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[duke_of_illusions]

It's an early evening, back in the club. Barma has sent Al on his own, to make friends, to try something new.

Dodo is a breath away.

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[al_truism]

Al sputters up more water, spits it out, and nods, shaking.

It's the kisses that do it.

[duke_of_illusions]

"This is going to be worse."

He turns away. There's the crack-snap of a soda can opening.

[al_truism]

Al whimpers, recognizing the sound.

He'd probably make some smart remark, but he's still concentrating on breathing.

[duke_of_illusions]

Into the equipment it goes. Enjoy trying to breathe out ginger ale, Al. It actually foams out of the mouth, more agitated by the breathing, not solid enough to be spat. Drips down into his hair and eyes.

[al_truism]

It's terrible, burning and impossible to make go away. He thrashes at first before it becomes sheer panic -- and then terror. Even if he knows Gerard will protect him, his brain is convinced it's going to die.

He fights.

[duke_of_illusions]

He gives it twenty seconds.

Then decides he probably wouldn't be able to safeword if he tried, pulls the cannula out and pulls him upright, so he can spit up pop.

[al_truism]

Al coughs it up, wheezing and sagging in the restraints, his face streaked with it all. He tries to get his bearings and is unable to. Even with his air back, he's not all there.

[duke_of_illusions]

He drops his feet down, springs him from the point too, and helps sit him down onto the ground gently, so he can sit and lean into him.

[al_truism]

He crawls to him, shaky, in need of contact.

[duke_of_illusions]

"Come on, baby, let's get you home."

Getting that chest harness off him too.

[al_truism]

He relaxes somewhat with the touches, the sound of his voice.

[duke_of_illusions]

Gerard scoops him up, bridal style, and walks him out to the club- where Barma has arrived to collect him to go back to the hotel.

[al_truism]

Al cuddles into him, though he's hiding the mess this made of his face. When he does catch sight of Barma, he reaches out for him, even if his throat is too raw to try to talk.

[duke_of_illusions]

Barma scoops him up with a small croon, and both of them get him to the bathroom to start cleaning him up.

[al_truism]

He's a mess, drenched and sticky and sugary, still reeling and remembered to breathe. Everything hurts.

[duke_of_illusions]

"Al."

Barma takes his chin, says his name slowly, testing his awareness.

[al_truism]

"Ru," he whispers back, a bit raspy from all the coughing, and smiles for him.

[duke_of_illusions]

"How do you feel, sweetheart?"

Resting their foreheads together.

"Ready for bed?"

[al_truism]

"Sticky. Hurts."

But he's smiling.

"Yes, please." This is going to be a hard crash.

[duke_of_illusions]

He murmurs a thank you or two to Gerard, then scoops him up and lifts him away.

Homeward.

[al_truism]

Al touches Gerard's arm, giving him a smile. He's okay.

He's still shivering with the aftershocks, all the way home. That had been intense.

[duke_of_illusions]

Barma puts him right into the bath when they get home, running the warm water up slowly around him, keeping his hands on him, stripping him off from the bottom of the tub before his things can get too sodden.

[al_truism]

Al melts under the attention, leaning into him and calming down completely. Barma is always a complete comfort to him.

[duke_of_illusions]

"Hello."

He tells him again, when Al is smiling and still, and the water is turned off. They're left in the quiet.

"Mind blown, hm?"

[al_truism]

"Do you know what he did?" Al murmurs. There's a lovely dark bruise flowering on his shoulder.