2spooky: The All-Saints Pyschiatric Hospital

[bluezone]

Four cases of beer, a bet, and a dare. That was how it all started.

The beer had been Tecate and it'd been bought by someone's older brother, since not a one of them was older than seventeen. The bet had been that the Heat wouldn't win against OKC, and in fact would lose by at least fifteen points. The dare had been at the discretion of the winner. Aomine had had way too many of the beers, had claimed that Miami would win, and had scoffed at the idea that any dare would be too tough for him to see through.

A day later, while still nursing the worst kind of hangover, he was cursing himself, his asshole friends, and the fucking failure of the Heat defense for his current situation.

All-Saints Psychiatric Hospital hadn't been a hospital since the 50s; supposedly it'd just been records storage before finally being shuttered for good sometime in the 1980s. Now, it was a derelict ghost sitting on the edge of new suburban sprawl, it's crumbling facade obscured by trees, an overpass, a hill, and distance. Once you got past the high fence and heavy, bolted gate, you might as well have been in another world, one overrun with grass, weeds, twisted shrubs, and patchy trees. There'd been a cobblestone drive, once, now a river of potholes and ugly, standing water, and there'd been a grand entryway with stone steps and metal handrails, all of it twisted and crumbling now, reduced to crumbling concrete and rebar.

Inside, it's a fucking tomb. It's cracked tile and peeling wallpaper with long streaks of black mold; it's graffiti and broken glass, and rotted doors hanging off rusted hinges; it's a single, abandoned hospital bed, it's padding slashed open, laying on its side near a set of doors that says OFFICES. It's utter silence, except for a faraway dripping and Aomine's own pounding heart.

He just has to go to the second landing. The stairs off the main atrium were secure and sound, he'd been told, and there was an observation deck up top that looked down on the dusty, cracked reception desks. All he had to do was walk up, take a few selfies, make a video shot down the long, dark hallway toward the first ward, and then get the fuck out.

His hand tight around the smartphone in his pocket, Aomine hustled toward the grand, wide stairs littered with leaves and garbage, and pretended that he wasn't fucking terrified.

At the very least, it was still daylight outside; it was 10 AM on a balmy Saturday in Spring.

Comments

[bluezone]

"N...o. Noooo no no no."

He wished he had it in him to kick her. He wished that he did. He even tensed to try, then lost his nerve, and tried to lock up instead. As soon as she let him go, he pulled his legs back down and crossed them tightly, Indian-style, his eyes riveted on that syringe. It was even a little horrifying how good she seemed to be with it, because it meant that this happened all the time, and so he had to ask: what kind of fucking hospital was this.

With his arms still strapped, he couldn't pull himself up much further on the bed, but fuck did he try.

"I'm okay without it." He repeated, sounding twice as frazzled. "Maybe if I die I can go home."

Which...no, that wasn't how it worked, but the panic and the embarrassment were making it hard to think. That, and the heat in his head, but that was just fever, right?

"You can put that away. It's fine. I'm fine."

It was like trying to tell someone to put a gun down.

[psalmed]

"Daiki." She was careful using his name. But she felt this was needed when he crawled nearly halfway across the bed from her. Of course there was shame attached but most of the men...well they had long since accepted they would need to do certain things to get better.

"Do not say you want to die," She added, pulling his legs back down more firmly. He wasn't easy to move, most definitely. But fortunately she had the leverage. "Do you want them to cut a hole in your head? Open up your skull? The infection you could get..."

It obviously troubled her. She sighed again, rubbing his trembling thigh as though that would actually help. "Only you and I here. What can I do to make you behave? I am afraid I have given you all the candy I had in my pockets."

She was trying to make a joke out of it, but it was clear she was a bit exhausted from more than just her struggle with him. There were bruises on her neck when her braid shifted to reveal them. "You are always so good for me. Can you be good for this?"

[bluezone]

No. No he didn't want that. He absolutely, definitely didn't want that. And as much as he'd struggle, he had serious fucking doubts about his ability to get away or to stop them if he tried. But still -

He might've denied her again if he hadn't spotted the dark spots on her neck. He wasn't even really sure why he looked or how it was that he had the attention to realize that they were there. He was still wrapped up in panicking, still busy wringing his hands and thinking about how much he didn't want to do this, and yet once he saw them, he stopped and swallowed hard.

He thought of the orderly. He didn't ask, but he thought of him.

There was a long, tense silence. Aomine realized he was shaking. He hated that.

"...it's only once, right?"

[psalmed]

"Oh darling." Aomine simply looked so frightened. Something beneath the embarrassment. Of course he was scared. Sick and alone, tied down in a place like this.

She stroked his thigh again. The room was quiet except for the noise filtering in from the hall. She leaned up and held his hand, kissed him again. "I will not let anything happen to you. I will not hurt you."

Except for his own good. She shouldn't make such promises. "Just this once. Just what is in the basin. Just us." He had stopped struggling so completely that she was alarmed.

Back to work. She guided the syringe up, smearing the lubricant on the tip, letting him feel it against him as she pressed it in. "Pant like a puppy. Think of something else. What do you study in school?"

[bluezone]

He felt guilty, hearing her talk like that, which was ludicrous, honestly. She was the only one that was guilty here--well, her, and the strange universe she kept leading him to. And yet she was so gentle, and seemed so remorseful, that the secret soft parts of Aomine's heart couldn't help but reluctantly respond.

...of course, reality ensued a moment later, and he hissed, then squirmed, and felt his whole face light up.

That was...yes. That was his asshole. His goddamn asshole.

"Ff...fuck, that's cold - "

That was definitely a thing in his ass. He squirmed again and pulled at his arms, helplessly restless. God, he wanted to buck and yank himself away, wanted to turn the whole fucking table over. He wanted to scream and he kind of wanted to laugh. He definitely wanted to die.

What Aomine did instead was bark out the first thing that came to mind: "Basketball. We did basketball."

[psalmed]

"For your fever," Lia reminded him as though he could have forgotten that and she was just handing him a cool drink. She was careful with him, holding his hips as best as she could.

She let him squirm, let him process the sensation a little bit. "Basketball." It was surprised, in a way. That he would focus on a sport. But as she depressed the plunger, let the water flow into him, she tried to keep him on that topic. "You enjoy basketball? Do you play well?"

That would explain some of his physique wouldn't it? An athlete? "I will take you to the court...we have one outside for the nurses. Would you like that?"

The first syringe was replaced by a second. Maybe they had prescribed too much water but as long as he didn't fight she was going to go ahead.

[bluezone]

"Ah...ah...ah, fuck - "

There was no way he wouldn't flinch back and recoil away from that a little. It was...like...fuck, he didn't know. He'd never felt anything like that before. The cold him in first, shocking and personal, and then just the sense of pressure, of just stuff, and he twisted and dropped his head back, his face red and his whole body shivering. The inevitably bathroom analog occurred immediately and his muscles seized up as a result, cinching tight and just holding it in, even after she pulled the syringe loose.

God, it was awful. It was the worst fucking thing. And now he was trembling from the chill and panting from the humiliation, his fists tight and turning in their restraints.

Really, basketball was probably the only thing in the world that would keep him talking and at least marginally distracted. "You...shit, you woul--ah, god, it's cold-!"

And, he was noticing, not just cold, but a lot.

"Would they even...let you...?"

[psalmed]

"Mouth," She reminded him, patient. "Do you need another lesson?" Obviously he did. She saw people floating by the room, trying to see how the little demon would handle any of this. Not well, Lia can say, but at least not horribly.

She refilled the syringe. The water was at least warming to room temperature and that as well was inserted, Lia leaning forward to bite at Aomine's bent knee for a distraction as she pushed it in. Smoothly, slickly, keeping it there inside him for Aomine to get used to.

"They would let me if you stopped running like a maniac. But you could teach me to play, right?" The water went in more slowly and Lia could feel the shiver run through him.

"Breathe with me. You will be alright." Of course she would say that, fingers rubbing up and down his inner thighs. "Mostly done."

[bluezone]

"Hey, let's see you try and--nnngh."

The temperature was evening out, it was true, but the pressure was only getting worse. The blanket hid most of his shame from view, but he could feel it anyway: the sensation of being too full, the push up, and out. In his imagination he could see his stomach puffing slightly, down there near the bottom, and it made him feel hot and too-tight, sort of like -

Oh, fuck.

Aomine clammed up suddenly. He sealed his lips and didn't say another word, forcing himself to be utterly still and squeezing his eyelids shut. The best response she got to her question was a quick, stiff nod, and then nothing else beyond that. He tried not to think about how her fingers felt on his skin at the same time, or how his knee was prickling in the still air from where she'd bitten him.

Mostly done, she'd said; the sooner this was over with, the better.

[psalmed]

"What makes you think I haven't?" Lia countered with a wicked look. Something not so sweet or docile or humble. Some hint of a personality when she wasn't a nurse. "The head nurse is a stickler for illness. Any sign of it and we could expect to receive this treatment and worse."

Aomine stopped speaking suddenly and that was even worse, even more concerning. "Are you hurt? I know it is uncomfortable but you should not hurt..." Her hand ran up, over the blanket and over his groin, peeling back the fabric to lightly prod at his stomach. Perhaps he'd pulled a muscle?

"Only a minute. Then I'll walk you and leave you to it. I do not suggest trying to squeeze out of the washroom windows. You would never fit." All the while she rubbed slow circles on his skin, resting her cheek against the inside of his leg and trying to be comforting.

"Do you like history? Arithmetic?"

[bluezone]

Oh, no. It was worse, hearing her admit that. It was worse when she kept touching him like that. It was worse that her face was so incredibly close. He had to wonder if it was on purpose, all of it, if it was the same as back in the room when he hadn't been able to help himself. Was she doing this just to drive him crazy? So she could cure him for real?

He didn't know, he didn't know, and he was starting to panic again, his heart fluttering in his chest and his eyes squeezing together all the more tightly as, little by little, blood rushed to his cock. And how sick was that? He was full of...he was full, and it was awful, and he could feel a little dampness running down between his cheeks, just a little, as he trembled and tried to hold it all in. He didn't even think it was really helping his fever at all, considering he felt a warmth under his skin and trickling down his nerves, just to match the sweat on his brow.

With all that going on, Aomine knew better than to answer verbally.

He just shook his head, and kept his lips sealed shut. If he could just last until she let him go to the bathroom...

[psalmed]

He looked like he was suffering. Lia instantly wanted to make the suffering better. "Roll onto your side. Carefully..." She helped, letting the restraints have enough slack that he could turn over. That would be beneficial, she thought.

His skin was flushed. His eyes were shut so tightly she smoothed fingers over his brow to try to relax the muscles in his face. "Daiki," She murmured, a sing song, sweet and gentle and the same sound that had lured him here in the first place."What is wrong? You have to tell me."

Fingers stroked down. Over his stomach where there was a noticeable little swell, pulling the blanket up to settle it more comfortably. He was sweet to watch. Perhaps he was simply so pent up it made him crazy.

Lia laid beside him, taking his hand and pressing it over her heart. A bit fast, but certainly not pounding like his was. She put her knee between his thighs, careful instead he decided he wanted to kick her. "We do not have to talk about school."

[bluezone]

There was no way, honestly. There was no way he would be able to suppress it, though fuck, he wanted to. This was even worse than last time, when it was just his self-control that was dragged through the mud. Now it was his dignity, left behind somewhere as he squirmed and felt a muscle spasm in the very bottom of his belly.

Aomine rolled because he didn't have the willpower to resist. He endured because he had the misguided idea that maybe, if he did, she would stop, and he could...something. He didn't have a plan. And he trembled because he couldn't help it, because she was so kind and so beautiful and even like this, or maybe because he was like this, all those things about her and everything about what was happening just took the choice away from him.

"St...stop. Stop touching me like...ah, god."

He turned his head the other way again and, after a brief, pained look, made his eyes close again.

"I'll get...hard. I'll get hard. You're making me - "

Made him, past tense. He had a nice semi under that blanket, warm and plump, in clear defiance of his ongoing embarrassment and discomfort.

[psalmed]

Lia jumped a bit as he started protesting. Ready to run. Ready to call for help. But then he explained and she suddenly understood.

Of course, her gaze shifted downward immediately. She couldn't really help it even if it was not the model of decorum or the mark of a lady to immediately gawk at someone's erection.

"It is alright...it happens. It is fine." The same words as before were bubbling to her lips. She touched the side of his face, feeling how hot his skin was and frowning. "You are a relatively healthy young man, yes? It is what happens to you."

She let him think that over for a moment. "Do you...wish me to help?" Because the thought of it also made Lia feel a bit warm, and a bit guilty. But mostly, she was curious.

[bluezone]

Does it really?

He almost asked her that. Did it happen here? Often? How many people had she done this to, and had they all ended up like him? Is that why she was haunting this place? Because she'd done this shit to patients, and couldn't let it go? He almost asked, but didn't, in the end, because he lost the thought on a wave of shame and, fuck it all, arousal.

"Whatever...you say." It came out on a groan, almost bitter, and he didn't have it in himself to look at her.

He was quiet, though, after the offer. Quiet and tense, save for all the trembling. He swallowed hard, somehow terribly aware of her eyes on him, and clenched his teeth.

He wanted it. He knew that he wanted it. She'd barely touched him, last time, and in his mind, that had been less than an hour ago. His body was still buzzing with the memory.

"...what'll you do?"

[psalmed]

"I have a little brother about your age and the last years of my life have been taking care of able bodied soldiers who need to heal otherwise. I have seen erections under much stranger circumstances," Lia noted dryly. He seemed to doubt her or maybe he simply didn't want to be comforted.

The trembling was probably making the cramping worse and she rubbed his stomach, rubbed over his hip like that could comfort him. Did he need more water to bring the fever down? No blanket?

It could be a dangerous place, living here. Aomine was strong and wild but that would only make him a target. Lia at least had tried to insist she was patient enough, that God told her to take care of him.

"What would you like me to do?" She countered gently. "I could...put you in my hand. Take you in my mouth. I do not think we should do more than that right now. You do not need to exert yourself."

He was sweet. She couldn't stop her fingers from touching the side of his face, trying to soothe him, to get the trembling to stop.

[bluezone]

"My hand."

Aomine's groin throbbed.

"My mouth."

His heart leapt up into his throat. He was hot, and some of it was likely fever after all, but a familiar cloying warmth was slowing his thoughts and softening the edges of his embarrassment and fear. He could imagine the fingers on his face and on his stomach settling elsewhere, and it was too much, it had been too much from the very beginning, and he swallowed, loudly, his head laying back a moment as he closed his eyes.

It was terrible. It was painful. He was humiliated by his position and humiliated by his need.

But he swallowed and said, his voice thick as he fought against his tangled, difficult emotions: "I do. I want...I want your...hands, your m...mouth." Fucker. Fucker. He hated how he stuttered, hated that it was so hard to just say. He clenched his jaw and his fists, his anger bubbling hotly, and felt a spasm in the bottom of his belly, his thighs trembling from the sudden reminder that aside from his erection, he was still bearing a considerable burden. He let his held breath out in a rush, his shoulders shivering anew.

"But the...stuff, the water, I'm still - "

[psalmed]

She shouldn't offer such. She doesn't, not normally. She wonders if he's cast a spell on her or if she is just so lonely that is is a good outlet. She thinks he reminds her of home and of things she's lost and of things she might never have again.

There isn't much time to be philosophical. Not with patients lined up to be treated and the blood and pain and grief. He's a reprieve from that because Lia believes, truly believes, that he will recover and he only needs a gentle hand and time.

"It is only water," She answers to his concern. There's a flutter of something in answer to his stutter. In answer to the way she sees his cock twitch and watches him squirm. It's something warm and creeping and sinful in her belly. Something that makes her uniform feel suddenly too tight in the chest and too short. And she's answering the concern of what it is, and what the result will be. He hasn't been fed in nearly a week, after all.

His hands are bound, still in their restraints, and that makes this feel all the more wrong. She leans so she's over him. Not between his legs but to the side, rolling him so his lower half is tipped away from the door and she kneels on his beside. "You want," She says softly. "I want..."

But there's a distraction. In the form of his erection, hard and leaking a bit from the tip and however much she had reassured him that it's normal it's still quite something to see. Her fingers graze across the hot, tight flesh lightly. Like a ghost. She circles the tip of him. Of course he must ache. Deep in his gut, between his legs, in his shoulders. She can do a little to ease it, can't she?

And it's a moment before she moves toward him, taking him into her mouth, letting him rest between her lips and on her tongue before taking more of his cock, slow and easy.

[bluezone]

"But I'll--"

He had a reason why he kept trying to make himself heard. He mainly understood her about the water, but his quivering pride clung to the awareness that he was only just barely holding it in right now. If they did this, while they did this, he would...what if he...he knew already he wouldn't be able to keep his concentration or keep the muscles between his thighs clenched, and if so...

"--haa, ah, a-ah."

But then it was gone, it was leaving him, she chased the thought out of him with her whisper, which to him is lewd and comforting in the same breath, and with the too-light dance of fingers across his skin. He's only ever felt his own hand; plenty of times, sure, but before, in the room, that was the closest he'd ever come to feeling someone else. That had been with a sheet; this was skin to skin. His taut thighs jumped the moment he felt her, hot sparks racing across his nerves, and he gasps openly, staring in shock, first at the ceiling, and then down at her, his eyes and his lips wet.

She was beautiful. It always came back to that. Her lips seemed so red, her cheeks dusted with pink, her hair curling gold at her temples. When she opened her mouth, he groaned, the sound of it pitched and pained. When he felt her the first time, warm damp soft, he made a whimpered sound he'd never heard out of his mouth mouth.

"G...god, oh god - "

He felt interior muscles quiver. Panic leaped up, clutched tight around his heart, but her lips were going down, down and down, and all he can bring himself to do is arch and squirm, pulling at his wrists, panting wetly as he watches her.

Still beautiful. Still impossibly beautiful, and now so erotic that watching hit him as hard as all the rest, the touch and heat and the weight in his belly and, now, terribly, his own helplessness.

[psalmed]

Lia can hope he will settle after his. And she can say a thousand hail Marys and convince herself this was right for both of them. At the very least that he is blameless. Young enough to not know better and here she is dragging someone else down this path.

At least he seems to enjoy it. Of course he would. She looks up at his face and rests a hand on the outside of his thigh, stroking and comforting. The other slips between his legs. She strokes what parts of him she can't get into her mouth. Jerks his cock off with a gentle sort of care as she takes more and more into her mouth, not wanting to go too quickly and gag.

Of course he'll feel out of control. It's how he's going to find his way back to sanity. You can't keep clinging to a ledge; you have to jump off. Though she knows this treatment isn't the most orthodox way of proving that.

It's easy to do. Let him sink more and more into her mouth until her lips are nearly at the base of him. Swallow around him. Palm his balls and squeeze lightly, coaxing. Listen to the shift of blankets and restraints and the water. All for his betterment, all to give him pleasure.

But Lia would be a liar to say she wasn't enjoying herself as well. The sweet little noises he makes and how inexperienced he is. How he she will be in his memory. So she hums around him, guiding him, showing him how to move to get more or less stimulation.

[bluezone]

"Mm...mmm! Mm, pha...sh...it--"

He can't keep himself quiet. He couldn't keep himself quiet the first time, either, but that had been in the dead and not, and not during the busier workday. He knew they could be discovered; he knew she was in a bad situation somehow, from the bruises on her neck and the look in her eyes.

But he couldn't help himself. He tried, fuck did he try, but the groans and the gasps spilled out past his lips anyway, especially when she added her hands and got so close. She takes in so much of him that it's shocking, because he knows he's not a small dude, he's been in enough locker rooms to tell that much, and yet she manages anyway, and her palms are so warm around his sack that he hisses from the pleasure. He's sweating, dampness catching under his knees and on his palms, but he's loose, too, relaxing, tension sliding out as she plays him like an instrument.

It means, as well, that after a few moments there's a faint dripping, a pat pat pat of droplets on fabric, before he remembers, before the reminder sets his muscles to seizing back up again, desperate and embarrassed.

"Fh...fuck, sorry, I - "

He shakes his head, crimson, his eyes squeezed momentarily shut even though he wants so badly to keep watching her.

[psalmed]

She does pull off him when he panics. When his body goes taut and she looks up at him. Her lips are a little swollen, her fingers are still against his balls. Of course he would be embarrassed. Of course he has his pride and that alone convinces her that he's sane. That he can get out of this place with the right care.

"Let me take care of you, Daiki," She murmurs gently to him. As tenderly as if she were changing his bandages or helping him stand. She goes back to what she was doing, to fitting him into her mouth. Letting the head of his cock brush against the inside of her cheek before she guides him down again.

And she can help him out, at least a little. She presses a finger against that ring of muscle. So tense and tight with his effort to hold water inside him. Her head bobs up and down and that, too, makes noises. Wet slides and slurps, changing based on his reaction. Tongue prodding at his slit or dragging along the underside of his dick.

And if he loosens, if his muscles relax, she pushes a finger inside him. She's certainly done enough of those exams and maybe it will ease his tension.

[bluezone]

He shouldn't let her, he knew. Just giving in meant accepting her, which meant accepting that she was who she said she was and that this place was what she said it was. It meant acknowledging that he really did need her help, that he was sick after all, and that his house and his family and his life weren't real, after all. He'd be a patient. Her patient. He would stay here until he was better.

Aomine couldn't let that happen. He knew that. He knew.

But weakness crept up on him, pulling at his limbs and catching in his throat, and he gasped, and he whimpered, and he felt her finger rest on him at the same time that her lips slid over his cock. It felt in that moment like he couldn't do anything but rely on her; he couldn't move, could barely hold on, so what else was there? Who else was there?

"Fuuuck, fuck... Lia - "

It was the first time he'd said her name. The first time that she was a person, and not a ghost. He bit his lip and shuddered, shaken in some bitter, fundamental way, and relaxed little by little, bit by bit, letting her in, the passage eased by the water and the lubricant from earlier. Her finger, like her mouth and her tongue, was so warm, and the sensation of it was hideously intimate. He pushed his hips up as much as he could, following her lead, and even though it was so strange, and so awful, pleasure licked along his nerves, his cock thrumming with delight and left beads of precome on her tongue.

"Can I...I want to, come..."

[psalmed]

He says the word again and her eyes cut to him but she can hardly scold him with her mouth busy, doing something she's not supposed to be doing. And her name on his lips, even, sounds sweet. She likes it, likes he's calling her by her first name and not 'nurse' and not anything else.

It's a dangerous path. With him, at his age. With his nationality. With his stories about where he's from. But, God help her, Lia is enjoying this. The taste of him and the feel of him thick and heavy on her tongue. The way his muscles clench around him and how he rocks into her mouth. Even the sounds he's making and the way he's breaking and how nicely he's asking to...

She hasn't heard it put that way. Not really. She can grasp his meaning well enough, however. She has to pull off him to answer, leaving his erection wet and neglected but with her lips brushing against him, still. "You can. I will take care of you. I will see you out of here, I swear it."

Perhaps she should not be making promises like that. But he seems so needy in this moment, so helpless, that she would offer him the moon and stars.

All she can offer him, as it is, is her mouth and his orgasm. She presses her tongue flat, lets him slide against it. Into her mouth, into her throat to bump against the back as she swallows and sucks and drags her lips along his length. Her finger presses inside him, curls upward as she's been taught exactly not to do but knows how to do anyway, careful but certainly wanting to take that sad look from his eyes.

[bluezone]

"Gh, aah, aaaahh--!!"

It started with a groan, and then grew into a cry, and then grew into something that someone with their ear against the door would be able to hear. The air had been so cold, just pure torture against his skin, and he had stared at her, panting openly, quivering under her, desperate for answer. God, he hadn't known what the fuck he would do if she had suddenly said no, and though she had not said no so far, not to this, it added a different layer a fear. She had so much control, she could leave him any time, just leave him hanging, leave him like this with no one willing to help him.

But she didn't. She didn't. She said the same thing she has said over and over again.

"I will take care of you."

Then he was in her mouth again, in her throat, down so far that it shocked him nearly to silence. But his voice came back, rushed back out in that grown, and shit, shit shit shit, she was, her finger, he squirmed, confused, and then lurched, shocked, twisting. It...it tingled, it panged, his burdened stomach did a flop, and it was almost like she had flicked the tip of his dick with her finger, except it was inside. His balls clenched up, pressed up against the base of his dick; his eyelids slammed shut. His jaw locked and his moans beat against clenched teeth and closed lips while he unloaded right into her mouth, hot and thick, over and over again.

It's good, a fevered voice moaned in his head. It's so good--