Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of this work of fiction, and no profit, monetary, or otherwise, is being made through the writing of this.
A/N: Inspired by the episode, "Springtime for David." David leaves the Conner household to work and live at a bizarre amusement park. Original air date: 1996, March 12th. Viewed, most recently, December 15, 2013. I've seen this episode before, and have had similar thoughts, and wanted to write it out.
Warnings: Features dubious consent, non-graphic.
Hans the Hare
"Smile, David," his mentor said, stepping closer, tracing a finger down David's cheek. David stood completely still, and tried not to flinch.
David smiled until his cheeks hurt, feeling just a little ridiculous, but needing the money, and the freedom from the Conners that this job offered him. He just had to play along, and do what he had to, to make this job work, and earn his pay. That way, he could show Roseanne and Dan that he wasn't the loser he half feared that they thought he was.
"That's good," his mentor's voice was low and throaty, and David fought the urge he had to pull away from the man, and run back to the Conners.
When his mentor's mouth brushed against his own, David's smile faltered, and, of their own volition, his eyes closed. The man's lips were warm against David's, and David couldn't help the gasp which gave the man's tongue entry into his mouth.
"Don't fight this," he said, and then his tongue plunged into David's mouth, and his fingers tightened on David's arms, and David felt his control on the world slipping away. It was scary, and oddly, comforting, having someone else, who wasn't a woman, take control.
David stopped thinking, let his assigned mentor guide and control the kiss, let the man lead him to the bed – the back of his knees hitting the edge of the mattress and then falling backwards onto it, bouncing a little before settling with the man straddling his hips. David opened his eyes, and then slammed them shut again, because the man's eyes were intense, boring into his, and they weren't Darlene's, nor were the lips, the tongue, the hands and fingers that cupped and pinched and explored his body.
It was dizzying, and David tried to push back, tried to voice that he didn't want this, that he hadn't signed up for kissing and fucking and losing himself so very thoroughly to a tide of overwhelming emotions, and a freedom that came within the bounds of a freaky little amusement park focused on Hans the Hare, and smiles, and the customer is always right, because a happy customer is a repeat customer, and, he was being undone in a way that he'd never been undone before.
And, it wasn't Darlene's hands, and fingers and teeth and tongue grazing his neck, his collarbone, plundering his mouth, undoing him in ways that he'd never been undone before; it wasn't Darlene's heat that wrapped itself around him.
No, he was the heat and his mentor – David still didn't know the man's name – was taking him, like David had taken Darlene, except it wasn't quite the same, and David cried out, told his mentor to stop, but the man didn't listen, just told him to smile, and not to fight it, that it would be alright.
The man's fingers were slick and thick, rough, and they wrapped around David so tightly that he wanted it to feel right, begged it to be what he really wanted it to be. Pretended that he was at home, and that it was his own hand, not this nameless, smiling freak's hand that was jerking him, pulling things out of him that he didn't know he had inside of him to be pulled out. And he pictured Darlene; his eyes screwed shut tightly – Darlene naked, her body supple and glowing with a light sheen of sweat as she opened up to him, and she was so beautiful, and this, this wasn't happening.
David was being filled by his mentor in the way that he'd tried, but failed, to fill Darlene. So, maybe the man was right, and maybe it was okay, and maybe this was what he really needed to be complete. Maybe this man, and this place, could fill the empty spaces inside of him in a way that being with Darlene, and the Conners, never could.
When his mentor left, leaving David naked and sprawling on his new bed, the sheets sticky and warm, but cooling, he smiled, and turned out the light.
"Get some rest," he said, a soft light spilling in from the hallway. "You'll need it for tomorrow."
David didn't doubt that he'd need his rest, if his first evening at the training compound was anything to go by. There was the manual, he hadn't read it, but he was too tired, exhausted and aching in a way that sex with Darlene had never made him ache.
His eyes slipped closed, and David didn't fight it, didn't fight the exhaustion that pulled him under. And, when the dreams, of the Conners, of Darlene and her soft, supple lips, body pliant beneath his, came, he let them, buried himself in the comfort of them, and tried to pretend that what had happened with his mentor hadn't.
The next day, he smiled, shifted uncomfortably on his seat, and confessed that he hadn't read the manual. He learned all about what it took to be Hans the Hare: a plastic, well-practiced smile, an intermittent wave, and hopping, lots of hopping.
They were good teachers, his mentor and the head trainer, and David was an apt pupil. When Roseanne came and 'rescued,' him, David wasn't sure which way was up anymore, and, when he and Darlene made love, he tried not to picture his mentor, the head trainer. Tried not to feel them moving inside of him, filling him. Tried not to hear their voices, their grunts and broken pants as they fucked him, their urging him to smile, and to let go, and to stop fighting them.
Eventually, he had, stopped fighting, and he'd given himself wholly to the role that he had to fulfill as one of the many Hans the hares. Hopping, smiling, and waving, intermittently, being bent over backwards and fucked, like a rabbit.
Resuming life at the Conners had been hard, but, as he'd learned to do at the capable hands of his mentor and trainer, David smiled, and didn't fight the changes. He went with the flow, let Darlene and Mrs. Conner take the lead, and sought out the comfort of being back under the control of those that he knew loved him.
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