"Get outta here, Brad." Shoving him off. The humidity must have shortened brain circuits because the next thing the black dog knew was that his muzzle was pressed against a nearby locker—swollen hands blocked the horizontal fall, and were made numb—
"Listen, Goof boy." Turned him 'round and jabbed straight at the face—"Hrr- — A bit of blood and sweat trickled down Maximilian's bare chest.
Livid eyes burned holes through Uppercrust's contorted face, "Listen to what?!" The hands slammed themselves up to the other's chest to thrust him back into another metal object, which clattered and shook violently. The sophomore stormed off down the narrow pathway, waist towel in hand. He had barely gone ten feet when a rough arm gagged the neck, putting him into a lock—
"Brad!- Coughing— "Let go!— The yell became a scream
"As you wish you little fucker!" A strong kick to the back sent Max reeling to the stone floor. The blood from the initial attack slithered onto the cracked surface. The only thing that ran through his brain was revenge—A near killer instinct that never gave halfway during that triathlon of an event—
Both rough hands pulled back at sandy brown hair as the standing figure's thick eyebrows raised as he inhaled deeply, letting the adrenaline slide—
"Max, Max, Max. Do I really have to remind you why I'm like this?" A small chuckle.
"No, you don't."
By now Max had gotten himself up again, wiping off the bodily fluid from the side of his mouth. The left side sported a purple bruise. The humidity—the warm water vapor helped in nothing to control his shaky intake.
"Let go of it, Brad. What's done is done. Shut the hell up and get outta here. I have no time to deal with a loser like you—
The brows on the jock were still raised. Max had expected a sudden fury; the face showed little to no emotion, but the next actions spoke volumes.
Again wheeled around to the side of the lockers, banging at the side and back of the kid's head—Every blow more sickening than the last—violent, unforgiving—hot loathing to the core. It was soon making contact with one of the shower poles and the protruding knobs. The white dog was never done and threw the victim onto the tile wall coming back with a supernatural grasp giving even more thrusts of the head and body on the white plane.
All this time the boy screamed—shrieked in fury and pain. Convulsions didn't cease until the scarlet liquid seeped into his gloves. Max Goof was choking on his own flesh and blood—
"You IDIOT! Do you have any idea what you and your team did to my reputation?!"
No sympathy. No pride. Undiluted hate.
"You- you've deserved everything that happened to you." The boy was murmuring down at the waist cloth sprinkled red and white. He didn't dare make eye contact this time; he was afraid to face the very thing that undermined his being back in high school… back when he—himself—was the loser.
A cough let the coagulated blood fall between their feet. Bits touched the predator's toes. Dark blue eyes peered down before returning to the crooked head. Fingers wrapped themselves around the kid's neck and forced eye contact—
"Today, Goof, you've lost." Words could not describe the darkened features of the young man's countenance. Once so full of emotion and life, Brad seemed so subdued that the enigmatic smile was all of a sudden more than just a show of pride. A heartbeat shot Max's emotions to the stratosphere—
Humiliation, hatred, and insecurities broke into sobs. This change of pace took the sports fanatic by surprise, releasing the grip on the kid's windpipe, letting him sink down to the reddened tile. Salty tears washed away the gore…
From the blue a fresh towel was thrust into his lap, "Shut the fuck up. You're a man—Now, get up before I make you."
The black dog buried his wet face into the cloth, soaking up as much of the excess as he could. The stained gloved hand pulled at dark hair and stayed there, while the other did pull weight together to get himself up. The waist towel loosened, nearly fell off—but was saved in the nick of time. This little wardrobe malfunction startled Brad—flesh tone changed color and made him turn around to scan the locker room to see if anyone had heard in on anything that occurred. Splashes of a crusted red umber decorated the number of impacts given for the poor bastard. Against his will, the human side bounced back, not helping to stop the guilt that scorched his soul. The breathing had become just as shallow as the other.
What the hell have I done? – A bead of sweat rolled down his neck.
Am I really that angry? Dammit! Why does he have to be so cute?! Why is he so determined to make a fool of himself; and so full of life, friends—Family!
Shit! I'm a jealous bitch!
"Brad…-
Whipping his hair back—"What?!" Abnormal and hollow; eyes wild.
"Don't even get near me anymore. Don't talk to me—
Uncontrolled feelings flooded into fleshed strong arms—One on the shoulder, one on the waist.
Both canines were shaking, and the overbearing humidity did not aid one bit in finding their sanity—
"Don't touch me." Pink attacked the boy's cheeks as the reality struck him cold. Bleeding and all, a tongue rammed into the warm crevice and nearly sucked out the feeble life he had left. The boy was about to crash down and burn again when the other arm took an iron clamp up and down the exposed back pulling him forward, closer than ever before. Bellies were touching—Max grabbed a strong hold wrapping himself around the man's shoulders for support in partial fear of dragging Brad down with him.
The lip lock broke for an instant,
"I want your fury—I want your spirit. Give me everything it took to win!"
The command injected newfound energy. The hands on Brad's neck dug into the nerve, onto the shoulder blades and onto his back—leaving imprints wherever the gloves made contact with the bare skin as their mouths clasped onto each other—traveling down the forehead, bruised cheek and eyelid down to each other's neck and collarbone—varied to each other and never in sync. The jock wanted to break the boy's vertebrae, ribcage—arm—anything, just to get a whimper or a yelp of pain—
The expression that played on both faces was not that of bliss, but of incessant rivalry, mixed into that of confused pleasure and stimulation—
"Stop—we should stop—please, Brad." panting.
"Bradley."
Another deep kiss led to a fumble of hands rubbing at bare chests, up and down Max's slender sides, finally reaching that last cover, "You won't be needing this anymore—
The sudden refusal knocked the senior down, slipping on the slick tile along the way. Head fell with a thunk—
"Ohh—what the hell-!" Massaging that little bump, which was nothing compared to the blood loss at the back of the Goof boy's skull.
Max, as satisfied as he was, only displayed a show of disgust… Or, was it a longing for something other than the lying body at his feet?
"Maximilian—we got a good thing going here—why stop now?"
"Roxanne."
"… what.. ?"
A phlegm-filled gulp—"Roxanne."
How was it possible, after all the times he suppressed her very existence, hitting it off with other girls—her image was all of a sudden as vivid as death?
"Your first time?" Brad was leaning forward in curiosity in an all-too-casual sitting. His neck bent back to try and find the answer in the kid's reddened eyes.
"…. No."
~~ "But, what do you mean I can't see you again?"
"A lot's been going on, and I can't take you with me."
"Roxanne, please—I'll even transfer out of this campus—
Slapped away, "Come back to your senses, Goof!"~~
As the name rang like mad in his ears, the 19 year old peered over the guy in front of him again.
No, Roxanne was not his first time—she wasn't even a lover. No one ever was… His weakened heart suddenly ached for some pure form of affection. And now, it seemed that his last chance at true happiness had flown away… The only thing left was an empty shell of lust—a primitive desire. All he ever knew was school, friends and sports… Roxanne and his dad.
The last fence to hurdle, separating him from selling his soul to the devil, who took advantage of his hesitant stature,
"Relax, Goof, everything's gonna be fine—
Everything's gonna be fine. Everything was thrown back to a sharp clarity. What the hell was he doing? What would happen if his father found out about this? The expression of worry was blatant.
"Oh, Max. Nobody's gonna know what we did here. At least, I won't tell."
"… Yeah." The gloves were removed. The last spark of innocence was extinguished, "Sure you won't, Bradley."
There was no sense of letting his one chance of humiliating the X-Games King get away.
"I might as well make the best of it." a low growl to his now darkened features.
All the senior could do was let out a small gasp. The eyelids drooped to indifference. Not a smirk, not a frown. The movements were brutal—towels were ripped off, exposing themselves to each other. Max slammed his body full-length over the other, letting Brad's head fall to the tile again—
And again as the black dog took his turn—ramming his mouth into the other while strangling him with both hands—"What the hell are you doing?!—Hacking
The pressure tightened, "Please!" and suddenly gave way,
I'm supposed to hate this person—
"Remember?! I'm supposed to hate you! Despise you—" Fever attacked as the boy manically pressed forward—"fuck you."
Bradley's eyes widened until only the pupil was seen, at a loss for air and for words. As the words sank in, something clutched at his own heart.
Out of fear, he let Max do exactly as he threatened, letting those ebony fingers grab at his crotch and pull and tug, and squeeze at everything—Loud moans were all the crazed boy could perceive—but he wanted something more out of this jerk—
The legs went up in the air, massaged ferociously before letting a throbbing organ inside.
A little howl, "Ha ha—Max, you look different… " a nervous chuckle.
"Well, you told me to give it my all." It was now obvious that something in this kid's mind had snapped—that childish spirit had gone only to be replaced by a somber mannequin. The senior's breathing came in abnormal intervals; he could only utter this,
"No—wait—Maximilian—-!"
This boy of no sexual talent dominated over the leader—going in deeper and deeper with each thrust. All Goof boy could imagine was revenge, torture. He already regretted not being close to a power tool—As the blood attacked his reddened cheeks and down his fur in drying clumps with all the sweat rolling down his body and biting his tongue to not join the chorus below him, all he wanted to do was go even further—
To the point when he began to rock in all directions to find the place where the jock was most vulnerable,
"Haa! Haa! M—Max. Max… ! Ngh—nggh—MAX!—
A hand wrenched onto the other member and with a strong thumb tortured it at the same time the sophomore delved in again. The multitasking was doing the trick—"STOP!—Pain-filled howl—
Eyes flared as a corner of the predator's mouth jerked upward, "Everything!"
Both figures arched forward, backward, inverting against each other and grinding. Vapor, sweat on each and every part of their bodies. Bradley realized that he'd been ignoring every plea. Max could no longer contain his innate desires, pulled out and bit the tip before swallowing the organ whole,
"Agh! Do you want to rip it out of me?! Stop it!"
Up the naked fingers went from behind, legs high in the mist—
The jock went beet red. Nearly fainting, he felt the final strokes of the tongue and thrashing of teeth before moaning aloud,
"You goddamn Freshman!"
A burst of semen went up in the boy's mouth—
Horrendous flavor. He spat it right in the guy's face. Never had a feeling over him been so foul—A wave of nausea only fed into the boy's anger, fury, loathing for the man under him. The black eyes finally took a good, long look over the surface of that lean, toned…
Before going down any further, Maximilian's eyes snapped back—locked to blue orbs, which were half opened before making contact.
A dominant fear of the new predator ran circles in the jock's mind.
He didn't know what to say—what to do—Usually, he would set the ground rules when it came to sex.
I've laid more men and women than anyone on campus!
"And now this-" inaudible whisper. Goof didn't even flinch.
It took this long to come to terms with the fact that he was smiling. Smiling, not for the pleasure of either one of them, but because he was so close,
"And… I'm about to win, Brad."
The young man's state of mind shifted gears—the shallow breathing that carried the fear soon returned to its normalcy, and then a crease formed down the middle of his forehead. It was lethargic at first—And then those elements of bigotry and pride which he had always thrived on flooded into him like before—
"Shit!" a shout of frustration and a fist at the cold tile. The boy was within him again.
Max gave him no time for a comeback—
The next thrust was one of the strongest, knocking the air out of him, and again—once more as the boy screamed out, "This is for you, Brad!"—Eyes livid—entire body shaking—fists clenching and unclenching before settling on slugging the brat in the face—
"This is for everyone who ever tried to break me, whenever I was down—
"ALWAYS, BRADLEY! ALWAYS!"
Maximilian was becoming either deaf or blind to whatever he spat out in the current situation, because the screams had gotten harsh and blood-curdling—more blows, bruises quick to form—Claws dug into flesh and pried open ridges—
"BUT WHY?!" The bloodied hair matted over his face
"Max!" Ill attempts at spitting out the copper
"WHY?!"
Max Goof had lost himself to years of literal and imagined persecution—Faces flickered for milliseconds on end as the hardened member dug even deeper, tearing at the entrance's sides—
"You motherfucker! You're gonna kill me!"
No generous amount of unsettling bodily fluids was enough to conceal the same exact being that had tried to kill this same kid much earlier.
Legs slammed straight down. There was no room left for that foreign object to budge—
"Shit! Sh—it! Fuuuck—!" The other writhed in pain at the height of his anger, to be so close only to be shut out… Again.
"Get—" Brad's laid back attitude scorched off.
The boy's inferiority complex kicked in with bitter disappointment.
"Brad… ley?"
"Get, the hell, out of me.— Another sickening heartbeat was accompanied by a tearful gasp. The worm pulled out.
Before he could even begin to apologize the pissed jerk jutted his arms right into the broad shoulders, rocked himself up and over the ex-predator, causing him a near concussion, grabbing at a leg and twisting the whole body down to the ground—
"oof!—Backside in full view—"Bradley, I'm sorry!"
All the pain and pleasure had reached its peak, and was about to be released. The leader's aid consisted of rough slides up Max's ass, ramming into the zenith,
All those suppressed shrieks and moans of the obscene belted out getting lost within all that jungle rhythm in the mist—that whitewashed rainforest—
"Agh—Bradley! Haa—ha!—Nggh! Please, Bradley—" The slamming continued, frantic.
The one last ill hold onto his dying rage as the same image of the same girl emerged, then realizing who was actually over him now, "I hate you— I hate you!"
Roxanne!
"I HATE THE WHOLE WORLD—!—
Ah!—Tension released from his own cock right before the crazed jock let out his second wave of cum,
"I want to die."
Both expressions were shattered with scarlet. Both were hard of breathing, unable to understand the void of time. The boy's hand fell limp on the tile; his body sank to the floor in a puddle of their own sweat, blood, and tears.
A splash of cold relief washed away all existence of what happened here, in this unnecessary lovemaking—lust.
A strong limb pulled the dead weight up to its feet. Out of the void was a warm, sturdy shield, pressed against the swollen cheekbone. Eyes barely open, the loser shuddered and let out a withering sigh as the cascades fell on the embrace. Bradley, finally eradicated of all his hatred toward this naïve individual, planted a firm, prolonged kiss on his head, face buried in his bloodied hair…
"Oh, Max, I hate you too. So much." His arms wrapped even tighter with the energy he had left.
"Roxanne." The demon turned child wept at his grave loss…
"Maximilian Goof, no matter what the hell happens next, I won't let you die—Promise of an enemy."
Saddened in the heart, face down—hidden in his rival's chest, this loser couldn't help but attempt a smile.