maybe max mocking daryl for being his first time and using it to his advantage but a fluffy aftercare except that max sucks in being gentle but somehow that makes the whole thing better (?)
MDNI
maxryl first time oneshot 🤗 Darryl loses his v card over winter break. they start out ok, quickly turn very antagonistic, and by the end of it things get sweeter.
Warnings: very dubcon, rough pain play (choking, slapping, biting, minimal prep anal), intoxication (both of them), light feminization near the end.
Words: ~6500 (basically all smut 🥹)
i had such a blast (!!!) working on this one, thanks for the lovely idea and request anon! 💖
Want It Bad
The first time smoke hits his lungs, it burns like fire, and he spits out half the hit, hacking up clouds of the good stuff.
"Whatchu doing!" his friends holler, heavy hands clapping his back. Darryl chokes out laughs between his coughs.
But then the next several hits go down smoother, and maybe that's because the weed makes his pain--hm, not less intense? More intense, in a way? But like it's not entirely a part of him, like he can sit back in the audience and watch it smolder in his throat.
And that's dangerous, he thinks at first, because he has a lot of pain generally speaking, and this is so much better than just plain feeling it. But his high takes his worries away and before he knows it, it's 4am, he's rolling around on the floor, sloshed on a few blunts and too many nips of fireball.
"You look stupid as hell," Max says with a lazy smile, and that's the first time all night Darryl has felt self conscious at all. This feeling, too, is changed by the high. Sharpened like a blade.
"Man, shut up." The last of their other friends had just trickled out of the condemned building, leaving Darryl with nobody to deflect Max's barbs onto.
"Homeboy rolls up in his pea coat and oxfords like he's some hot shit and he can't even hit the dutch without giggling like a schoolgirl about it. You look stupid, D."
"They're not oxfords," Darryl mumbles in response, knowing it'll piss Max off, taking no small pleasure in the chance to be petty.
"Now you sound stupid, too." Max fishes another blunt out of his pocket and lights up. Darryl watches with irritation from his position on the floor, unwillingly admiring the ease and grace with which the other wraps his lips around the thing and pulls.
He sometimes gets lost watching Max. He usually does his best to hide it--but tonight, his defenses are chemically stripped bare. His eyes are glued to the column of Max's neck, watching as he inhales deep. At the peak of his draw, Max's eyes slip closed. He holds his breath for 1, 2, 3, and then he purses his lips and lets the cotton come rolling out.
When Max does it, he has the grace of a lion. No giggling, no coughing. He opens his eyes to look directly at Daryl, watching him, being watched.
"What's your problem?" Max asks. But there's no heat in the challenge. His eyes are hooded, red. The weed softens his normally jagged edges.
But it seems to exacerbate Darryl's. He normally keeps himself under tight control, always maintaining a front. Darryl at college, Darryl at home, Darryl with his friends. Tonight, no matter how hard he tries, he's just Darryl, and that frustrates him.
"Just give me that." He cant keep the ire out of his tone.
"With that attitude? Nah, man."
Darryl considers this briefly. At the conclusion of the thought, his id takes over. He launches himself at the other man, bowling him over and drunkenly attempting to yank the blunt of his hands.
"Hey! The fuck!" And those saw toothed edges are back now and Darryl likes it better that way because that's so much easier to deal with, so much more familiar.
The two boys have been friends since middle school--it is far from the first time they've tussled. But Darryl is faded, and his coordination is strained.
"Let me have it," he demands, words slurring. One arm wriggles around Max's neck, the other wildly gropes for the doobie. One of Max's elbows digs into his side in retaliation. He easily holds the still-lit prize out of reach.
"You really wanna do this? Okay." And suddenly they're flipped around and Max is pinning him down, knocking his breath out of him, getting dust and dirt and ash all over his clothes. Dimly, he thinks he'll have to wash them before his mom sees.
He thrashes wildly, growling and cursing under his breath. But Max is like a statue over him. Why is he so fucking strong? He takes another slow drag, blowing the smoke right in Darryl's face.
"Fuck you."
"Always picking fights you can't finish," Max grunts. And that's just not true. Only Max knows how to push his buttons, stoke his anger until it boils over like this.
He tries to jam a knee between them, but the burst of fury that had fueled his first attack is quickly fading. Now, he's just stuck.
"Let me up, man." Even to his own ears, the demand sounds weak.
"Are you done?"
"Just let me hit the damn thing."
Max pauses, considers. And then he brings the blunt to Darryl's mouth. Darryl glares at him--this isn't what he meant--but he nevertheless takes it between his lips and lets his eyes slip closed and breathes in deep, deep, deep.
His rage simmers down to embers, not so overwhelming anymore. He laughs, then coughs up smoke as a wave of euphoria gently washes over him. Did he really just do all that?
Max cracks a smile too, barking out a laugh from his belly.
"Feels good, don't it. You play nice, you get nice things." Always so patronizing.
"You never play nice."
"Guys like me don't need to. Guys like you…"
"The hell is that supposed to mean?"
Max snorts. "Fuck you think? I got you pinned with one hand, sippin' on just what I give you with the other."
And that pisses him off to hear, but it also does something else to him. He feels his face heat, his hips shift. The whiskey makes his pulse pound loud in his ears. He's always been comfortable touching his friends, but suddenly Max is way too close, his breath leaving tingles in its wake where it touches Darryl's skin.
Terrifyingly, Max seems to notice his discomfort. He quirks his head. "You like that? Oh, shit. You like that."
"Can you just let me up?" Darryl wishes he could curl up and die right now.
Max only smirks.
"Make me."
And if he wasn't horny before, he sure is now, the way those words shoot straight to the pit of his belly, mixing with the anxiety gathering there.
"C'mon, you know I can't," Darryl huffs, beginning to struggle again, more motivated by shame than rage this time.
"That's right," Max breathes. He takes another hit and shifts his leg to settle between Darryl's, pressing his solid thigh right up against the bulge beginning to form in the other's pants.
"Ah!" The sound comes out like a gasp, high and reedy. Darryl can't stop his hips from rocking up into the pressure. The weed heightens the sensation in a way he's never felt before. Like every touch is a piece of lightning, loud and bright and overwhelming.
"I always wondered about you," Max admits, low and husky, "with your makeup, your pretty face." Darryl would bury it in his hands if he could. Because honestly, he's wondered too. He's caught himself staring at Max more times than he'd like over the years, pondering the lines of his neck, the slim angle of his hips, how his brows knit together when he scowls.
He's never acted on those thoughts, never thought they'd ever lead him anywhere good. But right now the other man's heavy weight crushes into him in all the right ways and he can't not think about the body over him.
"What are you doing, Max?" It takes Darryl a moment to brave the question. He feels laid bare, vulnerable.
"Tell me you like it."
Darryl's eyes are big and round, searching Max's gaze for any hints of the cruelty he expects. He can't always read him right. But tonight, the cocktail of intoxicants they've shared keep both men more honest than not. And Max looks comfortable, relaxed, happy, even. Not mean. Not tonight.
"I like it," he barely whispers. He thinks he sees Max's pupils dilate ever so slightly.
"Say you want it," Max orders him, words colored by a growing smile. His thigh grinds down, making Darryl's eyes roll back.
"I want it," he admits, amazed at the way his voice trembles. What's happening to him?
"Yeah. You want it bad." Max lowers himself, not quite pinning Darryl anymore, but laying his body down over the other's, pressing them together hips to torso. He feels solid, warm, good. He holds the blunt out again, and Darryl eagerly hits it, wanting to think a little less, feel a little more. He lets out the hit with a groan and his arms come up to rest on the other's back. One of Max's big hands cups his cheek, thumb on his chin, turning it left, then right, looking at him from all angles.
"So fuckin' pretty," he mutters, and it sounds like the words have bypassed his conscious thought entirely. Darryl's stomach flips. He's unsure what to do with the compliment.
"Lemme try something," Max continues. And, sure, yeah. He thinks he'd let Max try just about anything right now. The man takes his own turn with the blunt, but this time, instead of letting the smoke free, he lowers his head, purses his mouth, and then they're kissing, and Max's lips feel soft and plush, tender, unlike every other part of him.
And then more smoke is rolling into Darryl's lungs, Max's hit becoming his own. He sucks it down like he's drowning.
"Where'd you learn that?" he asks afterwards, enjoying the way the smoke curls up from his mouth, the way he can literally watch Max's air roll out of himself.
"They never teach you to shotgun up at college?"
"Ha. No."
And he's kissing him again, and that's weird, Max is kissing him, for real. His body moves with a mind of its own, hips still working against Max's leg, fingers gripping and releasing the fabric of Max's jacket, feeling his broad back shift underneath, and his mouth, god, his mouth. Darryl yields to Max's movements like water, welcoming him in. Lips sliding, closing, pressing, giving in again. He hears these high breathy noises, realizing after the fact they're coming from his own throat.
Max ends the last kiss with a slow, gentle, bite of his teeth over Darryl's bottom lip, not enough to hurt, just enough to work the flesh and tug slightly, at last slipping free with a sigh.
"How come you're so good at that?" Darryl wonders, aloud, mistakenly.
Max chuckles and takes another slow drag of the now-roachy blunt. "Ain't my first rodeo, D."
Darryl doesn't love the thought of that. Max always talks a big game about girls, always brags like he's got something to prove. He'd assumed Max was getting maybe a fifth of the action he claimed.
The irritation must show in his face, because Max huffs in annoyance. "Don't go bitchin' about it now," he says.
"I didn't say anything."
"Good."
Max's lips are back again, one hand offering him the last of the roach (it goes down hot and harsh, but he barely notices), the other guiding Darryl's head to the side so he can plant kisses along his neck. He shivers, goosebumps pebbling over the skin there. Max's breath sounds so loud beside his ear.
"You're sensitive," Max notes, before laving his tongue hard over a spot that makes Darryl keen in pleasure.
"Do that again," he says. He stretches his neck out, opens himself completely.
"You don't tell me what to do." Max says it soft, matter of fact. Darryl rolls his eyes.
Max turns him the other way, giving the left side of his throat attention. And, ok, fine, this is more or less what he wanted. This time, Max sucks a hickey high up on Darryl's pulse point, the sensation once again making him tremble and moan. Max pauses to watch the blood flow to the spot as a small bruise blossoms over the steady thrum of Darryl's pulse.
"I'm gonna have to cover that." He doesn't even wanna think about what his mom would say.
"Mm." Max licks again over the spot, leaving it wet with the evidence of his attention. He begins to travel downward, tugging open the buttons on his coat, exposing the slender lines of his collarbones.
"We really doin' this here?" Darryl feels dirty on the floor.
"You got any better ideas?"
And, no, not really. Max leisurely pulls down the zipper of Darryl's hoodie next. Finally, the bigger man leans back so he can untuck Darryl's shirt, pushing it up and baring his torso. The chill air of the building washes over his body. He tries to suppress his shivers as he watches Max's expression, gauging his reaction.
"Why you lookin' at me so scared?" Max asks. He spreads his hands over Darryl's hips, his stomach, his chest, fingers idly running over his hardening nipples. Darryl squirms. He's too cold, too aroused.
"'M not scared. I just… never did this before." That stops Max in his tracks. Oh, no.
"What? You still got your cherry? Ain't there any pussy at Princeton?"
Darryl huffs, shoving Max off of him, scooting back. He tugs his coat back around him.
Max laughs. "There you go bitchin' again."
"You're bein' an ass!"
"Ain't my fault you're a virgin," Max pushes, "in fact, I'm tryin' to help you out here."
"No you're fucking not," Darryl hisses.
"I am," Max insists. "Let me." He crawls forward, back between Darryl's legs, reaching to palm his erection through his jeans. And he lets him, god damn it, because it was so much nicer when they were doing that instead of talking.
But Max--stupid fucking Max--won't shut up now.
"So I'm your first, then. First to touch you here?" He squeezes, wrenching a low moan from Darryl's diaphragm.
"Obviously," he pants.
"First to mark you up with a hickey."
"What do you think?" He wanted it to come out with more venom than it did.
"… First to kiss you?"
"Will you just shut up and do it again?" He tries to thrust into Max's grip, but Max follows his movements, not giving him what he wants.
"You're gonna have to be patient. Gonna take my sweet time with an untouched thing like you," Max says, and the mixture of embarrassment and desire it provokes surges straight to his groin. Max likes that he's inexperienced.
Finally, finally, Max returns to what he was doing, again exposing Darryl's chest, still palming his dick when he lowers his head to taste the other's nipples. The sensation tingles, just this side of too intense, charged by the high.
Darryl's scratches his fingers through Max's short hair. Max's tongue makes slow, wide swipes across one areola, before his lips latch on and he sucks hard, pain mixing with pleasure. "Ah!" Darryl gasps, his back arching into the touch.
"Tell me how it feels."
"Um, good."
"It hurt?" Max presses.
"A little," Darryl pants. Then Max fucking bites him. Not hard enough to draw blood, not even to bruise--but enough that it hurts more than a little. "Ah! Yes, it fuckin' hurts."
"You like it?" It seems Max is genuinely asking this time.
Darryl pauses to consider. "I don't know. Do it again."
A corner of Max's lip tightens. "What'd I say about tellin' me what to do?"
"Jesus. Fine. Will you try it again?"
"Say it nice, boy." Darryl wants to hit him.
"Will you please… bite me… again?"
"Mm. Was that so hard?" Max lazily shifts to Darryl's other nipple. He gently places his teeth around the little nub, then begins working it, steadily increasing the pressure until Darryl is keening and twisting under him. Somehow, Max knows just how much to give him to keep him this side of horny.
And then he lets up. The tension in Darryl's body releases. Tingles dance around the sensitive spot.
"I like it," he marvels, breathless. Why does he like it so much?
"A lot of girls do," Max says, obnoxiously.
"I'm not one of your girls, Max."
"You sure like bein' touched like one." It makes Darryl scowl. But he doesn't have time to respond before Max gets back to it, kissing, licking, nibbling, working his nipples to tenderness.
Then he travels downwards, sucking more pain-pleasure hickeys into Darryl's ribs, his stomach, even his ticklish sides. Darryl's moans fill the empty air of the cold building, echoing slightly up a stairwell.
Max leaves one more bruising kiss in the hollow of his hip, right under the waistband of his jeans, before undoing his belt and popping open his fly. Darryl obligingly lifts his hips to let the other tug down his pants. He wedges his coat underneath himself so he doesn't have to lay his ass on the filthy floor.
Max's big hand settles over the bulge in his briefs. It feels so intense now, hotter, heavier, only separated by a thin strip of cotton.
"Ahh…" Darryl's hips can't stop grinding. Max obliges him this time, squeezing and gripping his dick through the fabric, smirking over him.
"You really are a virgin. Look at you moanin'. I'm barely touchin' you."
Words like that call for an elbow to the gut, but the sensations are too loud for him to think straight. He can't tell where the weed ends and his body's nerves begin. Every feeling is heightened, sharpened.
"Shh, pretty little thing. We'll fix that soon." What did he just call him?
"'M not--"
"Mmhm. Let's see what we're workin' with here." Why's he have to say it like that? Max pulls his briefs off and he's finally completely naked, completely exposed. He shivers, cold. Max, on the other hand, is still decent head to toe. Of course.
"Cute," Max says, lightly flicking his erection. Darryl jumps. It throbs.
"You are such an ass," Darryl bites out. He's always been a little insecure about his dick--what college-aged boy isn't? God blessed him with four and a half average inches. He's tried to appreciate it for what it is instead of what it could be.
"Sure, but I ain't wrong." Max reaches to fish his cock out through his fly, and, fuck, it's thick. Thick, and long, and heavy when Max slaps it over Darryl's. There go any notions he'd had about Max overcompensating. He stares, both irritated and aroused.
"See? Cute as hell." Max picks it up and drops it, letting its weight land on Darryl's length over and over. The worst part is he can't deny it. The visual comparison makes him feel smaller than ever. Max is uncut; Darryl's sensitive cockhead is exposed. Max must have at least a couple inches on him, not even fully hard; Darryl, who can feel his pulse throbbing in his cock, is easily dwarfed by Max's hand.
Max grasps both of their shafts, squeezing. Aided by some spit, he begins to jerk their cocks together. His grip is hot, tight, full of delicious friction. It wrenches a groan from Darryl and he covers his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Nuh uh. Lemme hear you." Max's free hand tugs his wrist, guiding it down to the floor and holding it there. He briefly struggles against the hold, only experimentally, wanting to feel how he's trapped by it, by the solid body over him. Max looks at him sharply, gives one hard thrust against him, before Darryl relaxes into the restraint. Breathy moans and gasps float up from out of him.
"Ain't you done yet?" Max asks. When Darryl scoffs, he continues, "No, really. Answer me. Are you done or are you gonna keep fightin' me like you ain't been jerkin' to the thought of me for years."
Darryl stills. How did he know about that?
Max barks out a laugh. "Thought so. Man, the look on your face."
Why must he be this way? Darryl bucks violently, trying to shake him off for real this time. Anger once again colors his shame.
"Fuck you, fuck you to hell, Max," he grits out, thrashing. Already tired from their earlier tussle, and this time burdened with an unflagging erection, he doesn't get very far.
"Fuck me? For givin' you what you want?"
"You think I want you humiliatin' me like I'm just some dumb cheap fuck to you?" Try as he might, he can't keep the waver out of his voice. He can't cry, not like this, not now.
"Yes," Max says, completely honestly. "You do. It ain't what you are, but you do."
That makes Darryl freeze on the spot.
"What am I, then?" He spits it out with as much bite as he can muster, and if it wasn't clear he was on the verge of tears before, it sure as hell is now.
"Don't be stupid," is the shitty non-answer he gets.
"Get off of me." He plants a foot on Max's chest and kicks hard.
"Shit. Wait," Max says, with an "oof" as he's shoved backwards.
"Go fuck yourself," Darryl spits. He scrambles to gather his clothes.
"Wait! I didn't mean it like that."
Darryl laughs in disbelief. "How the fuck did you mean it then?" He's back on his feet, clothed now but disheveled, too inebriated, ready to leave and be anywhere but here.
"Will you just let me explain? 10 years friends, and you think I only want in your pants." The frustration is clear in Max's tone. Good.
"The fuck else am I supposed to think? You treat me like dog shit."
"Because you piss me off! So fuckin' pretentious. Nothin's ever good enough for you, I sure as shit never have been. You think I want to be like this? Think I want to want you like this? I ain't even gay for chrissake."
Oh. The knot of resentment and fury that's had Darryl's chest in a vice grip loosens just a hair. This is new.
It's not that Max doesn't care about him. It's that he's too emotionally stunted to know what to do about it.
It doesn't make any of it ok, he's behaved like a monster tonight. But it's enough for Darryl, for now. It's more than he ever thought he'd get.
"Talkin' like that, and you're callin' me the stupid one."
"Am I fuckin' wrong?" There's an edge, a rawness to Max's words. And Darryl eats it up. Loves that he's not the only one feeling adrift, confused, in pain. He pushes.
"Yes," he says, "'cause how can you be callin' yourself straight when you've been up in a man's junk all night?"
Max snarls, advances, all anger and hunger and hurt. Darryl wants to make him worse, then better. He wants to bite down and then soothe the wound that bleeds.
He backs up until Max has him cornered against a wall and its crumbling paint chips are dirtying his coat. He towers over him, boxes him in until Darryl's world shrinks to the cage the other's body forms around him.
"You barely count as a man," Max hisses. But his barbs don't sting like they did before. He tears open Darryl's shirt, roughly gropes a pec, grabs at his throat.
"If that's what you need to tell yourself," Darryl says, and then Max squeezes until every breath is a conscious effort. Darryl smiles up at him, drinking in the fire he's fanned, high off the power he's discovered.
"You little bitch," Max spits. He throws Darryl down to the floor. "Hands and knees."
"You gonna fuck me now? Gonna take what you want?" Despite his teasing, Darryl eagerly obeys.
"Shut up." Max descends on him. He shoves Darryl's pants back down, this time completely ignoring his dick, instead palming the ass that's been presented to him.
"Come and fuckin' take it," Darryl whispers. He presses back into the hands squeezing him, yelping when one lands a sharp smack on his left cheek.
"Sick of your games." Max follows it up with another spank, even harder this time. The pain bursts and simmers on the sensitive spot. A keening whine spills from Darryl's throat as his body cringes from the impact.
His dick twitches where it hangs underneath him, harder than he's ever been in his life. "Please…"
"I said shut up. Only sounds I wanna hear from you are your pathetic moans when I fuck you open," Max growls. Darryl bites his tongue, partly in submission, partly anticipation.
Max pulls apart Darryl's ass cheeks, exposing his virgin pucker.
No one, not a soul, has ever looked at that part of him, and god, is Max looking. When a coarse thumb swipes over it, Darryl feels himself clench involuntarily. A natural reaction to this most private and intimate part of his body being forcibly spread open and toyed with, yet the feeling is completely foreign to him.
Max spits onto it and rubs the moisture around. Darryl gets little warning before a finger is unceremoniously working its way into him. The act itself is less pleasurable than the thought of the conclusion it promises. Max's hands are rough, ungentle. With his other, he continues to paw at Darryl's ass, occasionally slapping it again, working it like a stress toy. And the stretch--it's dry and unyielding.
But it means that a part of Max is inside a part of him, and he's dreamed about this exact moment for so long that the stinging discomfort of everything else becomes paradoxically enjoyable. He wants to sting for Max.
So he pushes back, taking Max's finger to the base. He groans, savoring the violation.
"Needy whore," Max breathes in amazement. He wastes no time in adding a second digit.
"Agh!" Darryl marvels at the sound of his own strained moans.
"Tonight could've been nice for you. Was gonna take my time, remember?" Oh, he remembers. "Not anymore. Now you're gonna take it, when I say, how I say."
"Want you to give it to me," Darryl moans, "want you to fuck me…"
The crack of the next slap to his ass reverberates through the empty building. Darryl's cry of pain follows right after. His body tries to flinch away, but Max's hold on him keeps him pinned in place, ass out and up.
"What'd I say?" Max mauls at the freshly sore spot, digs his nails in.
"No--no talking."
"That's right, slut. You don't need any words tonight." Max shoves another finger inside of him. The stretch of it burns, drags at his skin internally. "'Cause it don't matter what you want. It's about damn time someone put you in your place."
Then, the fingers are gone from him. The pain recedes, but the ache that springs from the sudden emptiness in him feels god awful. He whines, pushing back, wiggling his ass, begging for it as much as he can without words.
Max lands one last brutal spank on his other cheek. He'd be surprised if he didn't bruise by morning. Then he's being flipped around, maneuvered onto his back again. The tatters of his shirt frame his torso and all the love bites sprinkled on it. Max impatiently pulls his pants all the way off and retakes his place between his spread legs.
"Wanna see your face when I put it in. Wanna watch you grit your teeth and take it like a bitch when I fuck your virginity away. No matter what, I'll always be the first one who touched you, who fucked you. First to get up inside you. I'm changin' you forever tonight. I'm takin' you." Darryl savors every filthy word that falls from the other's lips.
And then that girthy cock is pressed up against his little hole, lubed only with spit, and it presses, demands entry into Darryl's underprepped body. He whimpers.
"Take it, take it, take it…" Max repeats the words like a chant, grinding forwards, holding the body under him in a vice grip. Darryl tries to reach for his aching cock, but he doesn't even get his fingers around it before Max swats his hand away and slaps him across the face. Not hard enough to do any lasting damage, but enough to make his eyes water and his head spin.
"You get what I give you, bitch." And then the head of that fat fucking pole pops inside of Darryl and stars burst behind his eyes from the pain of it. His tears spill over, his body clenches everywhere. He lets out a guttural noise of pain.
Finally, Max hesitates. His face softens, a hint of concern colors his expression. It makes Darryl's heart swell and ache like nothing else. Devastatingly, Max begins to pull backwards. Darryl can't let that happen. He locks his legs around the larger man and yanks him forwards as a sob wracks his body. Max slides an inch deeper. The friction is unbearable.
At that, Max's eyes darken. His cock throbs inside of the tight hole spasming around it. He places a hand over Darryl's throat, presses just enough to make his hold on the other's breath felt, and leans in to drag his tongue along the wet streaks of tears down Darryl's cheek.
"You need this," Max marvels, fucking forwards, impaling Darryl on his shaft. "You need me so fuckin' bad. You need me forcin' open your virgin body. Need my cock, don't you? I'm gon' fuckin' give it to you, so fuckin' take it."
And with another thrust of his hips, he's all the way inside. Darryl wails, sobbing, overwhelmed. It's everything he wanted. His body is taut like coiled lightning, hot and tender where it joins with Max.
Max groans and savors the hot, raw squeeze around his shaft. "Always thought you were so pretty when you cry, so pathetic." He presses his face up against Darryl's throat and sucks another rough hickey into it, biting, licking. "Such a cute little pathetic thing, ain't you, D?"
A moment later, he is roughly sawing in and out of Darryl's ass, making obscene noises where their hips meet. The friction is too much, there's no way it can be completely pleasurable for him, either.
But then his cock glances against a spot inside of Darryl that makes his brain short circuit and his hole weakly twitch. "Ah…"
"Mmhm." Max notices, of course, and grinds into that sensitive place. Pain and pleasure bleed together, mix into this drug-enhanced all-consuming ball of sensation that grows and grows until Darryl's entire body, every nerve, is swallowed up in it.
"Good bitch," Max grunts. Oh, Darryl likes that. He shouldn't, he doesn't want to, but it makes butterflies flutter inside his occupied guts. He clenches around the cock invading him.
"So fuckin' tight. No virgin anymore, huh? Just a whore now. My whore. My fuckin' whore, stuck on me, changed forever on my cock. I own you." Max is rambling now, lost in Darryl's pliant body, ramming over and over into that tender knot of nerves deep inside Darryl's hole. "I've marked you up and claimed you and now you're fuckin' mine. This hole is mine. Gonna train you up on my cock, make a real bitch out of you, teach you how to please a man right. How to please me."
It takes every last thing Darryl has not to babble along with him, affirming every lurid bullshit thought Max spits out. But he desperately, desperately wants to be good for him. So he only moans louder, sluttier, cries harder, pushes back needily with every merciless thrust.
"No more of your stupid games. No more disrespect. Knew you had a good, obedient little bitch hidin' inside of you. Always fuckin' knew it, that I'd fuck you open and coax that good girl bitch outta you one day."
"Ah, ah, ah…" Darryl feels insane. Everything is so much, too much. His peak rapidly approaches. "Max… Max… I'm gonna…"
"Shhhh. Don't need you to talk anymore." Max squeezes down on his throat until he doesn't have air for words. It makes his pleasure spike, and when Max's next thrust crashes into his prostate again and lights up his nerve endings, it finally tips him over.
Breathlessly, wordlessly, silently, he orgasms. He feels his hole arrhythmically spasming, milking Max's cock deep inside of him. Feels himself clenching unbelievably tight, feels his lungs start to want for oxygen, feels his untouched cock throbbing and spurting and making a mess all over his belly. His fingers powerlessly tug at Max's hands on him, his eyes roll back. His spine arches and he writhes.
Max groans. "Oh, fuck. God, you're so fuckin' tight. That feel good? See how good it can feel? Sweet little thing, cummin' so fast. God, you came hands free, didn't you. Your pussy like it that much, huh?"
And then Darryl is coming down, gasping for air when Max lets him breathe, and the dick inside of him is still pounding away at his oversensitive hole. As his tension unspools, so too do his emotions, and they come pouring out him in tears. It's too much, it's all too much.
"Sh, sh, sh, baby… I got you. I knew you could be good. So good for me. Let me use you." Max's touch turns surprisingly tender then. He lays his body down over Darryl's, pressing his heavy weight into him and grounding him. Max's hips continue to pump, short movements deep inside of him, relentlessly grinding into Darryl's abused prostate, hurting his aching rim.
"Almost there, D. Just a lil' longer."
Darryl can only whimper and cry in response. His sobs are muffled by Max's shoulder. The flood of neurochemicals hitting his brain let loose feelings he's held bottled up inside him, not just from tonight, but from the last decade of knowing Max. Years of wanting him, cumming to the thought of him, sometimes with his hand down his pants, sometimes untouched in the dead of night when his dreams dragged him to indulgence in the fantasies he was often too ashamed to chase in daylight.
But Max is here, over him, pressed to him, inside of him. Max is grunting and panting in pleasure because of him. Max is kissing his neck and embracing him. Max, Max, Max, here for him and him alone. His hands snake up and around Max's back to grip the fabric there and hold on tight.
"Mm. 'M close. You ready for it?"
"Please, please, please…" His whispered begging is punctuated only by the sobs still bubbling up out of him.
"Ugh. Fuck yeah. Lemme give it to you baby." And then Max tunnels deep, pressing hard as he can, filling Darryl completely.
"Ah…" Darryl weakly clenches around him, milking him for everything he has, trying to make his orgasm feel as pleasurable as possible.
Max lets out a low groan, his hips giving tiny aborted thrusts as his cock jerks inside of that impossibly tight hole. Then he relaxes to stillness, letting his breathing slow, settling over Darryl like a weighted blanket.
Fear of what comes next keeps Darryl from moving a muscle. He wants to stay here, in this moment, forever. His whole body aches--his chest, his face, his throat, his ass, his insides. His back and knees from where they've dragged against the rough ground. His heart, from all it's suffered tonight. He'd take these present pains a thousand times over what might come next. Because if, after all this, Max is going to leave him, he doesn't think he can handle it.
At that thought, his weeping intensifies again, his body heaving under Max's weight. But then Max's hands are cupping his face and wiping his tears.
"Stop crying, man. Ain't we good now?" Darryl wants to roll his eyes. Max sucks at this, has always sucked at this. But Darryl's getting more gentleness from him that he ever has before, and for Max, it must mean a great deal. He's trying.
"Yeah. We good," Darryl answers hoarsely. It's easier for him to say than "I'm sorry" or "What the fuck is your problem" or "What happens next?" In a way, he appreciates Max's total emotional ineptitude. It means the bar is low for them both.
"Good." And with that, Max is pulling out, lifting himself from Darryl's debauched body. The cold returns, unpleasantly chilling the layer of sweat that covers him. He blushes and makes a face when he feels a glob of thick cum spill from his abused hole. He's so sure that as much as he hurts all over now, tomorrow (today? he wearily notes the sunrise beginning to color the windows) will be so much worse.
"You got any vaseline at home?" Max has already dusted himself off and tucked his cock away.
"Yup."
"Good. Use it for your ass, it'll help with any burnin'."
"Where'd a guy like you learn a thing like that, huh?" Darryl regrets the question as soon as it comes out. He'd meant it innocently enough. The last thing he wants to do is challenge Max again. He's tired of butting heads for now.
But the dig he expects in return never comes. Max answers him honestly. "Janine. She said it helped when we did it up the butt."
"Really? Janine let you hit it back there?" Darryl laughs. He tugs off the remains of his ruined shirt and uses it to wipe up the mess dripping from him. He makes sure to dab up stray stains on the floor too, not wanting their haunt to stink like cum and sex next time their friends come 'round.
"Brother, it was her who brought it up," Max says with a chuckle. This is nice, Darryl thinks. This is normal. He scrubs the last of his tears from his face.
Max gathers up Darryl's dusty clothes and tosses them in his general direction. He shakily gets to his feet and makes himself decent again. His head is starting to ache--he guesses that's the hangover kicking in.
"I'll bring lube next time. Won't hurt so bad then," Max offers. Darryl shoots him a questioning look.
"Next time?" Desperately, he hopes the yearning doesn't show in his tone.
"What, you think I'm gonna let an ass like that go to waste now that I've tapped it just the once?" Max accompanies the words with a playful slap to Darryl's butt.
Darryl smiles, despite himself.
"Ugh. My mom's gonna flip when she sees my clothes."
"Let's hit up Dino's shop. He lets me do laundry free there."
Darryl nods, after a moment. "Alright. Yeah. Coffee after?"
"You're payin'."
The two friends stride out into the street. Darryl spares the rotting building one final look, knowing his memories of it will be forever defined by the night they've shared. And then he turns his face to the sunlight and lets it warm him inside and out.
Why is the account deactivated wait no come back…
