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[slash, language, violent (non-graphic) sex] "He didn't know if it would ever stop. He didn't know if he even cared any more. And that scared him more than dying."
Warnings: Non-graphic but violent sex, language
Dedication: To Alex and the Parryhotter LJ community, who inadvertently inspired this.
We Were Never Innocent
It hurt more than he thought it would. Far more.
He tried to focus on something else, anything that wasn't the feeling of the other boy thrusting roughly into him. He shut his eye as tightly as he could and barely held back a cry. Wincing, he tore his fingernails as he tried to cling to the alley's dirty, brick wall. His own short, choked whimpers and the other boy's deep gasps seemed to pound, drum-like, in his ears. But he heard and felt nothing else, for it seemed as though the rest of the world had disappeared.
Just like last time. And the time before. And the time before.
The first time it happened, he tried to protest. He tried to fight. It did him no good; his attempts seemed almost laughable to the other boy, who slammed him roughly against the wall and tore at his clothes without abandon. When it was over, he had slid to the ground, his face expressionless, his body numb.
"Tell anyone, and you're fuckin' dead," the other had said.
He hadn't told. Who would have believed him? Besides, he knew that the boy would carry through with his promise, and he was terrified of dying. So it went on and on and on. He didn't know if it would ever stop. He didn't know if he even cared any more.
And that scared him more than dying. More than anything else.
He had begun to wonder if he was better off dead.
He heard the other boy let out a sudden, loud grunt, felt the warmth and stickiness that signified a temporary end to what had once been torture, though, in his mind, the experience moved farther away from that classification every time it happened.
No longer did he fall weakly to the ground at the end. He had learned to simply turn away from him, pull up his pants, smooth his clothes, and pray that he could get back to the Lodging House quickly and clean himself up.
For the first time, he found the courage to ask, forcing the question through cracked, dry lips. "Why?"
The other paused briefly, fastened his pants, and turned back. They faced each other silently for a moment.
"Why let me?" He stared at the other boy, surprised at the reply. "You gotta have a weapon or something."
His mind flashed to the knife hidden in his bag. "Yeah. I do."
"So why let me?"
The pause was longer this time. "Don't know."
The other boy studied him carefully, then walked briskly out of the alley.
Kid Blink watched Oscar walk away, then collapsed to his knees and threw up.
Author's Note: This took me about ten minutes to write, though I have no idea why I wrote this or where it came from. I surfed around on Parryhotter and thought about Alex's adoration for Bloscar, which led to this. This is completely different from anything that I've ever written, and I actually don't remember writing it. You ever write something, and you read it and think, "... the time I spent writing this is a complete blank, and I can't remember what I was thinking?" Because, yeah, that's definitely what happened. Very strange.