Brian dragged Justin (by the wrist) down the platform, away from the bulk of the staircases, past a dead rat, which was lying on its back, its legs stiff and extended, its mouth open slightly, and floating in a puddle of water. Justin shuddered. But Brian, well, conditions he would never abide at home or work thrilled him in such circumstances as this. He liked fucking against a backdrop of filth. Brian continued to drag Justin down the platform until they reached the farthest of the stairwells (immediately) adjacent to the tracks.

Justin balked at the three strands of yellow tape cordoning the stairwell off. He was still annoyed. And a little disgusted. The stairwell walls were made of tiny white and blue tiles, but you could barely tell because they were covered in a thin layer of grime, and it was dark. The smell of piss and … Justin didn't know … some pungent odor (body odor? no … worse) wafted up, nearly choking him it was so overwhelming. He stopped. No matter how hard Brian pulled, Justin wouldn't move. He just stared at Brian. Brian wasn't smiling, but his eyes were bright, and the corners of his mouth almost imperceptibly curved up. Brian was enjoying "this" whatever it was. Justin nearly laughed he was so surprised. Brian released Justin's wrist and continued forward, breaking one strand of tape and stepping over the other two. Then he spun around and crooked a finger at Justin.

"What are we doing here, Brian?"

Brian didn't answer Justin's question. Instead, he simply tilted his head. His eyes sparkled. Big and so green.

Justin was mesmerized. A moment later, he was next to Brian, looking up at the other side of the stairwell. It was closed off with a tall slab of chipboard.

Brian pushed Justin up against the right wall, the one closest to the tracks. The moment Justin's back hit the tile, Brian grabbed Justin's neck with both hands. The wind started picking up, whipping the trash in between the tracks up into the air. Out of the corner of his eye, Justin caught sight of a whopper box soaring into the inky blackness of the tunnel.

Through the roar, Justin couldn't be sure, but he thought he heard Brian growl, "You don't get to walk away."

Brian's eyes were momentarily intense.

Then they changed. Brian spun Justin around and breathed, "Drop your pants."

Not exactly poetry, but still … Brian's voice was husky and low, so low. And Justin thought he detected a slight tremor.

Justin exhaled, "Ah …" He froze and shut his eyes tight. A web of thin, silky shivers slid down his body. Every inch. Tickling his cock to life.

Brian reached his hands around Justin. He placed them lightly on Justin's waist, pressing gently and sliding them down almost, almost, to Justin's groin, eliciting a frustrated whine from Justin, before lifting them once more, all the way to Justin's chest. Brian leaned closer. Justin exhaled again. He was dizzy. Brian's breath ghosted across Justin's earlobe. Justin tried to exhale, but it came out as a choke, and he started panting. Brian unzipped Justin's hoody and removed it. Just a flick of his fingers and it hit the ground. He was less gentle with Justin's shirt, nearly ripping it as he yanked it up and then off, tossing it to the ground. He ran his fingers down and then up Justin's back, slowly but hard, digging his nails into Justin's skin. Justin opened his mouth, but he was incapable of sound. He thought, "Yes, yes, fuck yes, hurt me." He shut his eyes tighter. Punctations, pink and green, rose up and then exploded at the edge of his vision. Brian moved to a crouch, slowly, still digging his nails into Justin's skin, but now licking, sucking, and biting, too.

Justin pressed his forehead against the wall. For a moment, Justin was aware of the tile; it was sticky and cold, but the stickiness, the cold, everything except Brian, pain, warmth, and wetness receded from his consciousness. Everything but the pinch and graze of nails and Brian's tongue, which was now snaking between Justin's ass cheeks.

Justin swallowed hard.

Brian started tracing his tongue around Justin's entrance. Lightly. His caresses excruciatingly light. Justin placed his hands on the wall next to his head, which was still resting against the tile. He pushed back and shifted left and then right. A few times. He wanted, no needed, more, much more. More sensation. More wetness. Penetration. But it didn't matter how Justin moved, or groaned. Brian teased Justin twitchy, prickly, tingly. So when Brian swiped his tongue across and then (!) swirled it around Justin's entrance, Justin shouted, "Oh! Ohhhhhhh!"

Everything happened so quickly after that. Brian pushed his tongue inside, eliciting a deep body moan and a cry, "OHHHH… fuck, fuck me! Please!" Justin was so dizzy and warm all over. Floating. Being pulled. He pushed back against Brian as Brian moved his tongue in and out. His dick ached.

In a flash there was cold, emptiness, and then the warmth and weight of Brian's body against Justin's. Pushing Justin against the wall. A whirlwind. Licking, sucking, and biting. So much biting. Then Brian's sheathed and lubed cock, hard, so hard, pushing against Justin's entrance and then inside.

Justin rolled his head back, resting it on Brian's shoulder. He needed more. He needed Brian to … he didn't even know. Hurt him? Certainly. Mark him? Draw blood?

Brian grabbed Justin's hips, held them steady, and, with a low grunt, buried himself to the hilt in a single thrust.

Justin's eyes flew open. He cried, "OHHHHH!" and actually pushed back against Brian, doing the impossible, driving Brian's cock deeper inside him. That set Brian on fire. Brian growled and started fucking Justin hard. Harder and harder.

A cough and the solid clank of metal on metal, of a flashlight against a holstered gun. "You aren't supposed to be here."

TBC...