(Dianne) Fox Writes

Denny glared at Sully again and let go of the dresser, heading for the bed. “I know how I look, Sully, an’ I know I ain’t good for much. Last thing I need is a pity fuck an’ you tellin’ me I’m pretty an’ shit when we both know the truth. I got my pride.”

Sully sat down hard, the bed bouncing under his weight. He’d have liked to wring Denny’s goddamn neck, but when Denny got close enough to the bed, instinct took over. Sully grabbed hold of Denny and pulled him down. Denny wasn’t tiny, but Sully was used to tossing tires around the pit and building cars from scratch. Compared to that, Denny was easy to move.

When he got Denny down over his lap, it was face down and ass up, and the first crack of his hand hit before Denny could start to pull back. “The truth? I ain’t lied to you yet,” Sully growled, bringing his hand down again. “Goddamn, pity fuck, my ass.”

Denny was fighting him hard, swearing and writhing, but he didn’t say no and he didn’t tell Sully to stop. After a few smacks, he flailed less and his cursing faded into gasps like he was on the verge of crying. When he got out, “Sully, no more,” Sully could hardly hear it the first time.

Sully wrangled Denny to sitting up on his lap, facing him, both legs slung up over his hips and onto the bed. He got a hand in Denny’s hair and made Denny look at him.

Denny’s eyes were huge, his cheeks flushed, and his breath was ragged. He threw his arms around Sully’s neck and kissed Sully so hard he made his own lip bleed, catching it between their teeth.