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Curly wakes up with a choked gasp.
His vision is blurry, but…
He can see from both eyes. And, abruptly, he realizes he can feel the soft hug of a bed under him, blankets pulled over him, and-
And his hands, his hands, he can move them, and his legs, he-
He sits up. He can sit up. His head swims.
He’s… hallucinating. Or dreaming. Because he’s fine.
It doesn’t matter if he is, it feels good anyway. He clenches his fists and unclenches them, wiggling his fingers and toes. He chews on his lower lip.
He can feel the tingling sensation of nibbling on it.
…Odd.
He runs his hand through his hair, the sharp sting of the knots being caught making him shudder.
He can feel… everything.
But how? It was a hallucination; a dream, wasn’t it?
After all, well, after all, time travel devices were only just being built, and they weren’t really getting anywhere, hell, even if they were, they didn’t have one on the ship, it wasn’t like one was built in his mind, he couldn’t just fall asleep and wake up in his past body.
Could he?
He slaps himself. Ouch. Oh. He can still feel pain.
But… it’s so dull compared to what he went through. That’s why he can’t write what he’d gone through off as a dream. It was too real. Too painful.
This is too good to be true.
He swings his legs off his bed - his legs, moveable, his bed, his - and marvels in the feeling of the cold steel under his feet.
He gets dressed.
It’s somewhat of a difficult task. He still feels like he’s dreaming. He hasn’t used his limbs in… well… he can only assume months, and so he maneuvers like a newborn cow.
Walking is even more difficult, somehow. He stumbles after clumsily opening his door, and it’s such a fucking relief to be off the gurney and able to see the lounge, clean, pristine, unmarred.
Daisuke yawns, stretching at the table. His eyes flit to Curly once he’s noticed him, and he grins at him. Curly’s stomach twists.
“Hey, Cap!”
“…Hey.” Curly says, and oh, right, he hasn’t talked in months either. His jaw feels weird. His throat- everything feels weird, to say the least. Daisuke doesn’t even note it, instead going back to sneakily playing on one of his portable games he brought under the table.
Curly goes for the kitchen. Gets water. Drinks.
He almost cries.
It’s so good. It’s clean, crisp, and it goes down smoothly. It doesn’t hurt, doesn’t scratch, like the way Jimmy’s fingers felt going down his throa-
He throws up in the sink. It makes Daisuke flinch and Swansea stand up from his spot on the couch, Curly notes.
“D’ya want me to get Anya?” Swansea offers, and, no.
“No. Don’t.” Curly replies. Inhaling sharply and grimacing at the remains of bile and food - because he’d actually eaten back then, hadn’t he? Food, actual food.
Not mush. Not pills. He swallows hard, washing away the remnants. He walks past Daisuke. Ignores Swansea’s look. Nearly goes to Medbay, but stops hard in his tracks.
Anya, panicked, on her knees, facing the cot Curly had been stuck on for so, so long.
He remembers this. This was right before…
He curls his fists, feeling white hot rage consume him. It makes his mind feel fuzzy and his skin burn.
Jimmy. Fucking Jimmy. He just had to rape her, didn’t he? Had to crash the ship. The bastard. And then, then, he had the gall to hurt him. Not just by shoving the pills down his throat with more force than necessary, jerking his jaw open with cruel fingers, but he’d beat him too, sometimes. The sick, sick fuck. To think he’d been his friend.
It almost hurts, now that he thinks about it. Back then, it was just his new life. Suffering was accustomed to.
He doesn’t bother going to Anya. He knows what conversation they’ll have, and he knows where Jimmy is, and what conversation they’ll have.
Not anymore. He’s not going to let him this time. He walks past medical bay, every thud of his boot against the staircase echoing in his skull.
Jimmy. He left him without autonomy, robbed Anya of hers.
It was his turn. He’d suffer the consequences of his actions, for once in his fucking life.
The walk is a lot calmer than last time. He remembers panicking. Wondering if Jim had already gotten to the cockpit, drove the whole ship into oblivion.
He doesn’t panic, not anymore. Instead, he’s filled with a strange elation.
He rounds the corner, and there Jimmy is, with his crossed arms, looking spaced out.
Curly walks towards him. Slowly. Carefully. Like Jimmy’s his prey.
“Jim.”
Jimmy looks up. He has that stupid fucking frown on his face, his lips pressed in a thin line.
This time, Curly does not make an empty promise of fixing things. No, this time, he won’t fix a single fucking thing for Jimmy.
He grabs Jimmy’s arm in what he knows is a bruising grip, and begins dragging him into the cockpit. He stumbles a bit, sputtering.
“What? The hell are you doin’, Curly?” Jimmy asks. Curly does not bother. He continues dragging him till they reach the cockpit. He throws him in there, and Jimmy nearly falls. He manages to catch himself as Curly locks the door. When Curly looks back to him, Jimmy looks almost panicked.
Curly savors it.
And then he pounces.
He pushes Jimmy into his chair, and Jimmy flails. He wants to strangle him, but that’ll come later.
Yes. That’ll come later.
Curly practically tears at Jimmy’s coveralls. Jimmy tries to shove him away, but it doesn’t work. It only serves to piss off Curly, but then, it gives him a wonderful idea.
“Well, those fifty credits are yours, buddy.” Curly finally says, opening the locker and grabbing the rope. Jimmy tries to bolt for the door, but Curly grabs his arm and kicks him back into his seat, Jimmy grunting at the bloom of pain in his stomach.
“Curly!-” Jimmy tries, but Curly leans forward, grabbing his jaw and shutting him up. It’s soothing. Cathartic. He stares at how blown Jimmy’s eyes have gotten, the way his irises shook as he tried to understand him.
“Shut up, Jimmy.”
Jimmy makes a scared, sort of groaned whimper noise, and so Curly gets to tying his hands and arms around his back, making sure to kick off his coveralls first. His undershirt stays on, ironically, it’d be nice to have him bare and naked for this, just to add to the embarrassment for poor little Jimmy, but Curly doesn’t bother.
It’s not important.
Once the binding is done, Curly pulls back and admires his work. Savors the look on Jimmy’s face, terrified, caught, like a deer in headlights.
He pulls off Jimmy’s boxers. Jimmy grits his teeth. He’s not hard, not particularly, not close to it, really, but he’s not soft. The sick fuck. Curly almost laughs; he doesn’t.
Instead, he tugs on Jimmy’s hair, making him stand up. Jimmy reluctantly gets to his feet, wincing at the searing pain on his scalp. Curly pushes him up, back against the controls. He wants to see his face for this.
It finally sets in with Jimmy.
“Wha- what? You’re not actually gonna- you’re-”
“Is that what she asked? When you raped her?” Curly growls, and Jimmy shuts his mouth so fast that his teeth audibly click. He looks horrified. Not for her, no, Curly knows, but for himself.
“It’s okay.” Curly grins, leaning forward. Close enough to ghost his breath against Jimmy’s jaw. “We can’t fix this, right?”
Curly pulls back and begins to unzip his coveralls. It’s a daunting task, somehow, he hasn’t used his fingers in a nimble way recently, or at all, considering they were gone, but he manages. Jimmy begins squirming. Curly smacks him. The brunet freezes.
It feels better than anything Curly’s ever done, ever. It leaves a harsh mark on his face, and Curly wants to leave many, many more. He wants to mar him, wants to scar him permanently, like Jimmy had done to him. Except, this time, He’d make sure everyone would know it was him.
He wasn’t a coward, no, he wasn’t like Jimmy, not at all. He’d show him off like a trophy, unlike Jimmy, blaming what he’d done on Curly.
Jimmy looks back at him with tears in his eyes. It’s almost laughable. It doesn’t fit him. But Curly likes it.
Curly shoves two fingers in Jimmy’s mouth. He’s not hard, but he hopes this’ll help him manage it. Jimmy chokes and gags around them when Curly shoves them too close to his throat, triggering his reflex. Curly finally allows a grin to split his face.
It’s so good. So good to do this back to him, even though Jimmy’s done nothing of the sort to him yet, it’s still him, still him with the same thoughts - he would’ve done it all.
So he shoves harder, and Jimmy just about nearly throws up all over himself. So Curly finally pulls his fingers back, staring at the tears that had begun to run. Jimmy’s frowning, like a petulant child who didn’t get a cookie. Curly snickers, and then shoves the two fingers inside of Jimmy. He cries out like a wounded animal.
It almost reminds Curly of himself. The nights and days he’d cry without his medicine, the pain clawing at him.
And then, only then, would he get his medicine, the pain from swallowing them almost more unbearable than the constant pain he’d experience.
He fucks Jimmy with his fingers. He’s already writhing, babbling out pleas and cries. Curly wonders if anyone can hear his cries, wonders if Anya can hear him from the vents. He wonders if Swansea and Daisuke hear, not bothering to help his sorry ass.
That’s right. He doesn’t deserve help. This should’ve happened years ago. He should’ve put him in his place many, many years ago. He should’ve destroyed him. Then, maybe then, Jimmy wouldn’t be such a sorry fucking excuse for a ‘human’.
Curly presses in another finger. Jimmy sobs.
“Did she cry like this?” Curly asks, “Did she beg for you to stop?”
Jimmy shakes his head in a no, and that only pisses off Curly even further. How dare he?
How dare he?
Curly jams in another finger. Fours a lot, probably. Jimmy’s voice cracks as he pleas again. Curly pulls his fingers out. They’re slightly bloodied. Curly pulls out his dick; it’s barely half hard. Jimmy’s never been the prettiest, but Curly can appreciate how broken he looks right now.
He gives himself a few strokes, leaning down and inhaling Jimmy’s scent. He smells of sweat and the soap he’d brought on the ship. Pine.
It does nothing for him, but his hand does, and the thought of ruining him till he smells solely of sweat and Curly does. Jimmy stares at him with horror. Curly jerks off till he’s completely hard. Then, he leans over Jimmy.
“I hope this hurts.” Curly says, and spits in his hand. It’s for himself, because he knows going in dry will be practically impossible. Jimmy writhes, wiggles like a worm.
And then Curly pushes in. He manages the tip, which Jimmy sobs and yells for him to stop at, and so, he slams in. Jimmy lets out a hurt scream, till his voice cracks and it’s gone; his voice is gone.
Curly almost laughs at the irony. He digs his nails in Jimmy’s hips, settling in. He’s tight, but Curly expected no less. Jimmy wasn’t gay, as he professed multiple times.
He sighed, looking down at Jimmy, who was weeping and gasping for breath. It’s good, it’s oh so good.
So Curly starts bucking into him. Jimmy makes a broken whine sound. Curly relishes in the feeling of Jimmy trying to stop him. It feels so good, to have Jimmy kick at air while he fucks him, to have Jimmy beg and plea.
Jimmy never stopped when Anya begged, and he never stopped when Curly sobbed and whined.
Curly tangled one hand in Jimmy’s hair, tilting his head to the side and biting his neck. He bites down hard, and immediately blood jumps out from the punctures. Jimmy gasps and makes a broken sound again, squirming and kicking at the air. He tries moving his head back to cover the wound, but the grip on his hair doesn’t relent, so in turn, he grits his teeth instead, finally baring it with tears running down his face.
Curly pulls back, licking his lips. Iron. He’s tasted a lot of that in the past months, from the lacerations in his mouth, from his own throat bubbling up blood from the scratches he’d inevitably get from being fed pills, whether it was Anya or Jimmy.
This iron is different. It’s uncomfortable that he can taste the difference, but he supposes he should’ve expected that. Jimmy’s is just a lick more bitter.
He watches Jimmy stare at him with terror. Curly can imagine how he looks, above him, with blood staining his lips and teeth. He knows it scares him more than the state he’d been in. It’s ironic. Jimmy always did care about himself, though.
Curly removes his hand from Jimmy’s scalp, going back to digging his dull nails into his hips as he fucked him, his tight ass squeezing around him. Curly shivered. He hadn’t felt pleasure in… so, so long. Maybe that’s the only reason he managed to get hard. He chuckles at that, and Jimmy stares at him like he’s a monster.
So Curly fucks him harder, hard enough to have Jimmy shake against the control board, hard enough for Jimmy to open his mouth in a silent cry. His cock is getting wet; it’s blood, Curly observes.
He begins laughing. He laughs in earnest, because it’s just so, so fucking funny. Curly’s been bleeding out for months, Jimmy’s been staring at him like dirt, despite having caused everything, lying about him, feeding Anya lies, lies, lies, lies, lies, and now, here he was, the dirt under Curly’s shoe, bleeding out.
He was the one bleeding now.
It’s cathartic.
He hopes Anya can hear his screams.
Curly pounds into him, clawing at his hips, laughing as Jimmy sobbed and finally got his voice back, begging and babbling again, “please stop, stop it Curl- please, no, no, Grant please I promise I- I- please stop- stop- st-” it’s useless. Kinda like him.
Curly glances down at the blood on his dick, and Jimmy’s own, half-hard and laid against his unmarred, soft stomach.
He never did eat much, nor workout. He could overpower a woman, but most fights he got in, he wouldn’t be the victor, to put it simply.
It almost made him look like a woman. Curly grinned wider at the thought. Curly bites at Jimmy’s neck again. Makes him bleed, the flavor bursting on his tongue, thick and viscous. Jimmy cries out.
Curly licks his lips, and stays there as he fucks Jimmy. He can feel everything building up, and he can feel his heart thumping faster, his breath getting heavier - he’s gonna come.
He wonders how he can make it awful for Jimmy. There’s not much else to do, so he decides to just come inside of him. He likes the idea of cumming inside him, staining him.
Jimmy whines when Curly digs his nails in harder, hard enough to bleed, he hopes, and fucks him with a pace he knows hurts. He thinks about Jimmy, the next day, waking up with a sore ass, unable to walk. Painful wounds on his neck, marks on his hips.
It makes him come harder than he can remember, gasping at the feeling. He holds Jimmy’s hips flush as he pushes his cum inside of him, Jimmy cringing and making a pathetic whining noise, thumping his head back against the controls and resting it there.
Curly rides it out, slowly rolling his hips till it’s unbearably overstimulating. It’s a good feeling. One he hasn’t felt in a long, long time. He pulls out, his dick softening. Jimmy grimaces, staring at him with wide eyes. He’s still afraid; afraid he’ll do more.
Curly wants to. He’s just not sure what else he can do to him that’d trump this.
Ah. He’s got a great idea. He puts himself away, glances at Jimmy, and grabs him. He pushes him down to his knees, and gets behind him, undoes his binds. Jimmy’s already pleading, asking how it hasn’t been enough.
It’s useless. Curly puts his boot against Jimmy’s back, making Jimmy flinch.
This’d hurt, Curly knows. It happened to him once, playing hockey. He got slammed into the ground; and it just popped right out.
Curly grabs Jimmy’s arm. And he’s already resisting, beginning to get the idea of what he was about to do.
“Cur-”
Curly cuts him off by jerking his arm back. It pops with a sickening noise, and Jimmy screams, his voice raw.
It’s satisfying, so Curly tugs on it again, this time far gentler; the damage has already been done. Jimmy gasps for air and sobs out choked, pained noises.
Curly lets him fall to the floor. He curls up, mouth hanging open in pain. He shuts it, and squeezes his eyes tight. Curly likes it. Likes the way he cries, the way his face twists up in pain.
It’s… satisfying.
It’s been a long time coming.
Curly kicks him in his back, once, twice. But he’s not done. He’s not just going to leave him there. No. He grabs him by his hair, pulling him up to his feet. Jimmy staggers, panting and sobbing. Curly takes his good arm and drags him. Out of the cockpit, of course, because how could he leave him there? He might manage to crash the ship somehow.
Jimmy stumbles after him, whining and bitching. He should be happy Curly let him put his coveralls on, at least up to his waist. He shouldn’t be crying.
Was that how Jimmy thought? At least? She should’ve been grateful? He should’ve been grateful?
Hah. It’s a little funny. Everything is, now.
…Curly’s probably lost his mind, just a little, hasn’t he? With the past few months, he thinks it’s understandable. He realizes the rest of the crew won’t understand, but he’ll make them. He can’t convince them he time traveled, but he can show them what a monster Jimmy truly is.
And they’ll listen. Because he’s the captain.
“That’s what you’re always saying, right?” Curly says, turning his head to Jimmy as he watches him stumble along, bottom lip bit, bite marks bleeding. “That I’m the captain? That everything’s my responsibility? That I’m such a great leader? Well, watch this, Jim. I’ll take responsibility. I’ll be a great captain. A fucking fantastic one.”
Jimmy sobs. Curly doesn’t.