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Apr 14

The Blood Quickens! Ch. 5

Aphrodisiac! Dismas/Reader

A pit stop at an oasis goes awry, forcing you to confront your feelings for a certain highwayman.

(AN: this is largely unedited because if I have to look at this for a second longer I'm going to lose it)

There's a lot of ways to describe how you feel right now. Confused is the most obvious, yet also the most comforting in a way. Being so sure of your confusion was familiar compared to the rest of the tangled knot in your head, so you let yourself bask in it for a moment before moving on.

The others are wilder, much less easy to pick apart. Shock might be one, though it could also be disgust? No, not disgust. That was for ugly things you didn't want any part of.

Did the last few minutes count as ugly? Were you brave enough to count them as anything else? Curious, maybe?

Words come to mind but you're unsure of the consequences of voicing those yet even to yourself. Not because of being shy of them-in your own way, you've gone much farther in those few minutes than you've ever been before.

You're scared that if you admit it, it'll drive you even more insane than the moment itself.

The tremor in your legs hadn't left even when she'd put her hand on you. In fact it seemed to worsen just from the feeling of someone touching you at all.

Immediate thoughts of stronger, larger hands gripping you so tightly plague your mind, gnawing into the deepest crevices to pull up the few memories when they did touch you. How they near cradled you in times of calm and held fast when the danger was high. So few are they that the images die out fast, but the flame burns deep within your belly alongside your thundering heartbeat pounding in your veins.

Although Para clearly thought otherwise as she brings that train of thought to a screeching halt when she shakes you hard enough to rattle your teeth, “Hey! Focus on me and not the hormones coursing through your limbic system!”

“Alright alright!” You swat her away while running your tongue over your abused molars, “What the Hell do you want Para? And what's a limbic system?"

"The part of the brain that controls emotions like the ones you're letting run rampant in your skull. Judging from that flush on your cheekbones, they're ones of the lustful kind." She leans in to study you like some kind of bug.

You lean out of reach of that beak with a grimace, "Are not.“

“Are too but that doesn't matter.” The bottle is shoved in your face again, “Drink.”

An acrid stench assaults your nose the second it's within your reach and you recoil, “No, why? What did you even put in that thing?”

“Doesn't matter, drink it.”

“I think it very much does!” You're already close to gagging just from the smell, you don't want to know what might happen if you drink it, “You could poison me with it for all I know!”

“Nothing in it is toxic. I checked my record on top of taking a sample earlier today to be certain. I'm a trained professional and I know what I'm doing now drink the tonic.” Again it's shoved into your airspace nearly jammed into your eye from how you're desperately trying to lean away from it.

“At the least tell me what the Hell it's even supposed to do before I choke to death!” Now you put a hand up to stop her from shoving it at you again, gripping the bottle around bottom so she can;t just leverage your hand off.

Her own grasp on it tightens as she tilts the bottle's cork at you, “Prevention. We don't have any on board and I know we can't deal with consequences so this will make sure you don't take.”

“Take what?”

“You'll figure it out now drink it, doctor's orders.”

“Who made you my doctor?”

“Me. I assigned myself your doctor the day you decided you wanted to bed that old bastard.”

Now you're both confused and a bit insulted on his behalf, “Why are you so hostile about him?”

“Because I know his type and they can carry any sort of diseases from bedding tavern whores. Before you ask he's clean, I've been making sure he doesn't get sick from it so it doesn't transfer to you now are you going to keep arguing with me or are you going to let me help you stay safe tonight?” She leans in with every sentence until her beak is nearly parallel to your face, goggles glaring right at you.

You'd put up much more of a fight but given how many times you'd been locked in an argument about whatever elixir's she concocts the results usually make it worth the attempt. Usually.

The real question is was it worth not questioning the contents. Curiosity was definitely not enough on it's own and while you did trust her, she had a habit of putting odd things together that would make anyone want to scrub their tongue with nails.

“Fine. Just tell me what I'm drinking before it goes down my throat at least.” You practically snatch the bottle out of her hand. It's sloshes slowly along the sides and you can clearly see the bits of ground up plants she'd thrown in.

You're just glad its still green when you swish it about.

“Nothing that you couldn't see around here, I swear it now chug it before it goes to waste.” She makes a point to jab it hard enough to almost knock it out of your hand, “That's not going to keep and by my count you've got at least another ten minutes before the bugroot in there goes bad. Most of what I used was dried and stored away for personal use and most of it was already used so I had to improvise now don't dally.”

You pull the bottle away before her poking makes you drop it. With a final side eye, along with an unfortunate amount of trust, you sigh and uncork the bottle. Trying your best to ignore the green fumes and slight fizzing inside you tilt the neck of the bottle to your lips.

Instantly the most vile bitter twang is knocking on the back of your throat. Your tonsils are burning, grit grinding into your gums as the wretched excuse of sludge crawls along your tongue.

It hadn't even made it past your front teeth before you were coughing it back out.

“Oh no you don't! Drink it!” Gloves clamp the bottle to your mouth as if she could shove the neck through to your throat, “Take it dammit do not spit it out or so help me Light I will go scorched earth!” Para takes hold of your shoulders with one arm, hand on the back of your head while the other continues to force feed you the tonic.

You can't even form a sound outside of gagging on the stench choking your lungs. The glass clanking on your teeth pinches your lips until they turn numb as what you could barely describe as liquid grass trudges along your palate, sticking into your tastebuds as if you'd just licked a boot brush. The thickness of it forces you to attempt swallowing, which shoves chunks of glued leaves into your windpipe with all the grace of mud down a drain. Strands of herbs that survived the pestal stick into your throat with the same vitriol you currently held for the doctor claiming to be helping you and if you didn't have the amount of self control you did you'd shove your fingers down her throat the same way.

Mercifully the bottle finally pulls away and you instantly start coughing your lungs out, “What the fuck-” You can't finish a word before you're right back to coughing.

“Finally. I was about to suggest an intravenous alternative, but it would take too much time putting that together. While primitive I will attest to this being effective.”

“Shove it.” The words barely make it out around you digging what feel like corn stalks out of the back of your throat, “Next time do the injection. Fuck this..”

“I wouldn't recommend it as it is rather painful compared to simply ingesting the contents directly-“

Your finger manages to shove her beak aside as you point at her, “Don't care.” Once you're able to breathe without choking you stand up straighter, wiping away what little of the nasty gunk is left on your mouth, “I'm not drinking that ever again.”

Para manages what you think is her raising an eyebrow by tilting her head before shrugging it off, “Suit yourself. Regardless, with that out of the way you've got about ten minutes before that gets into your bloodstream and does it's job so we've got some time to kill. And despite what you say I'm not letting you walk up to that ruffian again while looking like a nun.” You don't care that the bottle almost shatters when she tosses it over her shoulder towards her tent. If you ever saw it again you'd probably vomit from the memory alone.

Her comment however is the first time you actually think about your attire. The pants were borrowed from Audrey after your own were torn to pieces in a beastman fight; maybe a bit faded but nothing like her normal state of dress which involved way too many cobwebs and dirt. Your shirt was one of your older blouses buttoned up to your neck out of habit, though you did make an effort to roll up the sleeves to combat the humidity. They were the standard you'd been wearing up to this point and designed for effectiveness over decorum.

Still it confuses you what her point is. You won't deny the nun comment but it's not like you have much else, “Well what do you suggest, then? Unless you expect me to suddenly stitch together a barmaid's outfit.” The comment is more of a barb towards yourself but you won't admit it.

“That won't work and you know it. Even though I'm certain you're still trying very hard to ignore that information.” You hear the second half despite her muttering but she doesn't acknowledge it, “What you have on is fine enough but it needs some work. Adjustments to catch his eyes and put them where we want-I'm sure you've noticed a particular interest he may have in your breasts?”

Her hand is less so waved and more like she deliberately brushes the back of her hand over your chest strongly enough to press your bra into your skin. She does pull back when you jump but doesn't apologize for her behavior.

Your frustration over that does nothing, however, to quell the sudden violent reminder of what transpired not even an hour ago. Dismas being strangely overheated, stripping down to his vest and undershirt without warning. Tripping over his tongue, losing his train of thought and unable to hold a coherent conversation.

The searing heat in his eyes when they trailed down to your covered chest and stayed there. Your skin tingled under your blouse as if he'd brushed the clothing aside to place his hands there directly.

The very idea has you biting your lower lip as subtlely as you can. Out of habit you cross your arms over your chest and nearly jerk again as the pressure drags the fabric of your bra over your tightened nipples, sending shocks up your spine. It takes all you have to force out, “N-No, not really.”

“You sound very confident about that.” You glare at her with enough vitriol to scathe a corpse. She continues anyway, “Nonetheless he does. He's quite obvious about it, not sure how you could ignore it. Then again, most of us are either in combat or busy otherwise so the opportunities have been slim, it seems.”

Your face is burning again, “Para.”

“Right. Staying on point.” She moves closer and before you can react her gloves have already plucked out a few buttons, pulling your blouse open from your neck down to the very bottom of your cleavage. It's such a glaringly obvious 'look at me' card that your bra is showing.

“PARA!?” Your shriek is so much louder than you wanted it to be and it echoes in the dead forest.

For once the doctor agrees to subtlety as she slaps her hands over your mouth while aggressively hissing, “Shut your mouth you damn idiot! You want the entire kingdom to know what's going on right now??”

“Is everything alright back there?“

Too late. At the very least you can thank whatever gods are left that the voice isn't the raspy one that would certainly send you into cardiac arrest.

You manage to yank her hands off your face, “We're fine, Baldwin. Paracelsus is just-”

“Explaining some theories I have. Apparently (Y/n) is unwilling to allow me to utilize Damian's affinity for pain.”

The two of you share what you assume is the same venom filled glare. You're just mad she got to throw you under the proverbial wagon first.

“....Very well. Please do not make her ill this time.”

Bonnie makes a comment, but her voice is much too low for you to hear. Whatever Baldwin says is also quiet so you assume their conversation is personal. You do wonder why they haven't been making more commentary on what just happened, but end up dropping it as well. It's not like this is the first time you've been upset by her ideas so it checks out.

“Now.” Para tugs her hands away, “If you're ready for reason again I'd like to continue.”

Anger rushes back in , “Like hell I'm letting you continue making me look like a whore!” You whisper harshly and quickly button your blouse right back up. The fabric squishing your breasts together nearly makes you stumble.

Another one of her mask rolls, “Prude.” She promptly ignores your seething glare, “You want his attention. This is the best way to get it.”

“What part of 'nothing too direct' did you not understand?! If I wanted to bed him alone I would just ask!” You being flustered is quickly compounding with the low humidity and raising the temperature of the air between you to the point little beads of sweat are starting to cool under your collar.

“Oh so now you find the courage to use adult words. I was beginning to worry your frontal lobe had failed to develop properly.”

You throw your hands up, stepping away before you end up smacking her, “Unbelievable.” Just the motion has your bra scrubbing over your sensitive nipples again and you fight back any response to it. Your breasts feel so full and tender even when all you're doing is trying to ignore them, ignore him, his reaction to the cure Para had given him in full trust and now was left craving.

Interest? If anything, he looked ready to devour you on the spot and lick his chops clean later after savoring every bite.

She must hear the gears chugging in your head as she groans under her breath, “Alright, I'll concede. Again. But dancing around the subject will not help with the current situation for either of you because whether you want it or not this charade ends tonight or so help me I am tying you two together on top of the carriage and driving the damned thing myself.” A finger jabs into your shoulder then towards the carriage.

Despite your irritation you admit she's right, albeit begrudgingly, but you're not going to just accept that she's innocent. You're not stupid-something is wrong with Dismas. Her actions-though purposely vague-elude to some kind of foul play going on at her behest. More interestingly, there's no real reason for the highwayman's behavior. Yes it's humid but not uncomfortable, nor had he ever really had such intense focus on anything about you before.

The comment about him staring decides to take up space in your thoughts while you're in there trying to sort everything out. You bite the inside of your cheek hard before it derails you further, “Para be honest with me.”

“Depends on what answer you want.” She says it so confidently like she'd already pieced together what you were going to ask.

Her arms are crossed when you leer at her. Your hatred for that mask knows no bounds at this point, “This-whatever is wrong with him is not natural and I doubt it has anything to do with poison. He was overheated, nearly stumbling over his feet trying to get out of here. Do you have anything to do with what's going on with him that just so happens to include a liquid contraceptive.” You don;t bother phrasing it as a question, too irritated to care.

“Ah, that is something I cannot say. I fear if I do you'll lose all your nerve and I'll lose that bet." She has the audacity to wave a finger at you like she's scolding a child, "But I will admit that when he stormed out of here he was flushed and out of breath, yes, but he didn't even give me so much as a glance as he stormed off. I assume he's run off to hide for the moment to cure his ailment alone.”

You so badly want to shake the truth out of her but the mere fact she was at least slightly confirming your suspicions has your insides buzzing with heat when you realize that he'd only given you that look. It sounded like he didn't even try to talk to her or even Bonnie-whatever he was feeling if what Para said is true, it was entirely focused onto you. The giddy love sick girl stuck in your ribs is squealing in delight while the lust drunk whore in your pelvis is fluffing the pillows for the guest.

Swallowing down the saliva building in your mouth you continue, “Can you at least tell me if it's going to kill him or give him some kind of malady. I don't think there's any healing stations on the road ahead.” You do your best to ignore the slickness that's built up between your legs.

A soft sigh of relief leaves you when she shakes her head again, “No, despite my dislike of his habits I'm not going to incapacitate him for it. Though it would make it far easier to treat him. Perhaps I can concoct a simple virus to keep him still when I want to work on him-”

“No poisoning your teammates. Or anyone we work with.” Her goggles glare at you when you interrupt her musing, “If you promise me it's not going to hurt him then fine, I'll go along with this. But do not expect anything to come out of it. I am helping him, not courting him.” It's cruel but you can't have too much hope for anything more. That girl in your ribs is throwing a tantrum but you ignore her in favor of the war torn adult in your head talking her down-this isn't a romance novel, it's survival.

He is your charge. Part of your army to fight in this war. If he's incapacitated then you'd need to replace him. You don;t think about the alternative.

You want to slap her mask off when it tilts to the side as she crosses her arms, “So it's helping now? Confident in your self control, aren't we?”

“Are you going to do it? Bonnie is too young. Baldwin's not interested. Who else is here to do it?” The silence speaks volumes but you're not accepting it as a victory. Maybe between the three options you're right, none of them will help him with his current condition, which at least from what you can deduce involves sexual release. How she'd put together an aphrodisiac in the middle of the woods is beyond you, but you're not going to try understanding it. Logically she would fix it herself, however with the two of them as each others foils it would do little to help the group to use this as a way to have them sort out whatever issues they have.

So it falls to you. Whatever happens, you can only hope that it doesn't ruin you as a friend to him. If that's all you can be, then so be it. That alone makes your heart clench as if you've been stabbed again.

There's a sigh as your doctor rolls her head back, “Ugh, fine. Label it what you want, so long as it gets you two over whatever blockage has you both with your hands tied. It doesn't change that you have to make it obvious that you're going to bed him tonight.” She makes another pointed jab towards you, “If you won't entice him physically then you need some kind of sign to get him to cooperate or at least tell him what you're trying to do. If you recall not even I am capable of reading your mind.”

Your face scrunches. She's right, as much as you don't want to admit. Dismas wasn't going to allow just anyone to help him, not so much out of pride as it is principle. His mess, up to him to fix it-even if it was caused by someone else. Not that he would know of course.

The tactician takes over in place of the love sick girl banging on the door in your head, temporarily putting her in time out as she helps you rationalize. You're no scientist but you've heard about aphrodisiacs while out on the road and know the very basics about them. In order to get him back to fighting shape you'll need to help him work it out of his system manually. To do that you need to convey your intent to satisfy his needs to force the drugs out of his system faster.

So now the question is, how to explain that in as few words as possible as well as the least amount of damage to your image?

As you're thinking the wind picks up just slightly and you hear the canvas tents rustling behind you. Your eyes go wide.

Immediately you're turning around and almost jump into Dismas' tent. You rummage through his coat, nearly skewering a finger on one of his extra knives before finding what you're looking for and hastily wrapping it around your throat.

When you turn back around you find Para still standing where you'd been conversing, head tilted with fascination. She doesn't say anything as you get back on your feet, fussing with the fabric in the hopes it's less noticeable, “Hm. Interesting solution, though my curiosity lies in wondering how you knew where to find that.”

Her words slide off your brain with the effectiveness of water on a rooftop but you can't find it in you to bother with what she's saying-the red scarf around your throat feels like it's tied in a knot around your vocal chords. It's nothing fancy like silk or cotton, as you'd expected from the road bound highwayman, yet it feels soft and worn by time. There's little stitches criss-crossing all over where he'd hand stitched it back together to make it last, the threads uneven but purposeful. And most of all it reeks of gunpowder and whiskey. Of something husky and warm-of him.

You do your best to force your voice not to shake, “He put it away here after saying he was hot. S-So I doubt he'll mind if I borrow it for a while.”

“Just a while? If I were him I'd want to see you in my gear for the rest of the night.”

You give her a look that she just shrugs in response to while trying to ignore the heat coming back to your face.

“Nonetheless, if that's your plan I'll go with it. Better something than nothing, as I always say, but it needs some adjustments. Come here.” As you step closer her gloves help you fidget your collar up around the scarf until it's wedged against your skin half buried underneath your blouse, picking open a few buttons to push it down over your cleavage. Once she's satisfied she steps back with her hands on her hips, “There. Simple but effective.”

You look down at the scarf again, nerves starting to get to you, “I hope you're right. I don't know what I would say if it didn't.”

“Just ask. He'll probably say yes.“ At your annoyed glare she holds her hands up, “Message received.”

You still give her the side eye before taking a breath. That girl is back at the door knocking like her life depends on it, begging you to look deeper into the meaning behind all the coincidences that fate and one frustratingly focused doctor have gently laid down in front of you like stepping stones. That it;s not just a one time thing, that everything they're saying is true and you can have a happy ending.

But the adult in you is still in charge as she cautiously puts up wards like she's preparing for war. He could reject you, retract behind his walls all over again at best and leave completely at worst. Regardless of any of that, you need to try if only to hasten his recovery. You're doing this for Dismas. Whatever happens you'll need to accept the outcome.

Once you've steeled yourself you look to Para, who's still waiting for you to make your move, “After you.” She says while gesturing towards the bushes

Without much to say you just nod and approach the only barrier between you and the rest of the camp. The bramble opens in a lackluster flourish as you push your way back in, trying to ignore the branches scratching you on the way.

The camp is much more alive now than it was earlier. The campfire crackles warmly in the pit, fresh logs burning away inside the flames underneath the roasting body of a boar. It's head had been cut off and set aside on one of the stones furthest from the fire to prevent the mess or smell from spreading too far. Speaking of smell you take a deep breath of spices and sweet maple syrup that you didn't notice before-the tents must be upwind in this breeze, you think, which works in everyone's favor for the smoke.

Baldwin is sitting next to the fire across from you, tending to his injuries. Either he hasn't noticed your arrival or has nothing to say as he busies himself with unwrapping his knuckles to inspect them. Bonnie is absent.

Dismas is nowhere to be seen.

Stifling down the disappointment you approach the fire, “Looks like you two got lucky today.” You comment while inspecting the meat, mouth watering at the thought of a good meal.

“Yes, Bonnie and I were able to kill it while it was drinking from the pools. There's no disease, but we discarded the entrails as a precaution.” He looks up at you but with his mask you can;t tell exactly what part of you he sees. He could be looking at your face, but you almost feel the weight of his gaze locked onto your neck.

The scarf feels heavier around your throat as embarrassment threatens to well up but you shove it back into the box. No time to worry about it. Battlefield is active, movement and action is necessary.

Tactician at it's finest.

Instead you force yourself to nod and carry on, “Good idea. If worst comes to worst I have faith in Para to fix it before we infect anyone else.” You toss a look in her direction with the hopes she'll pick it up in your stead and keep him busy for a bit.

Luckily she seems to understand as her beak lifts and immediately she's turning to him with hands on her hips, “Speaking of which, you aren't trying to apply your ointment yourself are you.”

Her words make him pause, the bandages hanging loosely in his hold, “....I am capable of handling my own wounds.” Slowly his mask turns to her now with his voice low like he's correcting a child.

She doesn;t seem to care, instead aggressively pointing at his mask, “You;re not qualified to do so in your condition. You want infection? Debris in your wounds? Hellfire, maybe even one of your injuries needs stitches and you're just not telling me of it.” With every word she leans further into him, her voice rising slightly with the sharpness of a scalpel until her beak's almost touching his mask, “I swear Light help me if you've been treating yourself this whole time while we were off putting together your tent I'll stitch your mask to your face and haul you to the apothecary myself to force your medication until you're cured.”

You watch the two of them stare each other down, a bit frightened at how one simple comment had sent your doctor spiraling into violence. Baldwin at least didn;t seem so bothered by her hostility and in fact seemed to revel in it in some small way. Granted, when you think about the two of them lodged in the back of the carriage for hours on end with only combat as their relief, you'd probably be in a similar position. Especially with the responsibility of everyone's health on top of that razor's edge.

So you choose to stay silent in their showdown of stubbornness while also trying to subtly look around for a certain overheated gunman of yours.

The illusion of ownership just by being his leader is getting to you since the thought alone is causing heat to pool in your gut.

But the campsite is highwayman free when you do manage to look which makes you sober up a bit. If Para's right, he must be hiding right now. The image of him stifling his noises trying to satiate his urges comes to mind and suddenly you're wondering what he would sound like when worked up. Would he bite his tongue? Or would he let his voice go-never loud, he's not the type, but you're curious exactly what kind of sounds he would make.

His face immediately pops up in your mind with perfect clarity, scarred lips peeled back in a snarl as he growls in your ears.

Quickly you shake it out of your head before you end up leaking through your pants, heat back on your face. Neither the doctor or leper seem to notice and at some point their argument must have continued, but you choose to leave it in the background while trying to pull yourself together.

In your fleeting clarity you wonder how he's doing from a more normal perspective, if the toxins are still in his blood or not. Para never clarified if she'd cured him or just drugged him. You try to rationalize that no, she wouldn;t just leave him poisoned while trying to help you but that just reminds you of the previous tangent about giving him a virus just to do a basic check up.

Yes. Yes she would leave him poisoned. Now you're worrying about him even being alive.

But before you can voice your concerns to Para, subtlety be damned, footsteps trudge into the camp. The familiar tromp of heavy boots has your eyes snapping over to the side, the direction of where the pools are.

Dismas trudges through the grass with an unnusual hesitance. He stumbles over his own feet when he reaches the site, breathing hard with sweat glistening on his temple while his eyes are on the ground in deep concentration.

Even though he was just in his vest and undercoat with both looking like they'd seen better days, you couldn't deny that the sight of him just standing was enough to make your insides scream. That the knowledge of his suffering didn't make you several layers of sweetly sick with need and guilt all at once on top of it.

He doesn't notice you immediately which gives you a moment to just study him, taking in every delicious piece. His vest had a few stray cuts in it, you realized, slips of his undershirt visible through the damage. The cuffs had been rolled up to his wrists and exposed a tantalizing piece of his strong forearms, the wraps on his injured arm slightly visible underneath. His gloves were surprisingly absent and you nearly whimpered aloud at the prominence of the veins under his skin from how tightly he was clenching his fists.

Somehow his delirium is starting to affect you too as it almost feels like you're the one with the drugs in your system. An image of him jerking himself bare handed making you want to jump into his lap the second you got the chance, to grind your wetness across his cock until you soaked him in your desire. Your eyes flicker downward instinctively, noting with faint disappointment he doesn't seem to be hard. Which proves Para right, he is trying to handle it himself. Without you.

You're biting your lip at the image of him jerking off somewhere in the woods alone returning to the forefront of your mind. Of you taking over. Tugging and twisting with your mouth on his exposed neck until he grabs your waist and-

“I'll let you hang for it if you don't give me the sutures right now, you barbaric oaf!”

You jump right out of your skin and that delirious train of thought at the sudden shriek from Para, turning away from the highwayman as he went stock still in surprise.

Your doctor, someone who somehow convinced you she was the sanest one here, was in Baldwin's lap reaching for the needle like a child trying to steal cookies. Said king was no better as he was the one holding it over his head with a small simper on his lips. His face was most definitely level with her chest right now. It's wrapped up under those robes, you know it is, but you doubt it bothers him much at all. And a small part of you is beginning to wonder if somehow you're getting wrapped up in some game these two are playing.

At least until Para finally snatches the sutures away from him with a leap that boldly stuffed his face right into her cleavage. The second he found himself there any smugness swiftly drops off his expression as his mask snaps downward, finally aware of where he is actually looking.

You cringe in sympathy to his minor blindness.

Para on the other hand looks particularly proud of herself as she holds up the sutures in one hand, away from him like a prize, “I'll be taking these to your fingers one day, so help me.” She snips while dropping from his lap, patting the dirt off her robe, “Now if you would please strip off that blasted cloak to let me pull your blood sodden arse back together at the seams we'll be right as rain again.“

Baldwin seems to come out of his stupor at that, dropping the hand that had been holding the needle, “That will be unnecessary. I choose to let this suffering remain with me, not any of you.”

He sound so noble about his choice that you almost feel bad when Para whips around to jab a finger into his face, “You will do no such thing while I am perfectly capable of healing you! Do you think me incapable!?” In her rage she shoves her robe aside to dig out her forceps while brandishing the needle like a weapon, “I'll stitch you up to the point you won't even want to move, you stubborn bastard!”

You instinctively step away from them and the spit, not wanting to get caught in the crossfire and risk getting burned. Maybe you're at fault that you're just subjecting Baldwin to his fate but also kind of glad that their own spat is keeping them busy in a way. At the least it'll prevent either of them from interrupting somehow.

A hesitant laugh akin to bourbon has the hairs on the back of your neck bristling.

“Ya goin' ta get stabbed at this rate. An' I don't think the good doctor's goin' ta like stitch'n you back up a second time.”

Just his voice alone causes you to bite your lip against a wave of heat simmering in your guts. To make things worse, his voice was tense with repressed heat that roughened his tongue in your ear making your skin tingle. Slowly you turned around.

Dismas hadn't noticed you were there until you moved,. His smirk drops when at first his eyes locked with your own with surprise, widening slightly.

Then dropped downward.

You surpressed a shudder as you watched several emotions flicker across his face faster than you could fully process. Confusion was first yet lasted half a second, then something like stunned shock lingering before that devastating heat burst to the forefront. At the same time his jaw clamped shut so tightly the muscles twitched, fists forming at his sides.

Your pulse races to your aching clit when his stare flits to your face again. For that moment his shoulders tense, jaw ticking with restraint. Breath deepening into harsh drags you could hear from where you stood. Like he was fighting himself for control and barely succeeding.

He rips his eyes away from you just as quick.

“Ha! And ruin my good work? I'd rather hang.” Para's quip cuts into the tension like a scalpel so fast it makes your head spin. When you glance at her she'd maneuvered Baldwin to turn around and begrudgingly deal with her sewing his wounds shut. She doesn't so much as look your way as she handles the mangled bloody flesh with absolute focus.

Neither does she care when Dismas doesn't answer as his eyes dart between the brush where the tents are and the other two parties in the area in mute conflict. When he doesn't find what he's looking for he steels himself, breath clenched between his teeth as he storms off to the other side of the fire. He doesn;t even so much as glance your way again as he passes just close enough for you to catch traces of whiskey and gunpowder before without so much of a word he sits down on one of the logs as far from everyone as possible. Leaving you standing there wide eyed in shock.

He didn't acknowledge you even in the slightest. Did that mean he wasn't interested? Angry about you taking it?

No, you correct, that wasn't anger-at least not at you, it was usually much louder. You find a small amount of comfort in that even if it comes with the bitterness of his past outbursts. You choose to push past it to think about what just happened.

Knowing Dismas that was likely him weighing the options and being upset at the limited amount he had. In his state the last thing he'd want is be too open, but he'd already spoken up so the others know he;s here, likely after having already dismissing himself earlier. It was either run off and raise suspicion further or sit down and deal with it as best he can. You can tell he's not too happy with his choice.

What you can't decipher is what he's thinking about you. How he feels about you wearing his scarf, choosing to do so with him in this state. The entirety of you wants to be right for him to want, the question is will he.

Your hand trails an absent minded finger over the worn fabric. He flinches in the corner of your eye. Your insides clench.

Okay. So he sees you and is just choosing to ignore it. You know he's not ignorant, maybe he does get what you're trying to say, but is either hesitant to ask for clarity or something else is going on.

No matter what it is you can't just keep standing here staring at him like a lust drunk creep.

“Are you well, Dismas? You were gone for some time.”

This time both of you jump when Baldwin interjects. He's facing Dismas and yet you can still feel his gaze lingering on you for a moment.

“Ah, ran into a bit a' trouble back there. Got meself lost, nothin' ta'-nothin' fer ya ta worry over.” You can almost hear the click in his throat when he swallows mid sentence. Words carefully measured, yet failing to completely contain the rawness in his voice.

You know this man is a king and borderline psychic sometimes yet you still manage to be surprised when he answers, “You seem stressed. Perhaps you require medical attention.”

“I'm busy here. He can handle himself.” Para quickly butts in though her words lack the usual bite. Immediately cluing you in that she was plotting something.

“(Y/N), would you check in on him in her stead?”

“I..” You stammer, reeling from the sudden shift in tone from the both of them. From being at each other's throats to agreeing on something all within the span of ten minutes at most had to be the most jarring experience you'd had today. And you'd seen a baby made out of teeth within the last few weeks.

It hits you. The argument, Baldwin letting her work on him and Para leaving the medical work to you-it was all so you could be alone with Dismas. You knew about their bet but that they'd gone so far as working together was a new step entirely.

Or that you wouldn;t be able to make that first step on your own without overthinking yourself into a stupor. A bit too late for that, but one you'll take nonetheless.

“I can. Para's already stitched him up so it's not hard for me to check his wound's progress and see if it's infected.” You marvel at how calm you sound on the outside when inside you were positively aching at the prospect of being close to him again.

“Spare bandages aren't available but a few rags and alcohol should sterilize anything.” The doctor's head nods in your direction but she doesn't look up from her work, “A few should be over in my bag there.”

Turning around you do find the bag sitting innocently on the ground. Right next to where Dismas is sitting. Conveniently. You can tell he noticed it too when his head tilts downward and shoulders tense.

You're not going to question how she planned that out. Or how Baldwin knew where her stuff was.

Just go with it was the plan.

“Great. Thanks.” Baldwin only nods as you round the fire to the other side, the highwayman's shoulders rising ever so slightly the closer you were. When you bend down to pick up the bag his hands drop to his knees, grip tight.

You busy yourself with the contents, but you're half focused on him. His back is almost perfectly straight, knees close together like a schoolboy in detention. He keeps his head down and away in mute shame, or to control himself.

A thrill goes down your spine at being able to make him so weak just by standing here. But you correct it quickly; as far as you know you're just the closest woman right now. This could just be his body giving him false positives due to the drug. Nonetheless you procede; you still need to check up on him after all.

“Dismas.” He suppresses a flinch at your light tone, “Do you mind if I check on your injury?”

He stays quiet for a moment but you can hear his shallow breath hitching in his chest before he swallows, “I..uh..” He mumbles as he stumbles over his words, “Yeah. If'n ya want.”

It's almost cute how he's struggling to pull himself together under your gaze. He's shorter than you when sitting which puts his face much closer to where you can see the little imperfections in his skin deform in minute changes to his expressions. The scars on his lips stretching as they tighten, a tick in his jaw from chewing on his tongue, the way his eyes flit away from you entirely.

Warmth settles deeper into your belly. A familiar rush down below slickens your sensitive flesh as you pull out the rags and small bottle of medical alcohol you;d found upon opening the bag. He inhales sharply as you pass him to sit on the log beside him, instantly curling into himself slightly as if the distance would keep you away. It doesn't.

You know he's suffering so you don't take offense to it. Still, you wonder just how bad off he is. He's not salivating in a way you can see, not desperately vying for your attention-but that's just information you've gleaned from random encounters and overheard conversations across brothel bars, things that very well may have no basis in reality. So far, all you know is he's desperately trying to ignore you.

You raise an eyebrow, “Don't tell me you're going to try avoiding me now, Dismas. You let me help you earlier.” The attempt to draw him out works as his body unfurls slightly but he keeps his legs firmly in place, only allowing his head to turn enough to let you see an eye flick to you.

“Eh? Ah-Er no. I-” You can see the war within him to answer, a laugh huffing out that sounded less confident than normal, “No I don't think I got it in me ta try.”

There's a double meaning in the way he says it. Breathy and heated like he'd just ran a mile in lead shoes, except the lead was made from whatever emotions burned within him right now. And he was losing that race quickly as he swallowed hard.

You try not to shudder as his gaze drops for a moment, the scarf a leaden weight of your own.

“Alright. Then you won't mind letting me look at you. Right?” The words are purposefully phrased to be double sided. A question, an offer.

And you see it hit him square in the jaw. The dilation in his eyes swallowing the forest green in black until a thin ring remained, jaw clenching tightly with a shuddering breath. Hands forming fists on his thighs that shake with the effort. The ever so gentle lean into you.

Then the bitter cold wash down your back as he snaps back, head turning away with a stuttering gasp, “Actually I think I'll be fine. No need ta waste the stuff on me, yeah?”

You blink. The rags and bottle weigh down your hand at your side where you had been ready to play the act of nurse.

Panic starts to crawl up your throat. Stuttering breaths start to heave in your chest. All the variables that were aligned fire off in different directions. You've lost control of the situation and yourself all at once.

Were the both of you wrong all this time? Did he not have any interest in you? In your help?

All your desire falls out your ass with your stomach. The urge to do damage control building up in your ribs until you feel sick to your stomach from the rejection. You start scrambling for anything to salvage the situation, sending a panicked look towards Para who had also looked up from her work and was staring at him. Both of them were.

Baldwin makes a motion with his hand, the same arm Dismas had injured.

You try to calm down. That;s right, you'd started this with the pretense of checking his arm. You can do that, “I-I mean, you did get bit by a poisonous bug. I doubt you'll dead but someone needs to look at it.” You stammer.

He doesn't take the bait, waving said arm slightly, “Yeah but I feel fine. No worries 'bout it.” There's no real fire behind his words however. His breath shudders with every inhale, deep and raspy yet kept soft as he tried to hide it from you.

That paranoia that he might be really poisoned takes the forefront in your anxiety riddled mind. Maybe you'd never get to have him but at the least you could keep him alive. You cling to this thought as you tighten your hold on the alcohol bottle, “Dismas-please stop being difficult. I know you f-feel bad,” Understatement of the century, he was practically seeping with pent up desire that almost drripped down your spine in turn and was just refusing to let you help, but you swallow the words before you shoot yourself in the foot with them, “But you need your wound checked before it gets worse.”

He still adamantly refused to look at you, going a step further by turning the shoulder closest to you into himself, “'M tellin' you 'm fine. Don't get yer knickers in a twist about m' problems, I cun handle meself.”

The anxiety and panic mixes into a horrid little concoction of frustration tinged with rage at his comment, “Don't worry about it? It's my job to worry about it, I'm the one dragging you lot out here into all of this!” You gesture wildly to the literal dying forest everywhere around you ignoring the sudden flinch of his shoulders when your hand nearly clips him, “Do you really think I'll just leave you here to die of whatever poison you got from some rancid bug?”

The soft groan he makes is tortured, “(Y/n).....”

You just scoffed. Arguing would get you nowhere and you weren't in the mood for it, desire thrown out the window, “Don't '(Y/n)' me, you're going to get yourself beat to Hell in the state you're in.“ You reach out with your open hand.

You get as far as grasping his bicep when he lurches in his seat. His shoulders turn inward with the groan of a man lost to his desires and you flinch back at the intensity of it. As you struggle to understand what's gotten into him he suddenly braces his legs open as if he can't stand having them closed anymore, the motion drawing your attention.

He's hard. Painfully so, with the length of it stretching the leather of his pants tight up to his belt to the point you can see it twitch in time with his pulse. Along with the fact that his belt is a few notches undone, exposing his complete lack of undergarments.

Heat sears up your neck at the same time your stomach drops. The noises from the campfire fade out as every bit of your being focuses onto him. It's as if your brain fries as it realizes just how close you two are as well as what just happened.

Did you just….?

Heat scours your insides at the thought.

As your hand lingers he drops his head into his palm gasping for air. Sweat is pouring down his face, pink flushing across his cheeks as he tries to compose himself. For a moment he glances towards you from the corner of his eye-the sheer intensity of his stare causes your core to clench white hot.

Before you can react he jumps to his feet. He stomps towards the pools with a finger jabbed towards Baldwin hissing, "Not a word, leper,"

The bushes close behind the highwayman, leaving you sitting in silence as you shudder with searing heat pooling underneath you.

No one speaks. You can't even make yourself try as it feels like your vocal chords are tied into knots. The heat in your belly returns white hot, seeping liquid desire right through your panties. And the light breeze does nothing to cool your steaming red face.

Dismas just came. From you touching him. You. Not anyone else. You touched him.

“Huh.” Your head snaps to Para staring in the direction Dismas left with bloodied sutures in hand. She taps the side of her mask thoughtfully, not seeming to care if blood smears on it, ”Seems I may have miscalculated the strength. The dosage as well, perhaps.”

You're on your feet in an instant, bottle and rags long forgotten, “Wha-You mean it's actually worse!?”

“Possibly. It's been a while since I've needed to use any, as well as kept track of it's age.” She says it with so much calm even Baldwin has to look back at her with surprise from the sharp frown he gives her.

A twisted cocktail of fear and lust mix in your chest with the same ferocity of a runaway wagon on fire as you realize this has gone outside of just her trying to help you with your selfish little dream, it's exploded into something that very well might kill him. There's no telling what she'd introduced into his systems outside of bolstering his lust.

You're already chasing after the gunman before you have any time to think about what comes after.

#the bite writes #dd highwayman #darkest dungeon 2 #highwayman x reader #dismas x reader

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