The above translates roughly to: if you are looking for a happy fic, look elsewhere. This isn’t nice.

Warning: Not only is this slash, it’s my first (and likely last) NC-17. If you want to flame, I don’t give a toss. In fact, I actually encourage you to flame, I’m the only one who benefits from them. Not only do I get to laugh at the utter morons who can’t even put together a decent flame, you also help my hits/reviews ratio a ton.

So thanks in advance.

For those who actually like slash, my apologises for this piece of utter crap. I could blame it on the fact that it’s my first NC-17, but it’s more to do with the fact I needed to write *anything* to make me feel better, and this was the result. Next time I’m in this kind of mood I’ll write some G rated het, so hopefully you won’t have to have to put up with this kind of thing again ;)

Summary: Sometimes you’ll do anything just to feel alive. Slash.

Title: Feel.

*****

He didn’t want this.

He let the hands tear roughly at his shirt, wrapping his own around the other boys neck and dragging those lips down to his own, the kisses bruising. Inpatient, his taller partner backed off a couple of paces, the space between them enough for the brunette to rid him of his shirt. The distance was quickly neutralised again so he could start on his belt.

He didn’t enjoy it. Hated it, even.

The trousers fell loosely around his ankles, the non-descript boxers following mere moments later. With the roughness that always accompanied these acts of ‘passion’, he was spun around and slammed face first into the wall, the pain radiating in a soft, surreal glow. Hands grabbed greedily at his body, probing and grabbing forbidden places with utter disdain for their owner. One snaked around his slim waist and wrapped itself around his member, pumping it with the gentleness of a tornado in mid flight.

It wasn’t enough. It was never enough.

“Why is it that the only way I can get any reaction out of you is when I’m fucking you senseless, hmm?” The voice behind him hissed into his ear. A hand tightly clasped itself deep in his red hair, holding him in place as lips assaulted his exposed neck.

“Maybe I should simply leave you like this, naked in some corridor - unfulfilled. I wonder what the other students would say?”

It was an empty threat, his own want exceeded his desire to humiliate. The power than churned through the other boy over their violent interludes was not something he would want tainted by others sharing that knowledge.

Their secret. Their foul, dirty little secret.

He spread his legs wider, inviting the other boy to finish what he had started - or had he been the one to start it this time? There had been far too many empty corridors, unused classrooms, solitude shower stalls ...

None of that mattered right *now*, all that did was the body pressed behind him, the sound of a zipper being slowly unfastened. Anticipation washed over him with a sea of arousal tinged with expectation.

He didn’t want this. Didn’t want the humiliation this would reek on his soul, the way it was slowly destroying every fibre of his being.

There was no preparation, he was entered with a roughness that sparked an intense heat of pain that flooded his entire body. He threw his head back as a cry ripped itself from his throat, felt his body wail out against the harshness of an invasion that never gave him time to adjust to the rough pace that followed the initial entry.

This was more like it.

He shoved himself backwards, impaling himself deeper. He clung to the new rush of pain, feeling it wrap itself around him, the rawness of it seeping into the hollowness that accompanied him at every turn. Gods, this twisted masochistic streak was the only thing that made him feel alive anymore, this searing pain and humiliation the only emotions that seemed to be able to force their way past the barriers of apathy he had forged over the years.

No, he didn’t want this - but by the Heavens, he needed it to keep him sane.

“Harder,” He rasped out through clenched teeth, his partner was only too happy to oblige.

It was amazing how something so primitive coule be so therapeutic.

With a final violent thrust, his partner came inside him, his own powerful orgasm achieved almost simultaneously. Letting himself slowly sink to the floor once the other boy withdrew from him, he desperately tried to cling to that feeling of - if not completeness, then at least a sense of existing. However even that was already begin to ebb away.

He was empty again.

His sated partner glanced down with him with an expression mixed with disdain and lingering lust. The contrast between the two sex partners - lovers was a term of endearment that only made a cruel mockery their relationship, was stark. His dignity laid in tatters with his clothes in a heap, yet his partner had remained fully dressed, completely in control.

“You’re nothing more than a pathetic little whore, Percy.”

He glanced up at those harshly spoken words, peeking through the wall of crimson that had fallen across his face.

“But you still keep coming back for more, don’t you Flint?”

It was a reality both boys couldn't deny, neither had ever been able to break away from this ‘mutually beneficial' arrangement.

With a parting glare of contempt, Flint stalked off down the corridor, not sparing him a backwards glance. His arrogant swagger gave the impression that Flint had utter control over their relationship, that it was Percy who always went to him.

But he would be back. Back to crumble his already decaying soul.

Or was that save it?

fini.