boogieshoes | Mag7 Fic: Moments, Complete (Reply)

Title: Moments
Fandom: Magnificent 7
Universe: ATF
Pairing: C and B Agape (see notes)
Disclaimer: If you recognize it, it ain't mine. I'm just having fun here, and mean no disrespect to various sandbox owners.
Summary: I’ve been reading bits and pieces of the H/C debates, and I also just tried – again – to read a BDSM-as-plot-device fic that really pretty much got BDSM entirely wrong. This scenelet popped into my head as a response to both.

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My Warnings Policy Post is here.

Warnings:
Kinks: Mild D/s overlay, but mostly in terms of character mind-set, not room set-pieces.
Rating: PG-15
Archive Information: Feel free to archive, just drop me a note if you do so.
Additional Links:
Additional Notes: Per a discussion in the comments, I have decided to label this Agape, in the sense of 'sacrificial love', because while it probably does go past Gen and Smarm, I still don't think it makes it all the way to Slash. Certainly, that wasn't my intent. If I have another piece in the future with a similar non-sexual intense emotional intimacy, I shall label that 'Agape', too.

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It didn’t happen very often. But there were moments, on Friday nights at the saloon, that Chris would stare at the whiskey in his shot glass and then glance fleetingly up at Buck, a muted panic in his eyes, and Buck would know. Chris didn’t verbalize his needs a lot; often, he couldn’t. But Buck would see them, would understand that Chris needed something he was unlikely to get anywhere else, and when the group broke up for the evening, Buck would see JD safely home, and turn around with some excuse or other to drive out to the ranch.

Chris would meet him at the door dressed in a pair of comfortable sweatpants, and they would adjourn to the den where usually, no matter how hot the day, a fire crackled in the fireplace, and a brandy and cigar would wait on the end-table beside Chris’s comfortable leather chair. Sometimes, Buck would ask for a coke or a whiskey just to be an ass, and Chris would glare, but get it, if the mood was light enough. Other times, Buck would simply sprawl in the chair while Chris prowled around, unable or unwilling to let go just yet.

And then it would come, the moment. The moment when Buck’s need to be in control, to take care of his people, would synch up with Chris’s need to surrender his responsibilities, and Buck would say, “Come here, Chris,” in a voice much quieter, much calmer than anything he uttered in public. And Chris would come to him, stand before him, watch him, ready for his next order.

“Kneel down by my chair,” Buck would say, or in some moments, “Sit down,” again in that quiet voice, and Chris would kneel or sit as required. One time, when Chris had had a broken leg casted thigh to toe, the order had been “Lay down,” and Buck had helped Chris lay down on his back, head resting on his hands.

In those private moments between himself and Chris, he could sit forever in that leather chair, drinking brandy and carding his hand through Chris’s hair, and he knew it would be enough if they never went anywhere else. He did not need to inflict pain or violence in order to dominate, was not driven to bind another for his own satisfaction, though he certainly did not object to it with the right partner. In past moments, that partner had been Chris. Now, it was this moment with Chris, this act of submission itself, that did him in. The knowledge that Chris, who insisted on flying free, on being strong, being respected and feared, trusted Buck enough to be vulnerable with him, trusted Buck with his body and soul enough to submit completely to Buck’s will – that was true power. It filled him up, made him feel terrible and tender all at once, satisfied some deep ache in him that never seemed to go away.

He wondered sometimes if this thing they did was another way Chris had of telling him he understood Buck on a level deeper than Buck understood himself. Chris had a protective streak as deep and intense as Buck’s, though he showed it more often in flashes of anger and threats of pain. Chris had his moments, though, of giving his people what they needed most – a forearm clasp to tell Vin he was trusted to watch their backs, a smirk to tell Ezra he knew the joke, an approving grin to bolster JD’s confidence. Perhaps this was another moment, this surrender, telling Buck in more private spaces and private language that he understood the need to control and protect those around him, whether from fear or some odd, dark pleasure in the doing. Perhaps Chris was using these moments to take care of Buck, and give him what he needed most, the relief of having control over the most important person in his life, even as Chris himself was experiencing a relief of his own over-burden of responsibility, however briefly.

Buck wasn’t sure of much in his life, but he knew what bound him, what drew him like a moth to Chris’s flame, was the uncertain chance that he would once again have the opportunity to make that flame dance to his will. Nurture it, play with it, bind it, drown it, coax it to a high roar – the rush of intense pleasure was so intoxicating he would do anything to have it again. And Buck knew that he was being entrenched ever more firmly into Chris Larabee's life, in these moments.

-bs