Casey wakes slowly. In his own body, he'd built up a certain resistance to being knocked out either physically or with tranquilizers. He had a harder head than this woman does apparently.
It takes a moment after he's woken up to remember what's happened and when he does remember, he's pissed. How the fuck did someone manage to catch him by surprise? Him. He's been in wars. He's been tortured. He's assassinated those that threatened the country's security.
How the fuck did this happen?
He's been buried. Alive. Coffin walls are what press up against him. Coffin walls and a body. He recognizes that voice. Oh, God. Fuck. His heart rockets in his chest. It's not the small spaces, the knowledge that dirt surrounds them in feet on every side, or the fact that he's been buried alive that terrifies him.
His body- This body is pressed against Ricky's whose close proximity fucked with all sense that he'd ever had and forced him to realize that he was attracted. To a male. And it's not him. It's not right
( ... )
He can. He really can feel Casey's heart pounding. He shifts, trying to push himself away from Casey, but all Ricky manages to do is press up against him further. This really is the last thing he needs right now. It's fine, when they're fighting. It's the little moments like these, when they're so close that make it all unbearable.
Why did it have to be Casey? There's not enough room for him to turn so his back is up against Casey's or he would, just so he didn't have to deal with the soft body up against his. His scent, over the smell of the dirt.
And he knows Casey is right-- he shouldn't say anything, but he deflects with words. He processes with words. How is he supposed to stay rational, with Casey right up against him, if he can't even try to write it off?
Casey is trying to wriggle to reach for the panic button that he's always kept on him, because it was orders, not because he actually thought that he'd need it. He has to hope that that wasn't taken off of him, too, but it's kept underneath his clothes around his throat so unless they were undressed and dressed, again, he doubts it.
Every movement brings him closer to Ricky, he can feel the panic sink in as his hands slip up, groping along both of their bodies, unable to tell the difference at times between the two. His hands are shaking. He hates the panic that's sinking over him. He's not used to panic. It's been decades since he's felt anything akin to panic. He can't get control of himself. The heavy breathing coming out of his mouth has to be doing just as much harm to the air in the coffin.
That wriggling is making things far, far more awkward. He really shouldn't be thinking about that, considering they've just been buried alive, but he can feel Casey's breath and he's not entirely sure what he's doing with that hand. He makes a soft awkward sound as Casey accidentally feels him up, instead of himself, trying to press away from Casey, but there really isn't enough room for Ricky to do anything of the sort.
He's panicking himself, trying to focus on what they could possibly do to save themselves. He checks himself for his gun again, his fingers running down Casey's thigh accidentally as he does so. No gun. Ricky's really starting to wish he could handle electronics right now. Logic says that even if he had something like a cell phone it would be removed just like the gun, but it's kind of hard to be logical right now, between the panic and the feel of Casey's body.
Comments 14
It takes a moment after he's woken up to remember what's happened and when he does remember, he's pissed. How the fuck did someone manage to catch him by surprise? Him. He's been in wars. He's been tortured. He's assassinated those that threatened the country's security.
How the fuck did this happen?
He's been buried. Alive. Coffin walls are what press up against him. Coffin walls and a body. He recognizes that voice. Oh, God. Fuck. His heart rockets in his chest. It's not the small spaces, the knowledge that dirt surrounds them in feet on every side, or the fact that he's been buried alive that terrifies him.
His body- This body is pressed against Ricky's whose close proximity fucked with all sense that he'd ever had and forced him to realize that he was attracted. To a male. And it's not him. It's not right ( ... )
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Why did it have to be Casey? There's not enough room for him to turn so his back is up against Casey's or he would, just so he didn't have to deal with the soft body up against his. His scent, over the smell of the dirt.
And he knows Casey is right-- he shouldn't say anything, but he deflects with words. He processes with words. How is he supposed to stay rational, with Casey right up against him, if he can't even try to write it off?
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Every movement brings him closer to Ricky, he can feel the panic sink in as his hands slip up, groping along both of their bodies, unable to tell the difference at times between the two. His hands are shaking. He hates the panic that's sinking over him. He's not used to panic. It's been decades since he's felt anything akin to panic. He can't get control of himself. The heavy breathing coming out of his mouth has to be doing just as much harm to the air in the coffin.
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He's panicking himself, trying to focus on what they could possibly do to save themselves. He checks himself for his gun again, his fingers running down Casey's thigh accidentally as he does so. No gun. Ricky's really starting to wish he could handle electronics right now. Logic says that even if he had something like a cell phone it would be removed just like the gun, but it's kind of hard to be logical right now, between the panic and the feel of Casey's body.
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