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Sniper's.. fuzzy. He can barely piece words together, sentences coming to him broken and incomplete. He's staring at the ceiling- distantly, he's sure he recognizes it- that he should recognize it, but he can't figure it out at the moment.
He takes a deep breath- as deep as he can get it which, really, wasn't all too much- realizing how much his mouth felt like cotton. He'd fix that, he would, but he realizes that his body feels like rocks and he can barely move his fingers.
There's. A voice, he thinks, it's not his. Fingers are touching his face- grabbing his chin. They're saying something. His eyes only flutter in response, the warmth of the blankets around him drawing him back to sleep. He shuts his eyes.
He's not sure how long he's out, but he wakes up to much of the same. He thinks he might've woken up a few times- he can't remember. He's. Colder. He'd pull the blankets over himself but his arms are lead and he can't be bothered to move.
There's suddenly a voice in his ear, muttering something he still can't piece together. He makes a noise in the back of his throat, even swallowing his own saliva was exhausting. He really wanted water. “Hh..” he tried, a hand making its way to cover his mouth.
The voice was back in his ear, “you sound like a girl.” Sniper is confused for a minute, but then he realizes, oh, maybe he has been making noises for a while yet. More sensations are making their way through to his shot nerves and fuzzy brain: fingers digging into his waist, stinging everywhere, a massive headache- his own stuttering heartbeat throbbing in his skull.
He jerks, and he can't understand why until it hits him: hot, blinding pleasure shooting up his spine. He's- he should be more alarmed, his eyes wide as he gasps for air. His legs are shaking, and he feels like maybe he's been here a while, he can't be sure anymore. He wants to reach out, anchor himself to something- someone- but he can't get his arms to move that far.
He tensed, mouth agape as his fingers dug into the sheets beneath him. His whole body is quivering- he feels tight, his guts squeezing and stringing, warm caramel-like pleasure pressing against his abdomen. He tried to choke a word out- anything, really, but he simply wasn't capable of it- especially when fingers pressed into his mouth to muffle him.
His back arched, painfully so, and it was the only movement he'd been able to get the past few.. minutes? Seconds? He didn't know. “GgH!” His voice heightened a pitch as he let go, eyes rolling back as he recognized fingers pressing at the tip of his oversensitive cock. He wanted to tell them to stop, to give him a minute- pleasure still jolting up his spine- but his tongue was clumsy in his mouth and oh God it was beginning to hurt.
He felt those fingers wrap fully around his cock, oversensitive burning mercifully causing him to black out again.
It's been an hour. Or a few seconds. Or anything in-between or farther. It's hard to keep track. Sniper feels sick, brain fuzzy with static- but it's not as bad as before. Dully, he realizes he still hurts- there's still hands on his hips, his legs are cramping- they're splayed in ways they're not used to, they have been for a while, he's so fucking thirsty, his mouth tastes gross. He grunts, pushing against the chest above him as he tries to take in his surroundings.
“Wha..” a glass was pressing against his lips and he gratefully chugged it down as his fingers made their way to steady the cup. He leaned back against the sheets, feeling somewhat better with the fluid in him. His mouth didn't feel as dry and sticky, his eyes continuing to rest closed.
A hand carted through his unkempt, sweaty hair, “shhh, there we go, relax.”
Sniper did so, against his will. His body began to feel hot and fuzzy, mind fogging up. “Nnnghh… noo..” he grasped at the chest above him, getting a fistful of shirt as his body continued to retreat to its previous state. He was so tired. He could feel the tension completely leave his body.
Sniper's fingers slipped from the fabric above him, his head falling limp as the drugs took ahold once more, like a blanket wrapping his body and mind.
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This time, he didn't wake up til too far into the afternoon- the light filtering through the curtains leaving him with a raging migraine. His body felt heavy as he sat up, swaying in place for a few moments. He blinked.
Immediately, he leaned over and threw up onto the carpet floor, shivering in his sweat-soaked sheets. Fuck. He smoothed his hair out, had he drunk too much? Greened out a bit too hard? Both?
He rubbed his fingers into his eyes, trying to make the everlasting drowsiness fade. He needed water. Something. He stood.
Hot, violently blinding pain shot through him at the first millisecond of being on his feet, forcing him to the floor. His vision had whited out, curling in on himself as he gasped for breath. He clutched at his guts- he felt weirdly sticky. Full in a way that hunger didn't play a part in.
He stared at the door of his camper. He needed Medic.
He didn't get up.