Jesus, that was fast. Dirk was ready for it, but still. That was so fast.
(It was also... kind of hot. Not the puking, but the gagging, the choking on his fingers like they were his cock--)
He can't help but wonder, looking at the mass of partially dissolved orange tablets, what would have happened if it had been him. If someone without a fucking hair trigger on his gag reflex had needed this kind of intervention. Would it have worked? Would his hypothetical, nonexistent rescuer have been able to make him throw it up?
Or would he just have--
Well.
The world may never know.
What Dirk does know, as he pushes Ranboo back and away from the hot mess (literal) soaking into his bedcovers, is that this didn't solve everything. Not immediately. Not yet. He hopes--he can really only hope, and assume, based on the information available to him--that it will soon. But if the drugs weren't nullified after the first time Ranboo died, then the drugs already in their system--the drugs he's dying to right now, metabolised and absorbed into his body through his bloodstream--then whatever Ranboo is already about to die to again is going to kill him, again. At least this once more.
He just has to fucking believe--
And he does believe, because he needs it to be true--
That they'll wake up again. And that what he's done will keep them from dying again, or at least not... too many more times. In the meantime, he just has to-- he just has to be patient. He has to be patient.
He can feel sweat on the back of his neck, running down his face from along his hairline where stress and adrenaline and emotion have been pushing his body in ways he's more or less been unaware of until this moment, until now as he lays Ranboo out on the bed and on their back, watching and listening as his breathing degrades, slowing into rasping, occasional gasps and weak wheezes.
And heat, as situationally predictable as it is inappropriate, settles into the tender space between his legs, sensitivity tingling along nerve endings and intruding on his mind now that the call for action is over.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2024-08-22 01:30 pm (UTC)(It was also... kind of hot. Not the puking, but the gagging, the choking on his fingers like they were his cock--)
He can't help but wonder, looking at the mass of partially dissolved orange tablets, what would have happened if it had been him. If someone without a fucking hair trigger on his gag reflex had needed this kind of intervention. Would it have worked? Would his hypothetical, nonexistent rescuer have been able to make him throw it up?
Or would he just have--
Well.
The world may never know.
What Dirk does know, as he pushes Ranboo back and away from the hot mess (literal) soaking into his bedcovers, is that this didn't solve everything. Not immediately. Not yet. He hopes--he can really only hope, and assume, based on the information available to him--that it will soon. But if the drugs weren't nullified after the first time Ranboo died, then the drugs already in their system--the drugs he's dying to right now, metabolised and absorbed into his body through his bloodstream--then whatever Ranboo is already about to die to again is going to kill him, again. At least this once more.
He just has to fucking believe--
And he does believe, because he needs it to be true--
That they'll wake up again. And that what he's done will keep them from dying again, or at least not... too many more times. In the meantime, he just has to-- he just has to be patient. He has to be patient.
He can feel sweat on the back of his neck, running down his face from along his hairline where stress and adrenaline and emotion have been pushing his body in ways he's more or less been unaware of until this moment, until now as he lays Ranboo out on the bed and on their back, watching and listening as his breathing degrades, slowing into rasping, occasional gasps and weak wheezes.
And heat, as situationally predictable as it is inappropriate, settles into the tender space between his legs, sensitivity tingling along nerve endings and intruding on his mind now that the call for action is over.