A war is occurring inside of him, one he doesn't perceive. One he barely feels, except as a set of conflicting responses and simultaneous impulses. It doesn't feel like a war at all. Mostly it feels like a traffic jam between his brain and his mouth that he has to sort. And an urgent need to solve it faster.
One of those gut responses is to laugh.
One is simply: who cares?
One is to deny that there's anything so deep to it.
And one--
Does it make what easier? He wants to ask, to fix Ranboo with a stare--calm, cool, calculated. Go on. Say it.
The instinct to blow it off is so powerful that it almost wins out. If he wasn't where he was, the way he was--if Ranboo's hand wasn't so warm laid over his, the soft skin of their face so peaceful under his palm and fingers, their eyes so sincerely searching--
It makes him want to get up out of bed entirely, to find an excuse to go clean them out of him and deal with this entire conversation later, to find a really true way to refute it. But he stays put just a second too long, processes these ideas just a moment too late, and getting up after an obvious delay like that becomes a last resort. But the way Ranboo studies him, like he sees something in him, sees into him, kindles a form of fear in Dirk that he doesn't understand.
This, itself, is its own blow.
And yet there's more to it than that. He knows--has known, deeply--that there's more than just something wrong with him. That something is broken in him, and about him. But before now, he believed that he alone knew the shape of it.
In one painful, terrible moment, Ranboo broke that certainty, snapping that one small piece of Dirk's reality like a twig. It engulfs him from the inside: the knowledge that he's broken not in new ways, or in more ways than before. But in ways that he didn't know other people could see. Ways he hadn't observed in himself, but which were obvious to others. Ways he felt but never truly comprehended the shape of, even if he'd acted on them.
Because he did know.
Ranboo has just articulated something that Dirk has noticed on his own, but never pieced together. And once he thought about it, having already denied it, his brain found the falsehood of that denial.
Hadn't he thought about it before? The difference he'd noticed? Having sex with Ranboo the first time had been a release so longed for, and for so long, that it was--well, if he'd ever wanted to cut them loose, losing himself in that ecstasy was a mistake. But that didn't... fix anything. He didn't feel better. Refreshed. Powerful. But not better. Not until they had sex again, and again after, with Ranboo on top now, pressing Dirk's body into the mattress, hands fisting in Dirk's hair as he fucked into Dirk's ass. Those orgasms weren't the one he'd first had, with Ranboo raw and hot inside of him a place that put him over the edge immediately. But they sated something. Brought him down, released something inside of him that was so pitched and so terrible that he could only barely contain it. And as they did more--as he got more, fed that need more, layered more and more into himself on that need? He began to feel more... real.
His eyes have become distant now, although he's not aware of it. The epiphany is strange.
As this picture, this realisation, comes together and settles over him, it burns hot. In the back of his mind, a beacon is lit. He has learned something. Realisation--knowledge--is power. It's control. He knows now. But at the same time, he becomes... small. Not small. Weak. He lies in his own bed next to a man he openly dominates, and feels like something changed. Something he can't identify. His brow furrows, just a crease.
"Yeah," he says, blunt and flat. Without realising 'empty' is how he feels. Especially when that's not how it sounds. It just sounds deadpan. It's like he's just normal, but in this moment, his body feels terrifying. Human. Flesh, in a way that isn't strong or sexual.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2024-06-23 11:25 pm (UTC)One of those gut responses is to laugh.
One is simply: who cares?
One is to deny that there's anything so deep to it.
And one--
Does it make what easier? He wants to ask, to fix Ranboo with a stare--calm, cool, calculated. Go on. Say it.
The instinct to blow it off is so powerful that it almost wins out. If he wasn't where he was, the way he was--if Ranboo's hand wasn't so warm laid over his, the soft skin of their face so peaceful under his palm and fingers, their eyes so sincerely searching--
It makes him want to get up out of bed entirely, to find an excuse to go clean them out of him and deal with this entire conversation later, to find a really true way to refute it. But he stays put just a second too long, processes these ideas just a moment too late, and getting up after an obvious delay like that becomes a last resort. But the way Ranboo studies him, like he sees something in him, sees into him, kindles a form of fear in Dirk that he doesn't understand.
This, itself, is its own blow.
And yet there's more to it than that. He knows--has known, deeply--that there's more than just something wrong with him. That something is broken in him, and about him. But before now, he believed that he alone knew the shape of it.
In one painful, terrible moment, Ranboo broke that certainty, snapping that one small piece of Dirk's reality like a twig. It engulfs him from the inside: the knowledge that he's broken not in new ways, or in more ways than before. But in ways that he didn't know other people could see. Ways he hadn't observed in himself, but which were obvious to others. Ways he felt but never truly comprehended the shape of, even if he'd acted on them.
Because he did know.
Ranboo has just articulated something that Dirk has noticed on his own, but never pieced together. And once he thought about it, having already denied it, his brain found the falsehood of that denial.
Hadn't he thought about it before? The difference he'd noticed? Having sex with Ranboo the first time had been a release so longed for, and for so long, that it was--well, if he'd ever wanted to cut them loose, losing himself in that ecstasy was a mistake. But that didn't... fix anything. He didn't feel better. Refreshed. Powerful. But not better. Not until they had sex again, and again after, with Ranboo on top now, pressing Dirk's body into the mattress, hands fisting in Dirk's hair as he fucked into Dirk's ass. Those orgasms weren't the one he'd first had, with Ranboo raw and hot inside of him a place that put him over the edge immediately. But they sated something. Brought him down, released something inside of him that was so pitched and so terrible that he could only barely contain it. And as they did more--as he got more, fed that need more, layered more and more into himself on that need? He began to feel more... real.
His eyes have become distant now, although he's not aware of it. The epiphany is strange.
As this picture, this realisation, comes together and settles over him, it burns hot. In the back of his mind, a beacon is lit. He has learned something. Realisation--knowledge--is power. It's control. He knows now. But at the same time, he becomes... small. Not small. Weak. He lies in his own bed next to a man he openly dominates, and feels like something changed. Something he can't identify. His brow furrows, just a crease.
"Yeah," he says, blunt and flat. Without realising 'empty' is how he feels. Especially when that's not how it sounds. It just sounds deadpan. It's like he's just normal, but in this moment, his body feels terrifying. Human. Flesh, in a way that isn't strong or sexual.