Knight in Shining Armor
The alley was dimly lit, and newspapers and fliers left over from a better time crunched underfoot as he swaggered to the small door, knocking sharply before pushing it open himself, having had no intention to wait anyway. Inside was just as run down as out, and the only light in the small, gutted room was a naked bulb wired to the ceiling. It flickered as he closed the door, swinging slightly.
Marv sat behind a battered desk, being more battered than it was being desk, his fingers steepled before his face. His expression and demeanor was calm, and his body language seemed as though everything was fine. Mango didn't dare look at his eyes to see the contradiction staring him in the face.
"You're back" came the statement from behind the desk. Mango kept himself alert, but avoided Marv's eyes, looking anywhere but his boss's face.
"Yeah, what of it? I placated them, didn't I?" he sneered. "Wasn't that my mission?" He spoke as though he was confident, and he was, mostly. But he also wasn't sure he wanted to deal with Marv if he was in a temper. That was one thing he really couldn't put up with right about now, especially after all the shit the older man had put him through recently. And for the first time since Mango had walked into the room, Marv looked up from the beaten surface of his useless desk, eyes as cold as steel. Mango didn't notice the gaze as he studied the paint peeling off the walls. His eyes were as cold as steel.
"Your mission was to kill them. I wanted them dead, Mango. Not seduced. Dead."
He snorted. "No big difference. They're not going anywhere. Anyway, I'm just a 'prostitute'. Not some hired goony. I told you, I don't do stuff like that. I'm a whore. Whores don't make death, we make love. Unless there's an STD involved. Then we can make death too, but, yeah. I don't go around killing people, dear." When Marv looked up a second time from his "desk", Mango knew he was in for it. Maybe he shouldn't have rambled.
Not that he was scared.
Hell, he had to deal with this guy every day, he could take him. It was just, Marv didn't lose his cool very often, but when he did….
"Tell you what. I'll take you out for a drink or som—"He didn't see the man stand up, nor did he feel the chunky fist crash into his jaw until seconds later when his back made rough contact with the same peeling paint he had been examining earlier.
"Oh, fuck. Ow!" Unconsciously he put a hand up to his face as he licked his split lip, tasting blood.
"Go home, kid." Marv spit the word out with distaste. "I should have known you were just a prostitute, not worth anything more."
Although meant to cut, to stab, Marv's words didn't hurt. They were the truth. Nor did the unfeeling countenance with which they were delivered. Mango was used to it.
"Hey, sorry boss." He said, sauntering up to the man's side, running a hand unthinkingly over his exposed stomach. "It could be like old times," he leaned in to caress the taller man's throat with warm breath as he spoke. "Remember when we were kids…"
He was sure his tactic would work.
It usually worked.
It didn't work this time, though. Marv swept his crumpled yellow note papers off his desk with a shout, ordering Mango to leave.
Once more thrown against the wall, he complied.
I am worried. Even though Mango says he can deal with Marv, Marvel that is, I remember the boy that man used to be from high school. He was always the student that teachers were wary of, the one who could get away with anything with just one look- the teachers were that frightened of him; Marv had always filled the room with his presence, always wearing a suit, always the same steely look in his eye.
Nobody was ever quite sure why exactly they didn't trust Marvel, why they didn't like him. There was nothing not to like. He was the was perfect student, cordial and polite. He was the perfect son, always helping little old ladies across the street. He had straight A's, and came from a good family with lots of money running in their blue blood.
The valedictorian of the class.
He was also the school gang leader. He could give you your hearts desires, for a price, and a fairly high price at that- nobody knew how he did it, how he balanced both lives and still managed to have enough street credit to strike fear into the hearts of so many.
That is, nobody but Mango and me. We knew how he did it, we knew exactly how he did it. And more often than not, we were forced to clean up his mess afterward. I wouldn't have done it, but Mango was smitten like a child. He would do anything for that rotten Marvel. He still would. Still does.
I never got what he saw in the stoic figure, in the murderous, angry, brooding eyes that at the same time conveyed no emotion at all. I never got how he could look past all the man had done to us and still love him.
That was why, when Mango told me he was working with Marv again, I couldn't relax.
Mango has the street smarts of a cat, the experience of a seasoned prostitute, and the skill to go with it. Not that I would know about his skill with his tongue, but I've heard his name on the streets.
He's the type that likes to play dirty.
Sufficed to say, there is absolutely no reason why I should feel protective of my friend, except maybe his height. No, not even that. What he doesn't have in height, he makes up for in bravado. With his strikingly colored hair, low cut jeans, and that amused smirk that appears on his face so often, he is the essence of someone who can fend for himself.
It's just, he can get himself into some pretty bad, serious situations. Which leads me back to my distrust of Marv.. How he could work for that guy…
I can't take it anymore! Grabbing my keys from the green hook beside the door, I pull on my fluffy coat and go to find that damn prostituting, brave, crazy friend of mine.
Lucien parked his beautiful car and took the keys out of the ignition, stalling for a moment within the comfort of the warm, safe seat before opening the door to the chilly night air. He had been searching for hours: back alleys, bars; he had checked everywhere in the slums he could think of, and was beginning to regret leaving the warmth of his apartment. He looked up at the sign above the bar:
The Fool's Tavern
Fitting. Either he was a fool for looking for his probably fine, prostituting friend, or—
He caught a flash of unmistakable bright orange-red, yellow, and green hair deep in the bar and swore softly to himself. There was a day-glo bright sign on the door: no gays allowed. If that was Mango in there…
Sure enough, as Lucien searched the presumably heterosexual crowd from beneath wispy silver bangs that brushed softly against his cheeks, he saw the also unmistakable form of what seemed to be a drunken Mango. As he wove through the crowd- an elbow to the ribs from a woman in a tight purple shirt, a toe crushed by these high heels, or those combat boots- Mango's voice got louder. He was making a raucous comment on the sexual preferences of some of the more wealthy young men in the bar. When he started gesturing to himself, ("You want a piece of this, baby?") Lucien brushed his bangs aside, sighing as they flopped back into place. It was indeed a very drunken Mango.
Coming up behind his friend, he grabbed the smaller man roughly under the arms, dragging him back through the crowd, which was now pulsating quicker with the beat of a new song. It was decidedly harder than getting in- not only did it seem as though there were more people than before, but he was saddled with a drunk Mango, who had no intention to comply with Lucien's prying hands.
"Terribly sorry," Lucien yelled back to the offended boys. He didn't like the look in their eyes, the rage and hurt pride. "He's a very… emotional drunk."
When they got back outside, he really did regret ever looking for his friend. It was freezing, and now he had a very drunk, and seemingly very horny prostitute on his hands, the aforementioned of which was placing his hands all manner of places on Lucien's body, and generally hanging all over him. Enough was enough.
Shoving the groping hands away from him, he grabbed his friend by the shoulders, holding him at arms length. His eyes wandered, trying to avoid the pouting expression on Mango's face.
"Aww, but don't you wantmeee?" slurred the shorter man, hands now grasping for his own clothes, trying to take his shirt off, and barely succeeding in getting a hold of it at all.
This was just great. He acted more like a prostitute when drunk.
"Shit, man." Mango stopped for a second, eyes widening when he heard the curse word falling from his friend's mouth. He may have been drunk, but he still knew that Lucien rarely ever cursed. The moment passed, however, and moaning, Mango pawed at Lucien's shirt, managing to reach across the ever smaller gap between them and brush against bare stomach.
"You're soo sexy when you curse.." he breathed into his friend's neck.
Disgusted, Lucien hoisted Mango's arm up over his shoulder and half-lead, half-dragged his friend to the car.
The car ride home was awkward to say the least. Restrained to his own seat by that annoying thing called a seat belt, Mango had resorted to playing with himself. If he couldn't get Lucien to play with him, he wasn't just going to sit there bemoaning his fate. Lucien had to slap his hand against Mango's chest at least twice to get him to stop pulling his grey-black shirt over his lean shoulders, and finally gave up. The rest of the ride was full of small moans and cries of ecstasy as Mango rubbed his hard nipples between thumb and forefinger, panting audibly.
As a particularly loud moan filtered through the air, Lucien nearly smacked his head into the wheel in exhaustion.
After wrestling the smaller man's shirt back on and all but dragging him up the stairs to his apartment, Lucien was faced with a dilemma. How could he let go of Mango to unlock the door? If he did, who knew what the man would do. He could just see visions of Mango stumbling across the hall, knocking on his neighbor's doors, offering a show.
Shaking his head, Lucien turned to Mango and tightened his grip on his small frame. The man looked up at him coyly, still playing with the buttons at the bottom of Lucien's shirt.
Lucien blushed and stared. Oh God, this wasn't what I was thinking when I thought he was going to be in trouble. I was more prepared for a pool of blood, or even a half dead body…
His voice cracked a little when he finally spoke. "M-Mango? Can you promise to behave yourself? I need a minute to find the keys and unlock the door."
God he hoped nobody saw them.
Mango nodded emphatically, and Lucien dropped his hands, blushing in shame when Mango immediately dropped down to the waist of his pants. He turned around, fiddling with his keys for the right one as Mango pressed his head against his hip.
He dropped the keys.
"Mm- Luci baby, you need to lighten up a bit…" Mango muttered with a slight slur, darting out his tongue to lick at the growing tension in Lucien's jeans, also looping a finger through his belt loop.
Lucien nearly had a heart attack, and bent down quickly to grab the keys. He shoved the right one in the door, listening to the sweet click of the door unlocking just as Mango's fingertips found their way under the hem of his jeans.
Lucien stumbled forward into his apartment, letting Mango fall to the ground momentarily before grabbing him and shoving him quickly inside.
He slammed the door, and leaned his back against the peeling green paint, breathing heavily.
Lucien looked down at the man before him, who was now trying to undo the button to his jeans, with slight fear.
But it wasn't all fear. Some of it was an incomprehensible emotion. What was it? Oh, yes. Anticipation.
He gulped at this last thought and hurried into the kitchen, leaning against the nearest available counter for a second before taking a deep breath to collect his thoughts and returning to the hall to remove his jacket and hang it up with his keys.
Mango was fully standing now, and Lucien looked at him skittishly before hanging his jacket up and rushing back to the kitchen. The kitchen was safe; there was no Mango in the kitchen…
Why was he so affected by this? It had to just be that he wasn't used to dealing with Mango drunk, that was it. Mango never, ever drank in the apartment, and now Lucien was pretty sure he knew the reason. But why was this side of Mango so appealing? The side reserved only for customers…
… It wasn't like Mango actually felt anything for him, right now Lucien doubted he wouldn't fuck anything that moved.
He was still composing himself when Mango decided to glide into the kitchen, brushing soft fingertips over the cold granite countertops, in full prostitution mode. There was something different about his demeanor, though. This was far sexier, far more sultry, and far too perfect. This was the side he showed to paying customers. He had once again taken off his shirt, exposing tanned skin and lustrous muscles. His low cut jeans hung even lower than usual, not only exposing jutting hipbones and a small trail of hair, but they almost exposed his member, which was straining at the dark fabric.
He flicked his tongue between his lips for a second, and casually reached a hand up to finger his pierced nipple (When had that happened?), all the while with his eyes locked on Lucien's.
Lucien was like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck; he couldn't look away, let alone move to escape the gaze.
Mango sidled forward until his bare chest was pressed up against Lucien's arm, which was gripping the counter in a vice grip, knuckles pale with the effort. He inclined his head towards Lucien's neck, gently flicking his tongue against the soft skin.
"You know you want to.." he purred against that skin, chest rumbling against Lucien's arm.
Lucien gulped, and then remembered Mango was drunk. Suddenly, all of the eroticism left the situation; the headlights snapped off, he snapped out from under the oppressive, sexy pressure that was his roommate, and he shoved Mango as hard as he could, running to his bedroom, shutting the door and locking it.
His friend, left alone, stood abandoned in the kitchen, hand still upheld in an unfinished caress.
In his room, Lucien sobbed quietly to himself, pouring himself glass after glass from his secret stash of liquor- the one he kept under his bed. He never drank, if he could help it, but when he did this was where he went. He was a pretty notorious lightweight, so he figured if he was upset enough to want to drink, he should at least have some good stuff with which to drown it all. As he became more and more intoxicated, his thoughts deteriorated.
He doesn't actually want me…
Just another customer..
I saved his ass back there!
Heh, I should own his ass.
Yeah. That ass is mine.
I.. I need to claim it as my own.
When the door to Lucien's bedroom burst open hours later, Mango didn't recognize the person standing in the doorway. He had never seen his friend drunk, but it seemed the mild mannered boy lost his manners with alcohol.
He grinned and set down the beer he had snagged from the fridge, by now not nearly as drunk as before, though pleasantly buzzed. This would be fun.
I wake up this morning tangled naked in my sheets, sticky and sweaty. I try to reach across the bed behind me for my glasses, but something, someone is in my way. I snap my head around to see what on earth, ignoring the pounding it sets off in my head.
It's Mango, I couldn't mistake that orangey red and green hair anywhere.
Finding my glasses, I put them on and look down at his sleeping form. He looks beautiful in his sleep, his hair sweaty and thrown carelessly this way and that, lips slightly pursed, muscles sitting there, just below his skin. He has looked beautiful every day I have ever known him, but even more so vulnerable in sleep beside me.
But.. why is he—the events of the night before flooded back to me, getting drunk, somehow ending up in this room, thrusting harshly into a warm—
I had gone and blown it this time..
I swear, I'll never drink any more alcohol in my life.
The throbbing headache that takes over agrees with that decision. Nope, no more alcohol for Lucien, no siree.
Crawling out of bed, I gather up the empty bottles of Vodka and beer, and dump them, along with those full, in the trash.
A little grunt filters in from the bedroom. I look up, and there stands the most gorgeous being I have ever set eyes upon, naked in his glory, hair mussed, sleep still evident on his face.
He needs to shave a little.
I remember what I did, what he did, and almost cry again. Why did he…
He must see my face fall, because he shuffles over and prods at my side, giving me a puppy dog look.
I glare at him and motion to the door. "Leave. Now."
"But.. Luci, I have a headach—"
"Get out." I can't deal with his whining.
I can't forgive him. Not after what he's done.
He looks confused. Does he not remember anything? Just like him, to go and ruin someone's life, values, beliefs, and then just forget about it.
I push my feelings aside and glare at him, and without a second glance or another word he puts on his clothes and leaves.
The second the door shuts, I slump to the floor against the cabinet in a heap, and just cry until the sobs come in little hiccups and gasps.
I don't think I'll ever be able to face him again…
As Mango stumbled down the front steps, he tried to remember why Lucien would be so angry with him. The last time he and Luci had talked they had been on good terms… they had never really actually been on bad terms in their friendship, that is to say, unless Luci was lecturing him on what was safe and what wasn't.
He considered that good terms: it meant he hadn't been too much for Luci yet, he was still bearable.. that Lucien still cared.
He still wasn't sure why Lucien was mad when he reached Marv's place, and walked up the driveway. He raised his hand to knock on the heavy door, only to remember he had been fired just the day before.
"Oh, shit. What do I do now?"
What had he done before he went back to Marv? He knew the answer. He had worked on his own. That was how he had found the guy again in the first place.
He still remembered that night, the side of Marv that he had never seen before.
It was four or five years back, before he had gone official. Back when he was working alleys for change for food.
What he remembered the most was the unending bone deep sense of cold.
Wind cut through his alley like a newly sharpened sword, easily slicing through his thin clothes.
He pressed himself against the warehouse wall behind him, suppressing a shiver as he came in contact with the cold stone. At least he was a little farther from the wind, he told himself.
As he stood and waited, time passing slowly, the wall began to reflect his body heat, and he wasn't as cold as before.
Ah, the small blessings of this world were great.
He loitered a while longer in this alley between the warehouse and Mrs. Krumfitt's dress shop, watching his foggy breath spiral through the cold air, mimicking the smokestacks of the factory across town.
Finally, the sound of footsteps echoed around him. He stepped out of the shadows to meet his customer.
Everyone looks different at night, especially in dark alleyways waiting for their hunger to be sated. Marv was no different.
He seemed taller than when Mango had last seen him in high school, and more slender. He still had the commanding presence he had harbored before, but the edges of his aura had softened a bit, now he almost gave off a dangerous but fatherly feel. There was a gleam in Marv's eye that told Mango exactly what he wanted, and Mango was happy to comply.
He placed his hands on Marv's chest without saying a word, and leaned up to kiss him, but suddenly found himself shoved against that fucking cold wall.
Had he misread the gleam? He looked back up at Marv and, if anything, Marvel's eyes were brighter than before.
He gasped when Marv suddenly and firmly took his mouth, mashing their lips together. His tongue found its way into Mango's wet mouth and was immediately sucked in, sweeping throughout his cavern. Mango tasted blood where Marv bit his lip; he grinned into the kiss.
And just as suddenly as it came, the warmth was gone, and Mango let out an involuntary mewl. Marv chuckled, and Mango's eyes widened. The low rumbling in Marv's chest wasn't… laughing, was it? This man had never laughed!
Still chuckling, Marvel leaned down again to claim Mango's mouth again, but this time in a sweet, chaste kiss, and Mango began to melt like butter. Marv pulled away again, turning to leave, and no words had to be spoken.
Mango followed like an obedient puppy.
When they reached Marv's apartment, a tall expensive looking place, Mango couldn't help but gasp. Marv looked over and, sensing Mango's awkwardness, place an arm around Mango's waist, resting a hand on the man's hip. He was so much taller and in general larger than Mango that his arm wrapped far around, lending its warmth against a ribcage bony from lack of food. The taller man led him inside.
It was even more lavish inside than out, but Mango didn't notice. All that he was worth was concentrated on that hand on his hip, and he was overly aware of the heat radiating off the body beside his own.
As soon as the large door was shut and locked, Marv's lips were on his skin, making the already heated room hotter, coating Mango from heat to toe in unthinking, overwhelmingly hot bliss. He threw his head back in ecstasy as Marv suckled at the hollow of his neck, letting teeth graze the sensitive area slightly. Mango let out a loud moan.
Mango had never felt anything like this barrage of the senses, and this was just being kissed by Marv. What would it be like to…
Mango pushed the much taller man back onto a conveniently placed plush couch. The fabric was some sort of thick gold and cream striped, but all Mango noticed was that it was very soft, not soft enough to give the rug burns he so enjoyed. Collapsed with his knees over the arm of the couch, Marvel stared up at Mango, who was straddling his hips. Mango leaned forward to place one finger over Marvel's lips, then quietly, carefully, seductively started to unbutton Marv's collared shirt: the suit jacket had been misplaced somewhere long before.
Marv was mesmerized with this creature before him (when had Mango lost his shirt?). Mango had truly taken over the situation and, having unbuttoned Marv's shirt fully, pulled him by the collar into a crushing kiss during which the shirt was lost completely, launched somewhere halfway across the room.
The two were welded together for long minutes, until certain pressing issues could no longer be ignored. Mango's pants had been just as low years before, and his member strained harshly against his hemline. With Mango kneeling over him, Marvel sensually removed the pants, Mango letting out a sharp hiss as his member was freed. Marv paused slightly to admire the sight before him, drinking in Mango's full glory: fully erect, he was a sight to behold. Marv quickly dipped his head forward and completely engulfed Mango's member, which was no small feat: this was one part of the man that was not small.
Mango's eyes flew open, and he gasped. He was on the edge, nearly coming from this small action. He pushed Marvel away, and stood up shakily, motioning for him to follow. Marvel looked a little disappointed by the change in events, but complied.
With some difficulty, Mango managed to make it up the stairs, frequently stopped by an intense need to be connected. He passed by room after room, surprising a French maid, rejecting this bed as too small, that study as too cramped, until he found what he was looking for. He swung open the door wide, and took a step forward onto the plush carpeting. A large four poster bed stood against the far wall, and the shelves were in various states of disarray.
"Your room.' The fist words spoken the whole encounter. Marv's eyes widened. "How did you—"but his words were stolen from him by a hungry mouth, Mango's legs about his waist. He carried the smaller man across the room and laid him on the bed, their mouths never separating. He stepped back slightly, and quickly stripping off his pants, he grabbed something from one of the shelves. He then returned to Mango's side as if he was never gone. Mango heard the quick snap of a tube, and lustily, with half opened eyes, propped himself up on his elbows to watch.
Marvel's eyes darted quickly to Mango's, and away again, suddenly uncertain. "Th-this may hurt a bit…"
Had Mango cared more at the moment, he would have been astonished to hear his high school's previous gang leader stutter, but as it was, he simply chuckled and grabbed Marv's liquid coated hand looked him in the eye.
"I doubt it," he said, and without further ado let go of Marv's hand, fingers glistening slightly, and shoved four fingers into his hole without prep, flinching a bit at the initial shock, that flinch quickly turning to a moan as he removed his fingers and grinned lavishly up at Marv. "See?"
Marv needed no further prompting. Reaching as if to jack himself off, he rubbed his slick fingers over his dick, positioning himself so that his head was pressed slightly into Mango's crack. Mango squirmed in pleasure, longing for more friction, more contact.
Marvel complied, in no mood for teasing at the moment. He thrust into Mango, and he thrust vigorously. Mango let out a harsh cry as his cock jerked hard, eyes rolling back into his head as Marv's thick member filled him.
Within a few thrusts, both of them were at the very edge of their climax, and Marv thrust one last time into Mango's tight ass, hitting the very sweet spot he was aiming for. Fireworks exploded behind Mango's eyes, and with a scream of ecstasy, released his seed in a mind-blowing orgasm, Marv following close behind.
They lay, panting for a moment, and then slowly Marv drew out of Mango's warmth. It hurt more than the actual penetration, Marv's leaving, and Mango winced as it seemed a part of him was left. As cum slowly leaked out of his ass, he lay back on the bed, falling asleep.
Yes, Mango remembered that time he had truly met Marv as if it was yesterday. He remembered the various ropes and chains they had used later that night, the feel of the handcuffs cutting against his wrist, Marv's skin beneath his nails as the man lay spread-eagled before him, tied to the bedposts.
He also remembered the next morning, when Marv had handed him $150 and told him to leave.
Breaking out of his trance at this cold thought, Mango took one last look down the alley where he worked- used to work, and sighed. It was back to working alone, now.
A week has passed by with nothing much happening. I don't worry about Mango; in my mind he is already dead. Once and a while I catch myself remembering the night we spent together with fondness, but it is a fleeting emotion, and it is much easier to let the hardness take over.
I wonder what he is doing right now..
Yes, the cold had always played a huge part in whether or not anyone came to buy; if they were desperate enough to venture outside some nights, Mango was in for a very rough time. Not that he minded. It was much easier to forget Lucien's cold look as he had left those two months ago. He wanted apologize, but he couldn't bring himself before his friend as he was now.
He must have been a sorry sight, his clothes bedraggled in the gloom of a dirty alley. They were starting to show the wear that his work gave them so often, and were threadbare and stiff. He was sure his shirt hadn't been washed in at least a month, but it didn't matter what his clothes were like- they were off his body within minutes, more often than not. Under his dirty shirt, his ribs were already starting to show beneath his now pale and listless skin. He smiled a bit.
Not as pale as Luci's…
Another customer made his way into the alley, and Mango pulled his bedraggled form away from the wall of the warehouse, ready to give up his body for a bit of food.
My phone is ringing again. Every time it used to ring, I would jump, hoping it was Mango, but he has been gone for three long months, now, and I've decided to try to get along with my life, it's not like he'll be coming back any time soon. It's not like I would let him even if he did. I glance down at the Caller ID, and suddenly my heart is in my throat.
He could barely reach for the phone in his pocket, barely dial the number he knew by heart. His body ached with a thousand cuts, beaten badly from the outside in.
He hadn't known what was coming, he had expected it to be just another customer. It wasn't. They weren't customers, but young men, incised by alcohol, it seemed. They were wealthy, too.
On a normal day he would've taken it, maybe would have even enjoyed it, but in his weakened state, Mango wasn't able to fend them off. They had taken him, ripped his clothes, and shoved him against the cold wall of the warehouse.
One of them had laughed as he unbuttoned his belt. "Seems a little funny, doesn't it? A long time ago someone taunted me, telling me that I wanted him. It just seems funny to me to find him now, in an alley, ready for the taking. A little funny that he ruined my life and my reputation, the way I'm going to ruin his."
Mango wasn't sure what he was talking about, but he definitely seemed angry. With a forceful shove, he pushed the two men that were holding Mango down away, replacing their hands with his own, squeezing Mango's shoulder's until he could see imprints of his own hands.
"Thanks to that man, I can't fucking go anywhere without people whispering about me. I have nowhere left to go," he leaned closer, taking on a menacing tone, "and neither do you."
He had unzipped his fly and yanked Mango's pants down around his ankles, and forcefully, brutally, shoved his thick, dry cock into Mango again and again.
"I'm going to leave you here, dirty and used in this alley." He punctuated this with a harsh thrust. "No one is going to miss a dirty whore like you."
As soon as he released a filthy jet of cum into Mango's damaged hole, he had pulled out, a small rivulet of blood running down Mango's leg.
Mango's eyes widened as the boy motioned to one of his friends, who stepped forward, unzipping his own pants and grinning.
"Who wants who now, little slut?" he said, and then he, too plunged into Mango.
By the time the third boy rolled around, Mango was just barely hanging on to consciousness, and his insides felt like they were going to split apart.
It wasn't as bad though, by now he was slick with his own blood.
They beat him and left him in a pool of it, vision almost black, in the alley where he worked.
That's where I find him.
The blood is already dry when I get there, and Mango looks up at me sadly.
"You always come for me." He whispers
"You're my knight in shining armor.."
When he passes out in my arms, I cradle him softly, the tears that he had not cried running down my own cheeks.
I will fix him. And then, he will be happy, and maybe I can be good enough to fill the holes left in his heart. Until then, I will just remain his best friend, even that is good enough for me.
CHECK OUT THE PREQUEL: Irrationality