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fandomweekly2024-09-02 02:25 pm
a_little_apocalypse) wrote in fandomweekly2024-09-02 02:25 pm
Entry tags:
[#231] Locked Open and Obscured (Control)
Theme Prompt: #231 - Mystery
Title: Locked Open and Obscured
Fandom: Control
Rating/Warnings: PG-13, D/s themes
Bonus: No
Word Count: 971
Summary: Trench wonders what it is that Darling sees.
The moments where Darling spotted Trench were always obvious by his reaction - often some kind of exaggerated elation, to make Trench all the more self-conscious to approach him in public. A broad smile, perhaps even a wave - gestures that Trench couldn't bring himself to return. (And yet, it was all in that pinpoint moment of realisation, that split second where Darling's eyes would widen in recognition--...)
Times where Trench was able to keep himself unnoticed were rarer. Any employee of the Bureau would stand up straight to know that the Director was nearby, and word travelled fast. Darling would pick him out from a crowd within moments, Trench's presence within Research making its way to him by word of mouth alone, faster than any official line of communication. Yet, still, there would be times where Darling was busy - deep into his reading and research, Trench knowing where to find him without having to ask. Late nights, after hours. You're still here, are you?... The less-regulated a space Darling had access to, the more Trench would notice books pulled from the shelves and piling up, the more he noticed papers haphazardly spread around that threatened to overtake any flat surface. Shared office areas steered Darling towards consideration for the presence of others; this wasn't always successful.
Trench could understand the framework, though. As Head of Research, it was Darling's job to explain and to justify, whether that was to Trench alone or across the table in departmental meetings. Research could do as it did, but there had to be regulation, compliance, oversight. The role of the Director was to oversee the Bureau's sectors as a whole, to listen to demands (and they were always demands), to provide balance and equal distribution of resources as and when they were required. And yet there would still be that persistent whisper, a rumour Trench didn't know how to discourage: "Everyone knows Darling's the favourite, though. Good luck getting that approval if you're not cooking up some wild bullshit Research proposal."
"But they're all weird down in Research," Trench would hear others say. "I wouldn't go near whatever the hell's going on in that place."
To be good at the act of research didn't guarantee being a good part of the Management team. Nonetheless, it had long been expected that Darling would take on that role before it came to pass, and Trench had wondered - both privately and out loud, to Darling himself - just how well he would adjust to that change. That sort of a promotion gave some freedoms and took others away, and it would have been easy to cave under the pressures of increased responsibilities; however, as things turned out, Darling thrived. Catching Trench in the corridors with a smile just for the two of them, "I'm your Head of Research, after all. It's my job to impress you."
Darling had his supporters and detractors, as much as any public figure within the Bureau. Those who admired him for his affable nature and open encouragement, those who found his affectations tedious and intolerable. Darling could be stubborn and he could be mercurial, and Trench knew that; he also didn't really care, not for as long as Research produced results. And Trench would stand near the doorway, presence unannounced, watching Darling absorbed by his research: muttering calculations to himself as he paced the floor of his office, moving quickly to his desk when taken by the urge to scribble down the solution to whatever problem he'd been pondering in handwriting and diagrams that made sense only to him and him alone.
The Casper Darling that fell so deep into his studies that he'd neglect to notice even the presence of the Director was the one that still felt, to Trench, like a mystery. It was easy to think him predictable, in some ways; familiarity across decades of his enthusiasm and his exuberance, the consistent manner of their interaction - the way they'd dance around the definite in public, and the way that the definite would become the particular in private. Well-known steps to an old, familiar tune.
To see Darling hard at work would remind Trench that, for as easily and willingly as he'd grant his submission with longing for Trench to have everything, take everything, Zach, please-- there were still untouchable realms far from Trench's own comprehension, with Darling perhaps unaware of how inaccessible those depths sometimes felt to those on the outside. Theory turned to experimentation and formulae into the physical, abstract ideas becoming plans becoming prototypes becoming reality.
Then, however, there would be the times (door locked, lights low) in which Darling would kneel before Trench, his gaze wholehearted and single-minded with the need to want to desire--... and Trench would hold that gaze, the silence, wondering what it was that Darling really saw to look at him so directly, steadfast in his surrender.
Is this all still theoretical to you?
Is this, between us, your experiment?
Thoughts that could transcend reality, dreams that could split the universe - and yet here you are, focused on me and me alone.
Where do your thoughts go? Where does your mind take you? Under Trench's command, Darling would fall into some unknowable state, capable of losing himself entirely in a way that Trench felt simply unable. Capable, too, of being drawn back by a hand cupping his cheek and the sound of Trench's voice, low at Darling's ear, guiding him back like a beacon.
Why is it me you always come back to...?
(Even submission was given with challenge in his eyes: for Trench to accept this, all of this. Take these reins. The only control you have here is that which I've given you.)
Darling would lean into that touch, then closing his eyes. Trench still didn't - and couldn't - understand.
Title: Locked Open and Obscured
Fandom: Control
Rating/Warnings: PG-13, D/s themes
Bonus: No
Word Count: 971
Summary: Trench wonders what it is that Darling sees.
The moments where Darling spotted Trench were always obvious by his reaction - often some kind of exaggerated elation, to make Trench all the more self-conscious to approach him in public. A broad smile, perhaps even a wave - gestures that Trench couldn't bring himself to return. (And yet, it was all in that pinpoint moment of realisation, that split second where Darling's eyes would widen in recognition--...)
Times where Trench was able to keep himself unnoticed were rarer. Any employee of the Bureau would stand up straight to know that the Director was nearby, and word travelled fast. Darling would pick him out from a crowd within moments, Trench's presence within Research making its way to him by word of mouth alone, faster than any official line of communication. Yet, still, there would be times where Darling was busy - deep into his reading and research, Trench knowing where to find him without having to ask. Late nights, after hours. You're still here, are you?... The less-regulated a space Darling had access to, the more Trench would notice books pulled from the shelves and piling up, the more he noticed papers haphazardly spread around that threatened to overtake any flat surface. Shared office areas steered Darling towards consideration for the presence of others; this wasn't always successful.
Trench could understand the framework, though. As Head of Research, it was Darling's job to explain and to justify, whether that was to Trench alone or across the table in departmental meetings. Research could do as it did, but there had to be regulation, compliance, oversight. The role of the Director was to oversee the Bureau's sectors as a whole, to listen to demands (and they were always demands), to provide balance and equal distribution of resources as and when they were required. And yet there would still be that persistent whisper, a rumour Trench didn't know how to discourage: "Everyone knows Darling's the favourite, though. Good luck getting that approval if you're not cooking up some wild bullshit Research proposal."
"But they're all weird down in Research," Trench would hear others say. "I wouldn't go near whatever the hell's going on in that place."
To be good at the act of research didn't guarantee being a good part of the Management team. Nonetheless, it had long been expected that Darling would take on that role before it came to pass, and Trench had wondered - both privately and out loud, to Darling himself - just how well he would adjust to that change. That sort of a promotion gave some freedoms and took others away, and it would have been easy to cave under the pressures of increased responsibilities; however, as things turned out, Darling thrived. Catching Trench in the corridors with a smile just for the two of them, "I'm your Head of Research, after all. It's my job to impress you."
Darling had his supporters and detractors, as much as any public figure within the Bureau. Those who admired him for his affable nature and open encouragement, those who found his affectations tedious and intolerable. Darling could be stubborn and he could be mercurial, and Trench knew that; he also didn't really care, not for as long as Research produced results. And Trench would stand near the doorway, presence unannounced, watching Darling absorbed by his research: muttering calculations to himself as he paced the floor of his office, moving quickly to his desk when taken by the urge to scribble down the solution to whatever problem he'd been pondering in handwriting and diagrams that made sense only to him and him alone.
The Casper Darling that fell so deep into his studies that he'd neglect to notice even the presence of the Director was the one that still felt, to Trench, like a mystery. It was easy to think him predictable, in some ways; familiarity across decades of his enthusiasm and his exuberance, the consistent manner of their interaction - the way they'd dance around the definite in public, and the way that the definite would become the particular in private. Well-known steps to an old, familiar tune.
To see Darling hard at work would remind Trench that, for as easily and willingly as he'd grant his submission with longing for Trench to have everything, take everything, Zach, please-- there were still untouchable realms far from Trench's own comprehension, with Darling perhaps unaware of how inaccessible those depths sometimes felt to those on the outside. Theory turned to experimentation and formulae into the physical, abstract ideas becoming plans becoming prototypes becoming reality.
Then, however, there would be the times (door locked, lights low) in which Darling would kneel before Trench, his gaze wholehearted and single-minded with the need to want to desire--... and Trench would hold that gaze, the silence, wondering what it was that Darling really saw to look at him so directly, steadfast in his surrender.
Is this all still theoretical to you?
Is this, between us, your experiment?
Thoughts that could transcend reality, dreams that could split the universe - and yet here you are, focused on me and me alone.
Where do your thoughts go? Where does your mind take you? Under Trench's command, Darling would fall into some unknowable state, capable of losing himself entirely in a way that Trench felt simply unable. Capable, too, of being drawn back by a hand cupping his cheek and the sound of Trench's voice, low at Darling's ear, guiding him back like a beacon.
Why is it me you always come back to...?
(Even submission was given with challenge in his eyes: for Trench to accept this, all of this. Take these reins. The only control you have here is that which I've given you.)
Darling would lean into that touch, then closing his eyes. Trench still didn't - and couldn't - understand.
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