Work Text:
Randy is tired.
It doesn’t matter that he had just gotten up. It doesn’t matter that this should be him at his best for the day, none of that matters in the God damn slightest.
He is fucking tired.
The type of tired that makes your skin feel wrong. The type that sits on the back of your neck and makes you fucking angry.
Which is a dangerous state to be in, when your travel partner is also tired, and on edge, and as fucking unpredictably volatile as Benson is.
The exhaustion was inevitable. It had been building steadily for days, and now it sat, pushing on the back of Randy’s neck. Right on the nerves.
He needed to rest, to really, properly rest.
They needed to rest.
But they wouldn’t get any.
Because they couldn’t get any.
Couldn’t fucking afford to.
But that was fine, apparently.
It was just god damn peachy, as Randy is informed that morning by Benson. Randy fixing the man with a dead, exhausted stare as Benson rifles through their bags in an apparent hunt for something. It was fine because Benson had apparently come up with a novel solution to the problem.
Randy dreads learning what that solution is.
He focuses on sitting on the motel bed and trying to get his body to accept the fact he is awake, because that is all that he has the energy to do.
Across the room, Benson digs a pill bottle out of the depths his bag with a grin.
Randy stares at Benson, and the bottle, with unfixed eyes. it takes him a moment to focus in enough to read the label and realize what it is.
Fucking gas station caffeine pills. Fucking cardiac arrest in over-the-counter pill form- Benson is truly, trying to kill them.
He watches silently as Benson argues the cap open, popping two pills into his mouth, swallowing them dry.
Randy crinkles his nose at the move. He remembers distantly hearing once that was bad for your throat. That it burns the insides.
Then Benson waves the bottle towards Randy, an offer.
One Randy, in retrospect, should have accepted.
He doesn’t.
He shakes his head, offering a definitive no.
He doesn’t want a caffeine pill.
He wants sleep.
The bottle is shaken again, this time with a touch more force. A hint of, take it, if you know what’s good for you.
Randy shakes his head again.
Benson raises an eyebrow. The bottle is pulled back, Benson tipping a pill out into his hand, and holding it out, towards Randy. The offer has become a request.
Randy usually knows better than to turn down a request, particularly one made by Benson.
But Randy is tired, proper, bone-aching tired. Not the type of tired you can smother over with caffeine and chemicals.
He doesn’t want stimulants. Those, he thinks, will only make things worse.
So without thinking, Randy clamps his mouth shut. Tight. Jaw held closed in protest.
Randy watches Benson’s eyebrow rise slowly higher at the response, and realizes, with slow, sinking horror, that he had just issued a challenge, and Benson was sure as fuck picking it up.
The pill is curled away safely in one hand, the bottle put aside, as Benson stalks over to where Randy sat, Randy trying not to flinch under the man’s stare.
Randy is increasingly aware of the fact that he has decidedly just fucked up.
Benson steps up to the edge of the bed, reaching out with his free hand and settling a hand on Randy’s shoulder.
Randy fights the urge to flinch.
In the other hand, the pill is held in front of Randy, all but waved in his face.
“Open your mouth,” Benson states, giving Randy’s shoulder a light squeeze.
They had moved from request to order.
This, Randy was fairly certain, was his last stop off the train before things got unavoidably bad.
He should take it. He should open his mouth, lean forward and take the pill from between Benson’s fingers, and be done with this.
He stares at it, the little white thing, held in Benson’s grasp.
It would be so easy to give in. And this would be fair from the worst thing he had consumed, and there was no reality in which fighting back ends well for him-
He remembers Chris. He remembers the fucking burger, remembers being ordered to chew and swallow, and how easily he had listened to the order.
His jaw stays locked shut. Lips pressed together in a thin line.
Benson tilts his head to the side slightly, “No?” he asks, as a smile spreads across his lips.
Randy doesn’t respond.
The hand on his shoulder lifts, Benson reaching out to grab Randy’s face. He squeezes Randy’s jaw lightly and says, “Open.”
Randy feels his jaw click under Benson’s fingers.
He does not open his mouth.
“Last chance.”
He really, really should get off the train.
He doesn’t.
Randy shakes his head, and Benson, the bastard, grins.
Then Randy watches, in confused fascination, as the pill is pulled back from the front of his face. Benson tosses the pill into his own mouth, not swallowing yet, seemingly just leaving it sitting there on his tongue.
A moment later, the hand releases his jaw. Benson attempts instead to shove the hand into Randy’s mouth. Two fingers are pressed forward, slipping in between his lips easily enough, just to hit Randy’s teeth, locked firmly together as they were.
Randy feels Benson slide the fingers along his teeth, feeling the rub of them.
Benson lets out a sigh as he does so, an annoyed-sounding thing, but Randy knows him well enough to note the undercurrent of excitement.
The man was enjoying this.
Benson presses the fingers back, into the corner of Randy’s mouth, giving himself leverage to reach his thumb around Randy’s face. Benson presses his thumb into the meat of Randy’s jaw, squeezing against the bone. Squeezing down hard.
Randy grits his teeth. It hurts, fuck does it hurt. He can feel the ache of it in his jaw, the bone protesting under the pressure.
Creaking.
Randy fights against the pain.
Benson squeezes down harder, and Randy feels himself lose.
His jaw slides open. Not by much, but enough that the two fingers in his mouth can shift over to settle in between his teeth. Wedged there, leveraging Randy’s jaw open.
Randy swallows, feeling the saliva already pooling in his mouth from the intrusion.
The thumb drops from his cheek, moving to slot under Randy’s chin, as though catching his bottom jaw in a vice. Benson’s fingers press down against Randy’s teeth, as though trying to pry his jaw open wider.
Randy resists.
He considers, for a moment, biting down on the fingers, but doing so would require him to first open his mouth wider, and he did not trust what Benson would do when given such an opportunity.
He would not give Benson any more than Benson could force from him.
Based on the near feral grin on Benson’s face, that was exactly how the man wanted it to be.
Randy swallows again, an almost involuntary action, his tongue swiping against Benson’s fingers as he does so.
Benson leans in close, close enough that for a moment Randy assumes he intends to press their mouths together, but Benson stops before they touch.
He hovers there, for a moment, mouth hanging over Randy’s, before Benson pulls back ever so slightly and spits.
The man’s aim proves to be annoyingly good.
Randy feels the pill hit the back of his tongue.
He gags, every part of him suddenly wanting to fight back against this new invader.
He would rear back if he could, but Benson’s tight grip on his face makes that somewhat challenging. Randy’s body settles instead for twitching violently.
The pill is awful. Bitter, against his tongue.
He gags again, trying to pull away.
Benson seems to let him almost, pulling his fingers free of Randy’s mouth. They come out slick with drool.
Free from Benson's hold, Randy gasps, trying to regain his bearings-
There is a hand, fixed firmly over his face, another one curled around the back of his head, holding him there.
He realizes in that moment how large Benson’s hands are, as one clamps down, covering his nose and mouth with ease.
Randy blanches, trying to breathe in. His nose flares; Benson’s seal isn’t air-tight; he can get small whispers of air, but it is not enough. Not a breathful, not enough air to properly inflate his lungs.
Randy fights against the immediate urge to outright panic.
“Shhh,” Benson’s murmuring voice rings in his ears, the man quietly soothing him as he holds his hand down over Randy’s mouth. “Swallow,” Benson whispers out, watching Randy struggle.
Randy shakes his head, not even sure why he is still fighting.
Benson frowns slightly at the movement. “C’me on, Randy,” he murmurs.
Randy feels his throat spasm, his body fighting against him.
He can’t fucking breathe.
He can feel that rapidly starting to become a problem. He hadn't been prepared, hadn't had a full breath in his lungs when Benson cut off his air; he didn't have much left to lose, he feared.
He shakes his head again, a wild movement this time, trying to dislodge Benson's hand enough to get in a breath.
Benson does not relent- hand pressing down harder, fingers clamped against his skin.
“Swallow,” Benson repeats, voice coming out with a slight growl. “I don’t want to have to hurt you.” At that, Benson shifts his hand from the back of Randy's head, and drags his knuckles down along Randy’s throat.
That fucking hurts.
Randy feels himself convulse at the touch, throat retching and twitching in response.
Benson bares down on him, suffocating hand pressed hard against his mouth, holding him while he twitches.
"Jesus Randy, this is for your own fucking good."
Randy squeezes his eyes shut at the words.
He remembers then, as he feels Benson’s fingers massaging his throat, the cat they used to have when he was a child.
It had been a soft, timid thing. Frail.
The type to jump when someone shuts a door with a touch too much force.
He remembers when it had gotten sick once, and the large pink pills it had to take.
He remembers his mother, wrapping it tight in a towel, swaddled like a baby.
It had stared at her with big, pitiful eyes as she tucked the entire bundle under her arm.
She was quick with it, matter the fact, no dilly dallying, no messing around. She had grabbed hold of its jaw, forcing the animal to open. The pills were shoved inside the second it did.
The cat had thrashed, but Randy’s mother had simply hushed it, shoving the jaw shut, hand clamped over the cat's muzzle, holding firm. Ignoring the cat's pitiful muffled whines and cries and thrashes.
It had been too much for Randy, watching the cat, the soft, timid creature, become a panicked ball of rage and fury in his mother's grasp. “Shhh” she had muttered out, “it’s for your own good,” she had said while she held it tight, tight enough it must have hurt. And Randy had stared, watching it thrash, thinking that all it had to do was give in, give up and swallow, and all the pain would be over.
Randy swallows.
He does so desperately, wanting this to be done. He tries to take a breath, almost surprised when it fails, and swallows again. The action hurts. He feels the pain in the back of the throat, having to struggle to complete the requested movement.
But the pill, to his horror, does not move. It stays, stuck to his tongue. Bitterness spreads out from where it lies. He gags again, body still fighting against it.
Hating it.
Before him, Benson raises an eyebrow and asks, “All done?”
Randy wants to lie. He wants to nod, and have Benson lift his hand and pull in a well-needed breath of air and fucking- breathe-
Benson would see, Benson would see the pill sat on his tongue-
He shakes his head, a slight, small movement, no, it isn’t done, but it isn’t his fault.
Benson sighs, the man readjusting his hand slightly, lifting it a touch for a moment- just long enough for Randy to desperately pull in about half a breath before Benson clamps the hand back down, over him.
Randy swallows, and swallows again.
He feels his throat convulse. Twitching desperately, trying to meet his demands.
He feels his body spasm, head wrenching back, but the fucking pill refuses to move.
He can feel tears starting to well up in his eyes, he can’t fucking breathe-
He gives Benson a desperate, pleading look, as though to say, I’m trying, really I am, and shakes his head again.
Benson lets out a low growl and, after a moment, removes his hand from Randy’s mouth.
Randy gasps, pulling in the air in desperation, trying to regain his bearings- before he can, Benson’s fingers are being shoved into his mouth.
Benson pushes two fingers deep down, into Randy’s mouth. The movement is quick and rough and harsh, Benson shoving his way into Randy without a second thought.
Randy hears himself gagging in response, breath coming out fast and panicked through his nose as his body struggles to adjust to the presence of Benson’s fingers. They are rough against his tongue- large and heavy, taking up the space within his mouth.
Benson ignores the desperate sounds Randy is making, ignores the slobber and drool soaking against his skin, and seems to focus only on finding the pill.
Randy feels the fingers drag against his tongue, feeling when they find their prize.
He feels Benson's fingers hit the pill, feels the man shove them in deeper, pushing the pill along Randy’s tongue.
Randy convulses as he finally feels the thing fucking move.
Pushed by Benson, it tumbles on deeper, hitting the back of his throat.
Randy gags, unable to stop himself, retching and shaking, body still trying to push it out.
But Benson’s fingers are there, preventing any return movement.
Chest heaving, Randy swallows. Quickly, desperately, swallowing around Benson’s fingers, pushing the pill back, pushing it down.
The movement aches, his throat screaming at him, Randy forcing himself to ignore it as he swallows again.
He feels it then, the pill moving down his throat at last.
Benson helps it along, fingers of the man's other hand massage down Randy’s throat, Benson cooing at him, murmuring out soft words of encouragement, “good boy, good job Randy, there we go.”
The pill sinks down, somewhere further than Randy can feel, moved down into his body.
Randy gives a muffled sob at the feeling. He holds back the urge to gag and choke and cough, fighting his body's want to spasm and panic about the fingers still lodged against his tongue.
Randy pulls in a desperate breath through his nose, and tries to pull himself free.
Benson relents, for the second time that day he pulls his fingers out of Randy’s mouth. Although he does not let Randy go. Instead, he curls the hand around Randy’s jaw once more, Benson’s thumb stroking against his cheek.
“Alright, Randy?”
Randy gasps, spluttering, feeling his eyes watering. But even so he nods. “Was for my own good,” Randy slurs out, ignoring the way he can still taste the bitterness of the pill on his tongue.