His head cracks against the wall with every thrust, legs hitched up high and pressed against his chest and it’s more painful than his skull battering against abused concrete…bend and bruise but never break. They promised to fuck his brain out but they’re still there, still inside bleeding memory in time with harsh pants and obscenity spewed from a mouth that stinks of cheap vodka and cigarette smoke.
They thought he was a whore, he didn’t correct them.
It’s not hard enough, can feel the bite of the wall he’s rammed against and the tearing, screaming, scratching but there’s no silence. Foolish to seek oblivion in an alleyway from some sick fuck that thinks he’s a little lost boy who’ll take his hundred and move onto the next sick fuck after he’s had his fill.
Teeth sink into his shoulder and he turns his head, spies love written like a prayer across the wall and laughs.
He’s still laughing when the guy comes, sliding out flaccid and spent. He yanks up his pants and out a bill, Gakuto falling as the money is dropped on the ground beside him.