I Am Jack's Raging Hormones
by Charles & Shy

Blood filled my mouth as my face impacted with the wall. I reeled back and turned to face Tyler, moving as steadily towards him as my woozy head would allow. He circled around me, dancing from foot to foot, his fists raised ready to deliver the next blow. A glistening red trail ran down his naked torso and stained the top of his dirty white shorts. I looked down at my own undernourished body, bare except for the single sock I hadn't yet had chance to remove, then back at the hard planes of Tyler's chest and stomach. I blinked and forced myself to look away.

I am Jack's burning desire.

Tyler charged at me, catching me around the waist, the momentum carrying us both back into the wall. He held me there, pinned by his superior strength, a prisoner till he allowed me go. My neck was twisted at an awkward angle, my cheek pushed hard against the rough wall. His fingers pinched my flesh; the short nails adding a hard edge to the pressure. I shook my head free and reached a hand up into his damp hair to pull his head back, exposing his blood stained throat, and bit down onto it hard.

I am Jack's burgeoning dominance.

He moaned noisily and reached for me, pulling me away from the wall and towards the centre of the room. I stripped him of his shorts as we went, trampling them underfoot in my haste to follow. We stopped under the leaky ceiling, the dripping water coursing down our bodies, mixing with the blood. A watery light filtered in through the dirt-streaked window and glinted off his smooth, sweat-soaked body, once more highlighting his strengths and my weaknesses. His thick cock stood proud of his body, curving upwards slightly, demanding attention. He looked me up and down, his gaze travelling too fast to be appreciative.

I am Jack's faltering step.

I punched him one last time, a solid blow that snapped his head sharply to the side and wiped the self-assured grin from his face. I caught him by the shoulders before he had chance to recover and spun him to face away from me, using his lack of balance to force him down onto his hands and knees on the damp floor. I kneeled down close behind him, my battered body protesting at this simple move, and teased my cock to full hardness with quick strokes, my attention focussed on the curve of Tyler's tight ass. I spat onto my hand and coated my cock with the resulting mixture of blood and saliva, and then laying a hand against his back for balance, I entered him, forcing my way through the tight ring of muscle, burying myself deep inside with one long, slow push. I moved my hands to his hips, my fingers curling to dig into his skin, and started thrusting; short, fast movements that elicited a string of moans from Tyler's lips.

I am Jack's swelling ego.

Taking hold of a fistful of Tyler's hair in one hand, I balled my other hand into a fist and swung it into the side of his head, feeling, with satisfaction, his cheek mashing against his teeth. I punched him again, this time my fist connecting with his ribs. He exhaled noisily, blood pouring from his mouth with the rush of air. I reached under his body and took a hold of his cock, gripping as tightly as I could, and started stroking, the rhythm matching my own frenzied thrusts.

I am Jack's impending orgasm.

He gripped his own erection, the single lightbulb in the room providing dim illumination. The room was dank and sparsely furnished. His face was battered, a purplish bruise blossoming around one eye and there was a cut on his swollen lip, the red blood swelling and trickling down. There were bruises on his torso, some of them fresh and blue, while others were brownish-yellow and fading. He had cuts and scrapes as well, forming a random pattern.

He held one hand out in the air as he gripped Tyler's hair and continued to thrust into the air, his other hand wrapped tight around his cock, the fist slick with spit and blood.

In his mind, Tyler reached orgasm first, coming with a series of grunts. He himself came a few moments later, after he roughly shoved Tyler away. When he came, it was almost primal, the way he screamed and then collapsed, panting, onto the cool cement floor.


Silverlake: Authors / Mediums / Titles / Links / List / About / Plain Style / Fancy Style