It was ridiculous how he writhed against the other. It was preposterous that he could hear his breathy name spoken in his ear over the loud slapping of skin against skin. It was not surreal to feel calloused fingers hold, stroke, caress him. It was unbelievable, the amount of pressure, and friction building, accumulating, straining inside him. It was unforeseeable to have such white stars exploding in his eyes, blinding him. It was unimaginable, the pleasure that crashes through him, tearing him a part like a tornado. It was unforgivable, those thin pieces of metal suppressing his moans with sewn lips. Haine glared at the stapler Badou left at his feet.


A drabble? Prompted by the word staples. No idea where this crack comes from. Distraction from main projects? Indeed. Review? Yes, please.

--AT