AN: Because the fandom needed more love and this pairing is my current OTP, even though the series is darker than the ones I usually read and have a tendency to do other stuff when I should be doing homework. (cue shifty glances)
Disclaimer: DOGS belongs to Miwa Shirow. Same with the characters in the series
Warnings: Boys love, violent sex, and the f-word.
He just knew he couldn't fight against those hands they began pulling at his hair. Those pale, paper-white hands threading through his long hair and pulling, pulling him down towards the bed as the other towered above him. He felt himself fall, heard the animalistic growl from Heine's throat as he gripped at his wrists, but Badou himself never heard them land.
There were teeth on his lips, scraping his nose, pulling at this eye-patch until it came loose and tasting his hair covered with the small of nicotine and gun smoke. He let his breath hitch as those pale, cold hands reached under his shirt and touched bare skin.
"H-Heine," Badou mumbled as his partner lifted his shirt up to his chin. "S-Stop."
"Fuck no," was the simple and blunt response as Heine ghosted his hands over Badou's stomach and yanked the red-head's pants and boxers down.
Badou swallowed, strangely nervous. He knew what was coming and judging from the look in Heine's eyes, he didn't plan on holding back.
But Badou didn't think of resisting, didn't even think of fighting Heine (not that he could have) as the other thrust in—one single fluid motion that made Badou arch and cry and writhe and think 'This is what the forbidden fruit tastes like.'
The taste of Heine lingered in Badou long after their lips had parted (tongues meshing, one single pink thing connecting together; saliva dripping and the panting of two, stray, lonely and scarred dogs), long after Heine's teeth had retracted from Badou's neck (sometimes gentles nips and then, suddenly, viscous bites that gnawed at the skin until the blood fell) and long after Heine had pulled out of him ("You're always such a mess after sex," Heine comments with a grin and adds, in a huskier tone, "It's such a turn-on for when we do it next.") The smell of gunpowder, of the darkness and horror of the Underground and of pure, unadulterated madness lingered with Badou and became a part of him. It sunk into his pores, flowed through his blood and pumped in and out of his heart (ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dumpba-dumpba-dump) until it became a part of the very substance of his body.
The thing he could not live without, like his cigarettes, and pulled him into a world of euphoria while, at the same time, bringing ruin upon him. Badou wasn't stupid, he knew the dangers of being with Heine, of being his partner and then letting him get so close that the bite marks never managed to fully disappear from Badou's neck before a new one appeared.
He knew the risks of falling so deeply in with Heine that he would never see the sun again, of knowing too many things he shouldn't have and still, he stayed with the mad white dog. He let Heine bite him with a fierceness that told him Heine would never let him go ("Best fucking trophy I'll ever get from this crap town," Heine said with a grin).
Because like Eve, he had tasted the apple—he had tasted Heine--and would do anything for another bite.
