#personal prompt

You raise your gun as you sweep the room one more time. There’s a lab counter against the wall with canisters atop them, each set into their own metal holder. You don’t see any wording on them, just pink paint around the middle of each canister.

On the opposite wall is a desktop that you make your way over to.

You leaned down to peek at the computer case, finding it intact unlike all of the others you’d seen so far, dismantled with all of the important information bits missing.

“Got something,” you called out to Alex.

You booted the PC up, propping your gun up against the desk as you sat down in the rolling chair. Alex came up behind you, leaning, inked arm over your shoulder to support himself on the desk as he watched you search through the computer’s files. 

“I don’t know what any of these are,” you mumble, scrolling through a plethora of scientific looking names.

“Chemicals,” Alex responds gruffly, and you tsk.

“Well, yeah, thanks. But what’re any of them? There’s a shit ton.”

Alex lets his gun go slack on the strap, reaching to point at one of the lines of text, the one that reads bis(2-chloroethyl) sulfide. 

“Mustard gas.”

“Christ,” you sigh out, “do you know the others?”

“Nope,” he admits, squinting at the screen, “not for us to know, though. Let's just get this back to Laswell, alright?”

You frown, scrolling a bit further down. Your eye catches on a specific file, far less complicated looking than the others. 

Bufotenin aphrodisias. 

You glance over to Alex, who’s busy jimmying the lock on a filing cabinet, and then look back to the computer.

“Alex, do you know what bufotenin is?” 

“Toad venom, psychoactive in concentration,” he mumbles, and then looks over to you, “are you still…? We need to get—”

You click on the file.

The screen goes black and you startle, watching the faint lights of it’s machinery blank out one by one.

“Shit.”

“What did you—!?” Alex begins, cut off as you both hear the loud, droning beep of the metal door locking shut, the light on the keypad turning red. 

You both look at each other just as the lights go out, the dull crimson of the emergency lights basking you in an ominous glow.

And then you hear the hissing.

Alex turns around, toward the sound just as the canisters seem to pop, a cloud of pink mist blasting into his face. He watched wide-eyed as he instinctively gasps in a big breath, too late as he inhales whatever the hell it is, before turning away coughing. The gas slowly starts to leak out onto the floor, toward you.

You back away, pressing your forearm over your mouth and against your nostrils like that’ll do you any good.

Alex hasn’t fallen dead on the floor yet, which you pray is a good sign, especially considering how particularly vulnerable he is to chemical weapons after the whole situation at the Highway of Death.

He looks up to you wide-eyed, and scrambles towards you, the hand not trying to cover his face tugging at his utility belt. He yanks his gas mask loose and grabs you, shoving it over your head.

“Alex, what’re you—” you gasp out, feeling him seal it as you take a deep, stuttering breath of stale air. 

The mist overtakes the room slowly, and Alex just stands in front of you, holding your wrists in fear you’ll try and pull the mask off—try and play heroics to spare him or something.

Except, you know better. Alex has already breathed in an ungodly amount, a mask wouldn’t do him much good now.

You try and shift, to move and look around the room—for a way out, but Alex’s hands remain tight around your wrists, and he yanks you back in front of him when you step away.

“Alex,” you hiss, tugging against him again.

His pupils are blown wide, and you can see how much he’s sweating, taking in big gulping breaths—panting. Definitely not something one would usually do in a room filled to the brim in possibly deadly gas. 

He blinks a few times, though, releasing you to wipe the sweat from his brow.

“S-sorry, I—I checked out for a second,” he says meekly.

“What’re your symptoms, Alex?”

“Shit,” he breathes, cringing at the wetness of his mustache, the sweat collecting at his upper lip, bitter, “uh, fever. Definitely. Lungs kind of burn. That’s expected. Heart’s beating pretty fast, maybe just adrenaline.”

“Strong maybe.”

“Yeah. Yeah, uh…” he trails off, his breath stuttering, pink tongue peeking out to lick at his chapped lips.

You frown, pressing a hand to his forehead. You startle slightly when he immediately reaches up to grab your forearm, holding you in place with a gentle squeeze. He’s burning up, skin slick and searing. 

“You’re not gonna die on me, right?”

Alex barks a laugh, short and a bit choked, but a laugh, and you can’t help the small, sad smile you give.

“Let’s find a way out of here first, yeah?” He says, and his voice is noticeably gravellier. He doesn’t let go of your arm for a long moment, however, not until you give a slight tug. He frowns and releases you with another murmured, “sorry.” 

You head over to the door, digging for the keycard you pulled off one of the hired guns earlier. The little screen beeps at you when you swipe it, flashing red, and you huff, trying it a few more times only to be met with the same ACCESS DENIED.

“Key cards no-go. Low clearance,” you grunt, tossing it onto the floor. 

“Computer’s dead,” Alex responds, fucking with the PC case before giving it a hard punch.

“Woah, woah, hey,” you call, taking a few steps toward him. He’s hunched over under the desk, and you can’t see his face, but you can see how his shoulders rise and fall with heaving breaths, “still need that hard drive in tact, Alex, right? Remember?”

You feel like you’re talking to a child, or a wild dog, morelike. But he’s off-kilter. Out of it. You can tell how he’s trying to maintain his hold, though, as he gives a frustrated sigh and turns to stand with yet another “right, sorry.”

“I’m gonna try and call this in,” you explain, “hopefully we can get a signal. Get some backup out here.”

He nods, but he doesn’t really seem to be listening as he scans the room, blinking with purpose like he’s trying to keep his vision clear. You watch as you fidget with the radio, finally getting a barely clear line into Laswell as Alex seems to spot something across the room.

“Watcher-1, how copy?”

“Getting a lot of static, C/S, but I can make you out. Send traffic.”

“Building should be cleared but, uh, we ran into a bit of an… issue.”

You get a burst of static and wince, barely making out the go on, C/S.

“Found a computer. Hard drives should be intact but possibly wiped. There must’ve been a trap or something in the system. Locked us in one of the lab rooms here and gassed us.”

“What’s your condition?”

You watch Alex across the room pull some kind of lever, something akin to a fire alarm on the wall, and hear a loud metal thunk as some of the slatted vents along the ceiling open, hissing following, though this time like air being sucked out. You slowly watch the pink mist in the room dissipate, the air units kicking on to hopefully begin filtering in fresh oxygen. 

“C/S? Do you copy?”

“Yeah, yes, ma’am. I’m alright. Got a mask on, and looks like Alex just got the air filter up and running, but he took a blast of it. We don’t know what it was, but he’s conscious at the moment. No visible damage externally. He’s running a bad fever.”

“Understood. Captain Price and his boys are still wrapping up at the other facility. I’ll have them head to you, ETA two hours. Do we think Alex can make it that long?”

You look up at Alex, who’s leaning heavily against the wall, but he gives you a slow thumbs up.

“Affirmative. I’ll call if that changes.”

“Copy. Out.”

You switch the line off, pulling off the gas mask as you watch the last bits of pink gas suck up through the air vents, the system chugging for a few seconds before Alex flips the switch again and the slats slam shut.

He pushes slightly off the wall, mouth working like he’s about to try and speak before he collapses, toppling onto the ground with a grunt. You rush over to him, rolling him onto his back. He groans long and deep, arm thrown over his eyes and his other gloved hand pressed against his mouth.

“Hey, hey, Alex, talk to me,” you rush out, grabbing his shoulders and giving him a little shake. His hand moves from his mouth to grab your wrist, squeezing at you like he’s trying to ground himself. 

“New symptom,” he grits out.

“Fainting?”

He chokes out what you could barely consider a laugh, making you wince as he slightly squirms in place.

“Southern blood flow,” he grins, though it seems forced, or maybe spiteful.

Your brow furrows, and it takes you a second to process what he’s said as your eyes slide down his twitching body.

“Oh…”

“Oh,” he parrots, “just my luck, huh?” 

“Fucking—God. Alex, I’m sorry, this is my fault, I—”

“Shut up,” he huffs out, moving his arm from his eyes to rest above his head, staring up at you half-lidded. You raise a brow at him, a little thrown off. He’s not usually so… curt. Though you suppose he’s not usually lying beneath you rock hard, either, “shit happens. Rather be horny than dead.”

He’s still sweating immensely, and his pupils are still blown. You slide your hand from his shoulder, the one he’s still gripping, to his throat to try and feel for his pulse. You realize you can see it pumping against his neck.

You press your palm over the pulsing skin and Alex moans. You flush with embarrassment and try to pull your hand away, but once again Alex holds you firm with a desperate whine.

“Alex,” you whisper.

“Hurts,” he gasps out, and it almost sounds like a sob, “hurts when you’re not touchin’ me.”

“O-okay, just…” you place your other hand on the center of his chest and he shivers, hips bucking up into nothing. He tugs his own gloves off, trying to reach back, tugging at straps and belts on your uniform like he’s trying to get it off—trying to get at your skin. You let him, knowing he’s not gonna be able to get past any of it with the way he’s lying, not this uncoordinated.

“Please,” he says, begs, and the tone of it makes something guilty stir in your core, “please just—it hurts, Y/N.”

“I’m touching you, Alex,” you try, like reminding him will make it better. He only whines.

“S’not enough, fuck, just—” he twists around, pushing up onto his knees and grabbing your ankles to yank you forward, knocking you flat onto your back. He brackets your head with his arms, leaning down to hide his face against the crook of your neck, panting against your heated skin. His hips rock against yours, against your own crotch, and you can feel the outline of his hard cock through the fatigues. 

“Stop me,” he growls out, grasping at your hips, squeezing hard enough to bruise, “if you don’t want this you need to stop me. Hit me ‘till I stop, knock me out, I d-don’t care just—”

He gasps as you tentatively run your hands under his shirt, the skin to skin contact making his body sing, before thumbing at the hem of his pants. 

“It’s okay,” you whisper, feeling how he positively vibrates against you, “take what you need. S’okay.”

The permission sends him into a frenzy, shooting up to tug at your harness, barely managing to get everything undone with shaking hands as he slaps away your own attempts to help. He pulls your jacket off next, then your vest, and undershirt, desperate to get his mouth on you.

He latches onto your pec, licking and sucking at your nipple, making you gasp and cry out, back arching into the wet heat of his mouth. He fondles the other roughly, switching between them to provide equal treatment before he’s trailing down your torso, licking up the droplets of sweat that gather in the divots of your body.

You’re already tugging at your belt, unzipping your pants as he lowers and he grins, nipping at the jut of your hip bone before reaching into your boxers. His warm, sweaty palm wrapping around your half-hard cock makes you startle, hips bucking as he pulls you free from the confines.

He doesn’t even bother stroking, the blue of his eyes almost completely overtaken by his blown pupils as he takes you into his mouth. You choke on nothing, the wet, supple heat immediately overwhelming. He licks and sucks, hollowing his cheeks to create more suction, bobbing up and down your length like a man starved. You can see the movement of his shoulder—can see how his bicep flexes as he strokes his own aching prick. You realize quite suddenly he’s managed to get his pants and briefs off over his boots, the former kicked off to the side.

You place one hand on his head, tangling in his sweat-slick hair, and he groans, grabbing desperately at your other hand and guiding it to the back of his neck. He takes the slow rolling motions of your hips with ease, his throat ever so slightly bulging as the tip of your cock teases into it with each movement. 

He moans and gags around you, and you only release him when he gives a pained whine. 

As he sits up you can see his straining cock, fist still wrapped around it though now resting at the base unmoving. The swollen flesh is an angry red, tip leaking a continuous stream of pre. It looks painful.

“Can’t fuckin’ cum,” he grits out, and his dick pulses in his grip as he gasps, “I-I, fuck, I just feel… empty?” He says, voice lilting like he’s not quite sure. His brain is so foggy, nerves firing off non-stop, wires crossed. The psychedelic aspect isn’t helping in the slightest.

You nod, squeezing his hips, trying to gently coax him into your lap. He shuffles forward with ease.

“Do you think…” you begin, trailing off. You know he’s not truly in the right mind to consent—you know this is… well, all of it’s unethical, and probably very much against protocol, but, “Alex, can I fuck you?”

He groans low and long, forehead falling to your shoulder. He shifts in your lap until your cock is pressed to the seam of his ass, and he rocks slowly, experimentally, like he’s not sure just yet. 

You pet at him as he moves, patient, kissing his neck in hopes to curb the contact his body so desperately craves. It seems to be working, with the way his cock twitches and kicks against your stomach as he grinds.

“Y-yeah,” he finally breathes, “please.”

“Have you ever done this?” You ask, and he scoffs like that’s the dumbest question he’s ever heard. And maybe it is, given the circumstances, but if this is something Alex comes to regret, you at least want to try and make it good for him. Something he doesn’t have to think back on with any pain or fear.

“Once, with a girl, though.”

“I mean—”

“I know what you mean. What I said.”

You smile against his neck, storing that little fact away for later interrogation. No one ever said Alex Keller wasn’t adventurous.

“Good,” you murmur, and he makes a small little noise at the word. You fumble for the lube you keep in one of your packs—benefits of a not quite field medic, “do you like when I praise you?”

He hums an affirmative as you lube up your fingers, teasing between his cheeks. He lets out stuttering breaths, hips finally stilling as you make contact with his fluttering hole. 

“Mhm, wanna be my good boy, huh?” You say, and he groans, body falling lax at the words just as you slip a finger inside, earning another pretty moan.

He surprisingly doesn’t tense around you at all, if anything you’d argue he’s loose. You tease the tip of your second finger against him and he rocks back to take it in alongside the first, his brow pinched and eyes closed as he starts to fuck himself back onto your fingers desperately, making indignant little moans you know will haunt your wet dreams.

“Fuck, baby,” he whines, and the petname makes your heart flutter, something settling deep in your stomach and he claws at your back, panting hard against your neck, “y-you could just—please, fuck me, I—I don’t need the prep, I’m—”

He can’t get a full sentence out, stumbling over his words as he loses himself to the pleasure. When a third finger slips easily in you come to the conclusion the aphrodisiac must’ve loosened him up naturally, though it makes you wonder if the chemical is somehow targeted towards women if this is the result in a male.

You shake the thoughts away, cooing at Alex, trying to soothe him down as his body shakes violently against yours. You're scared he’ll hyperventilate, or dehydrate completely. You make him take a swig from your canteen, fingers still inside of him as he gulps down the water.

He empties the container, tossing it carelessly onto the ground. He slams his lips against yours and you gasp, giving him the opening to slip his tongue into your mouth. He hasn’t kissed you so far, and somehow it feels far more intimate than what you’ve already done to him. 

“The table,” he mumbles when he finally pulls away, panting against your mouth, “fuck m’on the table.”

Your cock twitches where it’s trapped underneath him and he nearly smirks at the feeling as you dumbly nod. Despite his wishes he whines as you slip your fingers from his hole, and he grips onto you the entire time you get up and shuffle him over to the sterile looking table.

You try to push him by the shoulders to lay back onto it, but he squirms, spinning with his back to you before bending over—presenting himself.

“Fucking hell, Alex,” you rumble, and he whimpers softly, such a delicate sound coming from such a strong person as his hips rock back to try and entice you in. It doesn’t take much, if anything at all.

You plant your hands onto his hips and he gasps as he feels the head of your swollen cock against his hole. You’re careful as you slip into him, the both of you moaning as the velvety muscles wrap tight around your prick. 

You slowly slide in, taking your time despite his protests, careful to keep from hurting him no matter how ready his body seems. You run your palms up and down his back, slowly lowering your weight over him as you push into the hilt with a low moan.

“Okay, baby?” you murmur against his ear, and he nods, cheek pressed flush to the cool tabletop and mouth hanging open like a panting dog as he takes big gulping breaths. 

“Please,” he begs, and it’s all you need to grip the edges of the table and begin pounding into him. He immediately cries out, eyes rolling back as your cockhead rubs along his prostate with each passing movement, your balls slapping roughly against his as you gain momentum. 

His muscles spasm and flutter around you, seeming to tighten up as if they’re trying to fit to your cock, and the thought makes you dizzy with it. You feel so flooded with arousal you wonder if for a moment you did inhale some of that gas—or maybe this is all a dream and you’re currently on the ground foaming at the mouth.

But Alex moans so beautifully, each line and crease of his face accentuating his sharp features. He’s blissed out, you can see the glaze over his eyes, and you hope to God this is enough to fix whatever’s coursing through his blood right now.

You feel that familiar knot in your stomach as the pleasure settles deeply. You grit your teeth, moving to a slower but more brutal pace to try and curb your impending orgasm.

“You feel so good, Alex,” you try, hoping to get him closer to the edge with praise, “so fucking tight around me, sweetheart, you’re doing so good.”

He chokes out something caught between a groan and a sob, nodding his head as tears prick in the corner of his eyes. They never fall, but they make his eyes look so glassy—vulnerable.

“Look so pretty when you cry,” you can’t help but coo, and the words mixed with the perfect thrust of your cock against his prostate has him crying out, back arching up against your torso as he finally, finally cums. 

It goes on for quite a bit, about forty seconds as his body spasms, and you reach down to stroke him through it, trying to help ease what you can only imagine is both a relief and a slight pain as his body finally releases. 

You go to slip out of him, having completed your task, when Alex reaches back and weakly grasps at your hip, trying to tug you back in.

“Wan’ it inside,” he mumbles, and you bite back a groan.

“I don’t want to—”

“Please,” he whines, and you think maybe if this is something designed for women, that it perhaps feeds off of instinct to breed. That this might be something his body needs to feel for his brain to finally settle.

“Okay,” you whisper and slide back into him, his low whine making your cock twitch as you make shallow, quick little thrusts into his fluttering hole.

It doesn’t take long for you to come, having already been so close to the edge, and you gently bite down on his shoulder as you do, arms wrapped around his torso to hold him tight to you as you fill him. 

Alex sighs, and he finally sounds content. He’s no longer laboring for breath, and while he’s still sweating you can feel his body temperature starting to drop back into a safer range.