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!

Comments

[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.

[generationlost]

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.

[themostempty]

The sensation sends a shiver through Dirk--a full-body pleasure that touches seemingly every nerve in his body. Ranboo will feel his muscles tense briefly, his back arch, his breath catch--he stops just short of a quietly voiced moan, suppressing it into a much more subdued grunt in the back of his throat.

He's already cum once, but his body is warming to the idea of doing it again.

He increases the pace with faster strokes--he won't keep it up forever, but he's impatient to push Ranboo's receptiveness, to hear them whimper and feel them pressing up into his hand, he wants them panting for it, he wants the pulse he feels under his fingers to race with his own.

And so as he speeds up, he also leans forward, grazing his teeth on the aching skin of Ranboo's neck teasingly.