Sometime in the afternoon, when his voice had been worn to nothing and he'd been so exhausted he could barely lift a finger, Aomine had finally passed out. He'd gotten a little bit quieter before that; whatever was in his drip had done a great deal to dull his nerves and increase the weight of the wool in his head. He'd have flashes of panic and anger and raw, helpless horror, but they were brief, just spikes of emotion that rose out of a flat, dark sea, and then they would disappear again. Sometimes he would scream; sometimes he would moan. Sometimes he would twist and growl and pant, his disbelief and his helplessness driving him until it really did feel like he was as crazy as they thought he was.
That kind of activity couldn't be sustained. He'd worn himself out eventually, not long after lunch time, and had lapsed into bone-tired unconsciousness despite all his best efforts to stay awake.
When he woke up again, he wasn't sure where he was. He was beyond groggy, his eyelids so heavy he could only open them a sliver. He couldn't move, and he couldn't remember why. His muscles were stiff and sore, like he'd been playing for hours, or like he'd gotten into a fight, and he couldn't move them. He tried, and leather would squeak softly, and the bed frame would rattle quietly. His throat was unbelievably parched, dry as a desert and cracking with each breath, and yet he was sweaty at the same time, his skin warm and clammy. His heart was thumping, quickly and quietly, and he shivered reflexively when someone touched his cheek.
He didn't know - or rather, had forgotten - about the sheet, and about how he was wearing nothing at all underneath it. Because of that, it did absolutely nothing to hide the fact that he was half-hard, that buzzing, confused heat pooling worryingly in his groin. He'd been nursing an erection off and on for the last hour of his sleep, the slow feed of drugs from his drip settling in his bloodstream at last.
Aomine's response was a difficult "Nnnn..." of sound, and some restless motion in his face and shoulders.
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Date: 2015-10-10 02:46 am (UTC)That kind of activity couldn't be sustained. He'd worn himself out eventually, not long after lunch time, and had lapsed into bone-tired unconsciousness despite all his best efforts to stay awake.
When he woke up again, he wasn't sure where he was. He was beyond groggy, his eyelids so heavy he could only open them a sliver. He couldn't move, and he couldn't remember why. His muscles were stiff and sore, like he'd been playing for hours, or like he'd gotten into a fight, and he couldn't move them. He tried, and leather would squeak softly, and the bed frame would rattle quietly. His throat was unbelievably parched, dry as a desert and cracking with each breath, and yet he was sweaty at the same time, his skin warm and clammy. His heart was thumping, quickly and quietly, and he shivered reflexively when someone touched his cheek.
He didn't know - or rather, had forgotten - about the sheet, and about how he was wearing nothing at all underneath it. Because of that, it did absolutely nothing to hide the fact that he was half-hard, that buzzing, confused heat pooling worryingly in his groin. He'd been nursing an erection off and on for the last hour of his sleep, the slow feed of drugs from his drip settling in his bloodstream at last.
Aomine's response was a difficult "Nnnn..." of sound, and some restless motion in his face and shoulders.
"Hn...what..."