitive organ is definitely enough to wake francel from his sleepy stupor with a jolt. his now-clean left hand tugs awkwardly at the hem of his hospital gown (like he's been itching to do) as he thinks desperately about how he should look away from ryan's startlingly crimson eyes but can't at all bring himself to do so.

the blood that was only moments ago engorging his dick seems to have made it to his cheeks. he's flushed a bright pink as he stammers:]

Well, I — I assumed — that I am not the only alien you've taken such samples from...

[That's not enough coverage now. Ryan will pull the blanket back over him too. Well, more like yank it really, but it does the job.]

I'm not some sort of... lab slut!

[That's Griffith!]

You were the one who got it up just from someone examining your ears! At that point of course I'm going to just do it since no one else had.

I did not say you were a whore! I said you looked good!

[oh god that was the wrong thing to say entirely. backtrack, francel. backtrack.]

A-Anyroad, what do you mean, "since no one else had?" I find that offensive, sir! I — oh, very well, I've never — not with anyone else, but — I wouldn't have gotten it up if you had just been quick about examining them as I advised you!

[Don't say he looks good after that!]

I thought you might have some sort of — I don't know, gland in them that allowed you to process aether and cast spells! And I've never been with anyone, either!

[Ah... he just had a perfect stranger shoot semen into his hair and announced that he's a virgin all on the same surveillance tape. His life is over...]

Edited 2016-08-24 05:01 (UTC)

[at least his perfect stranger is a virgin, too... not that that makes things better, but... it could be worse???]

Well, you hardly needed to work my other glands while you tested that theory, but you seemed to enjoy doing that well enough!

[he needs to get back to ishgard. he needs to get back to ishgard and forget this ever happened so that he can stop thinking about the hyuran scholar with cum on his face. why did this happen. was this really worth a month of captivity.]

Just — ugh...

[he pinches the bridge of his nose with his left hand.]

...Is there anything else I must needs provide for your research?

[Oh no, he knows he enjoyed it on some level. How could he know?! Somehow that's beyond embarrassing. Poor Ryan turns scarlet, grabbing the tablet and the syringe. He'll neglect to strap down Francel's arm again just because he's that flustered, so whoever enters the room next might have to deal with him being on the loose. Undoubtedly he's going to be laughed at for that too.]

No. That's all, go to sleep.

[Go to sleep and forget he ever did this, goodbye forever. Maybe if he moves fast enough he can destroy the surveillance tapes before anyone sees them? Or before a bunch of people see them. He can probably threaten one person into keeping their mouths shut. Ryan turns on his heel and flees from the room.]

How am I supposed to sleep —

[too late, he's gone, leaving francel to gesture uselessly at the door and hang his head in his hand in disbelief. how in all the seven hells did it come to this.

maybe someone will come to take him out of the chair later?? maybe they won't ask him too many questions about his semen sample?? maybe??]

[not long after that incident, francel is moved to more spacious quarters.

or, well — maybe more spacious isn't really the right way to describe it. the quarantine chambers had been big enough, technically, but francel had been forced to spend his time in them with his hands and legs bound — sometimes in chairs, sometimes in beds, sometimes in straitjackets.

the new room is better. nicer. there's a bed, and a desk, and a chair. one wall is lined with narrow windows, too near the ceiling to comfortably open and close without some sort of stepladder, but they let in light so that francel knows what time of day it is. at the same time, he's not an idiot: he knows he's still a prisoner. the furniture is bolted to the floor. the windows are too narrow for him to slip through.

it's still a prison cell. just — it's a nicer one.

the researchers tell him that it's dangerous for someone of his species to be outside.

they send other scholars to talk to him, all of them with complex titles that francel doesn't quite understand. geneticists, wildlife biologists, physiologists, immunologists. some of them send him through strange machines; others wire him to them. a medical exam is conducted every week. the dentist keeps marveling at the perfect health and alignment of francel's teeth despite his apparent complete lack of dental hygiene understanding.

they're nice enough, but they laugh at him: sorry i'm not dr. walker — you must be lonely, you haven't seen ryan in weeks! — i'd put these headphones in your ears, but i don't know what i'm going to do if you come — i promise i won't touch your ears; i've got a cat, that's enough commitment in my life.

the most interesting scientist (they all tell him to just think of them as scientists) is a surprisingly friendly man who identifies himself as a psychologist and anthropologist; he is patient and kind, but he treats francel like a child. "do you know what an anthropologist is?" he asks, all too slowly.

"i have heard tell of a famed eorzean anthropogeographer," francel answers, cautiously, and for some reason, the man laughs.

the psychologist conducts an impressively long interview — about his life and his culture and his views on this and that — and after that visit, the shamrock employees start treating him a little better. francel half-suspects that some sort of company policy has been announced; suddenly, everyone calls him francel and not the elf, and sometimes they ask about ishgard, and, oddly, women stop coming in to check on him.

(the psychologist had concluded, among other things, that francel's sexuality and culture contributed to a general respect for but distrust of women, and given the intelligence of the subject, distrust may lead to compromised results. female employees are encouraged to send male proxies to administer experiments.

experiments administered by ryan walker may have unorthodox results.)

weeks drag on into months. francel starts asking, more and more often, if they will ever let him explore the world. he promises not to draw undue attention to himself; he promises, in effect, that he'll be good. none of this seems to have much effect until his mood sours. at that point — perhaps wary of the waste involved if their previously sweet and cooperative elezen subject decides to kill himself — someone, somewhere, agrees to have francel transported to a likely aether-rich environment.

based on the subject's descriptions of aether, the most likely location: the former wwi trench sites in france, abandoned and reclaimed by nature in the form of lush forests.

perhaps ryan walker is assigned to supervise francel on the trip because they think he'll be able to improve francel's mood.

(somewhere, griffith must be internally screaming at the thought of ryan with that elf again.)

francel is wearing wrist and ankle monitors, but it isn't as if he's planning to run off. on the contrary, he falls asleep waiting for ryan to board the plane; when he wakes up, he isn't sure if the airship is still in flight or if it's landed.

sleepily:] ...Doctor Walker?

Edited 2016-08-25 05:01 (UTC)

[While things have been easier for Ryan in the sense that he's not a prisoner and he's not being subjected to a litany of experiments, on the personal humiliation front he's right there with Francel. Ryan always knew that he had a long list of people itching to see him fail in any capacity. What he didn't know was how tenacious they would be after the fact! No amount of hilarious failures from other people decreases the novelty found in mocking Ryan, apparently.

Though he does get back at the worst offenders by spreading a particularly nasty substance on the earmuffs they'd taken to putting on whenever he walks in the room.

What finally, finally causes the teasing to taper off some is him successfully creating embryos from the sample he collected. It's hard to continue insisting Ryan only did it because he was into it when he gets actual results. A couple of the embryos even manage to take in surrogate wombs. Since Francel's mental state is already starting to decline by then, it becomes strictly forbidden to mention it to him. With something like that under his belt Ryan decides it's time for him to declare that he's taking a vacation. Surprisingly, his request is agreed to and even funded. When he receives a text while he's packing, he discovers why.

He's despondent without you, so take responsibility!

The real details of his assignment follow afterward. Honestly, he can't believe they're taking their little joke this far! But it does sound interesting, so he'll do it regardless. With hidden platform boots, of course. He can't let the balance of power be thrown too much, he might die.

Ryan ignores Francel initially as he straps his luggage into place. Usually someone would have done that for him, but he doesn't like to let anyone touch his things. Bereft of good reasons to ignore him after that, he settles down beside him with a small, resigned sigh. ]

Yes. Francel, correct?

[He knows. Of course he's been keeping up with him to some extent. He even sat in on some tests, though only the ones where Francel was unconscious or he was able to be in another room while observing.]

Mm...

[francel sits up straight, rubbing his eyes and then the bridge of his nose in an effort to recompose himself, but he still seems dazed when he turns his head to the left and blinks blearily at ryan. it's been months, sure, and perhaps he's just not remembering correctly, but something feels... off. hadn't ryan been much shorter during the exam?

...then again, ryan had been a lot of things during the exam.

a dull colour rises to francel's cheeks. better to just not think about that.]

...Yes. Are we — have we arrived at our destination?

[they haven't even taken off; he slept for fifteen minutes at best. really, with his sensitive hearing, there's no way francel would be able to sleep through the roar of the engine at liftoff — but he wouldn't know that. eorzean airships are a lot quieter, being magical and all.]

[He sees that slight flushing, and he can hear the laughter of the people he's working with already. At least these private jets are set up so that the passengers don't really have to interact with or see the pilots. Small blessings.]

We haven't even taken off yet. The flight will be roughly eight hours.

[Ryan fastens himself in as the pilot announces that they'll be taking off, then gestures to Francel.]

Buckle up.

[francel seems confused by the command at first, but he does get the picture after seeing how ryan is strapped in. he fumbles for his own seatbelt, slotting it neatly into place.]

Are your airships so dangerous that men even risk falling out of their seats?

No, it's just protocol. The sudden increase in speed upon taking off can cause people to topple over if they're moving.

[Poor Francel. The plane starts up, and even though the cabin has a lot of sound insulation he's still going to hear it during take off. There's also the slightly unsettling ear popping sensation as they get up higher. Ryan almost asks him what it feels like since his ears are different, but he thinks better of mentioning his ears in any context in a likely bugged cabin. Once the plane stabilizes Ryan unbuckles and stands immediately, walking toward the bed.]

I'm going to sleep.

[francel's cringing in his seat throughout the takeoff, with his hands over his ears and an obvious wince on his face. he peeks up at ryan after the noise settles, vaguely resembling like a child peeking out of his blankets after a thunderstorm despite his ridiculous height. he doesn't seem especially thrilled that ryan has decided to go to sleep.]

Wh... What? Already? You don't intend to sleep for the whole flight, do you?

[A kinder, more sociable person would feel bad just consigning someone to boredom like that. Ryan does not. This is better for the both of them, after all. Maybe he'll explain as much later, but saying "we can't talk now because people are listening" would give people even more fodder than just talking normally.]

Of course I do. You were sleeping when I arrived, weren't you? Just go back to sleep. Then we won't have to waste time once we get there.

[francel seems to wilt at that reply, fidgeting with his hands in his lap. he's still strapped in like a good boy, perhaps because he's gotten so used to being tied to various chairs over the last few months — and then, sulkily, a few words slip out of his mouth.]

The least you could do is ask how I've been...

[ohhh that's going to give the coworkers weird ideas.]

[Oh my God Francel, think before you speak! Or maybe he doesn't care? If he gets to go home, he can leave this whole humiliating mess behind him. With a huff Ryan flops on the bed, turning his back to the elezen. He'll just stare at the wall the whole flight, though. He can't sleep when it's so bright, and there's a person in here with him too. That's not to say he can't remain silent for eight solid hours, because he can and he will unless Francel tries to engage him in conversation.]

[sigh.

since ryan so stubbornly insists on ignoring him, francel won't push it. it'll just have to be eight hours of boredom for him!

they gave him a thick jacket, just in case he didn't find his hooded sweatshirt and denim jeans warm enough; from the inside pocket of said jacket, francel fishes out a sketchpad — again, one that was provided for him. he's been using it for several months.

(one absent-minded corner doodle of ryan had been unceremoniously torn from the book and paraded around the office for several days.)

there is a pen in his lft hip pocket. he fishes it out and begins sketching; when the seatbelt starts to dig into his shoulder, he unbuckles it and continues his drawing. he spends about a half-hour quietly hunched over his sketchpad before he looks over at ryan, rolled over on the bed facing the wall.

francel frowns. with a surprising stealth considering his size, he walks over to ryan's cot and grasps the sheets folded at the foot of the mattress. he shakes them out. he drapes them over ryan.]

[That picture is most certainly contributing to Ryan's mood. While he can appreciate that Francel must be terribly bored having tests run on him all the time and nothing else, any indication that all that teasing might be correct on some level ruffles him greatly. Francel shouldn't be thinking about him if he's not there, and obviously he's only going to think about Francel if he's working!

Perhaps if he were actually asleep he wouldn't notice the sheets kindly being draped over his prone body, but as it is he sits bolt upright the second they touch his skin. He clutches them suspiciously, staring up at Francel and trying to discern his motivations.

Well, now he can't even pretend to sleep. He'll feel like he's being stared at the whole time.]

...are you that bored?

[francel stands frozen in surprise for a good two seconds when ryan sits bolt upright with all the horror-movie rage of frankenstein's monster; once it becomes clear that the good doctor is, in fact, asking him a question, francel settles into a more neutral — slightly hostile — frame of mind.]

It is not boredom that drives me, but mere concern. I thought you had fallen asleep.

[Concern? Really?]

You would honestly worry about the comfort of someone essentially keeping you prisoner? Don't you have any sense of pride?

[He waves him back toward his seat dismissively.]

I can take care of myself.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

don't ask me to write starters: the tl;dr

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject