Scott felt perception almost come to him, cotton covered and remote, beyond where he could move to. Voices were nearby, but he couldn’t properly hold onto them. He wanted to be sick, the taste of cough medicine and the bitter heat of bile washed around his throat and nasal passages, but he was too focused on remembering to breath to allow his stomach to leave him. He wanted to open his eyes, but they wouldn’t listen to what he told them. Slowly he became aware of a sensation of being touched, the voices almost coming to where he could see them and hear the shape of what was being said, but all he could make out were fragments of something happening somewhere else.
“That’s right lassie. The Great Old One requires that everything for The Child be anointed.” He thought he recognised the voice, old and female, but the sensation of being touched was overwhelming his perception, his chest and stomach, trying to fold in on themselves under the feeling of a warm caress. Time stretched on forever, fading away into infinity for an instant, before coming back on itself.
“Isn’t he awake? His eyes are fluttering.” Familiarity again.
“No-one wakes up from the brew, lassie.” The first voice told the second.
Scott was aware of his thoughts, then. He told himself he’d been drugged, but he ignored himself, because the sensation of touch was moving lower and lower, setting his perception on fire. He blacked out from the overload on his senses.
“That’s right, lassie. The Great Old One needs the seed to make brothers for The Child.” Aware again, he felt pleasure more intense than anything he’d ever known. He tried to open his eyes, to see who was touching him, to find out what was happening, but his eyelids still wanted to stay closed, defying his fuddled attempts to make them obey.
Warm fire spread from his groin, rushing down across his thighs and up into his stomach, his muscles beginning to twitch and spasm under the gentle, insistent massage. A long instant of ebbing and flowing consciousness later, it ended in a rush of heat and release.
“… That’ll do, lassie. The Great Old One will…” Awareness left him then, oblivion dragging him downwards. Silent. White. Cold.