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Decklan

They played go fish, because Jamey was clearly too exhausted for anything more complicated.

The first half of the game passed in surprisingly easy conversation. Decklan did most of the talking; he idly discussed their itinerary, the station where tehy would be stopping for supplies, the make and model of the PENNY--any information that he thought might help orient Jamey, anything he thought Jamey might want to know.

He kept his voice low, and tried not to anticipate any response, but left the air open for Jamey to speak into if he wanted. This strategy was eventually rewarded as Jamey began to ask quiet questions, mostly about the PENNY and about Decklan's history as a pilot. The jackal's ears relaxed slowly out of their perpetually alert stance and his shoulders eased down into a more natural slope. He even laughed once--when Decklan admitted to having been a pirate--and Decklan was pretty pleased with himself for that, even though he guessed it had more to do with Jamey being punch-drunk from exhaustion than anything else.

As the game and the conversation both began to wind down, Jamey yawned more frequently and openly into the silence between them. Decklan chanced asking, "trouble sleeping?"

"Yes," Jamey said, then his ears twitched and he gave Decklan a wry look, like Decklan had tricked the answer out of him. Decklan thumbed through his cards silently, leaving space for Jamey to elaborate, and after a moment, he did. "Just last night. Without Safrilly..." he fiddled with his own cards restlessly as he let part of the thought drift away, unsaid, then shrugged. "I keep waking up. Any sound, it wakes me up."

Decklan hummed quietly in understanding and drew a card from the deck. After taking the time to consider his words, he dared to say, "that collar looks too small for you."

Jamey gave him a startled look, one paw going to his throat to trace the collar as if he'd forgotten that he was wearing it, or maybe forgotten that other people could see it. His stare went blank for a moment--a look that Decklan would have taken as introspection on anyone else, but he was starting to suspect that this was what Jamey looked like when he didn't want his thoughts to reflect on his face, that he'd perhaps had a lot of practice hiding what he was feeling behind this blank mask.

Finally, Jamey said, "...I guess it's tight."

"Have you thought about taking it off?"

Jamey's ears were tense again, angled slightly backwards. He put his cards down on the table and laced his paws together and said, "I can't." Decklan made an understanding noise, not surprised to hear that Jamey wasn't ready--he and Marley had discussed the possibility--but Jamey shook his head. "I mean, I can't. It's locked on."

Decklan managed not to inhale in shock, but only by going very still, and he knew Jamey picked up on it from the way Jamey's amber gaze swept over him. A collar that locked into place, presumably without any safety spring, was incredibly dangerous.

Decklan put his cards down as well, staring at Jamey. Jamey stared back. Decklan knew there was no point in saying out loud that it wasn't safe to leave the collar on; Jamey likely knew that. So finally he went straight to, "I could try and take it off. Do you want that?"

He wasn't sure what he would do if Jamey said no. He could only imagine the look on Marleys face if he told him that the collar was locked in place.

It took Jamey a minute to answer, his hindpaws scuffing quietly under the table in a way that made Decklan wonder if he was thinking about retreating back to his room. Finally, he said, "are you going to try and cut it off?"

"I was thinking of picking the lock."

"Oh." Jamey considered this for another minute. He had one paw at his throat again, running one of his blunt claws along the edge of the collar, back and forth, on repeat. Eventually, he nodded. "Okay. We can try that."

Decklan immediately eased himself out of the booth, afraid Jamey would change his mind if he waited. "Let me get my tools."

He made his way to one of the storage panels that was tucked into the wall of the bridge. This was mostly meant to be storage for spare parts and instruction manuals, since there was plenty of storage for personal items in the crew quarters and in the locker room attached to the restroom, but Decklan had made space to store some items that he didn't want passengers stumbling into. He dug through the duffel bag there by feel, and emerged with his lock-picking kit in paw, returning to the table and unrolling it there. He pulled out the tools he thought he'd have the best chance with--his snake rake, with its slender tip, and a couple of heavy-duty paperclips he kept on hand for really small locks--and set them out where Jamey could see them.

Jamey watched from his seat, frozen in place, except for how his claws were still worrying at the collar. His ears were tucked close to his skull now. Anxious.

Decklan didn't move towards him. He stayed where he was, tools spread out in front of him, and said, "come over here and we can give it a shot."

Jamey shifted in his seat, and for a second it looked like he was thinking about running. But then he took a deep breath through his nose--Decklan tried not to stare too obviously at how the thin t-shirt Jamey was wearing clung to his long torso--and moved towards Decklan instead, shuffling his way along the booth to meet him.

When he gingerly settled in next to Decklan, he finally took his paw off the collar and clasped his paws together, pressing them between his knees. Decklan looked down at the jackal, even more aware of the disparity in their sizes this close. Jamey's body language was anxious, but nowhere near the nervous energy he'd been carrying when he first walked onto the bridge; his shoulders were hunched forward now instead of hiked up towards his ears.

He didn't look scared so much as he looked...shy.

"Alright," Decklan murmured, conscious of how close he was to Jamey's ears and how loud his voice could be. "I'm going to look at the lock." It took conscious effort to speak out loud, instead of just shutting up and getting on with it like he usually would, but he wasn't about to start touching Jamey without warning.

Jamey nodded, short and sharp, and Decklan took the collar in his claws and turned it slowly. It really was too tight against Jamey's skin, catching in places, and Decklan had to be careful to avoid hurting him. He turned it until he found the metal clasp: it was small and square, and it did indeed have a real key-hole. Decklan had been hoping for something simple, a button release hidden inside the metal that he could pop with one of the paperclips, but when he turned it carefully in his claws, he could see the tumblers glinting inside.

He grunted quietly at the thought of Brandin intentionally locking this onto Jamey, knowing Jamey wouldn't be able to get it off without the key. Jamey's ears twitched.

"This should be easy," Decklan said out loud for Jamey's benefit, grabbing his snake rake. The lock didn't look like it was made to hold up to picking, at least; the only tricky part was the small size of the lock.

As he started fishing inside the lock with the slim tool, Jamey surprised him by speaking. "Safrilly said you've--that you've gone to clubs."

Decklan paused, lifting his eyes from the lock to Jamey's face. Jamey was staring resolutely at the top of the table; there was an edge of embarrassment in his expression, in the twist of his ears, the same way he'd looked after he'd asked if Decklan was lonely.

This was a different kind of question, though. It was personal, sure, and not the kind of question that Decklan would usually appreciate from a passenger, but...he was claw-deep in disengaging a collar from Jamey's throat. A collar put there by a partner who had paid for the privilege of Jamey's submission, and then had tried to kill him.

For better or for worse, Decklan knew a lot about Jamey's personal life, and Jamey hadn't had much choice about that. It seemed fair and natural that he'd want to know a little more about Decklan, especially in the way of assurance that Decklan wasn't judging him for letting someone lock a collar onto him in the first place.

Decklan cleared his throat, then said, "yeah, I've been to a couple clubs," focusing on the lock to try and hide how uncomfortable he felt speaking about himself. There were only two tumblers in the lock, and that was about as many as he could manage, given the small size. "Just to watch," he added, the words slipping out more easily thanks to the distraction. "I need a better angle."

He placed his free paw carefully on Jamey's throat gently to tilt him in the direction he needed, and he felt Jamey swallow, and felt the vibrations when he spoke again.

"Not to play?"

"Nobody's ever wanted to," Decklan admitted, then grunted in satisfaction as he finally felt the lock click. The mechanism caught for a moment, clearly not often--if ever--unlocked, but he got it loose with a gentle tug, baring the neck underneath.

It wasn't a pretty sight, but frankly, it wasn't as bad as Decklan had feared. There were no open sores, no sign of infection; but there was a bald patch where the collar had rested, the fur rubbed away and skin shiny with scar tissue and perhaps some blistering. Decklan let out a low, rumbling sigh.

Jamey's ears pricked, and a visible shiver went through him.

Decklan sat there, gripping the collar in one hand and still holding Jamey's neck with the other, and told himself that the tactful thing to do would be to pretend he didn't see that.

Then Jamey said quietly, "Safrilly said I should ask you to put me into subspace."

His voice was shaking. Decklan looked at him closely, trying to figure out whether Jamey was afraid of Decklan, or maybe afraid of being rejected; but Jamey, as usual, provided very few clues. "Is that what you want?" Decklan asked finally, keeping his voice low and calm.

Jamey didn't answer immediately. That was fine. Decklan took his paw from Jamey's throat and set the collar on the table, and Jamey turned his head down to look at it, then lifted one paw to touch his own bare neck gingerly. He stared at the collar for a long moment, then looked up, meeting Decklan's eyes directly for the first time since he'd moved to sit beside him. His gaze was direct, challenging. "Would you want to?"

"If you asked for it, yes. I'd be honored."

Jamey's ears flicked and the corner of his mouth tilted up into a tiny smirk, like he thought Decklan's formality was funny. Then his gaze slipped away from Decklan, found the collar again, and the smile disappeared.

"It's been a while since I've gone under. I don't know how it will go."

"Does that mean you don't want to?"

"It means I'm afraid you'll be disappointed by the experience." There was the faintest edge to his voice on the last word, just enough to suggest that maybe what Jamey really meant was, I'm afraid you'll be disappointed by me.

"I won't be," Decklan said definitively. "I don't have any expectations. I'd just be happy that you wanted to try."

Jamey looked up at him again, stared, and Decklan expected more questions. But Jamey just dropped the collar back to the table with a quiet clink and then nodded, once.

"Then I'd like to try."

***

Decklan stood and gathered the cards from their game. He didn't ask Jamey to help, and Jamey didn't; he just sat there in silence, his eyes tracking Decklan's paws closely.

Once the cards were returned to their box and the table was clear, Decklan placed them aside and rested his paws deliberately on the table in front of him. After a long few seconds, Jamey lifted his eyes from Decklan's paws to his face with obvious reluctance.

"We'll need a few ground rules," Decklan said, and Jamey nodded. "I don't think we need a safeword; if you tell me you want to stop, we stop. Will you be able to do that?" He waited for Jamey to nod in agreement before continuing. "Nothing sexual. I'll touch your head, your shoulders, maybe your back. Neutral areas. If you touch me anywhere that I think is inappropriate, I'll redirect you." Jamey hesitated for a moment, then nodded again, and Decklan nodded back. "That's it for me. You?"

Jamey's pale gaze drifted back down to Decklan's paws and then off to the side. He opened his muzzle, then closed it again and grimaced. Finally, he said, "I don't want to--talk. About anything."

"Anything?"

"Brandin. Please don't ask me any questions about him."

"Okay," Decklan agreed easily--he hadn't been planning on it anyway--and Jamey immediately looked faintly relieved. "Anything else?" Jamey shook his head. "Okay. You prefer my bed, or the couch in the common room?"

Jamey met his eyes again, ears flicking in surprise. "Your bed? I might fall asleep."

"That's the goal," Decklan reminded him, and couldn't help smiling just a bit when Jamey flushed.

"I don't want you to have to...move me. After."

"You don't have to go anywhere. You can spend the night with me."

Jamey's eyes widened just a fraction, which on him was dramatic--the kind of reaction that Decklan would expect if he'd offered the jackal a million dollars, not something as simple as a single night sharing his functional cot on the PENNY's bridge.

Decklan had prepared himself for this conversation. He'd even talked to Marley about it a couple of times, while Jamey had been holed up in his room. But he hadn't been prepared for Jamey to look at him like that, like Decklan was giving him a gift that he didn't know how to repay.

It hit Decklan in the chest, making him feel about twenty years younger in all the best and worst ways.

He chuffed to cover the sudden wave of bashfulness, then said, "just to sleep," gruffly, to be sure that was clear. Jamey nodded; his expression didn't change. To remind him, Decklan said, "or we can go to the couch. You could sleep there, too, if you want." He wasn't going to go in Jamey's room, not when Jamey clearly needed it as a place he could retreat to.

Jamey glanced towards the cot, then looked up at Decklan again, his paws knotting together in his lap. "You really wouldn't mind? If I slept in your bed?" There was a heart-tugging shyness in his voice, a thin vulnerability that contrasted sharply with his usual prickly demeanor.

"Wouldn't've offered if I minded," Decklan pointed out. Jamey nodded, looking reassured by this, so Decklan pressed, "is that what you want?"

Jamey's ears twitched and his gaze drifted towards the cot again. Finally, after a moment of silence, he nodded. "Yes. I think so."

"Alright." Decklan moved to the side of the booth and gestured; once Jamey slid out to meet him, Decklan placed one paw between his shoulders and guided him toward the cot. Jamey twitched once at the touch, a little involuntary shiver, and then relaxed, following Decklan's lead easily. Not quite docile--he was still alert, glancing around like he was mapping the bridge in his mind all over again from this new angle--but he moved like he was comfortable. Trusting.

The weight of that trust landed square on Decklan, reassuring and galvanizing him. Jamey clearly wasn't any kind of fool. If he trusted Decklan to take care of him, then Decklan would meet that expectation.

They reached the cot and Decklan directed Jamey to sit at the end of the bed with a gentle push, then went to arrange the pillows, creating a structure that would allow him to sit up or lay down without too much fuss.

When he looked back, Jamey had removed his shirt and folded it neatly next to himself on the bed and was watching Decklan, paws folded in his lap again, running one claw back and forth over the others. There was a cool stillness in his ears again, like he was restraining himself. Decklan was beginning to suspect that that meant he was nervous.

No point in asking that; he didn't expect Jamey would give a straight answer, anyway. Instead he asked, "ready?"

Jamey looked at him for a moment, then asked, "what should I call you?"

Decklan huffed. He hadn't thought about that. His first instinct was to say that Jamey should call him whatever he was comfortable with, but then he thought better of it; he wasn't sure how he might react if Jamey came out with something like master or daddy, and he wanted to minimize surprises for both of them.

"My name is fine. Or sir, if it feels better."

Jamey nodded, took a breath, then said, "I'm ready."

Decklan slid onto the cot, sitting back against the pillows he'd piled up. He made space beside himself and patted it. "Come lay down."

Jamey moved obediently, arranging himself delicately on his back so that he was looking up at Decklan. Decklan put a paw on his shoulder, remembering how Jamey had relaxed under physical contact before; he rolled Jamey bodily onto his side until his face rested on Decklan's thigh.

Jamey followed the movement. His paws were twisted into a knot again, near his stomach. Decklan eyed them, then said, "paws," and held out one of his own, palm-up.

Jamey blinked his amber eyes up at Decklan, then lifted his paws most of the way to him, not quite meeting. It didn't seem like an objection--maybe like he was afraid of doing the wrong thing--so Decklan didn't say anything, just closed the distance himself, folding both of Jamey's paws carefully into his own larger one before squeezing them together firmly.

Jamey tugged once, like he was testing Decklan's grip, and then his paws went lax and he gave Decklan another of those wide-eyed, astounded looks. The effect was even more stunning now that his head was practically in Decklan's lap.

Decklan reached down with his free paw and brushed his claws through the thick fur at the back of Jamey's skull. "That's good. Let's get you relaxed now," he said, lowering his voice to a gentle rumble deep in his chest.

***

Jamey

The heavy weight of Decklan's paw on his head had Jamey skimming embarrassingly near subspace almost immediately.

It wasn't a surprise. Jamey had expected it, had felt it creeping up on him even as they were just sitting at the table playing a children's card game. Having Decklan's full attention--Decklan, with his massive frame and deep voice, his gentle personality hidden under the gruff demeanor--was overwhelming. It didn't help that Jamey was so tired that he was going loopy.

Once Decklan grabbed his paws, it became an inevitability.

And yet...he hung there, on the precipice. Five minutes passed, maybe ten, his sense of time dilating unpredictably. Decklan was petting his head in a gentle, repetitive way, hypnotizing, and he occasionally rumbled out quiet observations about Jamey.

Observations like: The fur on the back of your head is rough, but it's soft here. And: Your underfur is a warm color, like honey.

Jamey would have laughed off compliments, but he found himself helpless under the barrage of straightforward, factual statements, statements that made no point other than that Decklan's attention was focused entirely on him.

It was so much. His whole body was flushed with a warm heat that made him think that, if his fur there weren't so thick, he'd be visibly blushing down to his chest. But the tension and jittery nerves that had been keeping him awake were there, still, clinging with sharp claws, keeping him skating just along the surface.

And there was that looming weight, too--the same feeling that had stopped him from wanting to try to go under on his own. The sense that something bad would happen if he went under. That something bad was waiting for him in that space, where he would be most vulnerable.

Fuck. This was why he shouldn't have asked for this. It wasn't going to work. It wouldn't work, and Decklan would blame himself, because he hadn't done this before. He didn't have the experience to understand that it wasn't his fault, it was that Jamey was--messed up. Broken.

Jamey made a quiet noise of frustration, hunching his shoulders and turning his face down into Decklan's thigh firmly, as if he could bully himself into subspace by force.

Decklan's paw paused on his head and he huffed quietly. "Not coming so easy, huh?"

Jamey shook his head.

"Alright. I'm gonna try something. You gotta relax first, though." Decklan started stroking his head again, then moved his paw further back, rubbing across Jamey's shoulders and then pressing firmly with the flat of his paw until the heat and pressure forced the muscles to relax. Jamey bit back a quiet, involuntary groan.

Decklan hummed in response, a thoughtful kind of noise that caught Jamey's attention, brought up a tingle of anticipation in him. Then he rearranged Jamey again, turning Jamey's face until it was still resting on his thigh but at a more comfortable angle. Jamey took a deep breath of his scent--heavy and dark, like he'd expect of the bear--and felt the tension receding from the rest of his body.

Decklan rumbled at that, quiet and approving, and then reached down to Jamey's lower back, ruffling the fur there until his claws were dug down and resting against Jamey's skin. And then he raked his claws up Jamey's spine.

He wasn't pressing hard enough to draw blood, but it still hurt, a stinging pain that zinged through Jamey and lit his body up. He gasped and grabbed a handful of bedsheet. Then, before he fully processed what he was feeling, Decklan's paw passed the other way--flat now, claws safely out of the way--and brushed his fur back into place, soothing the sting. Jamey moaned thinly.

"Good?" Decklan asked, and Jamey nodded frantically, blindly, he'd closed his eyes at some point and didn't want to open them. Decklan gave a single, heavy pat to the small of his back and said, "five of those, then. That was one." Jamey nodded again.

He didn't open his eyes. The second scrape of Decklan's claws up his back lit fireworks against the dark of his lids. The long, soothing stroke that followed pulled another moan from him, and he was already past worrying about whether he should be embarrassed about that. "Two," Decklan informed him, and Jamey was stupidly grateful for how grounding the bear's voice was. He felt wrecked already.

For a second, he considered asking Decklan to stop, or to slow down. Something in him was spinning out of control. But that was the fear, the fear he was trying to let go of, and this would never work if he wanted the fear more than he wanted what Decklan was offering.

Decklan's claws wiped away his thoughts on the next pass, and he stopped worrying.

Jamey lost count by four. The numbers became meaningless, just the jet-engine rumble of Decklan's voice, steady and reliable. The anxious, jittery itch under his skin was gone, chased out by the sparks ignited by Decklan's claws. He was cracked loose of his body, hurtling towards subspace at a speed that should've felt reckless, but he'd forgotten what he was afraid of.

Decklan was there with him. It was impossible to be afraid, impossible to feel alone.

When the darkness--that twisted, rotten well of buried emotion--rose from the depths to take him, he didn't fight it.