This has been stuck in my head for at least two weeks and I don’t want to write it, but it’s also being really persistent. So I guess here’s a weirdly clinical take on the fuck-or-die situation that still has potential for a consensual romantic relationship happen? I dunno… I’m an aro sex-averse ace 
This drabble is probably NSFW.
Darren’s morning routine goes as such: wake up, spit about 30 mL of saliva into a specimen cup, prepare and eat breakfast, brush teeth, masturbate, collect semen into an enema bag, pack cup and bag into backpack, change pajama pants into workout shorts, jog for an hour, end jog at Thomas’ apartment. He has a key to Thomas’ apartment, specifically so he can let himself in, so Darren is unnerved when the door opens before he can do so.
The guy that is on his way out startles back, looking as surprised as Darren feels. But he recovers much more quickly than Darren does, a smirk sliding onto his face after his eyes make a quick assessing glance up and down Darren’s body, “Tommy’s obviously got a type,” he says, before shoving his way passed, and leaving. No introductions needed or wanted.
Fine by Darren, he has more important matters to attend to. And Tommy? Thomas hates it when people call him that.
Darren locks the door behind him and heads directly for the bedroom. No need to knock or call out, Thomas won’t be awake. He can’t be; not without Darren.
Thankfully, there isn’t an overt stench of sex, but the marks littering Thomas’ skin speak well enough about what he and his rude visitor did last night. A flare of jealousy burns beneath Darren’s skin, but he breathes and dismisses it.
This is how the rest of Darren’s morning goes: he takes off his shirt soaked by sweat–from sleep and exercise both–and gently puts it on Thomas. The specimen cup is placed on the nightstand by Thomas’ bed, the enema bag in his bathroom by the sink. Then he goes to the kitchen to prepare breakfast for Thomas.
As he pulls out ingredients for an omelette, Darren hears the sound of movement from the bedroom, his sweat beginning to take effect. As he whisks the eggs, he hears the plastic thunk of the specimen cup being slammed onto the nightstand, several shaky footsteps, and the sound of the bathroom door clicking shut.
The batter goes into the pan with a soft hiss.
In ten minutes, Thomas will finish with his own morning routine and find a meal but no chef in his kitchen.
—
It’s nobody’s fault. Not really. Darren happened upon a situation that he grudgingly called Thomas for help, Thomas stumbled upon the trap, Darren tried to pull him away, but the curse was placed regardless.
The team spent a week trying to figure out what exactly happened–unsure why one of their number lay uninjured but in a coma–until Darren, running on a total of ten hours of sleep, was sedated and practically shoved into bed beside Thomas for rest while the others continued to work.
Four hours later, Thomas woke up to a pair of clammy arms gripped tight around him, Darren in the throes of a nightmare. Of course, when Thomas attempted to wake Darren, he was only hugged tighter for his efforts.
But eventually they found out that skin contact was not enough; not by a long shot. Thomas would need more from Darren.
And Darren, in love with Thomas for almost half a decade, would never say no to him.
—
“No,” Darren says, hands curled tight into fists. Around him, his teammates look shocked, skeptical, confused.
“But…” Frances hesitates, but chooses to speak where the others do not, “You love him. Don’t you want to?”
“Not like this,” he answers with a shake of his head, “Not like this.”
Lina has finally found the information on the exact curse, along with previous cases where it was used, but given the last such case was over two hundred years ago… They have only ever gone with the most obvious answer.
What is sex? How exactly is this curse interpreting sex?
It clearly isn’t taking emotions into account, given the obvious undertones in the written records of the cursed, so it must be something of the physical act itself… or the tangible products of the act–sweat, saliva, semen–bodily fluids are almost as important to magic as intent.
Sonya is the one to suggest an alternative treatment plan. She says it exactly like that, “an alternative treatment plan,” and the rest of the team cringe at how clinical it sounds but Darren appreciates it.
Replicate sex without actually having it. A borrowed sweat-soaked shirt instead of naked skin. A single ingested dose of saliva instead of kisses. And, to put it bluntly, a semen suppository. One, two, three every day, and Thomas will never need to have sex with Darren.
Wanting is a different story.
~
A/N: I kind of don’t want to explain what exactly led me to this, though I will say that there was a fic involved. That fic was good and in no way involved fuck-or-die magic, but it did involve someone being infected by a poison where the cure turned out to be a different person’s sweat/natural oils. And there was a strange tension because the two characters were on the edge of getting together before said poisoning happened and now it’s like… I love you but I don’t know if you love me is this just the weird poison/cure arrangement or do you actually like me?
It’s better than I’m explaining and I would recommend it, but I also don’t want this drabble in any way connected with that because I am mostly ashamed of this and only wrote it to expel it from my brain. So… wow, if you got this far, I am seriously impressed by your fortitude.
JackSGreyson Says 