listen puppet boy, before you disobey

[generationlost]

There's a knock at the door.

The sound is startling, makes Ranboo suddenly bolt upright from where they'd been lounging on the couch.

Knock-knock.

They pick themselves up from the couch and, as quietly as possible, they creep out of the room, searching frantically for somewhere to hide; his frame is much too long to tuck away into a cabinet or something, but he does, with some internal amusement at the joke, find a closet to tuck himself away into. Thankfully the swords in there aren't taking up too much space.

Knock knock, Dirk! There's a knock at the door!

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[generationlost]

Ranboo looks at the glass of water, turns that almost deadly stare of theirs back up to Dirk's face.

Do they really look like they could lift an arm to hold that glass of water right now? Really? Their long arms tremble and buckle, bearing the brunt of their weight since the muscles in their abdomen don't presently want to, their frame still swaying slightly as they struggle to hold themselves upright.

They just died twice. Sitting up was an accomplishment in and of itself. Anything else is a little much to expect just yet.

Pointedly, almost spitefully, Ranboo does lift an arm, the limb visibly shaking as he halfheartedly reaches out towards the glass of water in Dirk's hand-- but then they pause, that arm dropping back to the bed beside them. Their gaze drops, avoiding Dirk, and they take a breath, wincing slightly at the sting that spreads across their ribs.

"... why won't you... let me die...?" Their voice is ragged and quiet, strained as they force it out, but the question is painfully genuine. "Why...?"

[themostempty]

Dirk watches that pathetic display and says nothing. He likes the look in Ranboo's eye; he meets their gaze levelly with his own flat, cold-eyed stare. He doesn't pull the glass away. Waiting to see if they'll make it.

In his mind, this is him remaining totally and completely neutral.

When they don't, but they do still have the strength to talk, he considers that worth something. Instead of blowing it off, he gives it an answer.

"Because you're not ready to give up yet." This is obvious to him; it needs no elaboration. However miserable and broken Ranboo's brain and body may be, howevver, painful every breath, every instant of consciousness, they're moving. They're speaking. They're being, even against their own will. Dirk knows what that feels like--the inexorable, endless, hateful pull of existence even when he craved nothing more than the oblivion-coated relief of it finally stopping. No matter how much he begged reality to crush him for good, to let pain end in the only conceivable way it could, it never actually let go. Even when he tried, or thought he was trying, even when he imagined it so vividly that for a time it replaced everything real or true, he was always still crawling excruciatingly towards the next second until those seconds became a minute, tortured and terrible but never final. He always woke back up from the nothing of his dream, always found himself inhabiting another second.

And he breathed. He moved. He hated or feared or blacked out into something else, something worse, but he lived, and he eventually got up again.

This was Ranboo's fight too, now.

It must be obvious to Ranboo as well. So he doesn't explain.

Instead, crawling across the bed (and very pointedly avoiding the sick at all costs) to bring the water to Ranboo, he elaborates on the other point.

"I killed someone like one hour ago, you know. I did that for you."

[generationlost]

"I am, I am-- Dirk..." Dirk had better be glad they don't have the energy left to cry anymore, or the water left in their body, but their chest does heave with what would be a sob, their stinging, swelling eyes squeezing shut.

"Y-you don't... know wh-what I'm ready for. You don't..."

Dirk has made that much very clear through his actions, ignoring every signal no matter how direct of what they want or don't want. Even now he actively demonstrates that he has no idea what they want, what they're ready to do. They want to die. They're more than ready for it. It's only because of Dirk's intervention and the mask that they haven't died already.

I did that for you.

Ranboo makes a sound somewhere between a sob and a scoff, half-shaking their head weakly.

"You... that wasn't..." Was it, though? Dirk did try to turn her away and she refused, but he could've simply slammed the door in her face, couldn't he? He could've-- Ranboo isn't sure. Their feelings pile up and conflict, their brain still bogged down as if each thought is being dragged through a thick jelly.

[themostempty]

He ignores Ranboo's protests about his motives or what they want, and scoots next to them on the mattress, wrapping a muscular arm around their bent shoulders supportively, propping their weak, pain-wracked body up against his own smaller but stronger frame. Shirtless as he is, nipple piercings catching the light, his bare skin hot to the touch.

It's warm, and intimate. Almost like cuddling.

It is cuddling, really. He touches Ranboo's jaw gently.

"It'd be so easy," he says quietly. "I know it would be. You wouldn't fight me. If I took some blade off my desk for you, put the edge right here--" His finger touches the soft skin below the jaw bone, behind the ear.

"I could open your throat just like I do the cows at work, and you'd lose consciousness in seconds. No more pain. No more fighting. You'd go out peacefully. Quiet and clean." He's talking almost to himself, but not really. The seductive tone of his voice comes partly from the uncanny gentleness of thoughtful speech, not pressured or bladed or droning agitatedly onward.

In a way, he's fantasising about it--both sides of it--but the fantasy can't last. He has a job to do. Several of them.

He strokes Ranboo's hair a bit, then takes another breath, bolstering them upright.

"I'm not going to, though. There's no easy way out of this for you. Got that? I know you think you know what you want--trust me, I know what you think--but you don't get that kinda choice now."

He brings the cup up to their lips, pressuring them to drink.

"Think what you want about what I did," Dirk adds with the kind of dismissive neutrality of a man who wants to be perceived as not caring. He does care, though. On some level he really, really does. He just also doesn't: because thhe mission is more important than Ranboo's feelings, or his own. Because even if Ranboo hates him now, he can convince them not to later. Because if he fails at that, he'll still have won, because Ranboo will be alive and if he's no longer alone then it doesn't matter if the other person hates him, really.

None of it matters right now, anyway.

[generationlost]

It's both terrifying and painfully, desperately craved-- Dirk's words, that description of how he would put Ranboo down. To finally get to rest, to finally know some peace. Only seconds until unconsciousness-- and then nothing. Blissful nothing, which sounds wonderful compared to the fully-body ache they're experiencing now, the angry buzzing of their skull and the thoughts that sit inside of it.

But they don't get that choice. They never have gotten a choice before. Why start now? Why should this be any different? Live or die, kill or spare, it doesn't matter what Ranboo wants.

Anger and pain and fear and sadness and numbness for which they have no real outlet surges down their spine, draws their breathing harsh and noisy from their throat as Dirk holds them upright, presses the glass to their lips. He wants to lash out and knock it in Dirk's face, to cry and plead, but the hopelessness of it all short-circuits that anger, shutting him down instead.

Ranboo closes their eyes, and they drink. Their throat burns and aches, but the water, lukewarm as it is, still soothes the edges of it at least a little.

Maybe this will at least grant him enough water in his body to cry with again.

[themostempty]

Dirk is measured about it, if nothing else. He tips the cup against Ranboo's lips, allowing them to drink before pausing to allow them to breathe between sips. He's being careful not to waterboard his 'patient' instead of nursing them.

Not that he thinks of this as nursing; it's more like husbandry, or a duty. And dutifully, he sits there with them, gradually working Ranboo through the entire glass of water whether they like it or not.

"That's it. See? You've got this."

[generationlost]

It's uncomfortable-- their throat still stings and burns, the water sitting heavy in their otherwise empty stomach. Still, despite it all, their body can't help but feel a touch of relief, the lukewarm water cooling their aching throat as it goes down, their dehydrated body desperate to take all of that water as quickly as Dirk can offer it. Even the warm, solid weight of Dirk propping them up is somehow soothing, despite everything. Quietly, Ranboo resigns themselves to accepting it all; it's not like they have any strength to do anything else. Even his anger at Dirk begins to fizzle out-- not resolved, but worn too thin to continue consciously maintaining it any longer.

He closes his eyes, leans against Dirk heavily, exhaustion tugging at his brain and attempting to drag him into sleep. Unconsciousness would be nice for a while. And then when he wakes, maybe he'll have the strength to do something-- anything, even if it's just cursing at Dirk and letting him know exactly how they feel about all of this.

[themostempty]

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.

But he doesn't. He has too much else to do, too many other things to get his hands dirty with. And he's pushed Ranboo enough for now. He's going to have to fight them for more as it is. He doesn't love it. But that's what it always comes down to, and Dirk always does what he has to do.

So it is that once Ranboo has worked his way through the entire glass of water, Dirk is forced to part ways with the body he wants to be in contact with most right now--a body he's only barely satissfied himself on--without which this act of restraint would be nigh Herculean. But it's still not easy, so he does as he's learned to do, and rejects the seductively life-giving presence of Ranboo's touch roughly--almost shoving Ranboo up and off his own frame so he can shrug them off of him like an unwanted suitor. He catches them by the shoulder to keep them from simply dropping back onto the bed like a sack of cement, at least--though even this is brusque and hard-handled.

"Up and at 'em," he says, dropping the glass and pushing Ranboo towards the edge of the bed.

"You're not sleeping here yet."

[generationlost]

"Uhh."

Ranboo's voice comes out in a hoarse whine as Dirk shoves them towards the edge of the bed; god, what does he want now? Why can't he at least let them sleep? He sways as he opens his eyes, just slightly, looking at Dirk with clear annoyance tempered only with exhaustion and pain.

Exhaustion is rapidly overtaking any other feeling they might experience-- Ranboo has already long-since reached the limits of what their body can take, and is now being dragged well past that point, despite the way their body rebels against every single new strain, no matter how little. Sitting up makes them want to cry in frustration. They would if they could.

"What."

[themostempty]

Dirk manages to look impatient and annoyed. This is mostly impressive because he rarely manages to emote clearly at all.

"You're not going to sleep in your own vomit. I am not going to clean that up--I'm not cleaning it up at all. I am going to take this shit directly to the trash compactor and never look at it again. And I'm not putting a body in the compactor with it. Which means yours needs to move."

[generationlost]

In a way that would be almost comical were it not for the situation surrounding it, Ranboo just allows themselves to slide off the side of the bed and into the floor, slumping there to stare up at Dirk as if to say "there, are you happy?"

The bed is absolutely gross and filthy, but they're having a very hard time bringing themselves to care about that in light of everything else that's going on. It's literally the very least of their concerns. But apparently Dirk is going to make it their problem whether they care or not.

[themostempty]

"Great. Thanks."

It's hard to tell if Dirk is being serious when he says it. But he does, in fact, get right to work, stripping the bed and bundling the entirety of what he removes into a tight ball--nastiness inside, driest part outside. He even removes the pillow cases, which haven't really beeen touched by anything obviously disgusting--and after a moment of consiideration, he pulls the mattress protector off, too, and wraps everything else up inside of it. He drops it by the door, and disappears into his closet to retrieve the makings of a whole new bed--everything but the mattress and pillows themselves.

[generationlost]

Ranboo, for their part, remains an inert lump there on the bedroom floor, watching Dirk with a quiet anger that they're much too wrung out to actually voice in any way. They don't understand why he's bothering with this. What's the point. It seems silly considering what's going on, considering that they don't even want to be here anymore. Is he trying to... ah, they can't think clearly enough to even theorize.

Regardless, they simply sit there, still and silent other than their pained breathing, waiting for Dirk to finish his task so they can at least try to sleep.

[themostempty]

Dirk's motives for making his bed when he has so many other things to worry about--a decapitated corpse in his bath tub, a mutilated severed head in his kitchen sink, an unwillingly immortal would-be suicide in his bedroom--are not that difficult to understand when you consider two things:

The first is that it's doing something. Staying busy, mentally and physically, has been Dirk's primary form of handling stress and escaping (or at least coping with) his own thoughts since he was a child.

And unlike just about everything else listed a paragraph before, he can finish this task in an immediate and satisfying way.

The second is that, unbeknownst to Ranboo, he did finally get to cum for the first time in weeks, and he's trying to fight off the impulses that come after.

And, for a strictly practical third point, it saves him a lot of work later--decontamination and evidence disposal and the fact that he is going to want a clean bed to fall into when those things are completed, and he is not going to want to spend his time trying to force hygiene on Ranboo if he can just prevent a problem ahead of time.

So he's solving problems before they become problems, and disposing of those problems that can be easily disposed of, all in one chore.

He does get it done pretty fast, though.

Even he looks tired now--not the usual existence-deep angst and exhaustion that he radiates on a good day, or something restricted to the dark lines under his eyes (he still hasn't put his shades back on)--but something else. A brief lapse of his straight-backed posture and squared shoulders. A heavy sigh, dispelling the illusion of unflagging machine-like endurance he usually hides behind.

A silence that hangs over both of them, filling the bedroom and expanding to fill the entire apartment.

[generationlost]

Ranboo's eyes are closed when Dirk returns to the room, body slumped against the beside table and some puppets that just happened to be piled there. They look absolutely pathetic, pale yet dark around their eyes, their wild hair half-flattened and yet wilder even than usual in places; at least their breathing is a touch more quiet now, slower and more even, breathing approaching that of sleep but not quite there just yet.

They want to sleep. If left alone for any longer, they certainly could fall asleep right there on the floor. The full-body and mind exhaustion eating away at their consciousness is more than heavy enough to outweigh any amount of pain or discomfort with their current position.

They don't visibly react when Dirk reenters the room, re-dresses the bed. They're so close to drifting off into the blissful void of sleep...

[themostempty]

Dirk considers forcing Ranboo up off the floor. He considers it, but ultimately, Ranboo's future back pain isn't his problem. On the contrary--his past dramatics taught him some valuable lessons about at least lying flat, or sitting up, or otherwise accounting for the fate of the future self he can't escape becoming. It's a learned skill, though. One painful lesson at a time, until the weight of those lessons is sufficient to shift even the most deranged episodes of hate and grief, or sharpening the point until it penetrates the most vitriolic, forced-submission spite at being alive.

So, he leaves Ranboo there to learn a lesson, and to keep them from being wholly dependent on him to hold their hand through this... well, episode. That's how he thinks of it. An episode.

He isn't heartless, though. He really isn't. The pathetic crumple of a man on his floor angers him in a way he can't place--like Ranboo's exhaustion is somehow spiting him. Instead of being insane about it, he chooses to try and solve Ranboo's feelings.

Which he does via perhaps the least easily-explained gesture possible: carefully selecting two puppets (a hairy pink-and-orange muppet and a ventriloquist's dummy with absurdly long limbs and a fixed stare) and propping them up with Ranboo. The muppet he tucks against their body as though Ranboo's a sleeping child, and the ventriloquist's dummy he places in the space where Ranboo's arm lies, in the curve of their collapsed form.

Then, after surveying his handiwork and finding it satisfactory, he leaves the room.

[themostempty]

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.

[generationlost]

Dimly, Ranboo is aware of it-- sort of. They're aware of Dirk's hand, that he's doing... something, but they aren't sure exactly what, and before they can process it at all, there's water being poured into their mouth again, and they have to focus on swallowing it and not just drowning, as blissful as drowning sounds right about now. Their body rebels against the idea anyway, opening their throat, swallowing the water down obediently.

Whatever. Dirk can do what he wants. They don't care anymore. Getting their brain to process both swallowing and whatever it is that Dirk is doing takes more brainpower than what they have left in the first place, any attempt to follow both at once resulting in a wall of static that just leaves them disoriented.

[themostempty]

While Ranboo is busy with that, Dirk's free hand--notably, his left hand--is opening up their jeans to give him free access to what's inside. It's such an easy, practised exercise--he's good with his hands, and Ranboo isn't exactly making it hard, except for the weight of him against Dirk's entire body. But in a way, that helps: he has him slumped so that his lower body is spread out nicely for this.

He takes the water glass away again, letting them recover from that mouthful while sliding his warm, calloused fingers into the waist of Ranboo's underwear, where he spreads them out to feel for the taller man's 'goods.'

[generationlost]

Dirk is--

Slowly, yet suddenly, Ranboo realizes what it is that Dirk is doing. He wants to cry. His gut instinct is to cry, or to shove Dirk away, to plead with him to stop and just leave him alone. But he has no tears left, no energy left to physically fight him, and once that gut instinct passes, a numbness settles into its place-- why bother? They were just trying to abandon this body anyway. Who cares what happens to it now?

They make a sound that might have been a sob, quiet and choked, their pained breathing quickening just slightly where they lay against Dirk.

"Why...?"

[themostempty]

The sudden, dry sob of Ranboo's voice, the heaving of his chest, that catches Dirk a bit off guard--but he tightens his grip on his 'patient' with his right arm, keeping him from struggling (as if Ranboo even had that in him now.)

"Easy, man," he keeps his voice low, wrapping his fingers around Ranboo's cock. God, it feels so good to have it in his hand again. He's not remotely put off by how flaccid it is, or how emotional he is about it--Ranboo is weak and in pain and was just throwing up, not to mention dead literally minutes ago. He's going to be high strung and distraught about everything. Even if Dirk wasn't doing this entirely for his own gratification, he'd have to acknowledge that much. But personal pleasure aside, he is certain Ranboo will feel better on the other side of an orgasm.

"No need to be scared, bro. Just relax--I know how you like it. Steady and slow at the start, just like this..."

[generationlost]

Ranboo whines wordlessly, shuddering against Dirk; they wish they had the energy to fight this, to shove Dirk away or to at least hurl themselves off the bed, but Dirk has them in his grasp and they can hardly lift their arms to even try. They're too weak to fight. Dirk has them right where he wants them, their cock warming beneath his fingertips despite the hell their body has just experienced. It's slow, the sheer weight of the agony wrapped around their body dampening any attempts at pleasure Dirk tries to bring them, but their body does respond despite how little they want it to.

They turn their face against Dirk to try and hide it from him, their already labored breathing shuddering against his shoulder.

"Stop..." They say again, softly, their voice wet with tears that can't form.

[themostempty]

To Dirk, that breathing is a solid sign he's got them where he wants them. He definitely doesn't stop--he traces the head of Ranboo's barely-stiffening cock with his thumb, shifts his hand so he can rub the slit gently, coaxing pleasure from exhaustion and pain.

"Relax," he repeats, his voice low with a bit of rumble from somewhere in his chest. And then, with both the best of intentions and the worst of intentions, he adds, "That's what those pills were for, but you wasted them."

[generationlost]

That's your fault. If you'd left them in, maybe, eventually...

Ranboo's angry train of thought dissolves into warm fuzz as Dirk continues to touch him, brushes that thumb over the sensitive tip of their cock in a way that makes their heart start to thump just a bit harder against their aching ribs.

Everything about this situation is difficult. They want to fight and yell and cry, but they can't. Their body wants to lean into the touch, to arch up and welcome the physical relief, the spreading warmth and sweetness to distract from the pain and exertion of living, but they can't do that, either. But their cock, at least, can and does respond on its own, finally beginning to stiffen properly under Dirk's touch, their voice a soft, shapeless sound against Dirk's shoulder.

"Dirk..." Their voice is muffled against him, and it's impossible to tell whether it's horror, disgust, or need that warps the sound. Maybe it's a mixture of all three.

[themostempty]

This is what Dirk wanted. The feeling of a warm, stiffening cock in his hand, the weight of Ranboo leaning into him, the hazy buzz of sweet surrender in his ears. He can feel the heat pooling low in his body, the sensory map of his own hidden pleasure coming alive as Ranboo succumbs to what Dirk knew he would.

His own pulse picks up a little more--energised not just by the excitement of what's to come, but of the exact moment they're in. His brain, too--the clarity in the back of it, like he feels present again for the first time in... some time, today.

"I love when you say my name," he murmurs, encouragingly, but he keeps a steady pace, hums a low note under his breath, taking his time as he strokes Ranboo towards fullness.