(no subject)
Dec. 28th, 2008 08:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tree_and_leafI am not watching The Thirty-Nine Steps, because I have lost faith in any adaptations of it, and Penry-Jones is too posh and too English (and what's with the extraneous love interest?)
Instead, I have, er, written Hannay slash of sorts, albeit PG slash with no sex. God help me. A light AU (but, I protest, only lightly, AU) missing moment from John Buchan's The Three Hostages. The dialogue in the first four paragraphs is lightly adapted from canon, but I definitely did not invent the initial situation.
Title: One Last Test
Summary: Medina is determined to make sure that Hannay is under his control; Hannay is determined to make sure he believes it. Mild slash, dub-con, PG.
Spoilers: For The Three Hostages, of course.
That evening in Medina's library, in the presence of his mother, pretending to be safely and mindlessly hypnotised, was perhaps the most difficult, if the strangest, test I have ever faced. I kept my eyes fixed on Medina, waiting for my orders, which at first seemed simple enough, if nonsensical. "On your knees," he said calmly, and I dropped.
“Go to the table – no, down on all fours – and bring me the letter-opener.”
I obeyed, feeling all kinds of a fool – a grown man in his right mind prancing about on the carpet, carrying something in his mouth like a dog. Medina looked down at me, his face tranquil, but with an odd light in his eyes.
“He is well broken,” came the voice of the old blind woman from the corner of the room.
Medina laughed. “Yes, I have a good tool in him, mother… It’s strange how easily these flat, tough English natures can be mastered.” He regarded me, still with that odd, concentrated air. “There is one last test. It’s no risk; even if it goes wrong, there’s no way he can remember it. His mind is in my grasp. If he rebels, it only means that he needs a little more reinforcement.”
I didn’t much like the sound of this, but I was determined that I would not fail. After all, three lives at least depended on my playing my part to the hilt – most of all that poor little boy. So I remained, submissive, on all fours in front of Medina. I have been in some strange situations in my time, and many more dangerous, but this was unnerving all the same, for it had a curious dream-like quality to it; the kind of dream which may turn into terror or farce at any moment, and there is no knowing which. But I couldn’t quite see Medina as an actor in a farce, even with a stolid country gentleman grovelling at his feet.
“Get up,” said Medina, sharply. I jumped to my feet, and stood, my eyes fixed on his face, and doing my best to look blank. He regarded me impassively with those bright, extraordinarily beautiful eyes, and then his hand shot out and he slapped me, a ringing blow that brought the blood to my cheek.
It was, I think, the first time I have been hit without hitting back, but I remembered my job, and did not move. I nearly turned the other cheek, but decided that that was probably over-doing it, and instead dropped my eyes. It looked submissive, or I hoped so, but really I did not trust myself to meet Medina’s eyes. I heard him chuckle softly, a low, possessive laugh, and it was all I could do to stop my fists from balling.
“Look at me!” I looked up, and he spat in my face. It was a beastly trick, and one I would have thought Medina too proud to stoop to, but I think there was nothing he would not have done in the service of his theory of power. I somehow succeeded in remaining motionless, though I think I must have blinked a bit, and only wiped my cheek when he turned away, ineffably satisfied, saying “You see, he is mine, body and soul – soul and body, this respectable English soldier and family man.”
Then he turned back to me, an odd, crooked smile on his handsome face. “Of course,” he added, “there is one more test one could make.” Before I quite knew what he was doing, he had one arm around my shoulder and was kissing me, full on the lips and with something disturbingly like passion. I could not draw back – or rather, I could have, but only at the cost of disaster. He must think I am completely broken to his will, I thought, and so I shut my eyes and kissed him back. There was a hammering in my ears, and I felt as if the room was turning round. That was all right; it stopped me having to think about what I was doing…
Suddenly, Medina drew back. His face was still pale and impassive, but he could not hide the fact that his breathing had quickened. “What hidden depths one finds in the strangest places,” he mused, and his voice, I fancy, was rougher than before.
“Dominick!” He actually jumped, which was fortunate, for it hid my own start. I had forgotten there was anyone else in the room. The terrible old woman said sharply “You will not forget what you are doing, will you?”
He turned towards her. “I know exactly what I am doing. He is indeed well broken. That is what I wanted to know, and that is all that matters.” His voice was passionless and cool, as if he was reporting on an experiment, as I suppose he was, for I will swear that Medina had no time for the flesh when it did not serve his purpose.
And yet – before he went back to sit with her and talk, regarding me as little as a piece of furniture, which is all I suppose I was to them, he turned back, ran his hand lightly down my back, and breathed, too quiet for his mother to hear, “Soul and body – body and soul. The time will come later, my Richard,” and pressed his lips to mine once more, gently, almost like a lover.
It sounds strange to say so, but it was that chaste kiss, more than anything else, that I found horribly disquieting.
Instead, I have, er, written Hannay slash of sorts, albeit PG slash with no sex. God help me. A light AU (but, I protest, only lightly, AU) missing moment from John Buchan's The Three Hostages. The dialogue in the first four paragraphs is lightly adapted from canon, but I definitely did not invent the initial situation.
Title: One Last Test
Summary: Medina is determined to make sure that Hannay is under his control; Hannay is determined to make sure he believes it. Mild slash, dub-con, PG.
Spoilers: For The Three Hostages, of course.
That evening in Medina's library, in the presence of his mother, pretending to be safely and mindlessly hypnotised, was perhaps the most difficult, if the strangest, test I have ever faced. I kept my eyes fixed on Medina, waiting for my orders, which at first seemed simple enough, if nonsensical. "On your knees," he said calmly, and I dropped.
“Go to the table – no, down on all fours – and bring me the letter-opener.”
I obeyed, feeling all kinds of a fool – a grown man in his right mind prancing about on the carpet, carrying something in his mouth like a dog. Medina looked down at me, his face tranquil, but with an odd light in his eyes.
“He is well broken,” came the voice of the old blind woman from the corner of the room.
Medina laughed. “Yes, I have a good tool in him, mother… It’s strange how easily these flat, tough English natures can be mastered.” He regarded me, still with that odd, concentrated air. “There is one last test. It’s no risk; even if it goes wrong, there’s no way he can remember it. His mind is in my grasp. If he rebels, it only means that he needs a little more reinforcement.”
I didn’t much like the sound of this, but I was determined that I would not fail. After all, three lives at least depended on my playing my part to the hilt – most of all that poor little boy. So I remained, submissive, on all fours in front of Medina. I have been in some strange situations in my time, and many more dangerous, but this was unnerving all the same, for it had a curious dream-like quality to it; the kind of dream which may turn into terror or farce at any moment, and there is no knowing which. But I couldn’t quite see Medina as an actor in a farce, even with a stolid country gentleman grovelling at his feet.
“Get up,” said Medina, sharply. I jumped to my feet, and stood, my eyes fixed on his face, and doing my best to look blank. He regarded me impassively with those bright, extraordinarily beautiful eyes, and then his hand shot out and he slapped me, a ringing blow that brought the blood to my cheek.
It was, I think, the first time I have been hit without hitting back, but I remembered my job, and did not move. I nearly turned the other cheek, but decided that that was probably over-doing it, and instead dropped my eyes. It looked submissive, or I hoped so, but really I did not trust myself to meet Medina’s eyes. I heard him chuckle softly, a low, possessive laugh, and it was all I could do to stop my fists from balling.
“Look at me!” I looked up, and he spat in my face. It was a beastly trick, and one I would have thought Medina too proud to stoop to, but I think there was nothing he would not have done in the service of his theory of power. I somehow succeeded in remaining motionless, though I think I must have blinked a bit, and only wiped my cheek when he turned away, ineffably satisfied, saying “You see, he is mine, body and soul – soul and body, this respectable English soldier and family man.”
Then he turned back to me, an odd, crooked smile on his handsome face. “Of course,” he added, “there is one more test one could make.” Before I quite knew what he was doing, he had one arm around my shoulder and was kissing me, full on the lips and with something disturbingly like passion. I could not draw back – or rather, I could have, but only at the cost of disaster. He must think I am completely broken to his will, I thought, and so I shut my eyes and kissed him back. There was a hammering in my ears, and I felt as if the room was turning round. That was all right; it stopped me having to think about what I was doing…
Suddenly, Medina drew back. His face was still pale and impassive, but he could not hide the fact that his breathing had quickened. “What hidden depths one finds in the strangest places,” he mused, and his voice, I fancy, was rougher than before.
“Dominick!” He actually jumped, which was fortunate, for it hid my own start. I had forgotten there was anyone else in the room. The terrible old woman said sharply “You will not forget what you are doing, will you?”
He turned towards her. “I know exactly what I am doing. He is indeed well broken. That is what I wanted to know, and that is all that matters.” His voice was passionless and cool, as if he was reporting on an experiment, as I suppose he was, for I will swear that Medina had no time for the flesh when it did not serve his purpose.
And yet – before he went back to sit with her and talk, regarding me as little as a piece of furniture, which is all I suppose I was to them, he turned back, ran his hand lightly down my back, and breathed, too quiet for his mother to hear, “Soul and body – body and soul. The time will come later, my Richard,” and pressed his lips to mine once more, gently, almost like a lover.
It sounds strange to say so, but it was that chaste kiss, more than anything else, that I found horribly disquieting.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-28 09:49 pm (UTC)Love Medina snogging Hannay 'to prove my amazing mind-control': yeah, right, Dominick. Sandy's already picked you up on his gaydar (well, he would, wouldn't he).
(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-28 10:02 pm (UTC)Sandy, to my mind, is quite happily bi; Medina strikes me as gay, but given to at least pretending to think that sex is beneath his dignity.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-28 11:01 pm (UTC)Well-written story, btw, though I've not read the book...
(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-29 12:39 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-29 12:54 pm (UTC)Incidentally, am I the only person to have noticed that Sandy, canonically, marries a man? That is, when they're up about to die in Greenmantle Blenkiron remarks that his only living relative is a nephew, but Barbara is introduced as Blenkiron's niece. Now, either Blenkiron is being about papal about these things (and I think if there's any time to acknowledge one's offspring, when somewhere on the heights about Erzerum about to be shelled into infinity is that moment) or Barbara and Sandy are concealing something (which probably explains all these mysterious absences when Barbara is supposedly "very pulled down" after the birth of the heir to Clanroyden - obviously it takes some time to conceal the warming pan).
(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-29 03:18 pm (UTC)Well, either that or Blenkiron is so unobservant an uncle that he failed to notice what sex Babs was... (Or Hannay misremembered; I suppose that's not impossible).
Hannay is canonically neither very experienced nor very observant in matters sexual, but his continued insistance that Medina is not at all interested in the lusts of the flesh (but damnit, I wish he'd keep his hands off me) begins to look like a determination not to see something that might be disturbing....
(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-29 03:34 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-29 04:05 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-30 06:47 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-30 07:19 pm (UTC)Medina is certainly rather oddly fixated on Hannay in canon...