They don't want this. They want to be anywhere else but here, doing anything else but this. They want to be asleep, they want to be dead. But they aren't allowed to be either of those things. They're trapped here, in this moment, in this aching, traitorous body that warms beneath Dirk's touch regardless of how little it's actually welcome.

There's nothing to be done.

They try to numb their mind. To send it somewhere else, or to forget how miserable they are, and it should be so easy with Dirk's warm, calloused fingers gently stroking over their cock as it fills out and beats warmly with their pulse against Dirk's skin. It should be easy to forget. But the misery is a low buzz that refuses to entirely let go, embodied in the ache in their chest, as much as heat attempts to overwrite it or overpower it.

They let out a soft, shaking breath against Dirk's shoulder, a weak note of voice.