The shower is almost cold, making it nearly impossible to get any lather from the thin piece of soap in his hand - but the smell of fried food from the kitchens where he has just spent five hours seems to be in his skin as well as on it, and he'll do whatever he needs to do to try and shift it. He turns his face up to the feeble stream of water, running the soap over his chest and trying not to think about what it's like back home where there's hot water whenever he wants it and he doesn't have to shower in a room that smells of piss and disinfectant - |
"Been avoiding me, haven't you?"
Oh Christ, this is all he needs, he thinks as he blinks water out of his eyes; the room may only be lit by a feeble fluorescent strip, but he'd have known who was in here without having to look round because of the voice - the Southern drawl that's murmured things to him in the exercise yard and the gym and the queue for the pay phone, things he's done his best to ignore...
"You know, where I was raised, it's rude not to speak when you're spoken to," the voice says then, and it's closer than before; Greg glances round, almost unwillingly, and the older man with the close-cropped dark hair is standing less than a yard away. He knows his name, he learned it the day he arrived here a week ago and it was murmured to him by his cellmate...
"That's Nick, dude, and if you're smart you'll keep away from him, 'cause he has a thing for guys like you..."
There's no weapon in his hands, no sharpened toothbrush or tool purloined from the workshop - but this doesn't mean much, because three days ago Greg saw one man half-kill another with his bare hands before the guards were able to separate them. "You've been avoiding me, haven't you?" the speaker repeats, and the calculating look in his dark eyes sends a shiver up Greg's spine.
"Just keeping my head down," he replies, not looking directly at the other man but at a spot on the wall behind him. "I'm not in here to make friends."
"Pity," is the answer, and Nick steps closer. "Helps to have friends in a place like this, especially when a guy's as pretty as you are."
"Listen, man, I don't want any trouble," Greg says, trying to mask his growing unease and tell himself that this isn't what he thinks. "I'm not gonna be in here long enough to need friends, I don't have anything to trade..."
"What makes you think that, Greg?" and something must register on his face then, because there's a low chuckle. "See? I know your name already, I know you're in for thirty days for DUI," the other man continues, and when the towel falls from around his waist he makes no move to pick it up. Greg doesn't know why he looks, but he does, and in the next instant he's thinking Christ Christ Christ - because the guy's already half hard, there can't be any mistake about what this is now, and seconds later a hand touches his face. It slides up his right cheek, grabbing a handful of his hair almost before he's had a chance to flinch, fingers latching on just tightly enough to make his scalp tingle; dark eyes study him intently, and he darts a frantic glance towards the entrance to the showers in the hope that somebody -
"Don't worry about that," Nick says, his accent becoming more pronounced as he speaks more quietly. "See, Greg, I've got friends out there," he motions towards the doorway with his free hand, "watching to make sure nobody comes in here until we're finished," and he leans in close enough for Greg to smell spearmint on his breath. Gum? Toothpaste? Greg asks himself silently, knowing how irrational this question is, still unable to believe this is actually happening - then the hand tightens in his hair, forcing him to look directly at the man who's cornered him in here, and there is a moment or two's silence that seems to last a hell of a lot longer.
"Up to you how easy you want this," Nick says, and the thumb of the hand tangled in Greg's hair traces a slow curve beneath his right ear. "I can make it difficult, but it doesn't have to be - and I think a guy as pretty as you knows what I want, doesn't he?" He tilts his head forward, and when Greg pulls back, still fighting the inevitability of this, there is a sharp tug on his hair that makes his breath catch in his throat. Another stare, another long silence, and then Nick flicks a glance down at the floor between them - and the words he speaks then are low and dirty and leave no room for doubt.
"You even think about biting me, pretty boy, and you'll regret it."
Greg somehow manages to lower himself to the floor, something digging into his left knee as he settles into place; he raises his hand, trying to ignore the fact that it's shaking, and he won't lift his head any more than he's got to - because this isn't like all the other times he's done this, he doesn't want to see this man's face, he just wants this to be over...
He hears a sharp indrawn breath echoing over the sound of the running water as he palms the rapidly-stiffening length of flesh and grasps the base firmly, registering the pulse that seems to beat beneath his fingers. Damn, but he's big, a voice says inside his mind, if he stays hard long enough to get inside you you'll feel it for days after he's done; and so Greg's going to do whatever he needs to in order to get this guy off right here right now, it'll be quick and it'll be rough and there'll be no finesse about it at all, and once he's out of this place in another three weeks he won't remember it - because that's the only way he's gonna be able to do this and get through it.
He draws the tip between his lips, smooth flesh pressing against his tongue then pushing further back, and he feels a hand in his hair again; it tugs him forward, making him breathe through his nose as his mouth is filled with heated flesh, and he inhales the scent of the man standing in front of him. "That's it," a voice says above his bowed head, a voice that's slightly hoarse. "More, pretty boy, ..." The hand in his hair pulls again, forcing him to open his mouth wider, and there is a brief moment where he fears he will choke - but he leans back, the tension on his hair making him close his eyes, and the harsh sigh he hears when his fingers twist, corkscrew-like, around the base of Nick's cock, refuels his grim determination to finish this. He falls into a rhythm, his mouth and his hand working in tandem, and a steady litany of filthy words is gasped over his head as the hips of the man in front of him rock steadily in counterpoint; Nick's leaking steadily, he's so fucking close now, and as Greg slides his hand down and twists again the only thing in his mind is c'mon c'mon c'mon...
...then, almost before he realizes what's happening, he's being yanked to his feet, pulling in a huge gulp of air as his mouth is suddenly and blessedly empty; in the same instant he's shoved against the wall, just getting his hands in front of him before his head comes into contact with the chipped white tile. His right ankle is kicked, forcing his legs apart, and as he tries to twist away an arm moves swiftly to rest around the front of his neck - not cutting off his breathing, but the idea that it could is enough to nearly rob him of the power of speech, and the voice that manages to croak, "No, don't," doesn't sound anything like his.
"Don't?" that voice says roughly in his ear. "You don't give the orders, pretty boy, while you're in here you're mine -" and then Nick's inside him with a single, brutal thrust, drawing nearly all the way back again before Greg's nerve endings have had a chance to begin screaming from the burn and drag of the entry. Nick lunges forward again, and the angle hardly changes at all, but it's enough to bring the head of his cock against Greg's prostate; Greg presses his hands against the wall, willing himself to stay upright as his body responds in a way his mind will not and his legs threaten to give way - and he lowers his head, gritting his teeth, because he'll bite his tongue until it bleeds rather than make a sound...
"You're mine," Nick repeats, his lips touching the side of Greg's throat. "Your mouth, your ass, this," and his free hand reaches to encircle Greg's cock; it's painfully hard, betraying Greg, shaming him, and when it is stroked by knowing fingertips the moan that Greg suppresses behind tightly-closed lips provokes a low growl against his neck. "You want this, don't you? Don't you?" The words are emphasized by another thrust, the arm across Greg's throat removed to allow Nick's left hand to rest over Greg's against the wall. Greg's fingers are clasped with enough strength for him to feel bones grinding together beneath his skin, another sensation layered on top of all the others flooding him, and with the next thrust teeth are set into the flesh where neck meets shoulder - sinking in deep enough to finally force a sound from him, a guttural moan that's pulled from some unknown place at his core.
"Please," he manages to gasp, the single word almost a sob, because he doesn't want this, he shouldn't want it, but then there's another thrust, and at the same time fingertips glide over the head of his cock; the bite mark on his neck is licked, the almost gentle washing of tongue over injured flesh stealing his breath, and his head sags forward as he allows his eyes to close.
"You want me to fuck you, don't you, pretty boy? Want me to make you come?" and the words that are spoken after that wash through his mind unheard as the rhythm builds - each thrust threatening to lift him off his feet, the hand on his cock working him roughly, and some far-off part of him might still be saying no but he's so close to coming now he feels like he's going to pass out...and then a thumb brushes the head of his cock and he tips over the edge, a cry torn from his lips, and the last thing he feels is an arm moving swiftly round his chest to hold him upright.
"Mnn," he mumbles, still beyond coherent speech, as he lies in the centre of the bed with no recollection of how he got there; a hand strokes his hair, draws his head to his lover's chest, and his ears pick up the steady thump of a heartbeat.
"You got right into it, didn't you?" the voice above his head asks as fingers continue to comb through sweat-tangled hair. "You laughed when I got that role play book, but you got right into it," and a tired smile washes across Greg's lips, because it's always like this when sex has been this intense; he's reduced to monosyllables, but Nick talks away like there's no tomorrow. He closes his eyes, a faint sigh escaping slightly parted lips as a kiss is planted on the bite mark on his neck, and he tunes his ears to Nick's heartbeat as the room around them gets further and further away - and the final thought in his mind before he sleeps is the same as it always is, the reason he allowed himself to let go this way tonight.