[ fear. it's a hell of a thing, the way it shakes the bones and rattles the insides like a bottle of pills. it's a nagging sensation, one that gator has been on the end of with his father - but rot leads to more rot, and pain begits more pain. gator tilts his head, watching as quentin closes his eyes. there it is. there he is. some fucking coward that shivers at the feeling of warm steel. ]
Real fuckin' cute that you think I'd clean it up.
[ a smile, slow. so slow. his teeth are on edge, practically stained red with the hunt. he has quentin where he wants him, right in the corner, and the way his breath trembles - gator chuckles, it's low, and it's amused enough that he releases the hammer and backs the gun away. he's still holding it, the barrel pointed skyward. ]
Look at you - shakin'. You think a little ol' gun's gonna be the thing that gets you? Huh? Look at me when I'm fuckin' talkin' to you.
[ The paternal tinge of that rubs him like a paper cut, but he responds to it. No comeback, just an unsteady bend in his mouth and his eyes deliberate on Gator. He's listening. ]
[ the edge in gator's voice is terrifying, he knows. he always knows. he stands up, pushing quentin out of the way, then holsters the gun against his thigh again. he smiles, then reaches up - again, darting, movements lethal - taking him by the back of his sopping hair. he snatches him, pushing him forward. he doesn't give a fuck one way or the other how quentin feels - pussy shit, all formed up into a living snot rocket that stands before him. pathetic, weak. ]
Get out. Bedroom's to the left.
[ gator follows, standing up straight. he pushes quentin again, hand on the small of his bare back. he knows the boy will struggle, but that's all part of it, isn't it? that fear, that pliable nothingness that people become when it settles in the brain. ]
[ At least moving is good. Better than being still. Moving in the dark of the hallway is a welcome reprieve from the sterile, investigative light of the bathroom. Welcome, too, the familiar smell of sheltered burnout--weed and juice, the foggy weight of a boy shut up in here too long--that greets him on the other side of Gator's door.
[ It surprises him that there's nothing on the floor for him to trip over. He can't see the details of the things on the walls clearly, but it surprises him to realize that the walls are covered and colorful, that the place is clean. Even comfortable, despite the glimpses of disturbing imagery he gets as his eyes adjust. It's a nest. A home.
[ As soon as his nerves start to relax, he knows to look out. Abruptly, his gaze cuts over his shoulder to see where Gator is--whether one of those hands is coming to cuff him again. If it is, he flinches away instinctively. His skin prickles up his spine as he asks: ]
[ quentin is practically shivering, and gator, like his namesake - can smell it, nostrils flaring, as if he's coming up out of the swamp water to attack. he closes the door behind them, locking it. he stares at quentin with shiny eyes - dark, shark-like. he steps forward, slow, hands up in mock-surrender as he grins. it's not a pretty sight by any means, the danger in the air thick and suffocating. gator pushes quentin forward again, snatching the towel from around his waist. ]
Yeah, I want you on the fuckin' bed.
[ he taps quentin on the back of the head with his knuckles, just hard enough to hurt, just hard enough to get him going. he tosses the towel over his desk chair, then rears back and smacks quentin's ass with full strength. ]
We can do this easy, or we can do this hard. But me? I kinda like it hard.
[ he pushes quentin again, this time forcefully. there's no softness, no consideration. he slips out of his t-shirt, revealing his torso, before he slings the shirt over the towel. ]
Ain't no one gonna come if you scream but me, you get me?
[ The thing is, Quentin considers while his skin still stings from the slap, throat still vibrates from his own yelp, that he kind of likes it hard too. Whether his hard aligns with Gator's is questionable at best, but he doesn't mind the sting, and he doesn't mind Gator's hands when they're tangled in his t-shirt.
[ So he tries to play. If Gator likes playing the hard way, he can't complain when Quentin bounces back from being shoved and catches him by the waist of his pants. Tugs him along with, eyes scraping over his body in the dim light. Does he have scars too? ]
Sounds like you want me to scream. I mean, you wanna come, I'm guessing. [ One hand stays fisted in Gator's jeans, the other sweeping over his abs, his chest. ] You mean like porn screaming or like--worse--screaming?
[ gator's hips fall between quentin's as he grabs his belt buckle. gator grins, slow, before he pushes quentin back against the pillows. he climbs up, then leans over, arms holding him up, before he kisses quentin with bite. he sucks his bottom lip, pulling it, allowing it to snap back before he devours quentin again. he likes it, likes it with men in particular, but he can't imagine that quentin's ready for gator's carnal violence. after he's done kissing quentin, he reaches up, grabbing a pair of handcuffs from the headboard. they're around quentin's wrists and clicked into place in a matter of seconds. ]
Let's see which one wins out, huh? You wanna be my pornstar? Wanna open those legs for it?
[ gator unbuckles himself, pulling his trousers and boxers down just enough, free cock rubbing against quentin's as he ruts forward. his hand snakes up to wrap around quentin's throat, but he doesn't squeeze, not yet. he simply rubs their cocks together with his free hand, gator's weighty and stiff. he licks his bottom lip, watching quentin's eyes. ]
Now, baby, you ain't ever gonna get it like this.
[ and that's a fact. it's coming, the pain, but the pleasure he's drawing out makes sense. play with the prey, play with your food. gator slowly works his hand up and down, fist tight but palm soft around quentin's cock. he pinches the head, working his thumb, his own cock laying against quentin's abdomen. ]
[ That's what he likes, especially with guys. The zeal in his mouth and the needling feeling of blood being sucked to the surface of his skin. The weight down his front. The appreciative hum that bubbles up out of him isn't the least bit put-on; Quentin takes advantage of the kiss to enjoy himself, pawing Gator's sides and chest, pinching a nipple hard in retaliation (admiration) for the gnawing at his lip.
[ He likes it enough that when Gator pulls away, Quentin tries to chase it--but the cuffs bring him back to the present. That's--fine, that's fair. It doesn't hurt his hard-on at all, even if the pinch makes him jerk and hiss. ]
You're gonna change my whole life, huh? [ The edge of the cuffs skate his skin strangely as he wiggles down an inch or so squeeze his thighs around Gator's sides, one heel tucking behind Gator's knee. His eyes fall to look for the cock resting heavy in the crook of his thigh, teeth pull instinctively at his lip to see Gator's fist working him just as casual as it is mean. Quiet, loose and airy: ] That feels--mm. That feels good, Gator. Besides, the--I mean. You don't want me to touch you?
[ that feels good, gator. his jawline hardens, angles and stubble, before he rears back and slaps quentin across the face with the back of his hand, the other still working his cock like nothing happened. he jerks it toward himself, feeling it in his hand. he knows that quentin might not like it that way, but gator knows what he, himself, likes. that's what's most important, his climax, his orgasm. quentin is simply a hole to fuck, no better than some teenager's spunk sock. he's warm and soft and lithe where it matters, fat thighs, thick cock. gator's own drools, it's the violence. ]
Does it feel good, slut? You gonna get a wet cunt?
[ he spits in quentin's face, the glob of it hitting his cheek. he then snatches quentin's head back by his hair, fingers no longer stroking. he kisses him roughly, this time biting, slamming quentin's head against the pillows. his cockhead rubs against quentin's opening. he doesn't dare, not without lube, but the idea is there. gator could pin down quentin and take what he wants without worry, but he wants quentin to ache for it. he wants him a mess under him, being thrust into so hard he practically tastes what gator plans on draining deep inside. ]
That's it, baby, open up, or I'll beat the shit out of you.
Don't fucking--don--! [ Don't hit for no reason, don't call it that, don't call him that, but Gator shuts off complaints with his lips and teeth. Quentin's complaining squawk buzzes through the kiss--arcs up into a shout when the heat inside his hip sloughs away and Gator prods his ass roughly.
[ The backs of his arms ache, like his neck as he cranes away from Gator's mouth, like his hip flexors when he wedges a shin against the inside of Gator's thigh to push him back. ]
Jesus, ease up! Where's your condoms? You got me stuck, alright, you win! But I have not been tested for like two months, okay, don't you fucking dare.
[ another slap, this time harder than the last. the back of gator's hand is red, it stings, but it's satisfying. his cock twitches, the violence, the way quentin looks up at him like some kind of wounded fucking animal. those big eyes, the fear: it's divine, running right between gator's legs and hitting hard. ]
You're gonna lay there, you're gonna like it. Do you fuckin' understand?
[ that's when quentin pushes gator back, and before he can spit on him again - don't you fucking dare. gator blinks, then his upper lip twitches in anger. the little fucker might not be clean, and that pisses gator off more than quentin understands. no condoms, ever. his daddy didn't raise no bitch, in his opinion, and if someone happens to get pregnant - well, that's what doctors are for. abortions are high in stark county, but not because of gator. holes are holes, and he prefers his cock driving in and coming thick.
with a growl, his hand reaches out, and he takes quentin by the throat. he squeezes, holding him down, cockhead laying against quentin's own. he thrusts his hips, fucking against quentin's own cock. pleasure and pain, hate and love. it's the same thing, isn't it? a smack, a kiss, a fuck, a punch. same exhilaration. same adrenaline. ]
I don't fuckin' use condoms. Are you fuckin' clean or not?
[ Even through the vise around his neck, he laughs in disbelief. Cheek fiery and stinging, palm heels hot from the pressure of the cuffs, vision spotty and and eyes tipping back, he comes up with a laugh as he tries to do the logic puzzle. Pull his last screening and every person he's been with, straining for the memory of safety measures, because he never goes without. Never goes without, but--
[ The laughter hitches and drags when Gator thrusts against him. Quentin is as hard as anything through this; the friction makes his eyes flutter. Or maybe that's the air loss. He tries to wet his lips to say yeah. He nods. Yeah. ]
[ gator puts more weight onto quentin's throat, eyes searching his. back and forth, he idles, jaw clenching and twitching before he believes him. quentin's blue by the end of it, pretty and delicate, his cheek swelling. gator laughs, low, snatching his hand away. he grabs the lubricant from the nightstand, reaching over quentin's body.
no condoms, and if he comes down with a little something? then quentin's to blame. to beat. to fuck raw. that's all gator cares about; coming deep and hard, over and over, using quentin as his personal cocksleeve. he imagines several positions, all flashing behind his dangerous eyes.
warming the lubricant between his palms, he applies a generous amount to his cock, flushed and rigid. two fingers tap at quentin's hole. ]
That's it, huh? You can't deny that, now can you?
[ gator slides the very tips of his fingers inside of quentin, pumping shallow. he's tight, the lubricant slippery. ]
[ He's on the brink of consciousness when Gator finally lets go. It take a few seconds to cough his airway open again, and the oxygen hits his brain like a shot. A horrible rush, his body waking up from his elbows to his knees. Gator dips fingers inside him before he even realizes what's happening or what's being said.
[ And Quentin bucks for it.
[ The shocked noise in his throat is ragged, hole wound tight around Gator's fingers. It's not--a full orgasm, he's not coming just from--its the air getting back to him so suddenly. He's just high of getting oxygen back, and it's a jerk in his balls, a weak leak of cum that satisfies little and suggests more than he'd like. ]
Gator. [ Ekes out of him despite his best intentions. Chest heaves, elbows pinch together, face buries against his upper arm. His hips teeter and hitch back towards Gator's palm, looking for me. ] Hold--on, hold on.
Look at you, now, squirtin’ before we even start. What a fuckin’ slut.
[ he isn’t stupid, he knows that erotic asphyxiation is real - he’s done it, seen it, so he knows it’s the rush of endorphins. the spread of blood. the oxygen in the lungs. the pathetic spurt of come doesn’t impress gator, though the tight throb of quentin’s balls turns him on. he fingers quentin still, working his hole, now down to the knuckle.
he’s told to wait, quentin folding in on himself, but gator has no time for that. he grabs quentin’s arm and flings it off of his face. he then takes his chin with one lube-streaked hand, forcing eye contact. he smiles, wolfish, fingertips tapping against his quentin’s prostate. ]
You think I’m gonna feel sorry for you? Take it fuckin’ easy?
[ he laughs, low and gravel-ridden, spreading and scissoring his fingers as he begins to pound quentin with them without mercy. ]
It's a lot. [ He not a baby, he doesn't need to take forever. It's just been a while since he took it, and he's catching his breath, and he just needs to say something about the swell of sensation all over.
[ He means to explain something like that, but Gator keeps knocking the words loose with his fingers. A sharp inhale stinks like silicone, his cheek tacky with drying lube off Gator's hand. He tries to explain it all. He just ends up with: ]
Gimme another. [ His nose scrunches, teeth pinch around the knuckle of Gator's thumb when thick fingers drive hard against his prostate again. His voice catches and fizzles in his throat. ] Fuck! Another, gimme a little more, that's-- [ Good? Is it really good? ] --it, that's it, that's it.
[ gator hooks his fingers downward, rough, pounding quentin's prostate. he can feel the hard nub inside, fingertips tapping and rubbing. his cock works against quentin's as he thrusts on his abdomen, precome slick at the head. gator wants to fuck, and he wants to fuck now. adding another finger would just rip and tear what gator wants to do himself. against quentin's wishes, gator snatches his fingers out and readies his cock against his hole. with a grunt, he pushes inside slow, all the way down to the hips, their balls rubbing as he begins to thrust. ]
Fuck you.
[ he spits on quentin again, right on his face, under his chin. he ignores quentin's cock for the time being, knowing that the frustration must be too much. he doesn't give a good goddamn if quentin actually comes again or not, his thighs spreading as he digs into quentin deeper, humping his ass. ]
Oh, god. [ It hurts. It's hot and bright, and Quentin's throat and thighs both shudder as he tries--works to make it easier. His mouth hangs open, eyes open but too full of tears to see Gator glowering down at him. His hands fist in the cuffs, back arches as he bears down. ] God, jesuschrist, Gator.
[ The name is exhausted, pleading--cursing. The wad of spit hitting his chin isn't just excruciating; it's insulting. His expression twists, tears blinking out of his eyes. ]
Fuck you. [ He echoes, venomous, and scrapes the saliva up from below his lip. Lifts his head to spit it back as Gator drags, burning, out of him. ] In a rush, huh? Like a fucking--kid.
[ quentin spits back and gator can feel his insides jump with rage. he backhands quentin not once, but twice, hips still working as he grabs him by the jaw. they look into each other's eyes, and gator stares at him, dangerous. his cock is too deep, it's too hard, it's too fast and big and there's pain - but gator likes it that way. quentin's almost too tight, his hole being ripped as gator pounds into him deep. he grunts, nostrils flaring as he smells sex and lube, thumb digging into quentin's cheek. ]
You're too fuckin' tight. I'm gonna get what the fuck I want whether you fuckin' like it or not. Open - ngh. Up.
[ gator pushes his hips all the way against quentin's ass, arms scooping his legs and lifting them up. he parts his thighs, watching his cock twitch. he knows it hurts, poor thing, but until gator comes thick and deep inside - there's no mercy. no selfless pleasure. only hurt, more hurt, and the deepest violation. ]
[ Let it be said that he does his best. Gator pops his lip open on the second slap, and the blood catches in his throat when fingers screw into his cheeks, cutting them against his teeth. He suppresses the instinct to cough, because if he starts coughing, he won't be able to breathe, and he has to breathe or he's going to fucking pass out.
[ Because it hurts like a motherfucker. His voice seizes and shatters under the pressure of his sucking inhale-exhales. He's had worse. Not--not worse sex, to be clear. Even the times he hasn't wanted it, it's been fast, impersonal, easily forgotten with a little blow and effort. But he's had worse hurt, evidenced by the scars over his shoulder that glow white against the panicked, pained flush lit up across his chest.
[ So he sucks a sob back down, grinds it into a growl. Tries for a growl anyway, but it's just a ragged, fraying moan. Gator handles him higher, carves into him deeper, demands more out of him. Look at me. None of Quentin's bad nights ever wanted him torn down like this. He could just shut down until he was safe. Gator won't let him. Wants him here, god knows why, god knows how anyone could be that vindictive, but Gator wants him here. ]
Baby. [ Sputtered, dumbfounded, thighs stretched too tight to keep from shaking, unwanted arousal a painful knot in his balls, tears or sweat smearing the blood on his lip. Quentin looks at him. ] Please. Pl-ease, just. Please, just--
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Real fuckin' cute that you think I'd clean it up.
[ a smile, slow. so slow. his teeth are on edge, practically stained red with the hunt. he has quentin where he wants him, right in the corner, and the way his breath trembles - gator chuckles, it's low, and it's amused enough that he releases the hammer and backs the gun away. he's still holding it, the barrel pointed skyward. ]
Look at you - shakin'. You think a little ol' gun's gonna be the thing that gets you? Huh? Look at me when I'm fuckin' talkin' to you.
no subject
no subject
Get out. Bedroom's to the left.
[ gator follows, standing up straight. he pushes quentin again, hand on the small of his bare back. he knows the boy will struggle, but that's all part of it, isn't it? that fear, that pliable nothingness that people become when it settles in the brain. ]
Get your ass movin'.
no subject
[ It surprises him that there's nothing on the floor for him to trip over. He can't see the details of the things on the walls clearly, but it surprises him to realize that the walls are covered and colorful, that the place is clean. Even comfortable, despite the glimpses of disturbing imagery he gets as his eyes adjust. It's a nest. A home.
[ As soon as his nerves start to relax, he knows to look out. Abruptly, his gaze cuts over his shoulder to see where Gator is--whether one of those hands is coming to cuff him again. If it is, he flinches away instinctively. His skin prickles up his spine as he asks: ]
You want me on the bed, or--?
no subject
Yeah, I want you on the fuckin' bed.
[ he taps quentin on the back of the head with his knuckles, just hard enough to hurt, just hard enough to get him going. he tosses the towel over his desk chair, then rears back and smacks quentin's ass with full strength. ]
We can do this easy, or we can do this hard. But me? I kinda like it hard.
[ he pushes quentin again, this time forcefully. there's no softness, no consideration. he slips out of his t-shirt, revealing his torso, before he slings the shirt over the towel. ]
Ain't no one gonna come if you scream but me, you get me?
no subject
[ So he tries to play. If Gator likes playing the hard way, he can't complain when Quentin bounces back from being shoved and catches him by the waist of his pants. Tugs him along with, eyes scraping over his body in the dim light. Does he have scars too? ]
Sounds like you want me to scream. I mean, you wanna come, I'm guessing. [ One hand stays fisted in Gator's jeans, the other sweeping over his abs, his chest. ] You mean like porn screaming or like--worse--screaming?
no subject
Let's see which one wins out, huh? You wanna be my pornstar? Wanna open those legs for it?
[ gator unbuckles himself, pulling his trousers and boxers down just enough, free cock rubbing against quentin's as he ruts forward. his hand snakes up to wrap around quentin's throat, but he doesn't squeeze, not yet. he simply rubs their cocks together with his free hand, gator's weighty and stiff. he licks his bottom lip, watching quentin's eyes. ]
Now, baby, you ain't ever gonna get it like this.
[ and that's a fact. it's coming, the pain, but the pleasure he's drawing out makes sense. play with the prey, play with your food. gator slowly works his hand up and down, fist tight but palm soft around quentin's cock. he pinches the head, working his thumb, his own cock laying against quentin's abdomen. ]
no subject
[ He likes it enough that when Gator pulls away, Quentin tries to chase it--but the cuffs bring him back to the present. That's--fine, that's fair. It doesn't hurt his hard-on at all, even if the pinch makes him jerk and hiss. ]
You're gonna change my whole life, huh? [ The edge of the cuffs skate his skin strangely as he wiggles down an inch or so squeeze his thighs around Gator's sides, one heel tucking behind Gator's knee. His eyes fall to look for the cock resting heavy in the crook of his thigh, teeth pull instinctively at his lip to see Gator's fist working him just as casual as it is mean. Quiet, loose and airy: ] That feels--mm. That feels good, Gator. Besides, the--I mean. You don't want me to touch you?
no subject
Does it feel good, slut? You gonna get a wet cunt?
[ he spits in quentin's face, the glob of it hitting his cheek. he then snatches quentin's head back by his hair, fingers no longer stroking. he kisses him roughly, this time biting, slamming quentin's head against the pillows. his cockhead rubs against quentin's opening. he doesn't dare, not without lube, but the idea is there. gator could pin down quentin and take what he wants without worry, but he wants quentin to ache for it. he wants him a mess under him, being thrust into so hard he practically tastes what gator plans on draining deep inside. ]
That's it, baby, open up, or I'll beat the shit out of you.
no subject
[ The backs of his arms ache, like his neck as he cranes away from Gator's mouth, like his hip flexors when he wedges a shin against the inside of Gator's thigh to push him back. ]
Jesus, ease up! Where's your condoms? You got me stuck, alright, you win! But I have not been tested for like two months, okay, don't you fucking dare.
no subject
[ another slap, this time harder than the last. the back of gator's hand is red, it stings, but it's satisfying. his cock twitches, the violence, the way quentin looks up at him like some kind of wounded fucking animal. those big eyes, the fear: it's divine, running right between gator's legs and hitting hard. ]
You're gonna lay there, you're gonna like it. Do you fuckin' understand?
[ that's when quentin pushes gator back, and before he can spit on him again - don't you fucking dare. gator blinks, then his upper lip twitches in anger. the little fucker might not be clean, and that pisses gator off more than quentin understands. no condoms, ever. his daddy didn't raise no bitch, in his opinion, and if someone happens to get pregnant - well, that's what doctors are for. abortions are high in stark county, but not because of gator. holes are holes, and he prefers his cock driving in and coming thick.
with a growl, his hand reaches out, and he takes quentin by the throat. he squeezes, holding him down, cockhead laying against quentin's own. he thrusts his hips, fucking against quentin's own cock. pleasure and pain, hate and love. it's the same thing, isn't it? a smack, a kiss, a fuck, a punch. same exhilaration. same adrenaline. ]
I don't fuckin' use condoms. Are you fuckin' clean or not?
no subject
[ The laughter hitches and drags when Gator thrusts against him. Quentin is as hard as anything through this; the friction makes his eyes flutter. Or maybe that's the air loss. He tries to wet his lips to say yeah. He nods. Yeah. ]
no subject
no condoms, and if he comes down with a little something? then quentin's to blame. to beat. to fuck raw. that's all gator cares about; coming deep and hard, over and over, using quentin as his personal cocksleeve. he imagines several positions, all flashing behind his dangerous eyes.
warming the lubricant between his palms, he applies a generous amount to his cock, flushed and rigid. two fingers tap at quentin's hole. ]
That's it, huh? You can't deny that, now can you?
[ gator slides the very tips of his fingers inside of quentin, pumping shallow. he's tight, the lubricant slippery. ]
no subject
[ And Quentin bucks for it.
[ The shocked noise in his throat is ragged, hole wound tight around Gator's fingers. It's not--a full orgasm, he's not coming just from--its the air getting back to him so suddenly. He's just high of getting oxygen back, and it's a jerk in his balls, a weak leak of cum that satisfies little and suggests more than he'd like. ]
Gator. [ Ekes out of him despite his best intentions. Chest heaves, elbows pinch together, face buries against his upper arm. His hips teeter and hitch back towards Gator's palm, looking for me. ] Hold--on, hold on.
no subject
[ he isn’t stupid, he knows that erotic asphyxiation is real - he’s done it, seen it, so he knows it’s the rush of endorphins. the spread of blood. the oxygen in the lungs. the pathetic spurt of come doesn’t impress gator, though the tight throb of quentin’s balls turns him on. he fingers quentin still, working his hole, now down to the knuckle.
he’s told to wait, quentin folding in on himself, but gator has no time for that. he grabs quentin’s arm and flings it off of his face. he then takes his chin with one lube-streaked hand, forcing eye contact. he smiles, wolfish, fingertips tapping against his quentin’s prostate. ]
You think I’m gonna feel sorry for you? Take it fuckin’ easy?
[ he laughs, low and gravel-ridden, spreading and scissoring his fingers as he begins to pound quentin with them without mercy. ]
no subject
[ He means to explain something like that, but Gator keeps knocking the words loose with his fingers. A sharp inhale stinks like silicone, his cheek tacky with drying lube off Gator's hand. He tries to explain it all. He just ends up with: ]
Gimme another. [ His nose scrunches, teeth pinch around the knuckle of Gator's thumb when thick fingers drive hard against his prostate again. His voice catches and fizzles in his throat. ] Fuck! Another, gimme a little more, that's-- [ Good? Is it really good? ] --it, that's it, that's it.
no subject
[ gator hooks his fingers downward, rough, pounding quentin's prostate. he can feel the hard nub inside, fingertips tapping and rubbing. his cock works against quentin's as he thrusts on his abdomen, precome slick at the head. gator wants to fuck, and he wants to fuck now. adding another finger would just rip and tear what gator wants to do himself. against quentin's wishes, gator snatches his fingers out and readies his cock against his hole. with a grunt, he pushes inside slow, all the way down to the hips, their balls rubbing as he begins to thrust. ]
Fuck you.
[ he spits on quentin again, right on his face, under his chin. he ignores quentin's cock for the time being, knowing that the frustration must be too much. he doesn't give a good goddamn if quentin actually comes again or not, his thighs spreading as he digs into quentin deeper, humping his ass. ]
Goddamn, that's it - take it deep.
no subject
[ The name is exhausted, pleading--cursing. The wad of spit hitting his chin isn't just excruciating; it's insulting. His expression twists, tears blinking out of his eyes. ]
Fuck you. [ He echoes, venomous, and scrapes the saliva up from below his lip. Lifts his head to spit it back as Gator drags, burning, out of him. ] In a rush, huh? Like a fucking--kid.
no subject
You're too fuckin' tight. I'm gonna get what the fuck I want whether you fuckin' like it or not. Open - ngh. Up.
[ gator pushes his hips all the way against quentin's ass, arms scooping his legs and lifting them up. he parts his thighs, watching his cock twitch. he knows it hurts, poor thing, but until gator comes thick and deep inside - there's no mercy. no selfless pleasure. only hurt, more hurt, and the deepest violation. ]
That's it, baby. Look at me.
no subject
[ Because it hurts like a motherfucker. His voice seizes and shatters under the pressure of his sucking inhale-exhales. He's had worse. Not--not worse sex, to be clear. Even the times he hasn't wanted it, it's been fast, impersonal, easily forgotten with a little blow and effort. But he's had worse hurt, evidenced by the scars over his shoulder that glow white against the panicked, pained flush lit up across his chest.
[ So he sucks a sob back down, grinds it into a growl. Tries for a growl anyway, but it's just a ragged, fraying moan. Gator handles him higher, carves into him deeper, demands more out of him. Look at me. None of Quentin's bad nights ever wanted him torn down like this. He could just shut down until he was safe. Gator won't let him. Wants him here, god knows why, god knows how anyone could be that vindictive, but Gator wants him here. ]
Baby. [ Sputtered, dumbfounded, thighs stretched too tight to keep from shaking, unwanted arousal a painful knot in his balls, tears or sweat smearing the blood on his lip. Quentin looks at him. ] Please. Pl-ease, just. Please, just--