wallwalker: Venetian mask with mouth covered, largely made of a shiny purple material. (veiled mask)
wallwalker ([personal profile] wallwalker) wrote in [community profile] rainbowfic2017-05-01 08:15 pm

Color Party 17; Side B: Blackstar 8

Name: Wallwalker
Story: Stifled
Colors: Color Party 17 (Cramoisy), Side B: Blackstar 8 (Cold cold nights under chrome and glass Led me down river of perfumed limbs → Bring Me the Disco King (Reality))
Word Count: 555
Rating: NSFW.
Warnings: Drug use, luxury, sex - not safe for work or for minors.
Summary: They try to distract you from being imprisoned.


No matter how large the room is, you can feel the walls and ceiling pressing down around you. The dome above you is heavy and stifling.

You stare at it from far below, lying in the midst of a crowd on the plush crimson bed, your body utterly spent. The sweet smell of the vapor, the custom narcotics, still lingers in the air around you. You could breathe it in for hours, and never overdose; they made it especially for you. It heightens your senses while slowing your mind - a single touch feels as if it could last forever.

Too many at once would be a waste of time; choreographed sex isn’t on your list of turn-ons. One or two at a time is enough for you; you move from person to person in succession, bodies pressed close and moving together, kissing slowly and deeply. You cannot escape from this place, so you try to escape from yourself, comparing how they smell and feel and taste. Your mind can’t help but dwell on everything, as slow as it moves, and your body recovers from its exertions in record time. It’s so easy to lose yourself for a bit longer, to keep the press of the glass and chrome from crushing you.

But it always ends. It has to; the best drugs in the world can’t keep you awake forever, and your partners eventually grow tired as well. You’re surrounded by them now, men and women and androgynes alike; even as you come down from your high, you think that you can tell each and every one of them by the smell of their sweat, pheromones and perfume swirling in the air around you.

It’s enough of a distraction to keep you quiet for a while, and they know it. That’s what they do to keep you placated; they vet the people who come in, for their health and for their variety. Experience doesn’t matter to you, and appearance matters less, as long as they are distinct from each other. The drugs are the same; you get the goods that street dealers would kill to get their hands on, pure and sweet.

In the end, though, it ends the same way every time. It ends with you surrounded by the night’s partners, staring up at the sky through the glass above you. You’re an ungrateful wretch, or so you’re sure your family would say so. You have more here than most people see in their lifetimes, and yet... you can’t stop staring at the glass, wishing that you could leave for a few days. A bit of fresh air, for a change, nothing piped in and scented. You’re not asking for much, just one walk through the city. Surely they could come up with enough security for that, considering how much your distractions cost.

They could, but they probably won’t. Even a small risk is too much. And if you die, they say, the future of this company would die with it. Your mind is the only one they’ve found that is good enough to direct the programs that keep it running. That was why they adopted you, why they make sure you are healthy and that all of your needs are met.

Except for one. And that’s something that even you haven’t found a way to negotiate for. Yet.

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