If Only
"If only" a lot of things had happened. Or not happened. Squilliam/Nicholas Withers. Warning for language and potentially triggering content.
Warnings: Because FFNet doesn't have spoiler tags, I'll have to keep the specific "triggering content" mentioned in the summary secret to avoid spoilage of the fic, but do read read with an open mind.
Disclaimer: I don't own SpongeBob etc.
Nicholas Withers: host of House Fancy, part-time talk show coordinator, most prestigious television personality to grace the channels.
And apparently also a flaming homosexual.
It was one of the running gags in the comedy of his life.
His public loved him, he loved his public; it would have been a neat and tidy relationship, were it not for their constant insistence that he took it up the butt.
Sure, he had no wife to speak of, but that was no reason to typecast him in the gay mould. Did asexuality or 'not looking' just not exist in the minds of the media audience?
If only.
"If only" a lot of things had happened. Or not happened.
"If only" he'd put the rumors to rest on that talk show last night.
"If only" he'd remembered to check his guests before agreeing to put them on the show.
"If only" he'd worn a different shirt, one that somehow didn't scream gay.
"If only" he'd ensured that his latest visitor was feeling sound in all areas before filming.
"If only" he hadn't taken so many commercial breaks.
"If only" anything. "If only" everything. "If only" nothing – hell if he knew for sure.
Does that mean that no matter what Withers did, he would still have had it done to him anyway?
Maybe a sexually frustrated guest star was considering it as they first met outside the mansion gates. Maybe his fate was being sealed even as he bent down to feel the golden doorknobs of the various entrances. Or maybe he just shouldn't have taken the elevator with him in the first place.
That damn Jacuzzi whirlpool elevator. If only he hadn't noticed the signs when that "soap" looked suspiciously non-soap-like, he wouldn't have experienced another unwanted pair of golden doorknobs.
Another "If only". He was full of them today.
He couldn't even remember what had possessed him to give in. One minute, they were relaxing in the Jacuzzi during that one last commercial break; the next, the elevator had stopped.
It had stopped, and his guest had dropped - onto him.
Things were all a blur after that. Funny, it had only happened a few minutes ago. And yet only certain things still stood tall, stood out. The pain, mostly. It hurt like hell. It was bound to.
And yet now the visitor that had infiltrated him was starting the elevator again, as if nothing had happened.
One more "if only".
If only Withers had had the guts to escape, get out of the elevator, call the cops, cancel the rest of the show.
If only he hadn't been such a… such a…
Such a fag.
Ding.
"All ashore!"
Oh. Right. That was his cue. He would brush himself off, get the water off of him, follow his guest star, view the billions of other things in his fancy mansion, fake smile plastered on his face.
He'd have to deal with the hurt later.
People like Nicholas Withers didn't have the time, or the budget, to let rape affect them.
Unfortunately.