Dirk, for his part, is being remarkably restrained.
Not that he's unhappy to tend to Ranboo--if he really needs it. But this is the first time in weeks that they've been this close to each other. Ever since Ranboo's little "episode," they've touched hardly at at all. It's not just that they haven't had any sex. Dirk gets it, Ranboo isn’t in the mood after finding out what he isn’t--that he, like Dirk, does not exist in the world. Only unlike Dirk, he has no choice.
(Not that Dirk has one either. Not really. But someone out there knows he exists. Someone raised him, and remembers he lived once. Dirk can't begrudge Ranboo the crisis of discovering he's doomed to the same fate Dirk will one day face: never having existed at all.)
But Ranboo has been practically allergic to him since then. Even incidental proximity makes them neurotic. Dirk's been gritting his teeth and taking it in stride--as is the rule for any hardship he's forced to face down. But it has been hard.
Now, supporting Ranboo's nearly boneless frame with his own, lending his strength to Ranboo and feeling not only his weight but his warmth, his life, especially after the stark contrast of their collapse into death...
Letting go is hard. It's excruciating. He wants more. It would be so easy. He could reach down, wrap his hand around Ranboo and work their cock--it would feel so good, so fucking good to finally touch him for real again and remind him of how good they can be.
He wants to. He wants it so goddamn bad.
All it would take is--
Well. He doesn't really think about what it would take. He simply does it--he tips the glass away from Ranboo as they finish swallowing, letting his other hand move down their torso, palm and fingers gliding down Ranboo's abdomen to the waist of their skinny jeans, thumb on the button. He tips the glass back, allowing Ranboo another mouthful of water, keeping their limited faculties busy while his fingers find their fly.
no subject
Not that he's unhappy to tend to Ranboo--if he really needs it. But this is the first time in weeks that they've been this close to each other. Ever since Ranboo's little "episode," they've touched hardly at at all. It's not just that they haven't had any sex. Dirk gets it, Ranboo isn’t in the mood after finding out what he isn’t--that he, like Dirk, does not exist in the world. Only unlike Dirk, he has no choice.
(Not that Dirk has one either. Not really. But someone out there knows he exists. Someone raised him, and remembers he lived once. Dirk can't begrudge Ranboo the crisis of discovering he's doomed to the same fate Dirk will one day face: never having existed at all.)
But Ranboo has been practically allergic to him since then. Even incidental proximity makes them neurotic. Dirk's been gritting his teeth and taking it in stride--as is the rule for any hardship he's forced to face down. But it has been hard.
Now, supporting Ranboo's nearly boneless frame with his own, lending his strength to Ranboo and feeling not only his weight but his warmth, his life, especially after the stark contrast of their collapse into death...
Letting go is hard. It's excruciating. He wants more. It would be so easy. He could reach down, wrap his hand around Ranboo and work their cock--it would feel so good, so fucking good to finally touch him for real again and remind him of how good they can be.
He wants to. He wants it so goddamn bad.
All it would take is--
Well. He doesn't really think about what it would take. He simply does it--he tips the glass away from Ranboo as they finish swallowing, letting his other hand move down their torso, palm and fingers gliding down Ranboo's abdomen to the waist of their skinny jeans, thumb on the button. He tips the glass back, allowing Ranboo another mouthful of water, keeping their limited faculties busy while his fingers find their fly.