Note: This is a shitty roleplay. It is poor quality and is not edited. Also I did not write half of it, only the parts with Droog.
Additionally I and my roleplay partner hate every euphemism there is for "testicles" so we use "couilles", which is French slang. I don't feel like editing it.
Trigger warning for rape/noncon and probably other things too, but they're not coming to me right now. If in doubt, do not read.
Droog was not Pickles' boyfriend, and for the moment he didn't intend to be. He sat in his bedroom, a phone to his ear and a Djarum Black in his mouth and Slick on the other line. Droog informed his boss that he wouldn't be available for a few hours, because he had something he needed to take care of, and Slick didn't question it. Droog usually did the dirty work, if it involved torture, otherwise Boxcars took care of it. So Slick didn't bother asking.
...And, of course, it was torture. But it wasn't... bad torture, not entirely. Just a spindly detective bound tight at his ankles and wrists, arms behind his back and one of Droog's ties in his mouth that was currently pulling double-duty as a gag. Couldn't have him making any noise. Not now, anyway.
Suspicious noises coming from one's respective strife+container portmanteau tended to draw unwanted attention.
And this didn't deserve any attention. It was just healthy. When clever gumshoes got too close to one's schemes for comfort, one had to deliver a healthy dose of threat.
Pickle Inspector probably wouldn't have mustered up enough of himself to make noise anyway, for reasons varied and in varying levels of sensical. First and foremost, he wasn't a very noisy man, except when he was, but he'd prefer not to think about things like that right now. It wasn't a very good time. Secondly, he doubted he'd get much help, since he was already pretty good and trapped, and it would just annoy Diamonds Droog, and that would get him nowhere but hurt, and while he was probably already going to get hurt, he'd rather not, um, get more hurt, so it was probably better to cooperate. At least for now. Anyway, Pickles was silent, curled up against a dim wall of the Brawlsoleum and staring with eyes wide as he could manage, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever was coming. Probably nothing good. Nothing good at all. That was one of the hazards of being what he was, though what he was he couldn't honestly say. All he knew was that he was often the one who came up with the plans and organized the information for Team Sleuth, and he was also the weakest of that same group, and that was a pretty awful combination. Oh if only he'd been located on top of a far-away building with a sniper rifle and a great deal of distance between himself and Droog. ...funny how rarely that worked in his immediate defence. Really, people out to kidnap him were so inconsiderate. Very. Rude.
Droog set down the phone, and puffed smoke through his pointed teeth for a few moments before he retrieved his Brawlsoleum from his inventory and set it in an empty space in the corner. He opened the door, letting light from the room pour in and glint over the white of Pickle Inspector's wide, wide eyes. He didn't feel a lick of bad. He rose an eyebrow. "I suppose you know why you're here. Mm?"
Still not feeling bad. Slightly aroused, yes, but not bad. The Inspector had a long night ahead of him. Droog stepped into the Brawlsoleum (which doubled as his closet on the go, and was much smaller than his regular closet), and grabbed Pickles by the shirt collar, yanking him out into his bedroom. "You're clever. Too clever, I think. And we can't have that."
Pickles might have kicked out his lanky legs, but it didn't really matter, since they were bound at the ankles. So he just sort of hung there, wide-eyed and useless. His brain hadn't slowed all this time, providing variables and plans and ideas and flashes and writhings of color with each noise, imagined or otherwise, but nothing had been useful yet. Much the same as things were now. Droog's voice, a mild red muted with something grey and restrained, and his words, worried Pickles, just a little. Not good words, those. Too clever. Oh dear. He meeped, behind his/Droog's tie. Droog probably wouldn't want it back now... Meep.
Pickles was completely pathetic. Droog dragged him up to lean against the foot of the bed, and then knelt in front of him, watching his watery eyes with plain white ones. He was frightened; Droog could tell, and, in fact, it only aroused him more. Sometimes, he was glad he only wore black. Less chance of looking like he'd pissed himself if things got especially interesting. "Do you fear me? Or do you fear pain?"
Pickles shrank back against the baseboard, not that it did much good. He was too big. He was good at hiding himself, for sure, curling lanky limbs about each other, but Droog was hanging over him like that, and Pickles felt and saw little sparks, the wine of Droog's voice spilling out over his brain. Do you fear me? hung on one side of the scale, or do you fear pain? Pickles closed his eyes, because what or was there, Pickles feared everything, and he hadn't had a drink in far, far too long. If he didn't look at Droog, maybe he'd go away, and Pickles could stop being such an embarrassment. Getting kidnapped like some sort of... of... he couldn't say dame, because he knew a Dame, and she'd never let herself get in this situation. All the dames Pickles knew were more capable than him. Pickles was just terribly incompetent, and he knew it. But now wasn't the time for a pity party. Even lacking proper inebriation, perhaps Pickles could imagine something to help him. He just had to think hard enough. A crease made itself known between his brows, thoughts whirring to life like a loading machine. He could do this. He could.
Droog blinked at him, and he would've risen an eyebrow, except his shell didn't allow for that, which only made him more expressionless. The previous risen eyebrow was shoddy narration and nothing short of it. He did not approve. He slid his finger under Pickles' lower lip, where he was drooling around the gag. He likely drooled anyway, but Droog appreciated that this time was his doing. He pushed Pickles' legs apart, and slid his lithe body between them, captured in the diamond between the Inspector's body and his bound ankles. Pleasingly symbolic.
...aaaaaaaaandtherewentthat. Pickles' eyebrows shot up (since someone might as take advantage of having them) and his eyes opened wide, staring at Droog while the rest of him shivered. "...!" Not just even one exclaimation mark. Two. The machine of Pickles' brain caught on something, sputtering and tripping over itself and crashing and burning. "Mrp...hpr...?"
Droog was mildly interested in what he had to say, and he was a little tired of talking so much. It was starting to wear on him. He reached into the ridiculous mess of Pickles' hair and untied the tie, folding it up and storing it in his pocket, since his pants were wet anyway and he might need the tie later, in case he got tired of the detective's incessant babbling. "Repeat yourself."
"Wh-what are y-you d-doing?" Pickles squeaked, trying to disappear into his shoulders, hunched up as they were.
"Giving you some incentive to leave me well enough alone," Droog told him, and licked his lips with his gray tongue (though it would've been a shade of gray regardless of its actual hue), before leaning in and securing his teeth firmly over Pickles' throat. He intended to leave marks, and he intended to leave them where they could be seen and felt for a while after. Normally he wouldn't resort to this sort of thing, but most of his weaponry was guns, which were far too permanent, and why dirty a knife when he had teeth and claws already attached?
"A-ah!" Pickles exclaimed, intending upon moving backwards, away from sharp teeth, and finding himself unable. Ohdearohdearohdear. This was not good. Those were very sharp. And his hold was strong. And that interested Pickles more than it should. And this was really very embarrassing. And also Pickles was probably going to die. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.
Droog wouldn't kill him, but Pickles didn't know that, and Droog wasn't about to mention it. His anxiousness was far too enthralling. Droog felt his pulse flutter beneath his fangs, and bit harder, as if trying to eat it out of his neck. His hand held under Pickles' jaw on the other side, claws digging into him, just a little. Mmh.
Pickles made a quieter noise, a whine more than a word, and shut his eyes, caught much like a deer in the jaws of a predator. Anxiety was something Pickles had in spades, distasteful as a cliche as that was. Now that he knew a Spades, anyway. ...but now wasn't the time to be thinking about something like that. He ended up pushing his long, thin (much like the rest of him) neck against Droog's hand, and he hoped it wouldn't bruise, not that it would probably mattered. It would be really awkward when they found his body and all these marks were on it. Maybe Sleuth would think it was a vampire. Sleuth was kinda weird about vampires. ...although, Droog maybe wasn't going to kill him? Since he'd said he was going to give Pickles an incentive to leave him alone, and while killing him would certainly make Pickles leave him alone, that couldn't be said of Sleuth and Ace Dick and everyone else, so, Pickles would maybe-hopefully be okay...? He whimpered either way.
Droog held his neck tighter, drawing blood and pulling back, allowing it to run down Pickles' neck and over his clothing, most certainly to stain there. He licked his lips and pulled back, staring at Pickles' face.
Pickles couldn't really do much about the mess, or his neck, so he just sort of looked pale and wide-eyed with flushed cheeks and parted lips. "...D-drr...rhh..." Words. Those were a thing. Pickles couldn't make his tongue work right, and it was lead and harsh in his mouth, choking up as he tried again, "Dr-roog," He whimpered, "..."
Droog grit his teeth. He almost felt a little bad. Almost. Pickles was so pathetic and so harmless, except when he wasn't. Droog ought to just keep him here, so he'd continue being harmless and pathetic. He placed a claw to Pickles' throat and slid it down, slashing apart coat and shirt and popping buttons with some effort, but not too much.
Pickles didn't whine at him s'more, forcing himself quiet and leaning back a little as Droog ripped his clothes. "..." He shuddered beneath Droog's claw, horrified by how fascinating he found all of this. If there was a hell for dumb awkward gumshoes who were bad at being alive, he was going to go there. They'd build it on his spine.
Droog pushed his shirt open, looking over his soft, thin body. Ridiculous. Ridiculously vulnerable. His claw slid within Pickles' navel (strange contraption), and flicked upward, cutting a little into his skin. "Mh."
Pickles flinched, making a tiny noise of pain that came out a gasp. He knew better than to try and be quiet, since he always ended up whimpering like a small animal when he was hurt, and he knew it was pathetic, and he knew he was pathetic, but he wasn't like Sleuth, who had the confidence and certainty not to give in to pain, and he wasn't like Ace Dick, who just didn't feel it and cursed a lot instead. He was just a small paper construction that crumpled under any weight at all. He'd just try really really hard not to make a fool out of himself. He'd probably fail, considering how weird pain made him feel (sort of horribly, horribly aware, trapped in the real world and aware of how very real it was!). But he'd try. "Whhn..."
Droog slid his fingers up Pickles' chest, tracing around nipples hardened in the cool air and pain. Nipples were interesting, too, because Droog didn't have them. Just a chestplate and then segments that went down his belly and between his legs. For mobility, and such. He was impressed at how fragile Pickle Inspector was. He'd be so easy to break. No effort. Droog knew the type. No stubbornness about him. Droog was impressed at how long he'd lasted, without, indeed, crumpling under something and breaking his back. "I don't think you answered my question," he nearly whispered. "Are you afraid of me? Or simply afraid of being hurt?"
Pickles winced at him again, breath shivering as he retreived it. "B-b-b-both," He admitted, "I-I'm af-ff... aff... I'm afraid of both." He smiled a little, actually. It was sheepish as hell.
"Why?" Droog asked, though it was less a question and more a demand. He leaned in to nip at Pickles' sharp jawline, stroking his claw in a circle around the redhead's nipple and then pricking it in the tip.
Pickles made another noise, small and airy and inconsequential. "I-I, I, I, it... it's s-so real," He whispers, "It's t-terrifying... a-and s-so are y-you." Diamonds Droog was as real as arsenic. Real as the flash of a camera. The click of a gun. The tip of a wineglass, the crash of cutlery on tile from a limp hand, the screech of a break, the venom of a harsh glance, the sting of a papercut, the slow burn of fire. He was liquid alive, a panther in motion, he was dangerous and Pickles knew it like a small forest creature did. He walked with footprints of ash, the ground ablaze for a moment with the fall of his feet and then singed behind him, all without a sound. "You're s-so real..." Gritty as pebbles in cereal. A fact over which Sleuth was utterly jealous, Pickles could tell.
"Ah." Real. Droog supposed not much in Pickles' life was, apparently. And real was terrifying. Droog came to the conclusion that Pickles didn't live much. Droog wasn't a man to sit and stare into space and contemplate things that didn't matter. He thought, of course, but he thought coldly, logically, in step-by-step method that never failed, except when others got too near to his plottings, near enough to comprehend them, and then... well, Droog certainly wasn't just a thinker. But apparently Pickles was. He nipped along the man's jaw, leaving a dotted pattern of marks from his pointed teeth. His hand slipped downward, nails scratching down Pickles' chest, threatening at his belt.
Pickles tried to arch away where he was touched, shifting back from claws and fingers, too solid, too there. Couldn't think, couldn't imagine, couldn't conjure. Useless useless useless. Pickles whined at him, messing with the bonds at his wrist as best he could. Maybe if he could get free he could do something. ...probably not, though. But maybe!
Droog had made sure to tie his hands quite securely. Luckily Pickles was so knobby and gangly that his wrist joint was too large in comparison to his arm for him to get loose easily. Droog would be interested in seeing him try, though he hadn't tried before. He slipped a pair of fingers under Pickles' waistband, against warm, pale skin. "Now, sweetheart... don't you want to stay here with me a while?"
"..." Pickles shuddered beneath his touch, beneath the smoothness of Droog's digits and the prickle of his claws. "I-I-I..." He was already bleeding, and he wondered if that would be enough to saite Droog's desire to harm him. "Oh, dear,"
Honestly, Droog didn't really care whether Pickles wanted to stay. He was going to, anyway, whether he liked it or not. Droog undid his belt, then unzipped his pants, not bothering to look at Pickles' face. He was done there. The Inspector already had a nasty bite on his neck, and smaller ones over his jaw. They were certainly going to be noticed, as Droog wanted them to be.
Pickles made a squeaky noise at Droog, teacup boxers made an ebarrassing reality. He liked those very much, thank you, and he'd really like not to get blood on them. "...D-D-D-Droog?" He whimpered.
They were cute, Droog had to admit... He wouldn't bloody them. He blinked upward, stroking his fingers over the fly of Pickles' underwear. "...Mm?"
Pickles didn't even reply with sound, just with a look. A wide-eyed look, and parted lips, and complete uncertainty. Toorealtoorealtoorealtooreal too- "Mhyeep,"
Droog yanked his pants and underwear down, getting up from between his legs momentarily to slip the garments down around his ankles, baring gangly legs and thin hips and, well, the vast majority of Pickles' body. Droog re-settled himself over the taller man's hips, biting at his collarbone, claws gripping at the soft skin of his sides. "Mmmh."
"Auuhnnh!" Pickles cried, shutting his eyes tight and muscles stringing out beneath his skin. "...hha... wha-ah...ah..." There was a question there that never made itself known, lost to blush and fluster.
...Those did not particularly sound like noises of fear and/or pain. Droog bit enough to bleed, and then drew his tongue across, tasting at the Inspector's blood. "You enjoy this."
Pickles whimpered, positively terrified. Yes. He did. Much as he hated himself for it, the unsympathetic reality of Droog's touches (painful or not) was made more real by his anxiety, and his anxiety (in turn) made everything more and more real and that in turn riled him up into complete befuddlement and thorough arousal. "I, ah, a-ah, aaahhh..."
Noisy little fucker. Droog smiled, pushing his tongue against the wounds he'd made. His hand slid down, cupping Pickles' cock.
"Mmhhnnn..." Pickles curled up his toes, bones quaking under his flesh. "...aaahhh... hhha..." He panted, trying to stop himself from responding. But it was so very difficult... He'd never felt comfortable in his body, too big and too lanky and too real, never been at home in his prison of skin and sinew, never looked at himself and thought oh, I look rather nice tonight. He could only stare at the mirror and ask himself if that was still his face, and oh, he supposed it was, how very odd. His hands were not his, only hands, and so on, and so forth, until he'd completely alienated himself from his body. Barely a body - a cage for his mind, agile and strong as his form could never hope to be. But with Droog touching him, and Pickles unable to control the responses of a body that was so unfortunately and undeniably his own, Pickles had no choice but to feel the things his body did - disturbingly warm and with a pulse that raced and a hunger crawling in his belly to rival his fear.
Droog's pants were quite soaked through. Bother. How interesting it was, though, that Pickles didn't really seem to mind any of this. In fact, it looked like he sort of liked it. Hmmmh. So much for incentive to leave Droog alone. That was alright, though. Droog stood up, grabbing Pickles by his hair and forcing him over, face in Droog's carpet and ass in the air.
Pickles made a noise small in scope but large in displeasure. "R-r-r-rude!" He accused, head tilted to the side and hair a mess. ...about as much of a mess as usual, to be honest. He did not think about how terribly exposed he was like this. No. No he did not.
...Rude? Because... apparently binding his arms and legs, gagging him, kidnapping him, and ruining his clothes... wasn't? Droog did not even pretend he didn't judge. He judged. He judged hard. He opened his pants, kneeling behind Pickle Inspector without comment, and shoved the other man's legs apart.
To be fair, Pickles thought the entire thing very rude, and he'd planned a very scathing lecture on the matter, but then Droog had started doing things and Pickles had gotten a bit distracted. He still intended on delivering it, if he survived this. He'd perhaps write a note. A very nasty note. He wasn't sure, though, if that would happen before or after he hid himself in his house for several days. Right now Pickles was a bit busy making displeased noises.
Droog pushed the tip of his cock against Pickles' entrance, leaning over him and sliding his hands around to sink claws into the Inspector's chest, and his teeth into a freckled shoulder. He stayed there a moment, shuddering.
Pickles went dead silent, catching shivers from Droog and returning them worsened with time. He'd never... never done... ah... before, oh, oh dear, oh dear oh dear oh dearrrrrrrrrrrr
Droog shoved into him, managing to slide about half of the way with his lubrication, and then he wriggled further, pushing into his partner where his cock began to swell outward near the base. "Mmh..."
Pickles gagged on his tongue in the process of stifling a yelp, curling his hands up around each other behind his back where they were tied. "D-Dh... D-rr... D-D-Drhhrhhhh..." Pickles couldn't even begin to describe how he felt. Full, he supposed. Wet. Very wet. He wondered what the appeal wa- "Aaauuhnn!" ...oh. Oh. ... Oh.
Not as bad as he'd thought, apparently. For shame. What could Droog do that would be an actual incentive? Everything was just good. He pushed in deeper, all the way in, gasping and panting softly when his ridges rubbed over the tight ring of muscle at Pickles' entrance. Oh, fuck, yessss... He pulled out, and then shoved back in, rough and quick, hissing against Pickles' back.
Pickles wormed beneath him, eyes shut tight. Ohdearohdearohdear. This was awful. The worst sort of thing. Not only was Scary Mobster Diamonds Droog... um... doing that, Pickles liked it. How uncouth. How embarrassing. The worst sort of behavior for a detective. A whine was pressed out of him with the thrust, a bark of pitiful noise from a pitiful man.
Droog pulled out of him and slammed back in, over and over, fast and rough, almost attempting to make Pickles' arse bleed, but not quite. Just... almost. His hands dug into Pickles' chest, his own chest rumbling with needy growls spilled out over the detective's back. "...F-fhh... hhhhhhrhh..."
Pickles breathed as shallowly as he could manage, trying not to fill up into Droog's claws and hungering for air in the process. He also tried very hard not to drool into the carpet, and his efforts were certainly admirable. "Hhhaa... mmmhhnn... nnnghhg..."
Droog moved his hands, using one to brace himself while the other curled around Pickle Inspector's cock, his thumb-claw pushing into the slit at his tip, harder with each thrust Droog used to shove him forward.
Pickles groaned, rocking further with Droog's presses and trying not to at the same time. "D-D-Droo, gh," He parsed out into pieces, "Stt... Shhth..."
Droog paused, buried hilt-deep inside Pickles, though he still teased his claw over the man's slit. "Mm?"
Pickles whimpered at him. "Nnhn."
Droog's claw pressed, just a little, his cock throbbing inside Pickles' soft, wet heat. "...?"
"A-ah," Pickles drew in a deep breath, "S-s-stoppit." He hissed, "Y-you're, y-yh, bein', v-v-v-very, rude! A-and you have been, this whole time, a-and I h-h-h-aven't even done anything to you!" His outburst complete, Pickles shrank a little towards the floor, ashamed of himself.
"Ah, but you have," Droog purred, grinning. That was the most Pickles had said to him all night, he thought. "You're too adept for your own good. Can't have you stopping my machinations before they succeed. If you did I don't know what I would do. Best to... punish you early." On the emphasized word, his claw dug further into Pickles' slit, and his hips jerked.
Pickles cried out, fingers lacking claws curling against Droog's stomach to no great effect. "B-b-but, I, a-aah," He shut his eyes when Droog pushed against something nice, Droog's claw somewhere not-so-nice. B-but it all felt... nice...? Ohdearohdearohdear.
It was kind of cute how he was still moaning even with Droog's claw in his cock. Droog drew back, and then pushed forward, interested to see just how far he could take this. It was getting easier to move, though only by virtue of his increased lubrication, since Pickles hadn't relaxed a damn bit.
If Pickles could relax (ever) without use of some sort of substance abuse, that would have been a feat worthy of going down in legend. As it was, he whined at Droog, face in the carpet, and tried to press backwards to get away from that claw and found absolutely no luck any step of the process. He tested his bonds again but that proved about as helpful as one could expect, and he just slumped where he was again.
Droog removed his claw, wrapping his hand fully around Pickles' cock and pumping at it. The whimpers were nice, but Droog appreciated the pleasured noises better, because the way Pickles used them, they sounded rare. He growled, nibbling on Pickles' back, still, but not as hard.
If the carpet beneath Pickles could blush, it probably wouldn't have, because it was Droog's, and it'd probably seen worse, but right now it was privy to a rather obscene noise from Pickles' throat that Pickles immediately regretted. Not that he could have helped it not be a thing. But the point remained.
A rather obscene noise Droog was perfectly alright with. His thrusts grew faster until Droog groaned and spilled over into Pickles, hand tightening around the man's cock and teeth grit.
Pickles arched up, eyes gone wide, and pressed into Droog's hand with a needy cry. He didn't even know what it was he wanted from Droog at this point, but he needed it. He sobbed a quiet "Please," in hopes that Droog would understand.
No such luck. Droog pulled his hand off and his cock out, and slapped Pickles' ass on the way. It would be tempting, but this was meant to be a punishment, after all. He removed a tight black ring from his back pocket, instead, and slipped it down to the base of the redhead's cock.
Pickles yelped, making a movement of his hips that might even be called a thrust. "Droog!" He protested, "P-please...!"
"What?" Droog asked, sliding his hand over his cock to collect a bit of the lubricant from it, and then pushing two fingers into Pickles' entrance, curling them.
Pickles found himself unable to reply with words, a cry curling out from him with the curving of Droog's fingers. "I," He breathed, "I, I n-need..." He had no idea what. Actually.
Droog thought he might need to reevaluate his life, but he didn't say anything to the effect. He slid his other hand over Pickles' cock instead, rubbing his smooth palm over the tip.
Life, and any sort of similar thing Pickles might or might not have had, was the furthest thing from Pickles' mind. Not that he felt like he had one of those either. It was fleeing from him, lost and gone. "Auh..."
Droog kept at it for a moment before he got up, and removed his pants, since they were all wet anyway. He walked nonchalantly to his Brawlsoleum, and then inside, returning shortly with a wicked smile and his hand closed over something very interesting. ...Two somethings, actually, but nonetheless fun.
Pickles let himself fall to the carpet in the meantime, panting into the fibers. "...hhh... hhh... hhh..." The knots weren't getting any looser as things were, even with trying to pick at them with his long fingers.
Droog returned, pushing Pickles back up into a sitting position, and opening his hand to retrieve what was inside it. He put one clamp over each of the redhead's nipples, nearly unable to resist the urge to smirk. He liked pleasure and pain, did he? He ought to love this.
Pickles stared down at them, startled both by their existence and the fact that they were on him. He winced a little with their application, but made no sounds. He was going to try not to make any more. He didn't really want to give Droog the satisfaction.
Such satisfaction it gave, though! Droog stroked up his cock, his other hand curling over Pickles' couilles. How interesting. How different from his own...
Pickles' mouth wobbled at Droog, almost a frown but not quite. Don't do it don't make a sound don't do it do not.
Go on, darling. Make noise. And then maybe he'd be too humiliated to ever bother Droog again. Droog licked his lips, then leaned down, passing his tongue over the head of Pickles' cock and lapping away blood caused by his claw earlier.
And those clamps were started to ache, a little, and Pickles couldn't do this anymore. "Aauhh~" Oh, dear.
Good boy. Droog swirled his tongue over Pickles' tip, then closed his mouth over it, grazing gently with his teeth and humming.
Pickles whimpered again as he dipped his head down in defeat. "O-oh, dear," He whispered through bitten (by two differing parties) lips and closed his eyes to his shame. "Mmhnnn,"
Droog sucked him deeper, stroking his fingers over the ring around Pickles' base, so he wouldn't forget it was there. Droog didn't want him to. He wanted him to remember, and remember... and keep remembering once Droog dumped him back in his office.
It would be extremely difficult for Pickles to forget. "A-aauh! A-ah, ahh..." He groaned, shifting to try and relieve the pressure building inside himself, but it was no use...
Droog's fingers slid back, to finger Pickles once more. He sort of wanted to fuck him again, actually... mmmh. Another time, though. For now, he rose up, kissing the redhead's lips.
Pickles trembled all the way to his lips. "D-D-Droog, pl-pp-please," He whispered, "I-I-I c-can't,"
Droog knew that well enough. He kissed Pickles open-mouthed, pushing a capsule between his partner's lips that he'd been hiding inside of his cheek. He'd gotten it from inside his Brawlsoleum when he got the nipple clamps. It was filled with a heavy anesthetic that ought to knock even a man Pickles' size right out.
Pickles fought not to swallow, eyes gone wide and body gone still. Ohnoohnoohdear, oh, oh noooo...!
Droog held his mouth closed, tipping Pickles' head up. He leaned over, to whisper in his ear. "Relax."
Pickles couldn't fight very well against men, let alone against gravity. At least while sober. In any case, he surrendered without a prolonged squabble, going as silent as he'd come (or, perhaps, not), and slid against Droog and towards unconciousness. He felt it coming, grey like a wave of fog, and he slurred something that made a great deal of sense to him and absolutely none to anyone else before he was shutting his eyes completely and likewise, completely gone.
roog removed the cock ring and nipple clamps once Pickle Inspector was down for the count, and dragged the larger man into his Brawlsoleum before putting the whole thing back into his inventory. He changed clothes, and made his way back to Pickles' office, to leave him there.