swampofsadness | And so I am lonely

And so I am lonely

There can be a quiet period after sex. A relaxed kind of lull that's easy to exist in, even for someone like Dirk. Relatively, anyway. His mind doesn't stop--the layers and contrivances that turn inside him like an endless mechanica are an endless process, and so even this peace is tentative. Fragile, and short lived. But it's still a state of relief. His body feels better. His brain is calmer. When he actually cums, that is. Which, Ranboo has been incredibly cooperative about--sometimes the guy takes some talking through some concepts, but he's eager and earnest and he's bigger than Dirk in a few key dimensions that make his difficult traits tolerable, if not outright endearing.

He has, however, noticed that he's always the one making demands, prompting and cueing Ranboo through certain motions. Which is partly what Dirk means when he regards Ranboo as difficult and/or endearing. It's nice, in a way, to have a willing partner who does what he wants. It's also... odd.

They're curled up against each other; Dirk has taken the liberty of resting his head against Ranboo's bountiful pectorals, feeling the warmth of the man's skin against his ear and face, the rhythm of his breathing and even his pulse just underneath Dirk's own. He's slightly sticky with sweat (it's mostly sweat, anyway) but that's kind of a plus, to Dirk. It's... real. Comfortingly so. He can better feel himself against Ranboo this way.

"Fuck, man. Every time we do this, it's like.... I want to say it gets even better, but I actually don't know. Not--because of you. Or kind of because of you. Are you into this? What are you into? You never say anything about that--you never ask me to do anything specific. Which doesn't seem to be stopping you from putting your hot load in me every time. Sometimes repeatedly. Which feels fantastic, for the record."

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There's always something surreal about hearing their name said that way, gasped out in heated moments or half-moaned against their ear; it doesn't feel quite real sometimes, as if they've wandered into a fantasy all of a sudden. Maybe it's because of his disconnect from his own sexuality, the way that the concept of him being wanted at all sexually is still so strange and almost comical to him.

Well, either way, it still has the same effect it would in said fantasy; hearing Dirk moaning and almost choking out their name as he shudders and arches beneath them, feeling the way his body clenches tight--

God, he's painfully close.

Ranboo keeps fucking Dirk straight through his orgasm, chasing their own mindlessly; were they more present they might feel bad about this, but their mind is somewhere else right now, smothered under too many layers of desperate, sparking need. He isn't sure exactly how long it goes on for-- time as a concept is something utterly beyond him right now-- but, eventually, he reaches that same peak as Dirk beneath him, and it rolls across his body and consciousness with a ferocity that leaves him feeling genuinely faint.

"Fuckfuckfuck-- D-- Dirk-- fuuuuck...!" He almost collapses atop Dirk, hips jerking mindlessly against him and breathing coming in harsh, shuddering bursts. They whine softly against Dirk's ear, fucked out and brainless, at least for a moment, their body feeling light and boneless.

Dirk is caught almost off guard by Ranboo's incompletion, or at least his corresponding persistence. Almost. Almost, almost--because he did expect it; he knows the ins and outs of sexual masculinity and masculinity in sex in ways Ranboo has never conceived of. He learned early, and he learned fast, and this, specifically: not the long, hard, difficult road to repeated orgasm, but the ordeal of being loved like this, like a thing. Of being used and abused to sate appetites besides his own. Of being spent--either because of achieving his own rarefied, longed-for climax, or in spite of never reaching it--but either way, of being spent, and not being done yet.

It's excruciating. It's exhilarating.

And he rides it out, wrapping his strong legs around Ranboo's hips and curling a fist in their soft, wild hair; his other hand closes over the back of Ranboo's neck, a tight hold to keep his pace, because now even Dirk struggles with keeping control of his body, of enduring and sustaining through the agony and ecstasy of overstimulation and oversensitivity. Tightening his muscles when he even can, stiffening and arching and straining when he can’t. His brain has almost completely disconnected from his consciousness. He's only his body now: his suffering, savaged flesh; his stripped and scorched nerve endings; his sweat and slick soaked skin. And his insides. God, there are no words for it, the inside-outside affliction of too much and too long and too hard and too deep and how all of it combines inside of him, not only in his guts but in his muscles and inside his chest, where it feels like his heart could give out or his voice could finally break and he might actually cry out, although he never fully does. He's far from silent, though.

And finally--finally--Ranboo comes. Into him, inside of him. His mouth and throat are raw and dry as he gasps beneath them, desperate.... and collapses, every bit as boneless and depleted as Ranboo himself.

For once, Dirk Strider is left with nothing to say.

Or at least has no capacity left for speech to say it.

Edited 2024-06-21 17:25 (UTC)

For a very long moment, it's all Ranboo can do to lay there atop Dirk and shiver, panting, eyes squeezed shut as his body finally begins to settle from the overload and his mind begins to clear. It's a few minutes of silently catching their breath before they finally do roll off of him, apologetic, though they stay close, pressed against his side.

Pulling out is a brief moment of agony, numbness and pain overriding any pleasure from a few moments ago, if only for a second; they grimace about it before pressing their face back against his neck. A long arm drapes over Dirk loosely, holds him close against them as they try to recover from... everything that just happened.

That was. A lot.

For Dirk, he would have been happy to lay there beneath Ranboo--their heavy breathing and trembling body inducing agonising pulses of sensation in his muscles, his oversensitive hole tensing around their cock in tight spasms with each throbbing reaction to their continued touch. He would have loved to stay there like that, but he's actually relieved when they don't--although he groans in anguish when they pull out. Whether that's regret for the new, gaping absence inside of him or simply a physical response to how much he feels it as Ranboo withdraws is unclear.

He's not even sure if he's leaking cum or simply having some kind of psychological phantom sensory experience. Maybe he's simply dripping, a very real possibility that he's far, far too spent to investigate. He doesn't even know whether he should be closing his legs or trying to spread them. He's too weary to come to a decision; instead, he presses his face into Ranboo's arm, closing his eyes as Ranboo buries theirs into his neck.

And so they lay there, breathing, for a few seconds before Dirk tries to speak.

"I think I saw the actual face of God," he manages at last, though every second or third syllable is punctuated by another deep breath as he struggles to compose his body enough for speech.

Which, if it wasn't Dirk Strider, would make the feat of sheer bullshit that's about to come out of his mouth even more impressive. But it is Dirk Strider speaking, and it's quite possible that this is actually what happens in his brain when nothing else is.

"He looked an awful lot like you."

There's a pause as Ranboo actually processes what exactly Dirk just said-- and then they laugh. It's a breathless huff of sound, their eyes crinkling with a rare genuine smile that lights up their flushed face and shows off a frequently hidden set of dimples before it's pressed back against Dirk's neck in embarrassment.

"Jesus christ, dude."

It's a goofy-ass thing to say. It is flattering, though, and honestly, Ranboo would be inclined to agree if only with the first half of the statement-- that was... intense.

As they lay in the quiet together, however, the real world encroaches as it always does on moments like this; Ranboo's mind is able to wander back to their conversation before this, to what they both needed the distraction and stress relief from in the first place, and it's becoming increasingly difficult to put off unpacking it any longer.

Learning that Dirk spent so much of his early life going through something like that-- Ranboo might not know the details, but they don't really want or need to. It's enough to recontextualize things that Dirk has said before simply to know that those things happened at all-- to make sense of things that previously seemed entirely random, or statements that seemed incoherent. They're still incoherent, really, for the most part, but at least Ranboo now has some kind of explanation for why. They're not a psychologist-- they have no idea how exactly that kind of thing messes people up, what the exact symptoms it can cause are, but they're certain that it definitely wouldn't leave anyone unscathed.

Dirk is like this because he's been hurt.

That's really the important core takeaway, the context that Ranboo had lacked before but now can finally fit into place. He's been hurt terribly by the people he should've been able to trust the most, and that hurt has... really never gone away, by the sound of things, even if Dirk seems to refuse to admit that himself. Dirk is still... confusing, some of the hoops that he seems to jump through mentally obscure, but at least now Ranboo has some frame of reference to try and puzzle things out.

"I'm... sorry," he murmurs softly against Dirk's skin.

Dirk, of course, has no earthly idea what Ranboo is thinking about. He enjoys the laugh he earns for his frankly embarrassing declaration of sincere love, although he simultaneously wishes he hadn't just said that the way he did, and wishes Ranboo had taken it a smidge more seriously, because he really did mean every single word, and every accompanying sentiment to boot.

He'll take the laugh, though--it's a good one. A real one. And in moments like this, it's a lot easier to be honest about that. It's a short lived window, but one that brings out either the best or the worst in him, depending on how he's feeling when he characterises it. Maybe his brain is just fucked out, maybe it's a moment of real human honesty. Who can say.

He's marinating in that while Ranboo is thinking, and it's in that state of mind that the 'sorry' slips in. Quiet, mouthed almost in secret against the curve of his neck.

"What? No." He turns, tries not to smush Ranboo's face into the bed against his jaw--he has to pull back in order to prevent that, and in doing so, he finds room to cup Ranboo's jaw in his free hand, the one that isn't pinned somewhere between them. His arm feels comically week, but he finds the strength to press the pad of his thumb into flushed, slightly sticky skin, warm along the strong lower bound of bone.

"Don't apologise. Never apologise." The brief, postorgasmic opportunity for reprieve from his usual layers of obfuscation isn't over quite yet. Soon, yes. The door is closing fast. But not yet. "You were magnificent."

Oh... Ranboo smiles again, sheepishly, bashfully this time. For once, Dirk's sincerity reads loud and clear, and it's hard for Ranboo to even want to try and go back to the real subject at hand from there.

"No, I-I mean-- th-thanks, but..." They trail off, reluctant to break the peace of this moment.

"I'm sorry that you... went through that. What you just told me about, before."

It takes Dirk a second to catch up, mentally. He's a bit lost in Ranboo's first reaction--the smile, the embarassment, which never ceases to be bewildering to Dirk. How anyone with a build like Ranboo's, a face like Ranboo's, hands and shoulders and a chest like Ranboo's, naturally, nevermind what Ranboo does to him in the very literal sense--

How anyone like that could manage to be so affected and shy is a complete goddamn mystery to Dirk. He knows there's some fucked up trauma thing going on with them, obviously he knows that, but still.

There's barely a shift in his expression--or maybe it's that there isn't one at all, just the same sharp-eyed, straight-faced flat look that's just a little too intense for the situation.

"You're still thinking about that?" It's an actual question, albeit one that's already been answered. Which is why he follows it two seconds later with a large sigh. He doesn't look away from Ranboo, though.

"It's not like that. You don't have to think about it too much. It was fucked up, and yeah, I'm kind of fucked up, but it wasn't like that. It wasn't whatever you're thinking it was. They never fucked me in any way they didn't fuck each other. They never raped me like that."

"Dirk, they shouldn't have been... fucking you at all."

Ranboo can't tell much about Dirk's mindset right now. He's hard to read, even when he's in an apparently good mood if not even more so than usual, and so they struggle to tell exactly how much he believes what he's saying, exactly how much he understands.

"S... sorry, that's... maybe I shouldn't have brought it up, but I just--" They shake their head, laying it back to gaze up at the ceiling above them. "... it's just... bad."

He doesn't want to tell Dirk he feels sorry for him. That wouldn't end well. But he does.

"Yeah, I get that, thanks." A note of sarcastic dryness creeps in, despite his intentions. He'd love to be more reassuring than that, but he doesn't know what Ranboo would find reassuring to hear. He decides to backtrack, to go back to what Ranboo was talking about before he needed...

Before he needed a break.

He reaches up, brushes sweat-sticky strands of brown hair from Ranboo's forehead as they turn away to stare at the ceiling. It's gentle, but a little brusque. Then he taps their forehead with his fingers, a little reminder that he's still talking.

"You can bring it up. It's fine. I'm an open book for you." This is mostly true. "But I'm just saying, there were lines. Rules, and reasons. Like--" He stops himself, catching his own train of thought before it passes through his lips and into articulation.

"Uh." He closes his eyes, pressing his fingertips into a point between his eyes, at the top of his nose bridge.

"I just mean, I can talk about it. You asked me something, why something. I don't remember exactly what. Let me answer that. But this doesn't have to be a whole thing. Okay? Don't make this... it doesn't have to be weird." He says this with Ranboo leaking out of him and pressed between his thighs. "I can do that myself if I want it."

Edited 2024-06-22 02:56 (UTC)

Ranboo is... baffled for a moment into silence by everything Dirk just said. They literally turn their head to gaze at him, gears clearly, furiously turning behind their sharp eyes as they try to process all of it, to understand.

Rules and reasons...

As if that makes it all okay. And Dirk says this so casually, and so matter-of-fact, so certain of himself, as if Ranboo should already know all this. As if Ranboo is the one being unreasonable here. Making it weird.

"... you... really.... believe that. Don't you? That that makes it... okay, because they weren't doing it specific ways or whatever..."

There's a tone just beneath their voice of something being unlocked, a dawning kind of realization.

"Okay is a strong fucking word." Dirk wants to retrieve his other arm from the tangle, but he can't think of how, so he just takes the one hand he does have access to and places it over his face, dragging his palm and fingers down over his strong features.

"And not one that actually came out of my mouth. I know you're a better listener than that." He stops, tangled in a couple trains of thought. Starts again.

He doesn't like the way Ranboo is framing this--like he's deluded. "You freaking out like this is kind of what I was afraid of."

Too honest. Back up.

"One more time, I'll even repeat myself." He locks eyes with Ranboo--it lasts only a moment, but it's there. But then it isn't. He can make eye contact with Ranboo or he can think and talk, but he can't do both. Not about this.

"I know it was fucked up, I've been saying that. I'm not saying I liked it all the time. That I was enjoying it all. I didn't, always. I fought sometimes. Some of it hurt. A lot. Some of it could have killed me. They could have killed me, there was a lot of that. They taught me to fight, and when to fight. When not to, how not to. They did some nasty shit, got me into some of that nasty shit. More than some of it. But there's something wrong with me. I know I've made that pretty clear, too."

As he talks, he alternates between speaking and making eye contact, then breaking off to speak more. Now, finally, there's a pause, as he digests the turn this conversation is taking. How much more honest he keeps being than he wants to be. Or maybe this is exactly how honest he wants to be. Maybe this is the honesty he needs. After a long, long time. But he still can't let Ranboo think he's a victim. He is, on paper. Technically, it's true. But it's just not that simple.

"They took a kid anyone else would have messed up anyway and made sure I'd make it as a man. So--okay, yeah, it was wrong, it was bad, it was whatever you want to call it. But they always made damn sure I wanted it."

That's the thing, isn't it? He wanted it. Not always, but they taught him to want it. To crave it. And before that, and even after, or during, he could have quit over it. He could have opted out at any time. But he wanted it more. To prove himself. To persevere, to endure, and to become. Not to quit on the only people who mattered, the only people he could trust. Not to quit on himself. And he wanted it. That love. That aspirational becoming. If anything, he only feels cheated by what he didn't get. What he couldn't have, what they couldn't achieve for him because even black market surgery didn't have what he really needs.

Edited 2024-06-22 15:21 (UTC)

Ranboo finds themselves at a loss. How do you even begin to respond to that? To unpack the years and years and layers of horror and manipulation that have now solidified into a seemingly impenetrable wall? And, more than that, would it be right to? Their gut instinct is to keep talking, to try and lead Dirk into facing the truth, but would that actually work? Is it even possible? This is... wrong, the way Dirk keeps justifying what happened to him... it's wrong. He should be angry. He deserves to be angry. He deserves to hate those men.

Then again, there are moments, glimpses of recognition of the reality, the horrors that Dirk actually faced beneath his enforced cool. Maybe he already does. Maybe it's much more complicated than Ranboo could ever understand. All at once, he feels like he's just watched a great chasm open up in front of him, revealing a complex reality he had no idea existed before and can't possibly come to grips with now.

No wonder Dirk is so needlessly complicated about... everything.

Ranboo is quiet, but his expression has crumpled, tightened into something deeply troubled. They want to say something, to intervene somehow, but at his core, he can't help feeling distinctly out of place here. He's wandered into something far, far over his own head here.

"Okay," is all they end up saying. The edges are soft and frayed with concern and pain and horror, but he doesn't argue any further.

"Whoa--no. No. Don't just 'okay' me. Don't give me that... that look. I don't want to see that fuckin' look." 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.

His clit, incredibly, manages to hit him with a twinge of something that's not quite arousal. God, he's fucked up. 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. The half-smile comes back, then vanishes with another 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.

"This is me we're talking about. Remember how we got on this subject? About how I know what gets me hard? About knowing how I like it? And the fact that I know how I like it? At the end of the day it's just where I got some of the sick fetish material I'd be jerking it to if I had the opportunities."

So maybe it was insane, and maybe it was twisted, and maybe it was wrong, and maybe it made him insane and twisted and wrong. But maybe he was always meant to be this way. That's the worst possibility of them all, but somehow the easiest one to stomach. Because he's his own worst enemy. No matter which explanation you favour, which breakdown you table, that's objectively true. He hesitates, though. Something tugs down at the corner of his mouth.

He doesn't let go of Ranboo's face, but the way he cups their face is... lighter. Lessening. Like he's freeing them to pull away, before the next words can leave his mouth.

"I'm not so different, that way."

Edited 2024-06-22 19:50 (UTC)

"Well-- yeah, because they made you this way," is Ranboo's response-- soft, gentle, but firm in conviction. "You pretty much just... told me that."

Tired green eyes search Dirk's face, laser-focused despite just how wrung out the head they belong to is. Ranboo lifts a broad hand to lay over one of Dirk's where it's cupping their jaw; despite the sincerity and affection in the gesture, they half-shrug a shoulder, as if playing what they're saying off as something casual.

"And I don't think you're that bad. I mean... what they did to you was..." Ranboo trails off, watching Dirk's eyes; finally, they settle on, "Not... great."

They pause for a long moment, thinking something over; finally, hesitantly, he asks, "Does it... help? When we... do stuff they used to do with you, or whatever."

Ranboo's hand surprises him, and he stills. His muscles--slack from exertion, but still holding a strain of tension from the conversion, from holding his legs apart just so, from the heat of his cunt and the mess of his hole and his thighs, from emotion he's carrying in secret under his skin--slowly release some of their hold on his shape. He relents, just a little.

"Was that bad?" Dirk asks, in the pause. There's a hard edge to it. But he lowers his voice and continues, quieter. Softer. Like he's sharing something intimate between them. And in the moment, maybe he is.

"You forget that we have the same genetics. I could have become a screaming lunatic. I could have died. I could have killed myself. I could be a weeping, trembling waste of space. But I didn't. I adapted fine. Because--what is that look for."

Ranboo's question blindsides him, and there's a change. Not just in his mind, but in his breathing. Not to something fearful, not a panic attack. Nothing like that. It's different. Sharper, fast inhales, but long, slow exhales that empty his lungs to the bottom. A pre- fight-or-fuck reflex he doesn't notice he has. The prepatory instinct before exertion, before change. Physical, mental, emotional.

The anxiety grows again--congealing into some dark shape inside of him, a throb in his groin and his guts where Ranboo has filled him with a now-cooling load. He searches their face. Those green eyes are so piercing. The shape of them is naturally narrowed; his brows are so strong, long and arched in a way that gives him a penetrating stare even when neutral. Even when he's distant, or thinking, or tentative. Even now. It's a different kind of natural severity than Dirk's own, but it's also a big point of attraction--and connection. He can understand what's happening in the shape of them, even if not what's going on behind them.

".... what? Is that a trick question?"

"N... no, I--" Ranboo frowns, just a little, pausing to think before he continues. "I mean, I know that you think it's... hot, or whatever, but I mean, does it help? Like, does it... make it easier for you, I guess?"

Does it make the weight of what happened any easier to bear? Or ease his struggle in any way? Does it serve a purpose beyond what Dirk says it does, maybe? Does it help? Ranboo isn't sure what kind of answer he expects here; Dirk seems content to keep insisting that he's fine, that what happened wasn't so bad, but there's no way. There's simply no way that's true. The marks of it are clear on Dirk and show in his every word. So Ranboo has to know, does doing this help?

On some level, they can't help but wonder if something like it could help make their own struggles more bearable, too-- obviously not... exactly what Dirk is doing here, probably, but. Some kind of... something like it, maybe. Something has to help them deal with the weight of their own suffering too, right?

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It takes Dirk a second to catch up, mentally. He's a bit lost in Ranboo's first reaction--the smile, the embarassment, which never ceases to be bewildering to Dirk. How anyone with a build like Ranboo's, a face like Ranboo's, hands and shoulders and a chest like Ranboo's, naturally, nevermind what Ranboo does to him, both personally and in the physical sense--

How anyone like that could manage to be so affected and shy is a complete goddamn mystery to Dirk. He knows there's some fucked up trauma thing going on with them, obviously he knows that, but seriously. How. How the hell.

There's barely a shift in his expression--or maybe it's that there isn't one at all, just the same sharp-eyed, straight-faced flat look that's just a little too intense for the situation.

"You're still thinking about that?" It's an actual question, albeit one that's already been answered. Which is why he follows it two seconds later with a large sigh. Dirk wants to retrieve his other arm from the tangle, but he can't think of how, so he just takes the one hand he does have access to and places it over his face, dragging his palm and fingers down over his strong features. He doesn't look away from Ranboo, though.

"It's not like that. You don't have to think about it too much. It was fucked up, and yeah, I'm kind of fucked up, but I'm fucked up anyway, not because of that. So whatever you're thinking it was, it wasn't. They never fucked me in any way they didn't fuck each other, they never raped me."

"Dirk, they shouldn't have been... fucking you at all."

Ranboo can't tell much about Dirk's mindset right now. He's hard to read, even when he's in an apparently good mood if not even more so than usual, and so they struggle to tell exactly how much he believes what he's saying, exactly how much he understands.

Hesitantly, carefully, Ranboo finally asks a question that they've been wondering for a while now-- a question that, Ranboo expects, the answer will actually answer a whole lot of other questions as well.

"Dirk, what do you... think rape is? Like... what would you call that?"

"Uh." He closes his eyes, pressing his fingertips into a point between his eyes, at the top of his nose bridge.

"It. Okay. Look. I--" He stops himself, catching his own train of thought before it passes through his lips and into articulation. The language matters here. It's the primary obstacle to his ability to talk about this at all--not the language Ranboo is so concerned with, what is and isn't rape. He knows what rape is, and the differences between what it is "on paper" and what it really is.

The problem is him. His body. Talking about it, and the parts he has instead of the ones he doesn't. Ranboo's inquiry has put him in a bad spot, one he avoids on every cognitive level except this. That was part of the rules--neither he nor his bros acknowledged it, and he's so removed from it now, cognitively, that he forgets. It was the only way to cope with it, for any of them. The only way to make sure it didn't--

He doesn't want to think about this. He never wants to think about it.

And since leaving his bros' protective isolation, it's led to some mistakes. With Ranboo, most especially. Mistakes that he doesn't regret. But he's forgotten more than once--despite its constant, relentless presence in him. The nature of... what could be, how others perceive it, and him. What they might assume, or do. But he doesn't use any words for himself there. He doesn't have any, not for his own body. There's 'inside' and 'outside,' there's 'rape,' and there's what he doesn't have. That's all.

So he struggles, for a second, to recall the language for what he means. But it all clicks back together after that second, and he regains control--both of himself and the conversation.

"They fucked me like a man, and I took it like one. So there were lines. Rules, and reasons." He says this with Ranboo leaking out of him and pressed between his thighs.

Ranboo frowns slightly, trying to understand what exactly Dirk means. Fucked him like a man...? That could mean any number of things, and none of them have anything to do with consent. Especially not considering some of the things that Dirk's implied or directly stated here. They shake their head just slightly, the smallest of motions, brow furrowed.

"... I don't-- what...? That's--" Like a man...? For a moment, Ranboo wonders if it has something to do with the way most people think of gay sex-- the mechanics of it, that is, but... while Dirk definitely seems to prefer it a certain way, he's definitely allowed Ranboo to fuck him in other ways, too. So that wouldn't make any sense for that to be it, would it?

Either way, that's missing the point.

"So, okay, so... you're saying that, since they did it a certain way, that made it... not rape?"

Given the age Dirk seems to be saying they started him at, asking Dirk whether or not he thought he wanted it at the time is kind of irrelevant. Dirk probably wouldn't believe that, given how this conversation's already been going.

However, even without confirmation of exactly what Dirk's specific wording means, this one moment explains so many things-- it's like Ranboo finally just found the key to unlocking the Dirk mystery. This was the cipher to start decoding what the fuck he's saying sometimes. Dirk didn't regard what he attempted to do to Ranboo previously as rape, because, to Dirk, that word fundamentally means something different. Because he's been so abused himself that his concept of it is entirely warped. Dirk wasn't doing it to Ranboo "wrong," so it wouldn't have been rape. That also explains his immediate reaction to Ranboo's outburst in response, it explains his utter and sincere confusion about why they had fixated on it so pointedly and taken so long to begin to trust him again afterwards. In Dirk's eyes, he sincerely believes he hadn't violated anything or anyone in that moment.

It's a moment of sudden and profound understanding, and also a deep, sick horror welling up in the pit of Ranboo's gut.

"Yeah, now you're getting it." Which is... a relief. Not a very big one, admittedly. He can feel something is off. Something ihe way Ranboo is repeating what he says. Like understanding what Dirk is saying is somehow an incomprehensible act in itself. It's a relief because Ranboo is getting it, and he's having a smaller reaction than Dirk was expecting, but that reaction could get bigger. Fast. He's seen it happen already. After the way Ranboo flipped out before leaving, when he left... he just fucking knew this information would become a whole Thing.

But that's why he has to keep talking. He has to stop Ranboo before they start drawing weird conclusions without his input. Before they jump to the conclusion that he's a victim. He is, on paper. Technically, it's true. But it's just not that simple. And he has to make sure they really get that, or...

(Or, or, or. It's an 'or' he doesn't even want to think about. An 'or' that really, actually does scare him.)

"And I'm not saying I liked it all the time. I didn't, always. But this is me we're talking about. And there's something wrong with me. So I fought sometimes. Some of it hurt. A lot. Some of it could have killed me. They could have killed me, there was a lot of that. They taught me to fight, and when to fight. When not to, how not to. They did some nasty shit, got me into some of that nasty shit. More than some of it. Remember how we got on this subject? About how I know what gets me hard? About knowing how I like it? And the fact that I know how I like it?"

As he talks, he alternates between speaking and making eye contact, then breaking off to speak more. He can make eye contact with Ranboo or he can think and talk, but he can't do both. Not about this.

Now, though, he locks eyes with him, because now he can again. And because--he needs to.

"They took a kid anyone else would have messed up anyway and made sure I'd make it as a man. And they made damn sure I wanted it."

That's the thing, isn't it? He wanted it. Not always, but they taught him to want it. To crave it. And before that, and even after, or during, he could have quit over it. He could have opted out at any time. But he wanted it more. To prove himself. To persevere, to endure, and to become. Not to quit on the only people who mattered, the only people he could trust. Not to quit on himself. And he wanted it. That love. That aspirational becoming. If anything, he only feels cheated by what he didn't get. What he couldn't have, what they couldn't achieve for him because even black market surgery didn't have what he really needs.

So maybe it was insane, and maybe it was twisted, and maybe it was wrong, and maybe it made him insane and twisted and wrong. But maybe he was always meant to be this way. Really, there was no other way for him to be. If not through this, then some other way. There's a tug on the corner of Dirk's mouth. Not downwards. A crooked half-smile pulling the corner of his mouth, pulling his normally stoic features into something expressive. It's not a nice look to wear, in this moment.

"At the end of the day it's just where I got some of the sick fetish material I'd be jerking it to if I had the opportunities."

Edited 2024-06-26 06:26 (UTC)

That expression causes something inside of Ranboo's stomach to twist, to faintly ache. He tries to catch it before it can show on his face, though he isn't exactly sure of just how effective the attempt is.

Ranboo finds themselves at a loss. How do you even begin to respond to that? To unpack the years and years and layers of horror and manipulation that have now solidified into a seemingly impenetrable wall? And, more than that, would it be right to? Their gut instinct is to keep talking, to try and lead Dirk into facing the truth, but would that actually work? Is it even possible? This is... wrong, the way Dirk keeps justifying what happened to him... it's wrong. He should be angry. He deserves to be angry. He deserves to hate those men.

Then again, there are moments, glimpses of recognition of the reality, the horrors that Dirk actually faced beneath his enforced cool. Maybe he already does. Maybe it's much more complicated than Ranboo could ever understand. All at once, he feels like he's just watched a great chasm open up in front of him, revealing a complex reality he had no idea existed before and can't possibly come to grips with now.

No wonder Dirk is so needlessly complicated about... everything.

Ranboo is quiet, but his expression has crumpled, tightened into something deeply troubled. They want to say something, to intervene somehow, but at his core, he can't help feeling distinctly out of place here. He's wandered into something far, far over his own head here.

"Okay," is all they end up saying.

"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.

Edited 2024-06-26 13:05 (UTC)

Ranboo is quiet, listens patiently to Dirk, off-green eyes searching Dirk's own-- for what, he isn't exactly sure. Sincerity, maybe, or some indication of what to even say here. Dirk seems to truly believe it-- that this is fine, that he's okay, and Ranboo wants to argue, but is it his place?

It isn't. At least, not now, anyway.

Ranboo sighs, lifting a hand to rest it over one of Dirk's where he cups their square jaw.

"If you say so," is all they say for now.

Ranboo does have one more question, though; one that's been burning quietly in the back of their mind for some time since this conversation started, even since before their brief "intermission." It's a question that they can't help but wonder, more now than ever, so, after a moment, he finally asks:

"Does it... help? When we-- do stuff that they used to do with you, or whatever, like... does it make it easier?"