The Dark Knight Fic: "Toxic"
Title: Toxic
Author: bathshua
Fandom: The Dark Knight (aka Nolanverse)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Nurse!Joker/Two-Face
Warnings: slash, masturbation, bloodplay
Word Count: 2,507
Disclaimer: They don’t belong to me. Sure as hell wish they did, though.
Notes: When damnedflowers requested a fic exploring the whole hand sanitizer phenomenon, I was already working on this. But I finished it solely because of the request. ;) I don’t finish fics very often, you see.
Summary: Explores the happenings in Dent’s hospital room that compelled Nurse!Joker to use hand sanitizer before leaving. Oh, you naughty, naughty boys!
Crossposted to darkknightfic, batman_slash and xwhysoseriousx.
...
The coin landed heads-up. Not quite what Dent was hoping for, but fair is fair. Someone on down the line would put a bullet in that putrid brain and it would be a beautiful thing. But for now: traitors, backstabbers. Crooked cops, mob bosses. There was work to be done.
"Consider this your get-out-of-jail-free card. And you only get one of those." Dent looked to the side of the hospital bed. The rest of the straps that bound him needed undoing. The ghoulish nurse just looked on from his chair, wearing a cheeky half-grin.
"I've already used that one." Dent continued to scrutinize and manipulate the restraints, refusing to meet the Joker's gaze. He knew better than to look into those eyes for too long. But even his words were poison, poison that allowed him to slink into your consciousness and put down his vile roots. There was no way to un-hear the maniac.
"Then this was your lucky day." Almost free, just a few more to go. The clown had already undone some of them - a strange yet appreciated favor. Now, the IV in his arm would be next. He pinched the tubing between two fingers, deliberating the method of removal. It could be slow and careful. Or it could be one quick motion, more painful. Not that it could possibly be any worse than his current agony. Still. He leaned over to the table again to pick up his coin and flip it into the air. Tails.
Dent counted to three, whispering the numbers through clenched teeth. On three, he gave the tubing a swift pull. Success, but with the sacrifice of tiny flecks of blood that leapt onto his arm. Blood that excited the man in the nurse's outfit sitting nearby. The man licked his lips. Look at me.
"There's no set number of those, y'know....lucky days..." Dent didn’t respond, only returned his head to the pillow. Maybe, just maybe, this was all a bad dream. Rachel...
The Joker abandoned his chair to kneel beside the bed. He leaned his elbows on its edge, using them to prop up his eerily painted face. Sinister eyes never left the half-dead man. Dreamy Dent, he laughed to himself. The pretty boy could try as hard as he wanted to ignore him, but he couldn't do it forever. I said LOOK AT ME.
"Especially for those of us who...make our own lu-ck..." Before he could finish running his tongue along his cracked lips again, the other man had his hands around his throat. Squeezing, crushing, choking. And what a sight he was. The exposed bone and sinew of his jaw glistened. His dead eye stared straight ahead, though it was impossible to know how much it was actually seeing, if it still saw anything at all. The charred flesh seemed to darken more as Dent's rage escalated.
"Oooh, yes, here we go! This'll be fun!" The clown grabbed the hands clamped onto his neck and chuckled. "Things will be much more fun, however, if you're not able to move around as much. You're a bit too feisty at the moment. Normally, I like that. But right now, it's just not ideal."
"Then why help me with my restraints at all!?" Disbelieving, Dent tried to tighten his grip but the horrific pain of his burns had been draining his strength. After a brief struggle, his hands were thrown off.
"Because restraints are so...cliché. Y'see, time is always on my side. And I'm much more interested in witnessing you become a prisoner of your own body."
He watched Dent sink back down onto the bed, his good eye narrowed with weary exasperation. His other continued to stare ahead, unchanging. Fixed in perpetual surprise.
"Now..." The clown kicked the chair aside. "I failed to tell you that you and this very hospital have something in common."
"And what would that be?" Dent growled.
"You're both gonna...ahem...blow...sky-high. Question is, which one of you will do it first? If I were you, I'd hope it was me."
Dent's frown deepened, but he said nothing. He really didn’t even want to know where the devious man was going with such an insinuation.
"C’mon, quit pouting. I have something that'll make it all better. I swear." He leaned down and playfully stroked under his patient’s chin. "What kind of nurse would I be if I didn't?" The Joker winked and fingered the hem of his dress, hiking it upward a few inches.
"Revolting..." Dent squeezed his living eye shut and groaned, his back arching in another spasm. He bit at the remains of his lip until blood seeped out. This pleased the clown, who licked his own lips again.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk. The price for all those years of a schemer's life. Pretty hefty price tag, wouldn't y'say? Too bad you can't return it for something of equal or lesser value--" Dent cried out and lurched forward for that throat again. But he fell short: for every burst of energy, he had to endure a debilitating burst of pain. The Joker was right. Time was on his side.
"Oh, hush hush hush!" The clown forced down his arms and leaned onto Dent's chest, restraining him. "Lucky for you, I've got just the thing. A favorite treatment of mine, actually."
The clown raised his right hand, wriggling the fingers. The gesture was met with an empty stare. No shift in emotion, not even a hint of disgust. Intrigued, the Joker cocked an eyebrow and balled the hand into a fist, pumping it up and down obscenely. Still nothing.
"Geez, have you checked out or what? You're hopeless." The nurse spared no time to pull back the thin blanket covering his patient’s lower half.
"Don’t you dare.” Dent hissed. The Joker smiled. That terrible tongue again snaked out of his mouth and ran along his scarred lips.
"You’re right, I'm forgetting something..."
One arm still across Dent's chest, the clown reached into the pocket of his dress. "Uh-huh. Heeeere we go." A small blade suddenly glinted in the light. And it was then that his captive began to struggle again, wholly in vain.
"Now, where were we? Ah! I think I remember..." The blade pressed against Dent's skin; with only a bit more pressure, it would yield. Always fond of a beautiful mess, the Joker was anxious to see his little Dent bleed. He mused about how wonderful it would be if he ended up liking it - just as he did. Even if he hated the sensation at first, he could learn that there was nothing quite like pleasure building and blood oozing in tandem. And hell, even if Dent didn't like it, he would enjoy it. So, how about another magic trick? The clown drew the blade up along the thigh. Got to be careful here, we don’t want you bleeding out. Just the right amount of pressure, and...voila!
Dent gaped at his leg in horror and repugnance as red began to stream down the inside. Horrified, then newly incensed.
"Damn you, if you're going to kill me, DO IT ALREADY!" But the clown just cackled and snorted uproariously. The hilarity was almost more than he could take.
"Why does everyone always think I wanna kill them? You and the Bat-man, what a pair. Look, if I wanted to kill either of you, both of you'd have been six feet under long before now. I promise." Before Dent could reply, the Joker brushed a finger over the wound. He loved the stickiness of blood, the way it stained nearly everything. He loved the heat of it as it poured out of a living body. But most of all, he loved that nigh-indescribable flavor, the tiniest samples of which had been known to push him over the edge into bodily ecstasy. When opportunity presents itself, what do you do?
In one dark moment, Dent had seen and felt this madman cut and then play with his flesh. But a queasiness stirred in him as the same man lowered his head and began to lap at the blood trails on his thigh. His stomach turned as that tongue dragged itself across his tingling skin. Dent, weakened and frustrated, thrust one arm past and onto the Joker's shoulder. He had hoped to shove him away or pry him off. But he could do neither.
"I told you to stop! STOP IT!" The Joker giggled as he nodded toward the telltale protrusion under Dent’s gown.
"A little birdie told me that you won't be saying that for too long." Dent was speechless with shame, a rosy wave washing over the still-handsome half of his face. There was nothing he could say in retort. His body had openly betrayed his mind. No matter what threats he could utter, what venomous curses he could spit back, it all paled in the presence of his current...predicament. He was hard. And this psychopath's touch had made him so.
"See...and I didn't even have to whisper sweet-nothings into your ears." The clown glanced at Dent's ruined side, pursing his lips in comical repulsion. "Well, ear."
Dent's fury launched him forward again. This time, his hand secured the neck. His nails bit into the sweaty skin. Pressure increased, pulse quickened. You did this, you son of a bitch! Then came the inevitable fire in his nerves. Another explosion of agony. And Rachel’s face flashing in his mind. I won't let go, not for anything. Amused, the Joker hushed him with a low whisper.
"Shhh...I think it's time for some real TLC. Don't you?"
Dent's breaths grew shallower and his heart raced. He could only watch as the clown began to lower the arm pressed against his chest. Even with Dent’s hand grasping his throat, threatening to crush it. The Joker was profoundly unconcerned, insane in his apathy. For the infuriated patient, the last restraint was finally gone. But he still couldn't move. The smirk on the clown's face, the way his wild eyes remained fixed on his own, the suggestive sing-song chuckle that rose from his throat - they all portended some kind of sickening chaos. He was right to be fearful. Especially after he saw the man indiscreetly spit into his palm.
The hand previously helping to bar his chest stroked Dent's cock, thumb brushing over the head just before wrapping around it. Dent writhed as the fist slid up and down his shaft, tightening with every movement. The sensation struck him like lightning and his entire body throbbed. The Joker delighted in the power he had over this man’s body, melting it with his strong grip and calloused fingertips. And as he watched Dent squirm and sigh under his stroking and squeezing, he could feel his own arousal grow. A tiny whimper escaped his lips. No, not even he could go on depriving himself like this. Besides, how long had it been since he’d gotten any genuine gratification? Too long.
Though he ceased all motion on Dent’s cock, he let his fist remain embracing it. He swung one leg over the narrow bed to straddle the man on it.
Why should you have all the fun?
The nurse held the blade in front of his lips, as if mulling over using it on them. Dent, who had since gone quiet but continued to shudder, wondered what he was planning to do next. He desperately hoped that he wasn’t pondering mutilating himself further while he was on top of him. That psycho’s blood hitting his body was likely to make him vomit. Thankfully, his nurse quickly switched the knife so that it was held in place by his index and middle fingers. Onto the now revealed palm he spat, some saliva hitting the hilt. All the while, Dent stayed mute. Watching. Trembling. Quivering with pleasure. Pleasure he didn’t seek; pleasure he didn’t want.
The clown opened his ruby lips and clenched the blade between his yellowed teeth. With the instrument secured, his newly freed hand flew swiftly to his own relief. As it closed tightly around his member and joined the other in its motion, he sighed heavily. My dear DA, if only your beloved city could see you now... And such a sight it was: the devilish nurse now straddling Dent, knife in mouth, both hands moistened and wrapped around a cock, stroking and pumping. Dent crying out in simultaneous ecstasy and ire, hands digging into the bed, crumpling the once-crisp sheets. The blade between the clown’s teeth made it difficult for throaty growls and deep moans to escape his mouth properly, but he did his best to exaggerate them. He wanted Dent to remember this. He wanted their grunts, groans and cries to haunt his dreams. He even dared to wonder if Dent was in awe of his most satisfying ability to multitask. He certainly wasn’t criticizing it.
The licentious cacophony concluded in much the same manner as it had started: the Joker demonstrating his keen knack for timing and Dent struggling to no avail to convince his body not to respond. He let out a final shaky cry as he came in warm waves; and in typical fashion, the Joker burst forth with screechy laughter as he too spilled into his fist. Immediately afterward, he found himself briefly at a loss for breath. While trying to catch it, he leered at his now soiled, sticky hands.
"Mmm…I told you...that you were gonna blow." After leaving the bed, he hastily wiped them on the front of his dress. He snickered as he attempted to wriggle still very gummy fingers. "Aaaaand, you did not disappoint. In fact, that was rather impressive. Didn't know you had...all that in you." Pink tongue re-emerged to flick over lips once more.
Good eye firmly shut, Dent didn’t move on the bed. The last words he had for his nurse were unsurprisingly brusque.
"Leave. Now." The nurse smiled broadly and turned to exit the room.
"Don't worry, I have places to be and people to see too. I'll be seeing you 'round." He paused and called over his shoulder. "Oh, and you've got about ninety seconds..."
As he left, he didn't bother to look back at the half-dead man in the bed; he didn't have to. He knew exactly the parting gaze he was being treated to: it would be a tight-lipped, stone-cold glare. So very Batman-like. But it couldn't be helped. He'd come around eventually. It would take a little time. But that would be fine, because time was always on his side.
As he made his way down the hall, the Joker wondered just how his little Dent was going to be able to get those nice clothes back on, given the burns. Wouldn't that...hurt? He shrugged. Not my problem. He's a big boy now.
The combined residues of blood, saliva and cum coated his hands - most definitely not good for handling detonators and knives. Good thing it was a hospital. More hand sanitizer stations than he knew what to do with.
Ah, convenience.
...
Author: bathshua
Fandom: The Dark Knight (aka Nolanverse)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Nurse!Joker/Two-Face
Warnings: slash, masturbation, bloodplay
Word Count: 2,507
Disclaimer: They don’t belong to me. Sure as hell wish they did, though.
Notes: When damnedflowers requested a fic exploring the whole hand sanitizer phenomenon, I was already working on this. But I finished it solely because of the request. ;) I don’t finish fics very often, you see.
Summary: Explores the happenings in Dent’s hospital room that compelled Nurse!Joker to use hand sanitizer before leaving. Oh, you naughty, naughty boys!
Crossposted to darkknightfic, batman_slash and xwhysoseriousx.
...
The coin landed heads-up. Not quite what Dent was hoping for, but fair is fair. Someone on down the line would put a bullet in that putrid brain and it would be a beautiful thing. But for now: traitors, backstabbers. Crooked cops, mob bosses. There was work to be done.
"Consider this your get-out-of-jail-free card. And you only get one of those." Dent looked to the side of the hospital bed. The rest of the straps that bound him needed undoing. The ghoulish nurse just looked on from his chair, wearing a cheeky half-grin.
"I've already used that one." Dent continued to scrutinize and manipulate the restraints, refusing to meet the Joker's gaze. He knew better than to look into those eyes for too long. But even his words were poison, poison that allowed him to slink into your consciousness and put down his vile roots. There was no way to un-hear the maniac.
"Then this was your lucky day." Almost free, just a few more to go. The clown had already undone some of them - a strange yet appreciated favor. Now, the IV in his arm would be next. He pinched the tubing between two fingers, deliberating the method of removal. It could be slow and careful. Or it could be one quick motion, more painful. Not that it could possibly be any worse than his current agony. Still. He leaned over to the table again to pick up his coin and flip it into the air. Tails.
Dent counted to three, whispering the numbers through clenched teeth. On three, he gave the tubing a swift pull. Success, but with the sacrifice of tiny flecks of blood that leapt onto his arm. Blood that excited the man in the nurse's outfit sitting nearby. The man licked his lips. Look at me.
"There's no set number of those, y'know....lucky days..." Dent didn’t respond, only returned his head to the pillow. Maybe, just maybe, this was all a bad dream. Rachel...
The Joker abandoned his chair to kneel beside the bed. He leaned his elbows on its edge, using them to prop up his eerily painted face. Sinister eyes never left the half-dead man. Dreamy Dent, he laughed to himself. The pretty boy could try as hard as he wanted to ignore him, but he couldn't do it forever. I said LOOK AT ME.
"Especially for those of us who...make our own lu-ck..." Before he could finish running his tongue along his cracked lips again, the other man had his hands around his throat. Squeezing, crushing, choking. And what a sight he was. The exposed bone and sinew of his jaw glistened. His dead eye stared straight ahead, though it was impossible to know how much it was actually seeing, if it still saw anything at all. The charred flesh seemed to darken more as Dent's rage escalated.
"Oooh, yes, here we go! This'll be fun!" The clown grabbed the hands clamped onto his neck and chuckled. "Things will be much more fun, however, if you're not able to move around as much. You're a bit too feisty at the moment. Normally, I like that. But right now, it's just not ideal."
"Then why help me with my restraints at all!?" Disbelieving, Dent tried to tighten his grip but the horrific pain of his burns had been draining his strength. After a brief struggle, his hands were thrown off.
"Because restraints are so...cliché. Y'see, time is always on my side. And I'm much more interested in witnessing you become a prisoner of your own body."
He watched Dent sink back down onto the bed, his good eye narrowed with weary exasperation. His other continued to stare ahead, unchanging. Fixed in perpetual surprise.
"Now..." The clown kicked the chair aside. "I failed to tell you that you and this very hospital have something in common."
"And what would that be?" Dent growled.
"You're both gonna...ahem...blow...sky-high. Question is, which one of you will do it first? If I were you, I'd hope it was me."
Dent's frown deepened, but he said nothing. He really didn’t even want to know where the devious man was going with such an insinuation.
"C’mon, quit pouting. I have something that'll make it all better. I swear." He leaned down and playfully stroked under his patient’s chin. "What kind of nurse would I be if I didn't?" The Joker winked and fingered the hem of his dress, hiking it upward a few inches.
"Revolting..." Dent squeezed his living eye shut and groaned, his back arching in another spasm. He bit at the remains of his lip until blood seeped out. This pleased the clown, who licked his own lips again.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk. The price for all those years of a schemer's life. Pretty hefty price tag, wouldn't y'say? Too bad you can't return it for something of equal or lesser value--" Dent cried out and lurched forward for that throat again. But he fell short: for every burst of energy, he had to endure a debilitating burst of pain. The Joker was right. Time was on his side.
"Oh, hush hush hush!" The clown forced down his arms and leaned onto Dent's chest, restraining him. "Lucky for you, I've got just the thing. A favorite treatment of mine, actually."
The clown raised his right hand, wriggling the fingers. The gesture was met with an empty stare. No shift in emotion, not even a hint of disgust. Intrigued, the Joker cocked an eyebrow and balled the hand into a fist, pumping it up and down obscenely. Still nothing.
"Geez, have you checked out or what? You're hopeless." The nurse spared no time to pull back the thin blanket covering his patient’s lower half.
"Don’t you dare.” Dent hissed. The Joker smiled. That terrible tongue again snaked out of his mouth and ran along his scarred lips.
"You’re right, I'm forgetting something..."
One arm still across Dent's chest, the clown reached into the pocket of his dress. "Uh-huh. Heeeere we go." A small blade suddenly glinted in the light. And it was then that his captive began to struggle again, wholly in vain.
"Now, where were we? Ah! I think I remember..." The blade pressed against Dent's skin; with only a bit more pressure, it would yield. Always fond of a beautiful mess, the Joker was anxious to see his little Dent bleed. He mused about how wonderful it would be if he ended up liking it - just as he did. Even if he hated the sensation at first, he could learn that there was nothing quite like pleasure building and blood oozing in tandem. And hell, even if Dent didn't like it, he would enjoy it. So, how about another magic trick? The clown drew the blade up along the thigh. Got to be careful here, we don’t want you bleeding out. Just the right amount of pressure, and...voila!
Dent gaped at his leg in horror and repugnance as red began to stream down the inside. Horrified, then newly incensed.
"Damn you, if you're going to kill me, DO IT ALREADY!" But the clown just cackled and snorted uproariously. The hilarity was almost more than he could take.
"Why does everyone always think I wanna kill them? You and the Bat-man, what a pair. Look, if I wanted to kill either of you, both of you'd have been six feet under long before now. I promise." Before Dent could reply, the Joker brushed a finger over the wound. He loved the stickiness of blood, the way it stained nearly everything. He loved the heat of it as it poured out of a living body. But most of all, he loved that nigh-indescribable flavor, the tiniest samples of which had been known to push him over the edge into bodily ecstasy. When opportunity presents itself, what do you do?
In one dark moment, Dent had seen and felt this madman cut and then play with his flesh. But a queasiness stirred in him as the same man lowered his head and began to lap at the blood trails on his thigh. His stomach turned as that tongue dragged itself across his tingling skin. Dent, weakened and frustrated, thrust one arm past and onto the Joker's shoulder. He had hoped to shove him away or pry him off. But he could do neither.
"I told you to stop! STOP IT!" The Joker giggled as he nodded toward the telltale protrusion under Dent’s gown.
"A little birdie told me that you won't be saying that for too long." Dent was speechless with shame, a rosy wave washing over the still-handsome half of his face. There was nothing he could say in retort. His body had openly betrayed his mind. No matter what threats he could utter, what venomous curses he could spit back, it all paled in the presence of his current...predicament. He was hard. And this psychopath's touch had made him so.
"See...and I didn't even have to whisper sweet-nothings into your ears." The clown glanced at Dent's ruined side, pursing his lips in comical repulsion. "Well, ear."
Dent's fury launched him forward again. This time, his hand secured the neck. His nails bit into the sweaty skin. Pressure increased, pulse quickened. You did this, you son of a bitch! Then came the inevitable fire in his nerves. Another explosion of agony. And Rachel’s face flashing in his mind. I won't let go, not for anything. Amused, the Joker hushed him with a low whisper.
"Shhh...I think it's time for some real TLC. Don't you?"
Dent's breaths grew shallower and his heart raced. He could only watch as the clown began to lower the arm pressed against his chest. Even with Dent’s hand grasping his throat, threatening to crush it. The Joker was profoundly unconcerned, insane in his apathy. For the infuriated patient, the last restraint was finally gone. But he still couldn't move. The smirk on the clown's face, the way his wild eyes remained fixed on his own, the suggestive sing-song chuckle that rose from his throat - they all portended some kind of sickening chaos. He was right to be fearful. Especially after he saw the man indiscreetly spit into his palm.
The hand previously helping to bar his chest stroked Dent's cock, thumb brushing over the head just before wrapping around it. Dent writhed as the fist slid up and down his shaft, tightening with every movement. The sensation struck him like lightning and his entire body throbbed. The Joker delighted in the power he had over this man’s body, melting it with his strong grip and calloused fingertips. And as he watched Dent squirm and sigh under his stroking and squeezing, he could feel his own arousal grow. A tiny whimper escaped his lips. No, not even he could go on depriving himself like this. Besides, how long had it been since he’d gotten any genuine gratification? Too long.
Though he ceased all motion on Dent’s cock, he let his fist remain embracing it. He swung one leg over the narrow bed to straddle the man on it.
Why should you have all the fun?
The nurse held the blade in front of his lips, as if mulling over using it on them. Dent, who had since gone quiet but continued to shudder, wondered what he was planning to do next. He desperately hoped that he wasn’t pondering mutilating himself further while he was on top of him. That psycho’s blood hitting his body was likely to make him vomit. Thankfully, his nurse quickly switched the knife so that it was held in place by his index and middle fingers. Onto the now revealed palm he spat, some saliva hitting the hilt. All the while, Dent stayed mute. Watching. Trembling. Quivering with pleasure. Pleasure he didn’t seek; pleasure he didn’t want.
The clown opened his ruby lips and clenched the blade between his yellowed teeth. With the instrument secured, his newly freed hand flew swiftly to his own relief. As it closed tightly around his member and joined the other in its motion, he sighed heavily. My dear DA, if only your beloved city could see you now... And such a sight it was: the devilish nurse now straddling Dent, knife in mouth, both hands moistened and wrapped around a cock, stroking and pumping. Dent crying out in simultaneous ecstasy and ire, hands digging into the bed, crumpling the once-crisp sheets. The blade between the clown’s teeth made it difficult for throaty growls and deep moans to escape his mouth properly, but he did his best to exaggerate them. He wanted Dent to remember this. He wanted their grunts, groans and cries to haunt his dreams. He even dared to wonder if Dent was in awe of his most satisfying ability to multitask. He certainly wasn’t criticizing it.
The licentious cacophony concluded in much the same manner as it had started: the Joker demonstrating his keen knack for timing and Dent struggling to no avail to convince his body not to respond. He let out a final shaky cry as he came in warm waves; and in typical fashion, the Joker burst forth with screechy laughter as he too spilled into his fist. Immediately afterward, he found himself briefly at a loss for breath. While trying to catch it, he leered at his now soiled, sticky hands.
"Mmm…I told you...that you were gonna blow." After leaving the bed, he hastily wiped them on the front of his dress. He snickered as he attempted to wriggle still very gummy fingers. "Aaaaand, you did not disappoint. In fact, that was rather impressive. Didn't know you had...all that in you." Pink tongue re-emerged to flick over lips once more.
Good eye firmly shut, Dent didn’t move on the bed. The last words he had for his nurse were unsurprisingly brusque.
"Leave. Now." The nurse smiled broadly and turned to exit the room.
"Don't worry, I have places to be and people to see too. I'll be seeing you 'round." He paused and called over his shoulder. "Oh, and you've got about ninety seconds..."
As he left, he didn't bother to look back at the half-dead man in the bed; he didn't have to. He knew exactly the parting gaze he was being treated to: it would be a tight-lipped, stone-cold glare. So very Batman-like. But it couldn't be helped. He'd come around eventually. It would take a little time. But that would be fine, because time was always on his side.
As he made his way down the hall, the Joker wondered just how his little Dent was going to be able to get those nice clothes back on, given the burns. Wouldn't that...hurt? He shrugged. Not my problem. He's a big boy now.
The combined residues of blood, saliva and cum coated his hands - most definitely not good for handling detonators and knives. Good thing it was a hospital. More hand sanitizer stations than he knew what to do with.
Ah, convenience.
...