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I don't know much shit about gender in any direction. Even in the club most people didn't talk about much. Being in Texas in the early nineties does that to people. Lot of the times I was fighting was right outside the club on the sidewalk. People get real bold around the time last call starts in the local bars.

[ okay, but like, that probably explains a lot about dirk in that he, a gay man, grew up in texas in the middle of the aids crisis. of course he hates being gay. ]

I don't ask many questions as a whole. It's not personal.

[History???? History???? Thinking about the passage of time? No. Connor hates that shit. Still, he's gay and he knows enough about history to know... yeah. Growing up gay just after the Reagan era? Oof.]

Yeah. I still regularly got called a fag in 2015 and we've got gay marriage.

[He starts fiddling with a stray strand of his hair. There's the kick of a drum from somewhere and Connor breathes out shakily.

he was, he was
lying in the back of my beat-up car
half groaning, half crying, but he was my star
the music played softly, with nothing to come
the remix of memories, the loop of the—

Connor didn't come out, when he was alive. Half of that was fear of his father and half of it was seeing the shit that Miguel had to deal with as an out teen and fearing that too. There were already so many problems with being Connor Murphy. He didn't want to add another one. He couldn't add another one.]

Somewhere between the second and third birthday after I died, I stopped caring what other people think. I learned how to braid my hair. I started figuring out what I like to wear. [He shrugs.] I'm not, like, saying it's easy. I'm saying it fucking sucks, actually, but I dunno. I'm happier, I guess.

Two steps forward, one step back.

[ he watches connor quietly for a moment, just taking in his features and the lay of his expression. he's made himself think about his own childhood now, from the foster fathers that called him a faggot to the jesus camp when he was thirteen that almost broke him.

he pushes that thought aside and comes back to the moment at hand with a breath that just barely shakes.

he listens when connor speaks, examining his face again in an intense way that's mitigated only a little by the glasses he's wearing. one of the points is broken off. it looks stupid.

he keeps them on.

he leans back further into the cushions then, tongue running over his teeth. ]

Once, an old lady told us when we were walking home that we were going to die of the queer disease and I laughed and told her I was going to die at thirty-five anyway. I never really... Cared what anyone else thought, it was more I fell deep into what I thought.

[ there's a pause and he considers not asking, but he ends up doing it anyway. ]

Did you ever find a purpose? A direction? After dying.

Yeah, I killed myself so... I'm still here? No, I guess that's not really...

[He's still playing with his hair absently, a nervous habit he picked up after spending too much time with Lup. His nails are standard pale pink with white tips here, not in the space of the dream.]

I had a farm. I made a lot of baskets. I raised a dragon. It's like... I thought my whole purpose in life was to die, that the world would be better off without me in it. Then I did it a couple more times, because I thought it would finally stick, but eventually, I realized I could do whatever I wanted. So I started doing all the shit I thought wasn't worth it when I wasn't going to make it to 19.

[ he nods anyway though, to that. it's all he's doing right now, after all. the basic 'here i am, alive.' he's also having kind of an existential crisis about it. it's hard dying and coming back.

he still has no idea how many dead daves are lost to the universe.

but what connor says makes sense even if dirk is having trouble really grasping it as anything past a hypothetical. he doesn't blanch at the comment about the dragon anymore, having got over it since last time.

he rubs his thumb over the back of his glove a moment, trying to figure out how to answer. ]

Most things felt like they weren't worth it, before. Nothing seemed important except what I had to do to keep going. Not having something to grasp onto is... [ scary, he doesn't say. he just shakes his head. ]

It's not good.

Yeah. I would say some stupid shit like "it'll get better" or whatever, but I'm not like that and it doesn't. It just gets... less. I don't not want to die, I just... don't actively want to die?

[Connor's hand drops back down to his lap and he looks down, voice quiet.]

And I know that sounds like it's not worth it. Like, what's the point if life always fucking sucks? But there's good shit too and the hardest thing to learn was that sometimes... sometimes that's enough.

I don't believe platitudes like that anyway.

[ he watches him, quiet, and finally takes off the stupid, broken glasses to set them on the coffee table. not being able to see properly through the cracks was starting to get to him: it reminded him of the shattered mirror from his nightmares.

the nightmare dave saw.

he hums thoughtfully and then shrugs, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and hands clasped. ]

I get to see Dave again. That's not a little thing. I was resigned to never seeing him again, but now...

[ he shakes his head. he's not going to expound on their home life even in a heart to heart like this even though it hit him like a sack of bricks when he was in talking to dave. ]

Having him around makes it both easier and harder all at once.

Yeah. Sometimes people don't forgive you or they forgive you and it's still awkward or they stole your life and you hate them because they probably had a better time living it than you did but it's also kind of your fault for doing some other thing and in the end you still make sure they're alive or whatever because shit's complicated and you have some weird guilt about it.

[That last one is, uh, very specific? He's maybe still working through his feelings about Evan Hansen. Connor shrugs, and tries not to think about how there's probably something he should be reading into the fact that both Dirk and Dave keep taking their sunglasses off around him. That sounds like examining himself, though, and Connor has never in his life been up for that.]

Shit happens. If my sister showed up here I'd probably expire on the spot.

[ uhhhh that last one stills him, and he hazards a glance over at him. he doesn't comment on it though, because it feels personal and even though connor is prying at him, he doesn't want to assume or pick at old wounds.

maybe he should be meaner, but he's tired.

there is definitely something about the striders taking off their glasses around him, even if connor refuses to examine it.

anyway dirk sits back again before looking at him more and finally shrugging. ]

I just never saw myself as someone needing to have heart-to-heart conversations about anything. Things are what they are, and if you can't change them you can't change them.

You're missing the point.

[Connor dramatically flops backward over the arm of the coach. He doesn't let himself be dramatic very often, but he's already dressed dramatically and he might as well act the part.]

It's not about, like, changing the past? We're having this awful conversation so you know you're not alone and shit and because you can't, like, get better without acknowledging that you have to bury the skeletons in the closet. I should have gotten high before I showed up here. I'm too sober for this conversation and it makes me want to die metaphorically and not literally.

[ connor doesn't know how bad those skeletons are, and he's not going to divulge that part of his relationship with dave to anyone. ever.

he snorts at the drama, looking down at the floor and flexing his fingers, the creak of leather grounding.

when he speaks it's even but low. ]

I think one of my problems is I don't know what to do with myself here. I've been celibate of my own choice for over a decade for so many reasons and I don't know if I want to change that or not. That's the most present problem I have.

[ he sighs, gripping his knee briefly. ]

It is good to know I'm not alone in the overall sweep of it, though. I don't... want to die again, not really, I know Dave doesn't want me to, but I'm tired.

I volunteer as tribute. [He raises his hand, but doesn't get up from where he's flopped down.] Please fuck me. I deserve it.

[Connor lets his hand drop and goes back to being exhaustingly serious. He owes Tim something nice whenever he gets back. Tim put up with so much shit from him.]

For real though, living is exhausting. Dave's always making fun of how much I work, but it's so I don't have free time to think about how much I don't want to live. Which is different than wanting to die, you know? I don't want oblivion I just want it to... stop.

Careful what you say, I might say yes. Not like you don't know my horrible secret already.

[ wry. there's no fire behind the "horrible" for once, though, like he's slowly come to terms with connor knowing he's gay.

in any case, he hums noncommittally at first, then runs his tongue over his teeth. ]

If I'm intending to do it for a while, I may as well figure out what the fuck to do to keep me busy. I don't actually want to build a smuppet empire, though the sewing keeps me busy well enough. There's just not enough of a niche market for them in a place so openly sexual.

[Connor lets Dirk talk, like maybe they're having a normal conversation and he's listening instead of having a bunch of really horny thoughts about I might say yes. While Dirk's talking Connor rummages around in his bag before finding the tinted lip balm he keeps in there and putting it on. All it does is give him the look of someone who's been well-kissed, really. Then he slides off the couch and sinks to his knees and looks up at Dirk.]

I can think of a few things to keep you busy. [It's absolutely artless and vulnerable.] I really wasn't kidding about volunteering.

[ well. as soon as the lip gloss comes out he just knows he's in trouble because ginger would do the same fucking thing, fix up her lipstick before whispering in his ear to get him to go back home with her.

it worked every time.

he looks down at connor in front of him and he'd be lying if he said he didn't look good like that. he swallows once before reaching out like he's going to brush a hand over his hair, then pauses, hand hovering over him. he's remembered something, suddenly, and he has the presence of mind to ask: ]

Can I touch you?

[ that's a step toward becoming a normal person, at least. asking before doing. he always listened to a no, but he'd initiate things without asking and take the punishment later if he misstepped. ]

Don't grab my arms below the elbow, anything else is fair game.

[As he says it, he marks the area he's talking about on his left arm. Elbow to wrist, or the exact area that's littered with faint scars on both his arms. There's something slightly practiced about the way he says it, the choreographed nature of the way he maps out the area. Like he's said it before, lots of times.]

And you? Can I touch you?

[It doesn't really matter to Connor if Dirk says yes or no. He's not... touchy-feely about sex. He can keep his hands to himself, if that's what Dirk wants.]

Noted.

[ he lets his hand brush over his hair then, nails briefly tipping down into his scalp before they relent again. he drops it back to his side, for now. ]

That's fine. Not bothered by it.

[ it's not a dig or anything, that's just the way he talks. ]

[Connor swallows down the noise he wants to make when Dirk touches him. He likes being touched, when it's expected. When he knows it's going to happen. It's one of the reasons why he likes sex with people who don't care a lot about him: they won't try to touch him, when it's over.

Slowly and deliberately enough for Dirk to stop him if he wants, Connor reaches for the waistband of Dirk's pants.]

For the record, I rescind my previous statement. I'm willing, as long as you are. You don't even need to buy me dinner afterward, I'll blow you for free.

Edited 2021-06-06 03:44 (UTC)

[ dirk is a quiet fuck, overall: he likes his partners to be loud as hell, but he's not loud himself. not making noises comes easily to him, though. he almost never talked at all while dave was growing up--at least while cal had hold of him.

but that was then and this is now. he's said more in a month than he'd said in years before that. it means something, probably.

but being quiet during this kind of thing is just him, nothing put upon him.

back to the moment at hand. ]

Fortunately, I'm not a buying dinner afterward kind of guy. This can be what it is. I'm not going to get weird about it if you don't.

[ he's not stopping connor's hands as he speaks. ]

I can do that.

[Connor undoes Dirk's pants, fingers immediately slipping under the waistband of his boxer briefs and seeking out the shape of Dirk with featherlight touches. It's been... a while? It's been a while, because he's spent a lot of the past three years just trying to survive, so he takes a moment to center himself before pulling the waistband down to free Dirk's cock. Connor leans forward, intending to make good on the promise of a blowjob before pausing and looking up at Dirk through his lashes.]

You can pull my hair as long as you don't pull it out.

[Then he dips his head down to take the head of Dirk's cock into his mouth.]

Glad we're in agreement.

[ he slouches a little as connor works at his pants, watching him through lidded eyes. it's a good sight, really; he has an appreciation for aesthetics (obviously), and this is already a good time.

he exhales a little louder at the first contact, slow. it's been a much longer time for him, though for different reasons. so he's attentive if nothing else; he nods in understanding at the ground rules.

he can follow rules. ]

Take it out of the braid, then.

[ his cock had already been stirring after connor had dropped down so smoothly in front of him, but with the attention it starts coming to attention a little faster: it hasn't been in a mouth in over a decade so perhaps it's a little overeager.

he's a big guy overall and his cock is proportionate, but he's a grower and not a shower, so welcome to that revelation as the moment continues. ]

[It takes Connor a moment to comply, because he's preoccupied with the overwhelming thought that he wants Dirk to fuck him. Not right now, because he's not stupid and he's aware that neither one of them has any of the necessary shit to make that a reality, but it's happening. His fingertips ghost over the piercings and it's not the first time he's seen something like them, but he's never seen this many at once. Connor's tongue briefly follows the path of his fingers along the underside of Dirk's cock, desperate for the idea of him. He'll buy actual lipstick if it gets him what he wants, even if he's not super fond of wearing it. He likes the way it looks, sometimes, but not the way it seems to get everywhere.

One of Connor's hands is busy on Dirk's cock, gently stroking, and he can't undo the knot in the leather cord he uses to tie his hair back with one hand. That was, maybe, an oversight on his part. Something to take note of for the future, because this is happening again in the future even if he has to manipulate his way into it. What he can do, though, is tug on the whole thing until it comes loose and then haphazardly unbraid it.

The rhythm of his hand on Dirk's cock barely falters while he does this, even if his mouth doesn't move. It's mostly because while he's coordinated to do the sex equivalent of patting his head and rubbing his stomach, he's not coordinated enough to do that while on a unicycle, so to speak. Once his hair is loose, Connor pulls off for just long enough to say:]

Use me.

[That said, Connor takes Dirk back into his mouth and sinks forward enough for his lips to meet the circle of his fingers.]

Edited (trent forgot important information about dirk's dick) 2021-06-07 00:26 (UTC)

[ it's funny how a guy can go from staunchly refusing to even engage with flirting to sitting on his couch getting his dick sucked by a younger man. he thinks about that, briefly, but he's too busy thinking about connor's mouth on his cock to actually pay attention to that fact for very long.

once connor's hair is undone dirk's fingers curl in it, threading through the strands and gripping it. there's no soft moment from him, a careful acceleration: he holds tight from the get-go, nails briefly scratching over his scalp as he gets settled in.

by the time his cock is fully hard it's certainly of good size. a good size to fuck with. too bad it's not happening tonight. this will have to be enough for now. but if he's amenable to this, maybe he'll be amenable to a proper fuck later.

(he tells himself he won't, but he knows himself better.)

even though connor's mouth meets his fingers dirk takes the instruction to heart and uses his grip on his hair to push him a little further down, then urge him back again. if connor wants to be used, dirk can give him that. ]

Keep moving.

[He's expecting it, but being pushed down further still makes him gag around Dirk's cock. There's tears welling up in Connor's eyes, but he lets Dirk move him by his hair. When he was first growing it out in an act of teenage rebellion, girls told him it was getting shaggy, unkempt. It wasn't until he was on his knees in the concrete bathroom of a park, gagging on the cock of some other guy on the same wilderness retreat, he realized why he liked his hair longer.

You're such a pretty slut, the guy had said, taking my cock like you were made for it.

Like that, with someone's hand in his hair to keep him where they wanted, Connor had come, untouched, in his jeans. This is much the same. He does as Dirk asks, moving both his hand and mouth in time with Dirk's urging, and desperately wishes he was presumptuous enough to carry lube around all the time. Maybe he should start. Actually, he's going to start if Dirk lets him keep doing this. Like this, literally gagging for it, it's easy to think of the future. Of what he wants. Of next, next, next.

If he were any good at self-reflection, he might think about what that means. He's not, and he doesn't.]

[ dirk isn't good at soft encounters. he used to try, a little, with his boyfriend, but he'd always slipped back into control. which is fine, because they both loved it, but it's a bit of a blind spot for him.

so this suits him, really; his hand in connor's hair, connor gagging on his cock as he moves him. he doesn't reconsider or relent: this is now, and he'll feel weird about fucking around with dave's friend later.

for now, his focus is on connor.

he continues to guide him with his hand, and after a moment he shifts his hips and draws connor down further on his cock and holds him there with a tight grip on his hair, counting in his head several seconds before letting him pull back.

when he speaks again it's rough, a little lower, and there's the slightest hint of his accent slipping in. ]

You look good gagging on it.

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cw: homophobia and homophobic slurs

cw more homophobia and slurs

cw: suicide talk

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cw: actually assume every tag from here forward is about suicide somehow

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it's getting hot in here so slap a nsfw warning on it

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this didnt post the first time rude

dw please!! i'm trying to wreck a twink here

its a cruel mistress

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