Despite the floaty smile on his face and the laughs he gave out too easily, Sicheng hadn’t touched a glass of alcohol. No, he wanted to be completely sober tonight. No liquid numbing of the pain. He needed to feel it all, no reprieve.
Every smile and every laugh was forced upon his face, just as he forced his hand to lightly touch the chest of the man he had set his sights on. Sicheng couldn’t remember his name, wasn’t even sure if he asked in the first place. The man was tall, built, boisterous. He seemed arrogant, not confident. As soon as Sicheng touched him, the man saw it as permission to do whatever he wanted to the boy. The exact type of man that Sicheng had been seeking out.
Large hands grabbed his hips possessively, grinding against Sicheng, lips sucking at the space where Sicheng’s neck met his shoulder. The guy was a bit of a sloppy kisser. Sicheng couldn’t care less. All that mattered was the way that the man pressed his fingers into him with force, bit into his neck with no care about whether it might hurt Sicheng or not.
“You clean?” Sicheng mumbled, the phrase a new one he had learned in Korean. The taller man smirked down at him, obviously pleased at where the night was heading.
“I am, you?”
“Me too,” Sicheng said, staring at the man’s face, his eyes trained on his nose so that he wouldn’t have to look at his eyes.
“You wanna head back to my place, baby?” The man’s voice was deep, and he spoke down to Sicheng, without even clarifying if Sicheng was younger or not. Not that the Chinese boy cared.
“Let’s go,” he said, letting the man lead him to his car. He could hear Yuta’s voice in his head, telling him how reckless he was being, getting into a car with a stranger. Sicheng sent a tiny sorry to his friend, and pushed that voice away.
The car ride was wordless, rap music playing on the radio, the man with one hand on the wheel and one hand gripping Sicheng’s thigh, gravitating toward the inner thigh as time went on.
The drive was short, and then the man was pulling Sicheng toward his apartment with force. Sicheng let himself be pulled, let himself be pushed against the door, let the man grip his wrists above his head with painful strength.
He let his clothes be ripped off, the man making repulsive remarks about his body. “So freaking hot, baby. Can’t wait to see those lips around my dick. Bet you’ll gag for it, huh?” Sicheng’s stomach convulsed at the words, but he ignored the feeling. The physical pain was a distraction, and he let the bruising grip of the man take him to a different headspace.
Pushed onto the bed, teeth biting at his neck, at his nipples, at his hips. Pushed onto the ground, knees slammed roughly, cock shoved down his throat. Rough, he can’t breath. His head feels dizzy. Vision blurry, hand pushing against the man’s thigh. He doesn’t pull back, Sicheng hits a little harder. Tears streaming out of the corners of his eyes. Drool leaking out of his mouth, the man pulls out a bit, gasp of breath in, cock is shoved down his throat again. Hands in his hair, tugging, it hurts. Sicheng loves the pain. Pull harder, please. Harder, harder, the man fucks his mouth. Cum coats his throat, spilling out of his mouth, swallow, swallow, fuck it’s too much.
Shoved backward on the bed, legs spread, finger probing at his hole. Not enough lube, it burns. It’s okay. He wants it to burn. One finger, two fingers, not enough preparation. Condom rolled onto the man’s dick, lube slathered sloppily over it. Hands on his wrists again, it’s too much, he’s gonna be crushed. Whimper, involuntarily, the man doesn’t hear it. Stupid Sicheng, don’t whine again. You deserve this pain. You need the bruises. Let him hurt you.
Swift penetration, visceral grunting from above. Tears leaking, it burns, it fucking hurts, but it isn’t enough. “Ha-harder,” the words forced out, even though Sicheng’s body protests. The man complies.
In the midst of the pain, Sicheng was able to forget. For just a minute.
The man pushed Sicheng out of his apartment. Sicheng’s sweater was on backwards, his boots unlaced, the button of his jeans still undone. His coat was somewhere, maybe at the club. His ass hurt and he could barely walk. His throat burned and he was pretty sure there’s still cum left in his hair. His headspace was still a bit messed up, but he managed to stumble toward the subway.
He wished the guy would’ve been up for a second round, just so that he could stay away from reality longer. No matter how painful the sex was, no matter how many bruises it left, reality hurt much worse. Sicheng could only assume that the man didn’t like how non-responsive he was. He arrived at the station. Time passed quicker than he had thought, and it seemed like the subway had closed down for the night.
His shared apartment with Yuta was far away. His older friend must have been incredibly worried by now. Sicheng felt sorry, but wished that Yuta would stop letting himself get involved. Sicheng was a mess, and Yuta didn’t deserve to get hung up on a screw up like him.
Still, Sicheng needed to get home. The last time he had walked home this late...
Sicheng shuddered. “I’m a fucking masochist for doing this to myself,” Sicheng muttered, knowing that it was his own fault that he put himself in danger, yet not being able to stop himself from doing the same stupid things over and over…
Deep down, a small part of him fed off that danger. Fed off the idea of something going wrong. “Idiot,” he said again, regretfully pulling out his cell phone. The biting winter air caused his hands to shake. His gloves were in his coat pockets. His thumb hovered over the contacts saved in the favorites section of the phone app. Shaking, he pressed Yuta’s face.
Holding his phone to his ear, he listened to the phone ring. Once, twice. Usually Yuta picked up by now, when Sicheng was out this late. He often stayed up waiting for Sicheng to come home, and would wait for any sign of the younger boy.
Sicheng felt his stomach drop.
He knew he had kept his hyung’s number in his favorites, stupidly thinking he might need it again. More like a painful reminder of what he had lost.
“Sicheng? Are you there?” Jaehyun’s tired voice mumbled through the phone.
“Hyung,” Sicheng breathed out. He couldn’t believe the older had answered. The last time they had spoke… Three months ago, Jaehyun had been so angry that Sicheng was sure he would never speak a word to him again.
“Sicheng, what are you doing up so late? Are you drunk dialing me?”
Sicheng felt the tears come involuntarily, the pain in his body suddenly hitting him like a brick. His knees lost all power, and he shakily lowered his body to a crouch, a sob involuntarily leaving his throat.
“Sicheng? Are you okay?!” Jaehyun’s voice was much more alert now, and Sicheng hated that he could still picture his ex-boyfriend in his head. Light brown dyed hair ruffled from bed, an old basketball t-shirt and boxer briefs clinging his body, covers tossed messily around him.
Fuck, he missed him so damn much.
Sicheng hated himself, hated himself for losing Jaehyun. The only moments when he didn’t hate himself was when he was getting fucked as painfully as possible. It was nothing like the gentle touch of his hyung. He didn’t deserve that anymore.
“Hyung, I miss you,” Sicheng sobbed out. The other line was silent for a bit.
“Hyung, I’m sorry,” and he clenched his fist, needing to feel the pain of his fingernails digging into his skin. It still wasn’t enough.
“Hyung, please come get me.”
A sigh came from the other line.
“I’m gonna call Yuta.”
Sicheng felt his last remaining strength leave him, collapsing fully onto the ground. His phone fell from his hand, his palms catching his body yet scraping harshly against the pavement. He could feel the small tears in his skin from the gravel.
“Hyung, please give me another chance...”
The call had already ended.