27 October 2020

Prompt: Midnight

Character/Pairing: Dingo King (OC), Brielle Girard (OC)

Rating: M / PG-16 / Older Teen (for mentions of Dingo's Junk)

Notes: I wrote this at 2:30 AM instead of sleeping because my sleep schedule got JACKED yesterday. This is teeeeechnically Bloody's fault, but the Question of Things had been raised before and…hey so this actually happened to an old boss of mine and all I can say is Please Dye Responsibly. xD

"Shut up, you big baby."

Dingo can only whimper again. Brielle just sniffs and flips the page in the waiting room magazine she'd brought back with them. She isn't particularly pleased with him at the moment, though that's partially because she'd had to put her pants back on and partially because she could be sleeping right now.

It's almost midnight, but she'd had an early morning shoot that day, and she had been planning on another one that was now being postponed thanks to his…

"This is your own fault," she adds, as if he needs reminding. He makes another pathetic little noise and curls in on himself. She does spare him a glance this time, and the furrow of her brows lets him know she still cares a little, though he's not entirely sure if it's because he's in pain or he's potentially damaged her favorite toy. (…that's uncharitable and mean. He knows she loves him and is actually worried he's caused permanent damage because of that (the love) and not because of where.) "I refuse to feel sorry for you."

"I did this for you," he reminds her, his voice a whiny croak.

"…you did this for some warped sense of vanity," she scoffs. "I could care less what color your pubes are."

There's a choked little laugh on the other side of the curtain behind her, and she rolls up her magazine to swat at the person sitting behind her.

"Hey!" she snaps, glaring over her shoulder. "Yeah, he's a dumbass, but he's my dumbass, and I'm the only one allowed to mock him for this!"

"My angel," he grumbles when the person in the bay next to them grumbles out an apology. That's the problem with emergency rooms: for all the medical hoopla about patient confidentiality, there's not really a whole lot of privacy when you're crammed in a space barely large enough to hold a bed and sectioned off by curtains.

"Shut up," Brielle snaps at him, settling back in her chair and finding the article she'd been reading. "I'm still mad at you."

Because it really was his fault they were here. He was the one who'd had the genius idea of…er…making the drapes match the curtains, or however that expression went. Except the shop had been out of his usual dye, which should have been perfectly safe for…er…certain more sensitive areas. And he'd used another brand that was less…organic. And he'd just assumed dye is dye, even though he should really know better, and hadn't fully read the instructions or warnings until Brielle had come home and found him collapsed in the tub, howling as he aimed the shower head at his crotch and tried to wash the damn stuff off. Bri had thrown some sweatpants at him and hauled his ass to the local emergency room, where she had cheerfully told the receptionist her dumbass husband had chemical burns on his junk – do you wanna know why?

…hindsight, he deserves her ire. He also deserves the random bursts of laughter they can hear coming from the nurses' station. The doctor had already been in to see him, and he'd quickly excused himself claiming an emergency page. The first round of laughter had come shortly after.

"You are so cruel, Brielle Queen," he moans quietly. He wishes the damn nurse would just get back with the ointment already.

"You are so stupid, Peregrine King," she tuts back. He whines again, and she sighs as she puts her magazine down. She stands and moves to his side, and he blinks pathetically at her as she runs her hand along his head. "But you're my stupid, and I'm sorry your stupid is hurting you."

"…you're going to tell Luka, aren't you?" he asks, and her smile is almost worse than the burning around his junk.

"Babe," she coos, bending down to kiss his forehead. "He was the first person I texted. With pictures. He wants me to use it as our Christmas card."

"…I hate you both so fucking much," he groans. She laughs and reaches for his hand, grinning as she pulls it away from the blanket covering his lap. Her eyebrows raise as she peeks at his reddened skin.

"Shame the hair fell out," she hums, smirking at him. "Your ass is so boney that cushioning was a blessing."

"…Bri!" he moans, and she's snickering again as she kisses his forehead. Before she can say anything else, the curtain pulls back to show a nurse carrying a small jar and reading a chart.

"Peregrine King?" the nurse asks, and Dingo winces.

"Dingo, please," he says. The nurse looks up at him and purses her lips, her eyes roaming critically over the deflating mohawk, the piercings, the redness above the blanket that shows what the chart has already told her. Brielle smiles cheerfully at her. On anyone else, the expression wouldn't look half as terrifying.

"Go ahead," she says, gesturing to his poor, abused willy. "Tell him what a dumbass he is. Please. I beg you."

"…I'm just here to dress him up and send him on his way, ma'am," the nurse says, but there's a weariness about her that says she's over her entire shift with this last one. "Let's take a look at you, M. King."

…she looks a little less judgmental when she pulls the blanket down, even though it's a lot less impressive when the cool air hits his burning skin and Dingo whimpers again. Brielle's hand lands on his shoulder, the other taking his hand and letting him squeeze. She smirks at the nurse when she glances up at her, her eyebrows high on her forehead.

"I know," she says smugly, and if Dingo was in better shape he might have slapped her. The nurse just nods in appreciation and twists open the jar, turning her attention to the enflamed skin with a handful of scraggly, green pubes sticking out awkwardly.

When she applies the ointment and a truly indecent moan escapes him, the jackass in the bay next to them finally loses it. Dingo wouldn't have really cared, except Brielle rips the curtain back to give him a piece of her mind, and they come face-to-face with Captain Raincomprix and a wide-eyed rookie holding a gauze to his bleeding shoulder. Captain Roger's eyes fall to Dingo's exposed crotch, and the expression on his face is kind of priceless.

"Good Lord, son," he says with a low whistle. "No wonder you put up with him, Mme. Queen."