Malachy Ronan Flynn (myeyesarehollow) wrote in darker_london, @ 2019-12-05 03:13:00 |
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Current mood: | blah |
Entry tags: | malachy flynn, quinn wakefield |
There's a reason trauma comes from the German word for Dream (Flynn/Quinn) {Memories of assault}
Ray was standing over him and there was nothing Flynn could do about it. He couldn't run, because letting Ray fuck him was the only way he could keep a roof over his head. And without the roof over his head, he would end up as desperate and lost as he had been those six years he'd spent on the street. It wasn't a choice at all ready. Flynn had to let Ray do whatever in the hell he wanted, and he had to pretend he didn't detest every second of it.
Ray's breath smelled of stale whiskey and cigarettes as he leaned down to whisper in Flynn's ear. "Just a blow job today, Mick. That'll do."
Oh that was all, was it?
Flynn went to his knees and he felt Ray's hands fist into his hair. The man always held his head in place so roughly it felt like Flynn was choking. The man smelled, and his beer belly constantly rubbed against Flynn's forehead, and revulsion burned hot in his own stomach.
Revulsion and hunger. Not that Ray cared about either of those. Ray let Flynn stay in his apartment, but food wasn't part of the deal. Ray also didn't let Flynn make any money outside of their arrangement, legitimately or otherwise, and his situation was always dire; his fridge and stomach always empty.
He had a roof over his head though. He wanted to keep that roof.
But as Ray unzipped his trousers, something snapped in Flynn. "No," he breathed, his knees already aching before this began. "I can't, please-" Ray's grip on his hair grew more firm. He pushed his trousers down and pulled at Flynn's head, towards his dick. "I don't want to, please-" Flynn mewled, but Ray was merciless.
"Swallow it, or I'll kill you," Ray growled, and Flynn complied, nearly choking on his own vomit-
"Mal!" Quinn yelled, shaking his husband awake. Flynn had been making distressing sounds in his sleep and it had woken Quinn. Beside their bed, their daughter Sylvia slumbered, the noise not waking her at all.
Flynn jerked awake, lashing out at the body in front of him, assuming it was Ray, the landlord he had had in Liverpool who had forced him to perform sexual favours in return for not being kicked out of his dingy little flat. Quinn had been expecting this and ducked easily, so Flynn missed him completely. Then Quinn was up again, at Flynn's side. "Breathe, Mal. It was a dream."
"Oh, fuck-" Flynn pulled himself up and out from under the covers. He sat there on the side of their bed shaking and horrified. He felt the mattress move and a second later his husband was beside him.
"Ray again, Bub?"
Flynn just closed his eyes and groaned, his head falling into his hands. It let Quinn know he was right. Almost every time Flynn had a nightmare these days, he was reliving Ray's tyranny, with some added dream poetic license. He had absolutely never begged Ray to stop because he'd been too broken to do so. It wasn't fair. He spent so much of his time now dedicated to doing good and it still wasn't enough to chase the horror away.
Flynn took several steadying breaths and then he forced himself to look up. He glanced over at Quinn and even though the room was dim, he could make out the loving expression on Quinn's face in the glow of the nightlight. "I'm sorry, Quinn."
"What? Mal-" Quinn sighed and he moved off the bed so he could kneel in front of Flynn.
"No- Babe, no," Flynn said, since his dream had just involved a different kind of kneeling and seeing Quinn do it now made him feel sick to his stomach. He slid off the mattress too, leaning his back against the bed. "Sorry, I- I was uhm. Kneeling. In the dream."
"Oh, Mal." Quinn sat beside him, their shoulders touching. "You don't have anything to be sorry about." Quinn had forgiven Flynn for running away years ago now. It was said and done.
Flynn leaned his head against his husband's shoulder, so grateful he could do that. Grateful the idiotic things he had done four years ago hadn't ruined them for good. "Well I'm sorry I woke you."
"Any time you dream about that cretin, you wake me," Quinn said firmly. "I wish you didn't have those memories."
Flynn had spent a lot of time thinking about that. About how he deserved those memories because at the end of the day, he had killed his brother. Sure, it had been to save Quinn, but he had still taken a life. He didn't deserve to escape that kind of thing without karmic trauma, right? Or was that fucked up? He could wish he had never left London, but he had, and this was his penance for that. "I don't think I can sleep any more right now."
"No, I wouldn't imagine so," Quinn said gently. "I can get up and make some coffee for you if you'd like."
"I don't think-" The very idea of putting anything in his stomach right now was abhorrent. "Not yet," Flynn breathed. "I love you so much, Quinn."
"I love you too, Mal," Quinn said, resting his head against Flynn's. "Are you alright? You're still shaking."
"Mmm. Just need a few minutes. I'll be okay."
He didn't know how many more Ray dreams he could take.