A thousand stinging cuts enclosed Lynch's skin. Red, weeping wounds over Kane's white flesh ahead of him. Without his sunglasses the neon hurt his eyes. The insides of Xiu's corpse invaded his mind. The blood over Kane's body didn't help. If he imagined it wrong, he was looking at her body. What was left of it. Torn open by Hsing.

On the run again from; who was it now? Police, SWAT teams, Hsing's gang, Shangsi's men? The hundreds of dead, foreign faces blended together to Americans like them.

They took a rest stop in the closed store. They were shivering. Against a cold leather couch in the dim electronics store. Black and blue lights resounded from the televisions. Fake plants littered the store amid the pillars of unsold flatscreens and laptops. The glowing white words abbas hung over them, bright, buzzing and cold. Kane suggested they huddle.

"Like goddamn puppies," Lynch said, the usual barely comprehensible nonsense he spewed out, but into the warmth of Kane's skin he complies. Against the chill leather couch amid the store, they spooned.

Lynch was cold and somehow burning. Burning in pain. The juxtaposition intoxicated him, giving the world a lurch. Like he was off his meds. And Kane's breathing little body was pressed against him, smelling of blood and sweat and man. The white-pink flabby stacks of meat he was. That thin layer of fat did wonders to his belly, his hairy arms and thighs, streaked with the little red lines. Drying in the faint blue lights.

It wasn't the first time he saw Kane naked, nor the first time he had his naked dick against Kane's body. His skin was extra warm on his cuts. Lynch poked them wirh his fingers, pulled them, fiddled with them while Kane shuddered and complained. Lynch told him to shut it. Clinging to Kane's side, on one knee, handling his body, Kane sighed and was going rigid, like he wasn't the cocksucker who suggested this. Flaunting his hairline. And his good looks. What kind of faggot did that and expected no hands?

The blood was weeping down Kane's legs, and onto his butt cheeks, Lynch followed it with his hands and was getting a semi. His cock had a hard, well defined crown from having his foreskin sliced off when he was a kid. The scar drew wonkily over his shaft. Bloody, but not from itself. (Thank God Hsing hadn't cut there). It got a couple of inches longer from its relatively small size while he accumulated enough masculinity to cure his impotence by imagining Kane's scars as a bunch of pussies he was fingering.

Lynch's balls were usually low in their sack, but his coldness had drawn them into a wrinkly purse ever since he got stripped. One of them was bigger than the other and had dark blue veins pulsing over it. Kane's body restored Lynch's warmth, restored their drop. Godspeed to this second puberty. To the warmth of Kane's behind against his side.

Kane did not look at him, while Lynch was massaging his butt cheeks. His dick truly hardening now against Kane, while Kane's own small cock was soft over its modest balls. His nice greying bush of pubes Lynch almost wanted to sniff. Everything about Kane was too pretty. Even his circumcision was neat. Dividing the darker skin of his shaft from his lighter, discoloured cockhead. That private centre of his body radiated warmth. Especially between the cheeks and along his taint. There was a brush of hair inside his crack, Lynch played with it in his fingers and eventually pushed his dick in there as well forcing the pliant Kane around, like a sex doll, like how he did with Xiu, to rut more firmly against the heat.

Drops of blood dried on the vague curve of his Kane's cheeks. Peeks at his taut, skin tagged asshole, it's the dark uneven skin tone between the mess of hair at Lynch's ministrations. The few dingleberries hanging beside it, accumulated only in the rush of their previous few days through Shanghai. Nice, right then.

"Lynch stop."

"I'm dropping my balls, Kane." They had dropped. The bigger nut had a numb, little pain Lynch ignored.

"Please….. please."

But he wasn't really struggling. If the cocksucker didn't want to be fucked he'd put some muscle into it, wouldn't he?

"Naw. I want some pussy and you're 'bout as good as I got now." Lynch's dickhead dared on the edge of Kane's rough sphincter.

After what was a moment to Lynch but a lifetime to Kane, the cocksucker replied: "Huhh, make it quick."

Lynch dribbled on his cock, before he directed it cock into Kane's hole. There was a little pop in the muscles. Kane hissed.

"Oh, shit," Lynch said, his favourite two words at moments like these. "Oh shit."

With each oh shit , Lynch slid further into the warm depths of Kane. Kane, who shuddered with each thrust, cursed under his short breath. Managing fuck, shit, cunt, always the more inventive one. Nearly hyperventilating, warm muscles of Kane's asshole splayed around Lynch's meat, which hadn't been this hard for months.

Lynch had gained a second wind their memory the thousand cuts fell only the street. Kane really could've been covered in pussies in this mind, but they had nothing on the one tight little pussy which really matter. He increased his pace steadily inside Lynch.

"Fuck," whispered Kane.

"Fuck," Lynch agreed. "Yeah that's fucking cunt. Open fucking cunt. You like my fat dick in your cunt cocksucker?"

The porno speak would've been ridiculous, if it wasn't true.

Kane grunted, as if this maintained mainful dignity, but gave in to some bizarre urge he had to stroke his limp dick. If he was enjoying it, he couldn't get it up. His pick only twitched in his desperate masturbation.

Lynch was so glad to be inside him, whispering crazy shit inside Kane's ear, riding out his pleasure: "Bleeding cunt. Stroke that little dicklet. Stroke it. Can't even get it up can you, you fucking old faggot? What sort of man are you? Father? What a fucking joke. What a dirty fucking girl you are, that's what. You like that don't you, you little fucking slut? Being a whining bitch?" There was sobriety to this moment. The horrifying honesty of what was happening. There were things they'd seen, they'd done, as Kane and Lynch which they would never forget. Bound together forever. Knowing each other only as such men could.

Unless Kane was shitting, or Lynch had pissed and hadn't realized it; he was pretty sure the cocksucker was actually bleeding from his asshole. It flinched repeatedly as it was pounded by Lynch's cock. The wet tightness, a fleshy cloud to dream on, as Lynch writhed in the ecstacy of all the indivisible pain and pleasure from ever cut over his body. Every new cut, and every old, down to the scar on his dick, which was the centre of it all. An organic, primordial scar, which grew and grew with each thrust into the meat sack, Kane. The anal slut Kane. The open maw Kane. Oh God, he wanted to cum inside Kane, let loose and tear his limbs off, and rip his ass open, unhinge his jaw, cave in his eyes and never stop cumming until he had completely dominated every inch of the ruined, slut flesh until it was his personal carrion pile, arranged as a shrine, to him. God he was a man!

Lynch felt he was coming, but realized when it didn't feel that good he only peed a littl.e Euphoria from this assertion of himself faded and as he pushed Kane onto the floor, he slowly transitioned from a parasite hanging off the side of his body to something closer. Personal. He found himself turning Kane over and looking into his eyes, at himself reflected there and linking the sliver of pleasure he'd found in this malaise of Shanghai to Kane's face. The sliver being his dick.

And Kane who still stoked himself, got his legs pathetically splayed like he really was a whore, or a wife and this was their wedding bed, the tiled floor of some electronic's store in Shanghai.

Kane's eye, just as deadly blue as the TV lights around them and, his white eye, where Lynch could see himself. And Kane's hairline was going, too. Abandoning him slower than Lynch's was. His scraggly salt and pepper beard and his tapering features. Kane was pretty, he was. Pretty in the way only some ageing guy you'd barely look at twice could be.

Kane was actually getting hard amid their pain ringed union. Lynch's dick driving into Kane's asshole leaked the wretched fluids, plugging the onslaught from the stinging red edges of the sphicter. Kane was still gasping at each rudimentary prod from Lynch's dick, but the exploration of his nethers was beginning to unify and become more solidly pleasurable.

Lynch was trying not to lean over him too far. Not to give into that need to take Kane's red lips and to turn this into something he was too scared of.

Lynch fell over him, missing his mouth and moaning over his shoulder. Shooting his load in long, thick heaves of his dick. Every motion of his body pumping his fluid into Kane felt like he was giving him a new child. Kane came in a pathetic drizzle on Lynch's belly, his anus barely twitching over the deflating mass of Lynch's cock. It was still too big in there, not like Lynch was large anyway. Kane couldn't imagine being gay as he had decided assholes were not built for cock, and he was being paid for every slut he'd ever pressured into doing anal, or who he'd missed.

But then Lynch's dick began squelching in and out, bringing an almost pleasant pain. And Kane agonised moans were not as unwilling, he felt the raw flesh on burning flesh, the activation of a feature he only half remembered from the few times he'd been fucked before. And he understood again why he'd allowed this to happen. He felt Lynch, becoming lazier, fucking nice and slow and a sublime terror came over Lynch's face, and he tensed and shot into Kane, propping himself over him sweatily.

In a final gasp of depravity Lynch's cock slopped out of Kane's ass, finally giving was to a stream of fluids, the cum mixed with the pee, mixed with the blood and shit on the white linoleum floor. Kane tried to hold it in but it was a half hearted grasping of his sphincter, the rush on the red, brown, yellow and white slurry escaping him. And as if he couldn't be more of an animal Lynch was pissing blissfully, the amber blade hitting Kane who tried to move out the way, but was either too lazy or too much of a slut to really do it.

Lynch lifted his head a little, smiling at Kane: "Pissing on you, faggot."

The pee dribbled away, leaving them lying in a stinking, golden puddle. It made their cuts sting.