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Jake fixes his belt around Dirk’s wrists, pulls it just tight enough, builds a fantasy.
He imagines that his blank faced, flushing love has been taken captive by some agent of evil.
He imagines himself as that agent.
He embraces the feel of villainy, lets some dark little piece of himself creep up from deep down inside and take hold.
When Dirk insists on being let go, wants to thread his fingers through Jake’s hair and move against him properly, Jake undoes the belt keeping him bound.
He laughs against the other’s ear, imagines himself the dashing hero saving the day.
If Dirk notices the dual-role he doesn’t mention it, doesn’t say much of anything on the matter of being momentarily helpless. If he really wanted to, Jake is sure he could save himself. The fact that he’s willing to let Jake do the rescuing is what makes it fun.
To be fair, capturing him in the first place makes things pretty damn fun too.
The scenario plays out over and over, and he creates a new set of circumstances each time.
Dirk is a wayward prince, strayed from his path.
Jake ties him to the bedpost with a grin to rival any fairytale beast, frees his hands and pulls him into his lap with the suave smile of a brave knight.
Dirk is a rival spy, snatched in the midst of a mission and held against his will, soon to be tortured for information.
Jake looks at him with the authority of the head of an intelligence ring, kisses him quiet with the unassuming charm of a wisecracking young recruit.
Dirk is a miraculous find, the key to a secret power that everyone who’s anyone wants their hands on and he doesn’t even know it.
Jake strokes his cheek like a man in control, a man with his meal ticket squirming under his fingers, pulls him close like an accidental rescuer, at the right place at the right time and reluctant to set him free in case he’s a danger.
He hesitates until he simply forgets to untie Dirk, keeps forgetting until he’s wriggling and outright demanding that he does so.
So he does. Untie him, that is. Eventually. He always does. It just doesn’t seem important sometimes, seems counterproductive, even. When he’s having fun and getting carried away, it’s hard to remember.
At some point it becomes less a matter of remembering and more a matter of deciding.
Dirk is a clever rebel, captured outside the gates of a fortress and thrown to the floor before the master of the castle.
Jake pulls his hair with the sadistic flourish of a corrupt lord, refuses to let him go till he’s made it clear that he’s loyal, so loyal, and really, who needs to be rescued anyway?
Dirk is a reclusive inventor, a shy, stoic genius who’s just doing his job, just trying to save his friends and get his nightmare adventure over with.
Jake bites a dark, dark bruise onto his collar bone, like he’s got something to prove, like the boy is his and always was and always will be and there’s no changing that, he was already going to be his, was already-
He loses sight of the story. He unties the rope around Dirk’s hands but holds them there, pinned, as he teases the resistance out of him. He takes what he wants and Dirk gives it to him, doesn’t say a word when his dual-roles narrow to one.
Dirk is just himself, keeping his cool, always, even when he’s arched and aching, on the verge of unraveling under the weight of an uncharacteristically cold smile.
Jake is ruthless, the way Dirk has always wanted him to be.
He fixes a chain around Dirk’s throat, imagined as the rest of it, builds his reality.
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