“Go fuck yourself!” he reached for Drew’s pillow and lobbed it at my head. I caught it, observing curiously as he hopped onto the bed and started bouncing on it. Bouncing.

He jumped like a snot-nosed kid trying to avoid bedtime, glared; honestly, I wasn’t sure if I should laugh; I almost did.

“… so, ‘public toilet’, is this you trying to pump the breaks or something?” I chuckled. “You can just say ‘yellow’ if you want.”

Marcus scoffed but said nothing; continued to jump, throwing more of his weight onto his feet with each bounce; it was lucky Drew’s room has a high ceiling, otherwise he’d have smacked his head already.

I let out a tired exhale; went ahead and leaned against the edge of Drew’s computer desk as I continued to watch Marcus’ display. “Marcus Anderson, I’ll come up there and get you if I have to.”

“Go,” bounce, “fuck” bounce, “your,” bounce, “Self!” he huffed.

I watched in amazement as Marcus used the height from his latest jump to fling himself off the bed, sticking a solid landing just two to three feet from the door. He threw his hands up and flipped me off. “Used to be a gymnast, bitch, catch me if you can.”

That was actually so funny. I didn’t expect him to effectively try to throw himself off the bed to evade me; not that I put much effort into retrieving him either way.

I yawned, tried not to laugh as he zipped out the doorway; his footsteps loud and noisy as he tried to descend the stairs. Instead, I went ahead and returned Drew’s pillow to its rightful place and straightened the covers on his bed some. His comforter wasn’t perfectly in place when I came in earlier, but I wasn’t about to leave obvious signs of disruption in his room either.

My feet propelled me forward as I trailed back down the hall; shut off the bathroom light, closed the linen closet. A strange calmness fell upon me as I reached the top of the stairs and began to descend; what would happen next was gonna be… something.

Time to hunt him down and finish this.

“Only one of us has experience hunting if you think about it,” I announced matter-of-factly, “and it’s not you.”

I can hear him breathing; he’s so wound up.

The lowlight in the kitchen shed a soft, yellowish glow throughout the space. It bled into the den and faded into darkness; but I could still make out his outline lurking near the couch. He was crouched down under the armrest, where I usually stash whiskey during my late-night depressive binges.

“Marcus,” I called, voice low and cruel, “… I can fucking see you.”

My feet hit the soft carpeting, and I made a point of not taking my eyes off that shifty little fucker, but a glimpse of my cigarettes on the coffee table caught my attention. God I could use a smoke.

“I can see you too, psycho,” he hissed. “Go on, put your hands on me I dare you.”

 The cigarette was already between my lips, I lit up, the glow of the lighter briefly illuminating the nasty look behind my dark eyes. I know I look crazy now. He makes me crazy.

I tossed the lighter back on the table, landing with a marked clatter as I approached my prey. He was now within a hands grasp; all I had to do was take him by that silky blonde hair of his and drag his ass over the armrest of the couch. Fuck him until he can’t breathe. Smoke filled my lungs, I inhaled deeply, deciding I’d had enough of his shit. Enough of the hiding.

I wanted a fight, I thought he did too.

In a flash I had him by the hair, pulled until he cried out; but once he was halfway to his feet, the rest was like something out of a drunken haze, a fucked, sexy, violent dream.

The glinting of my glass tumbler was the next thing I saw as he slammed it into the side of my face, the glass shattering on impact. I reeled back, hot liquid running from my brow somewhere, the coppery taste of my own blood in my mouth. The pain was dulled—dulled by the thrill, the chase, the plans I had for him. It’s like I was high on the violence of it all; the places he was apparently willing to take this.

He stood there panting, feral, toothy grin on his face, eyes wide and wild. “Blood looks good on you.”

I grinned, wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “… right back at you.”

Next thing I knew he was under me, thrown to the floor in the haze of our sex-fueled-violence. We landed on sharp remnants of my glass in a heap, he yelped, I hissed at the glass digging into my knees. Then my hands were around his throat again, I could feel his heartbeat pulsing through arteries. He fought me, clawed at my skin like a feral cat.

I squeezed, he flailed and fought under my weight, tried unsuccessfully to knee me in the nuts. Cute.

“Be a good little bitch and hold still,” I growled.

“Fuck you!”

I threw his head back against the carpeting, used his pretty hair as leverage, and—strangely—felt no need for restraint. A backhand to the face so hard it knocked the wind out of him; his grip loosened, he gasped for air and panted in the wake of my ‘affection’, pretty face already beginning to swell.

Fuck.

Labored breaths escaped me as I tried to reel myself back in, as I considered my next move. Had I gone too far? No. He broke a fucking glass on my face. Fuck, what are we doing?

Soft, bloodied hands, shaky and heated, reached for my face, his touch surprisingly gentle as it was sure of itself. He propped himself up on his forearm and pressed a kiss to my cheek, his own breathing shaken.

“Now, that’s what I’m fuckin’ talkin’ about…” he chuckled, tongue flicking at the corner of my bloodied lips to taste me before trailing his mouth along my jawline. Soft kisses pressed to the crook of my neck; places untouched by anyone but myself in years.

His voice a low purr, “a freak, like me.”

“Yeah…”

I took his face into my hand and brushed his hair into place with my fingers. “… how you feeling?”  

His breaths finally began to slow, but the crazed look in his eyes remained. “I’m feeling like you haven’t taken this far enough, Gideon.”

My heart skipped a beat.

Marcus smirked and rolled his eyes, he let out a wince as he rolled to his side to retrieve my cigarette, still smoldering. Slim fingers plucked it off the glass-covered carpet, he pressed it to his lips and took a heavy drag, blowing the smoke into my face.

“That’s mine.”

“Was,” he took another heavy drag. “Finders Keepers, old man.”

Glass dug into my knees, into the palm of my hand. I grimaced, but the pain was dulled, dulled by the ache of my fucking erection. Of his. I’d be picking glass out of his beautiful skin when all was said and done, but he was still so fucking hard.

Freaks.

“Back to our game, then,” I murmured. “In three, two…”

Every second that passed as I counted felt like an eternity, as if it were all happening in slow motion. The look in his eyes, the fucked up, toothy grin than stretched across his face. The way his eyes fluttered with pleasure, how he groaned as he put that smoke out on his own neck and flicked it aside.

Marcus completed the countdown for me, voice low and gritty, “… one.”  

A brawl ensued; both of us blinded by our lust, our anger, our freakish need for this violent sex to push the envelope too far. But he wasn’t giving up, squirrelly little fuck. I backhanded the bitch again. He sputtered curses and insults, spit in my face, but his hardened cock said it all. My, oh, my.

I started to drag his pants down, with my free hand and—

“D-Drew, let me explain” he stuttered, face awash with horror, and shame.

My heart nearly shot out of my chest; but I caught myself, this certainly a ploy, a distraction. Don’t look. I tightened my grip on his throat, yet I still couldn’t stop myself from looking. It’s like I had to, just to be certain, even if I knew it to be bullshit. Fuck.

… and it was just a single glance, a fraction of a second, but then came the pain—his knee connecting with my balls.

“Fucking bitch!” I hissed, doubling over instinctively. Dumbass, you know he was fucking with you.

“Such a bitch,” Marcus teased, fist connecting again with the battered part of my face. My neck jerked back, blood. More blood. He squirreled out my grip while I fought to collect myself, to ignore the pain.

He popped to his feet and made a move to leap the back of the couch. In the wake of that knee to the nuts the effort felt herculean to get moving, but I was on him, nonetheless.

I managed to hook both hands around his right ankle and flung us both backward using all my weight; his body slammed chest-down on the hard ridge that made up the couch backing, and he was left gasping, out of breath from the fall.  

“Shoulda listened the first time, when I asked nicely.” I scolded him, dragging his body off the cushion, onto the floor. My back ached from the way I’d hit the carpet when I took him down with me; hell, I was way too fucking old for this, but it was more fun than I’d had in ages.

He groaned, clutched at his chest, but made no moves to defend himself. I watched, waited, listened for his safe word, but it never came. Marcus’ eyes were screwed shut, he winced and pushed himself gingerly into the sitting position, and it was then that I saw the blood begin to trail from his lips. The bloodied smears on his forearms, little bits of glass stuck in his skin.

“Bit my fuckin’ tongue,” he mumbled, wiping at the corner of his mouth gingerly.

Fuck, maybe I’ve gone too far.

“… my bad.”  I murmured.

Brown eyes rolled with slight irritation and leveled with me; Marcus looking less in pain now than amused. “Gid, you gotta quit holding back… it’s like you’re babying me.”

I froze, felt embarrassment. Yeah, fine, I am hesitant! It’s been a decade easily since I had sex like this. Jahaira wasn’t kinky, but she had exploits of her own. We both did.

Marcus spat bloodied saliva on the floor and wiped his mouth, caught his breath. “Come here…” he reached for my face, and I obliged meekly, unsure of whether this was his version of a ‘break’ or ending our fucked little game. I didn’t genuinely wish to hurt Marcus Anderson, not against his will, I wouldn’t take pleasure in that.

His voice dropped into a whisper, sure of itself. He drew me into a kiss, it deepening with each passing second. His tongue and mine, the taste of our blood, a satiated moan emanating from within his chest as the need took over. I threaded my fingers into his hair, tugging at his scalp until he grimaced and tilted his head to the side, neck angled for me to take my kisses lower. My teeth grazed the skin of his jaw, till they found the crook of his neck. I sucked, bit, licked my way down to his collarbone.

He let me kiss and taste him for a few moments, then came his next demand.
“Eyes on me,” his voice soft but sure.

Of course I obeyed; because bending to his will was something I was easily growing accustomed to. I halted my kisses and met his gaze with curiosity, and apprehension.

“… yes, Marcus?”

He chuckled, petted my face as he dropped his forehead into mine. “Here’s how this is gonna go, the rest.”

I took a deep inhale, and listened, tried to focus on the sound of his every breath, his heart, the sensation of soft hands caressing my face, my neck, my chest.

A kiss to my cheek, thumb pressing gently at my lips, I opened and took it into my mouth, sucking instinctively. He smirked.

“You’re going to fuck me over couch right there,” he whispered instructively. “No holding back, you’re gonna make me cry, and you’re not gonna stop until you breed my ass, until I cum, and I want you to choke me out when I do. Got that? I want it to hurt, I wanna black out, but you’re intimidated, aren’t you?”

… yes. I am.

It was true, I’d psyched myself up, told myself I’d brutalize him, but when it came down to it, when I took it further than I’d anticipated, I began to question myself in the absence of his protest. I was beginning to feel like a failure. Couldn’t even fuck him the way he needed without him bossing me around to an extent, what a mess.

And it was like he read my mind.

“Hey, daddy, don’t stress… we’ll figure each other out in time. I’ll admit my demands are a little intense for our first night together… but truly, ‘A+’ for effort. No one’s fucked me up like this in ages.”

Maybe I blushed, I’m not sure. How Marcus Anderson could level me with so little effort was an impressive mystery. How easily I folded for him time and time again… a dynamic I wasn’t familiar with.

… or, perhaps I just enjoy a mouthy power-bottom more than I thought.

“Gid, you in there?” he tapped his forefinger on my cheek.

I blinked back into focus and found him studying me with mild concern. 

“… Mm, just thinking.” I mumbled, beginning to feel the pain setting in. My neck ached terribly. Two right hooks to the face served as a stark reminder that I was no longer twenty-two. At thirty-eight, I’d be poppin’ Advil and Tylenol like I pop benzos for the next month-and-half once all this is over. Hell, I run off that shit already, who am I kidding?

“… about?”

Embarrassment washed over me. “Well, I never fucked a guy before.”

He drew me back in, kissed my neck, hand disappearing beneath my waistband to squeeze my cock. “Yeah, but you clearly done anal.”

I exhaled the pleasure, urged myself to stay focused. “Y-yeah… but um, it’s different?”

He rolled his eyes whilst he traced his thumb over my sensitive tip. “I mean, a hole is a hole, except I obvs got a prostate, so ya gotta hit it.”

Don’t cum, don’t cum. Fuck, he’s killing me. Imma nut if he doesn’t stop playing with me.

My face got hot, everything got hot. I’m way over my head. I cleared my throat, finding it hard to maintain eye contact. I did wanna get him off, I really did, and it felt odd admitting to needing some coaching now, especially with him playing with my dick.

“Any, um,” I cleared my throat, pulled his hand away. Fuck. “Um, any advice? Like, what works for you? P-positions I mean.”

Brown eyes flashed playfully; a toothy grin stretched across his lips. Again, lookin’ like a cat. “You are so fucking cute, you know that? Shit…”

I caught my breath, my face had to be flushed. I felt so called out, so… inexperienced. So rusty. I was rusty, and it was my first time fucking a dude.

“I just-“

He interrupted with a kiss to my cheek, trailed his fingertips over my temples. “-chill, Gid. I’m not complicated. I like pain, I get off on it. Masochist, remember? Just… ok. Look.”

He put his forefinger out in silent gesture for me to ‘wait’ and popped to his feet with a grimace. Rolled his neck, let out a brief exhale. He settled near the armrest on the couch and gave it a pat. “This? Throw me over it.” He bent over the armrest and wiggled his ass, “like so.”