Summary: Axel reflects on how he and Harry spend their time alone.
The first time it had hurt so badly that Axel had screamed. He hadn't meant for it to happen, but the pain had been such an unexpected burst of agony that the sound had bubbled up in his throat before he'd been able to suppress it. His mouth had pressed hard against his arm as he'd bruised his lips in an attempt to muffle the girlish protest that had come from somewhere inside of his stomach. The cries hadn't slowed down the bigger man behind him in any way, it had seemed instead to spur him on, encourage the violent assault.
Before the faithful Valentine's Day over a decade before, Harry hadn't been a violent man. Now, however, his instincts seemed to make him into an animal, and his body shoved roughly against the gentler form of his current victim. He wasn't thinking about what was right or what was wrong, and he certainly wasn't thinking about the hospital staff on the other side of the padded wall. He was only thinking about the time he'd spent lonely and frustrated, cooped up in his hospital prison cell. He was only thinking about finishing what he'd started before he could be stopped.
They must have made a strange sight, the younger boy thought. A thin, blonde teenager shoved so close to the white washed walls that his nose was skinned from being thrust forward again and again; his arm up against his mouth with his teeth clamped into the meat to keep his voice at bay. Pants around his ankles and shirt shoved up to his shoulders in a quick attempt to expose the skin there. The man behind him had his head close over his neck and his arms rested on either side of him as he prepared to do what no one else had ever even thought of doing with the teenager beneath him. All of the romance and flowers aside, this was rushed and clumsy. Neither of them had given much thought to the matter, and neither really knew what they were doing.
A flash of blinding, white hot pain accompanied the initial push, and the entire world seemed to go black. Axel lurched forward and his bare stomach brushed the wall, he gave a small hiss into his arm and tried to turn back to look at Harry. He wanted to tell him that he'd changed his mind, but his effort was met with a shove forward, and his cheek smacked against the padding preventing all attempt to stop what was happening. He felt open and exposed, very sensitive skin stretched to the breaking point as the man behind him yanked out and shoved back in without thought to the virgin flesh.
The hurt had continued, but had gradually faded from unbearable to a dull throb. Harry's quick, ceaseless pace was making his entire body hot with the friction of one body against another, and he knew that he would be bruised and scratched up tomorrow. He had no way of knowing how long it took for the pain to become an unbearable sense of pleasure, nor how long after that until his entire universe had erupted in a spastic seizure of ecstasy. All he knew was that when he collapsed against the wall in a panting, sobbing heap, Harry had looked down at him and after a moment offered one hand to accompany the crooked half-smile on his lips.
"It's only queer if you're on bottom, Axel," he'd whispered yanking the boy up to his feet and leaning against his bare body to kiss his mouth with an out of character gentility before adding, "Next time it won't hurt as badly, I guess."