Darius Benjamin Alexander (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
breathelife) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
muserevival2017-01-15 09:45 pm
breathelife) wrote in muserevival2017-01-15 09:45 pm
Entry tags:
Word of the Day #001
Autolatry
n. 1. The worship of oneself.
The one thing about being a trained health professional was that if an emergency happened, it was impossible not to step in and help, no matter how much you were off the clock. The Masquerade Ball night at the club had been a complete cock-fest. Not knowing who was behind the masks was all fun and games until you actually wanted to know to get their number off them, but before you finished getting the best BJ you had in your life, there was an emergency situation. Not only did the BJ get a climax, but Darius didn't get Mystery Man's number either.
Fuck it.
No amount of self-care, self-help, or self-worship - in the shower, in his bed, in the bath - had been able to make up for the unfulfilled orgasm he really wanted to have that night. He would never have just not come to someone's rescue in a medical emergency. He was a Paramedic, for fuck's sake. That was what he did. Plus, he knew Liam. He knew a lot of the doctors who had worked in various ERs around the city. The shit completely hit the fan that night, and it was impossible to know what Liam had been roofied with, so it was an emergency no matter how much he wanted to finish getting his dick sucked. Liam could die if it was a lethal substance, or he had a bad reaction to it.
Darius had returned to the club that night. He had the night off, and it was one of the hottest gay clubs in town, so even if he wasn't successful in his hunt for Mystery Man, maybe he could find another prospect for a one night stand and still have a relaxing night of dancing and hooking up.
Or not.
Because all he could focus on was trying find Mystery Man. It was distracting, and no one else there seemed quite as exciting. No, he didn't know what the guy's face looked like without a mask, but he would recognise the eyes and lips. Not to mention the ass and the package. That was how he was sure it was the guy who had been eye-sexing him on and off at the same bad for a couple of weeks.
Darius worked a lot of nights, so his clubbing evenings were sporadic, at best. As much as he wished he could party hard every night, he had grown-up responsibilities. He got out dancing a few nights a fortnight, if he wasn't too tired from his shift rotations. Some nights, after the really taxing and horrific nights on the job, he just wanted to go home and crash.
Eventually, he just got bored. It wasn't like him, but he knew the only reason he had come out that night was to find Mystery Man, and he was nowhere to be seen. He palmed off s few guys trying to get him to dance, or leave with them, finished his drink, and decided to call it a night. Maybe a bit of a walk in the cold winter's evening to the subway station would sober him a little and he wouldn't be too pumped from the booze and adrenaline of dancing to fall asleep when he got home. He didn't have to work tomorrow, either, so he could sleep as much as he wanted. At least, until he could corner Hunter and interrogate him more about his bi-curious threesome. It seemed that all the Alexander brothers were destined to like dick. Darius had been telling them the benefits of dick aplenty for years.
He pulled on his knee-length coat, and the rest of his clubbing garb was covered with long gloves, a thick scarf and a hat. He looked like any other passerby in the cold weather as he stepped out into the street and the club's doors swung closed behind him, muffling strains of Cher's Believe. One of many gay anthems that would crop up on every good dance party list ad-nauseum. He took his phone out and flicked through a quick text message to his twin: On my way home. Have the kettle on in hour. Colder than witch's tit out. Dingleberries are going to be fucking frozen.
He passed the length of the building that housed the club, Frozen/Burn. Burn was the gay nightclub, and its sister club, Frozen, favoured by het patrons. They were both technically under the same roof, and owned by the same person. Burn would always be one of Darius' favourites the city had to offer, and it was one of the biggest. He was just stuffing his phone back into his pocket when he passed the entry to a dark alleyway... one of many New York had to offer. He glanced up it, but it was too dark to see anything, and kept walking. Just as he stepped back onto the sidewalk at the other side, he heard a shrill ringing coming from the direction of the alley.
With a frown, he doubled-back to try to get a better look. The ringing got a little louder and was echoing off the alley walls. "Hello? Is anyone there? You might want to answer your phone before a mugger comes and steals it off you."
There was no answer, so he took a few hesitant steps into the alley and when he did, he could see the light from what had to be a phone screen illuminating off the dark walls. Someone must have dropped their phone when they ducked out for a fuck against the wall. Many an alley near many a nightclub in this city would bear witness to that. If he could grab the phone, he might be able to figure out who owned it from the contacts and get it returned to them. There was nothing worse than losing your phone, especially if you relied on it as much as Darius did his. Which was basically most people in today's Western world.
The closer he got to the ringing, though, he could see it wasn't just a phone on the ground at all. It was a phone on the ground, lying next to an unmoving supine body. "Oh, shit! Fuck!" he cried, running the last of the distance up the alley to breach the gap between him and the body. Fuck, he did not want to have to be seeing dead bodies on his night off. He saw enough of them when he was working.
As soon as his eyes landed on the face - on the lips - and his gaze swept down over the rest of the form, he realised with cold dread that it was Mystery Man. He was in tight leather, and his clubbing make-up was mixed with blood and smeared across his face. There was vomit splashed down the front of his shirt, and another pool of it by his head. There was blood enough to not be able to identify where he was bleeding. Possibly his nose, but it looked like he had been vomiting blood too.
"Hey, can you hear me? You got to wake up now," Darius commanded loudly, giving him a little shaking and firm squeeze to his trapezius muscle. He wasn't responsive, so Darius pressed his fingers to the guys throat, trying to feel for a pulse, and leaned over to see if he could hear or feel any breathing. If he was breathing normally, in this cold, his breath would be condensing in the air. It could be an overdose or he might have been raped and left for dead.
The pulse was faint, the breathing ragged and shallow. Yet, he was still covered in blood. "Fuck!" Darius cursed in a panic. He pulled the guy over towards him into the recovery position and he swept inside his mouth with his finger in case he had anything in there that could he obstructing his airway. He held him in against his leg and fumbled his phone out, keeping his finger at the guy's throat to make sure he kept track of that pulse. Like it or not, if the guy stopped breathing, , Darius couldn't give him mouth-to-mouth because of the amount of blood. It wasn't worth the risk.
He put the phone to his ear after dialling 911. "You stay with me, you bitch. I'm going to need you to stay with me so I can at least have the chance to ask you for your fucking number." Suddenly, the thrill of the chase for Mystery Man had taken a sharp turn into a horror story, and Daris knew he would never be able to forgive himself if this guy was one patient he lost on his watch.
Darius Alexander // OC
n. 1. The worship of oneself.
The one thing about being a trained health professional was that if an emergency happened, it was impossible not to step in and help, no matter how much you were off the clock. The Masquerade Ball night at the club had been a complete cock-fest. Not knowing who was behind the masks was all fun and games until you actually wanted to know to get their number off them, but before you finished getting the best BJ you had in your life, there was an emergency situation. Not only did the BJ get a climax, but Darius didn't get Mystery Man's number either.
Fuck it.
No amount of self-care, self-help, or self-worship - in the shower, in his bed, in the bath - had been able to make up for the unfulfilled orgasm he really wanted to have that night. He would never have just not come to someone's rescue in a medical emergency. He was a Paramedic, for fuck's sake. That was what he did. Plus, he knew Liam. He knew a lot of the doctors who had worked in various ERs around the city. The shit completely hit the fan that night, and it was impossible to know what Liam had been roofied with, so it was an emergency no matter how much he wanted to finish getting his dick sucked. Liam could die if it was a lethal substance, or he had a bad reaction to it.
Darius had returned to the club that night. He had the night off, and it was one of the hottest gay clubs in town, so even if he wasn't successful in his hunt for Mystery Man, maybe he could find another prospect for a one night stand and still have a relaxing night of dancing and hooking up.
Or not.
Because all he could focus on was trying find Mystery Man. It was distracting, and no one else there seemed quite as exciting. No, he didn't know what the guy's face looked like without a mask, but he would recognise the eyes and lips. Not to mention the ass and the package. That was how he was sure it was the guy who had been eye-sexing him on and off at the same bad for a couple of weeks.
Darius worked a lot of nights, so his clubbing evenings were sporadic, at best. As much as he wished he could party hard every night, he had grown-up responsibilities. He got out dancing a few nights a fortnight, if he wasn't too tired from his shift rotations. Some nights, after the really taxing and horrific nights on the job, he just wanted to go home and crash.
Eventually, he just got bored. It wasn't like him, but he knew the only reason he had come out that night was to find Mystery Man, and he was nowhere to be seen. He palmed off s few guys trying to get him to dance, or leave with them, finished his drink, and decided to call it a night. Maybe a bit of a walk in the cold winter's evening to the subway station would sober him a little and he wouldn't be too pumped from the booze and adrenaline of dancing to fall asleep when he got home. He didn't have to work tomorrow, either, so he could sleep as much as he wanted. At least, until he could corner Hunter and interrogate him more about his bi-curious threesome. It seemed that all the Alexander brothers were destined to like dick. Darius had been telling them the benefits of dick aplenty for years.
He pulled on his knee-length coat, and the rest of his clubbing garb was covered with long gloves, a thick scarf and a hat. He looked like any other passerby in the cold weather as he stepped out into the street and the club's doors swung closed behind him, muffling strains of Cher's Believe. One of many gay anthems that would crop up on every good dance party list ad-nauseum. He took his phone out and flicked through a quick text message to his twin: On my way home. Have the kettle on in hour. Colder than witch's tit out. Dingleberries are going to be fucking frozen.
He passed the length of the building that housed the club, Frozen/Burn. Burn was the gay nightclub, and its sister club, Frozen, favoured by het patrons. They were both technically under the same roof, and owned by the same person. Burn would always be one of Darius' favourites the city had to offer, and it was one of the biggest. He was just stuffing his phone back into his pocket when he passed the entry to a dark alleyway... one of many New York had to offer. He glanced up it, but it was too dark to see anything, and kept walking. Just as he stepped back onto the sidewalk at the other side, he heard a shrill ringing coming from the direction of the alley.
With a frown, he doubled-back to try to get a better look. The ringing got a little louder and was echoing off the alley walls. "Hello? Is anyone there? You might want to answer your phone before a mugger comes and steals it off you."
There was no answer, so he took a few hesitant steps into the alley and when he did, he could see the light from what had to be a phone screen illuminating off the dark walls. Someone must have dropped their phone when they ducked out for a fuck against the wall. Many an alley near many a nightclub in this city would bear witness to that. If he could grab the phone, he might be able to figure out who owned it from the contacts and get it returned to them. There was nothing worse than losing your phone, especially if you relied on it as much as Darius did his. Which was basically most people in today's Western world.
The closer he got to the ringing, though, he could see it wasn't just a phone on the ground at all. It was a phone on the ground, lying next to an unmoving supine body. "Oh, shit! Fuck!" he cried, running the last of the distance up the alley to breach the gap between him and the body. Fuck, he did not want to have to be seeing dead bodies on his night off. He saw enough of them when he was working.
As soon as his eyes landed on the face - on the lips - and his gaze swept down over the rest of the form, he realised with cold dread that it was Mystery Man. He was in tight leather, and his clubbing make-up was mixed with blood and smeared across his face. There was vomit splashed down the front of his shirt, and another pool of it by his head. There was blood enough to not be able to identify where he was bleeding. Possibly his nose, but it looked like he had been vomiting blood too.
"Hey, can you hear me? You got to wake up now," Darius commanded loudly, giving him a little shaking and firm squeeze to his trapezius muscle. He wasn't responsive, so Darius pressed his fingers to the guys throat, trying to feel for a pulse, and leaned over to see if he could hear or feel any breathing. If he was breathing normally, in this cold, his breath would be condensing in the air. It could be an overdose or he might have been raped and left for dead.
The pulse was faint, the breathing ragged and shallow. Yet, he was still covered in blood. "Fuck!" Darius cursed in a panic. He pulled the guy over towards him into the recovery position and he swept inside his mouth with his finger in case he had anything in there that could he obstructing his airway. He held him in against his leg and fumbled his phone out, keeping his finger at the guy's throat to make sure he kept track of that pulse. Like it or not, if the guy stopped breathing, , Darius couldn't give him mouth-to-mouth because of the amount of blood. It wasn't worth the risk.
He put the phone to his ear after dialling 911. "You stay with me, you bitch. I'm going to need you to stay with me so I can at least have the chance to ask you for your fucking number." Suddenly, the thrill of the chase for Mystery Man had taken a sharp turn into a horror story, and Daris knew he would never be able to forgive himself if this guy was one patient he lost on his watch.
Darius Alexander // OC