"Whoa--no. No. Don't just 'okay' me. Don't give me that... that look. I don't want to see that fuckin' look." The smile doesn't completely vanish--in fact, he's still wearing a bit of it as he finally does pull his arm free, reaches up to take Ranboo's face in both hands. He holds them there, gently, the exertion of mere minutes ago still warm in their skin under his tough palms. Even as he does this, he's feeling the tackiness of cum and slick and sweat drying between his legs and against his hole. The great, post-exertional heaviness weighing down every layer of his body. The stretched-out, used feeling of still being loose and open after it all.
He's fucked up. He knows that. But if he was ever going to be anything else, it's some thing he doesn't want to know. So he lives with it and he's making it work. If his own freak turns him on, that's one more damning feature--but then, so much the better. Why can't Ranboo see that?
"I'm fine. I lived. Think of it what you want. I can't stop you. But don't make this... a thing." There's a bit of contempt in his voice, creeping in through the hidden undercurrent of fear that Ranboo will do exactly that. He's already doing that. Dirk can see it, he can hear it--he can feel it, and it scares him in a way he wants to kill.
"Don't make it weird." He says this, but there's a desperate flavour to the hard edge. His clit, incredibly, manages to hit him with a twinge of something that's not quite arousal--with Ranboo leaking out of him and pressed between his thighs.
His half-smile wavers, and he releases a heavy sigh. Not even for emotional reasons--well, maybe for those. But mostly because, honestly, he feels so wrung out. Breathing itself is like a chore. And yet he keeps going.
A dry tone replaces the scorn. Or at least, it's a different kind of scorn.
"I can do that myself if I want it."
But then he hesitates. Puts two very small pieces together in his head, and the corner of his mouth finally tugs down. His brow forms a single crease. Bitterness--or maybe simply darkness--pools inside of him. And while he doesn't let go of Ranboo's face, the way he cups their face is... lighter. Lessening. Like he's giving them a chance, now--to run.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2024-06-26 07:24 am (UTC)He's fucked up. He knows that. But if he was ever going to be anything else, it's some thing he doesn't want to know. So he lives with it and he's making it work. If his own freak turns him on, that's one more damning feature--but then, so much the better. Why can't Ranboo see that?
"I'm fine. I lived. Think of it what you want. I can't stop you. But don't make this... a thing." There's a bit of contempt in his voice, creeping in through the hidden undercurrent of fear that Ranboo will do exactly that. He's already doing that. Dirk can see it, he can hear it--he can feel it, and it scares him in a way he wants to kill.
"Don't make it weird." He says this, but there's a desperate flavour to the hard edge. His clit, incredibly, manages to hit him with a twinge of something that's not quite arousal--with Ranboo leaking out of him and pressed between his thighs.
His half-smile wavers, and he releases a heavy sigh. Not even for emotional reasons--well, maybe for those. But mostly because, honestly, he feels so wrung out. Breathing itself is like a chore. And yet he keeps going.
A dry tone replaces the scorn. Or at least, it's a different kind of scorn.
"I can do that myself if I want it."
But then he hesitates. Puts two very small pieces together in his head, and the corner of his mouth finally tugs down. His brow forms a single crease. Bitterness--or maybe simply darkness--pools inside of him. And while he doesn't let go of Ranboo's face, the way he cups their face is... lighter. Lessening. Like he's giving them a chance, now--to run.