049×035 oneshots

All Choked Up

In which an attempt at something new triggers a few bad memories too many. A technical prequel to "As you wish~" and "It's Only Fitting..." taking place not long after the initial breach.

Warnings: Angst, mild sensory deprivation, severe phonophobia, flashbacks, past trauma, PTSD, pining, unhealthy relationship, mentioned sadomasochism, suggested past abuse, abandonment issues, severe self-worth issues, multiple undiagnosed mental health concerns, safeword use, panic attack, hurt/comfort, height difference, food network

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The Doctor waited with bated breath. A folded cloth tied about his head prevented his viewing of whatever Dýo happened to be up to. A new host. A new set preferences when it came to bedroom activities. Frankly, he'd been practically itching for it. The last few the Mask had selected hadn't been interested in any sort of copulation whatsoever. It really was unfortunate on his part, but he admired them greatly for being capable of simply not harboring an addiction that he'd been fostering on and off for centuries.

He shifted in place a bit, listening about as well as he could with the blindfold bringing his hide hood flush with his auricle. Part of him wistfully longed for something a bit more on the extreme side, though that was highly unlikely, as the Possessive Mask seemed oddly hesitant to introduce anything potentially damaging in spite of his constant reassurances that he rather enjoyed having his sex with a side of pain. The haze that came with it, like the softened perception of a lavender-high was alluring to say the least. Not to mention, Dýo would always treat him so sweetly afterward. Basking him in concern and affections and gifts. The Mask didn't need to, really, and the Doctor found it rather strange that his friend seemed so apprehensive about making him hurt when torturing strangers was so revered hobby-wise.

He heard the Thespian's bedside table close. He never looked in there. Frankly, he didn't want to know what the Mask put in that poor, unsuspecting drawer in all of the spare time that came with not needing sleep (something he found himself growing awfully jealous of, at times). Especially if it had anything to do with how in the inconceivably unlikely hell his housemate managed to drain a someone's credit card funds so quickly. Not that he was complaining, exactly. It was genuinely clever, after all. stealing away all of a host's net worth since whatever stranger was utilized wouldn't be in tact long enough to experience the consequences. The Possessive Mask was better with money anyhow - when it came to making it, that was. At least, it seemed like it since every time he was about ready to stack another job atop his ceaseless conquest to Cure, Dýo seemingly pulled it out of thin air.

A hand on his thigh and the Doctor jolted much to the unseen Mask's audible bemusement. The thespian kept it their for a while, thumb idly running along his sensitive underskin before brushing up to his hip to grope at his erection. Not lifting, he realized, never taking away that sole point of contact that let him know exactly where Dýo was. Inwardly, he appreciated it. The loss of sight always did make him nervous, even when he knew the one that shrouded his vision.

"Excited much?" the Thespian jested, and the Doctor huffed his own show of amusement in kind. What a performer at heart, his darling was. He couldn't believe his luck. The hand started moving up again, fingers brushing past his waistline, then slipping into the fold of his upper robe to trace his pectorals before coming back out again and finally gripping his beak, allowing the Mask to pull him into whispering distance. "You want it?~" his housemate purred, corrosive breath cooling the side of his exoskeleton. 

Yes. Absolutely yes. More than anything. He knew that Dýo was fishing for some sweet, pliant begging, though, so he held back, a while before simply responding, "You're not even going to try and sell it? How shameful. What sort of persuasive orator are you?"