A/N: Thank you to Mamdi for betaing, Mssdare for pre-reading and le_rameau for coming up with the title before she'd even read it.
Also thanks to OnTheTurningAway for the prompt. I didn't know it was hers when I picked it. We're obviously kink twins as that's two of her prompts that I've filled now!

My head spins as strong hands hold me up, pinning me against the graffitied wall of the toilet cubicle. I can taste the alcohol on my breath, stale and sweet. My mouth's dry, my tongue sticky and swollen. I try to swallow, longing for water.

His breathing is harsh in my ear, bitter with cigarette smoke; and I feel the stretch and burn as he prepares me roughly, taking little care. But through the blurry mess of my thoughts, I'm aware that he does appear to be using lube at least, and I hear the tearing of what I presume to be a condom wrapper. I can't really bring myself to care. He forces his fingers deeper. I can't tell how many are inside me now but it hurts. The welcome pain cuts through the alcoholic fog and drags me back to the present.

The fingers are pulled out of me abruptly and I gasp in surprise.

"You want my dick in you now, don't you?" His breath is hot on my neck and his voice is hoarse. "You little cock slut, I'll give it to you real good."

I arch back with a moan, offering him my ass. This is what I need. I need to be filled, drilled, pounded into the wall, fucked six ways from Sunday... because when I'm being fucked like that I lose myself. And that's exactly what I want.

I feel the thick head of his dick at my hole and he pushes in quickly, going deep. I gasp and scrabble at the wall for purchase, my legs buckling. I try to spread them wider but my pants are caught around my thighs. Hard fingers grip my hips. The bruising pain distracts me from the burn in my ass as he starts to plow into me, balls deep with every stroke. It feels so fucking good and I hiss through gritted teeth as my dick is pushed into the wall with each thrust. I want to cum, but I can't get a hand free to jack myself off and the guy fucking me is too busy holding me up. Fuck it, I'm probably too wasted to cum anyway. It still feels good.

I drift, lost in sensation – the rough drag of his cock in my ass, his fingers digging into me, the scrape of his teeth on my shoulder. When he grunts and cums he sinks his teeth into my shoulder, the pain shocking me back into myself as I yelp in protest. He sags for a moment, his body hot and heavy against mine. Then he pulls out carelessly and I hear the snap of a condom being removed. He slaps my ass hard as he pushes past me and opens the door, pushing it shut behind him. I lean against the wall and close my eyes. I hear the sound of doors creaking and the heavy tread of feet. There's a rush of cool air on my exposed skin as the cubicle door swings back open on its hinges.

"Hey man, you looking for a fuck?" I hear footsteps and recognize the familiar voice of the guy who's just finished with me. "I've left some twink in there stretched out and ready, he might be up for more." He chuckles. I feel sick. But I always want more.

I hear footsteps approach. I don't even bother to turn and look to see who's behind me. I don't care. The unseen man shuts and locks the door and I wait for him to touch me.

"Do you want this?" His voice is softer, a little kinder than the last one. But I can already hear the rip of a condom wrapper.

"Yeah," I whisper. It's nice to be asked.

He doesn't bother to use his fingers, just spreads my cheeks and pushes into me. There's enough lube left from the last guy for it to be comfortable. His rhythm is different, smoother, less urgent and I drift again, my head dull from the alcohol I've consumed. The world starts to slip out of focus and he curses as my legs give out.

"Fuck," he grabs me under the armpits. "You're wasted, you can't even stand up anymore."

"Sorry," I mutter, ashamed. "I can suck you instead, if you want."

He pulls out and I turn around. He's older than me by ten years or more, dressed smartly, nice looking. I don't meet his eyes, just drop to my knees in front of him. He pulls the condom off and I take his cock in my mouth. He's long and uncut. I taste latex and the bitter salt of pre-cum. He pushes in deep and I gag around him, my dry mouth filling with saliva. He twists his fingers into my hair and I suck hard, feeling the drool escaping from the corners of my mouth. I reach for my own cock and fist it quickly, impatient for release. He doesn't take long. I let him fuck my mouth, but he pulls out when he cums, painting my face with thick white stripes. The shock triggers my own orgasm and I gasp and grip myself harder, coming all over my hand and his shoes.

He tucks himself away quickly and leaves without a word. When the outer door closes behind him, I drag myself up and lean against the wall for support while I rearrange my clothes. I stumble to the sink and splash cold water on my face, washing away the cum that sticks to my lips and cheeks. I look at my reflection. My hair is tangled from their hands, my face is pale. My grey eyes stand out starkly, with purple shadows beneath them. My gut heaves and I vomit, emptying the contents of my stomach into the sink. At least it's easy to rinse away; I haven't eaten anything for hours.


When I get home the apartment is in darkness. I close the door quietly behind me, not wanting to wake Peter, my roommate. I sink down onto the sofa and put my head in my hands as the usual flood of shame rushes through me. Why do I do this? Why do I do this to myself every fucking time? I feel filthy, dirty, worthless. But I'm trapped in this hideous cycle, like a hamster in a stupid, plastic wheel.

I hear the soft pad of Peter's bare feet and the sofa dips as he sits down next to me.

"Not again, Jas." His voice is gentle but tinged with the disapproval that he's unable to completely hide from me. "It's late. You should get to bed."

"I need a bath first," I mutter. "I wanna feel clean." But I don't move.

We sit there for a long while in silence. Eventually he gets up and I hear him go to the bathroom and then there's the sound of running water. The noise is soothing, my head feels heavy and I flop sideways, lying down and curling my knees up. My thoughts drift aimlessly as I tread that delicate edge of consciousness between waking and sleeping.

I must doze for a while, because I jerk awake as I feel a hand on my shoulder, shaking me gently.

"Come on."

Peter grips my wrists gently and pulls me up, wrapping an arm around my waist and supporting me as I stagger towards the bathroom. The bath is full of water, vapor curling up from the surface in delicate twists. The mirror is steamed up and I'm glad that I can't see my reflection. I don't want to see this broken, pathetic person.

He helps me out of my clothes. His hands are careful as he helps me pull my t-shirt over my head. When I fumble with my fly he brushes my hands away, his fingers warm on mine. He unfastens the buttons quickly, efficiently and pushes my pants down. He supports me with his hands on my shoulders as I step out of them and kick them aside. I manage to shove my underwear down and step out of those too.

I feel exposed in front of Peter, naked in a way that I never feel when I'm being fucked by a stranger. I step into the tub, wincing as I sink into the steaming water. I sit, hunched over, hugging my knees to my chest and let my head rest on my arms. I feel numb, somewhere outside myself again. I lack the energy to do anything other than sit there and let the warm water soothe me.

Peter wets a washcloth and runs it over my back, the fabric scratches a sore spot and I wince. He stops and I feel him lean close to look.

"What the fuck, Jas? There are teeth marks on your shoulder."

I shrug, and he carries on washing me carefully. His strokes are gentle, the trickle of water down my spine feels like a caress.

"Close your eyes."

Peter tilts my head back and pours water over my hair. He rubs in shampoo with his fingertips, scratching slightly. It feels nice. I sigh as he pours again, rinsing the suds away. He picks up the washcloth again and wipes my face. I remember the guy's cum from earlier, how it stuck to my cheeks in sticky strands. I feel a wave of nausea and breathe in sharply.

"You okay?" Peter asks.

I meet his eyes for the first time tonight. His brow furrows, his hazel eyes concerned.

"Yeah," I nod.

He carries on washing me. Smoothing the cloth down my neck and over my chest. Lifting my arms to wash underneath them. My body feels pliant, childlike. I let him take care of me.

"Stand up," he says and I comply, expecting him to pass me a towel.

But instead he carries on washing me, moving the cloth over my belly and hips. He adds more soap and makes a lather, cleaning my flaccid cock and balls carefully and thoroughly. He hisses and frowns as he notices the bruises that are forming on my hips, perfect fingerprints on the thin skin that covers my hipbones. Then he moves the cloth around and washes my buttocks and down each thigh before telling me to sit again.

Only then does he turn and reach for a towel. He holds it out like an offering, not speaking. I stand carefully, pushing myself up with my arms, my tired muscles complaining. The water streams off me into the tub and he looks at me, his face sad.

I step out and my feet sink into the bathmat as he wraps the towel around me. The chill air makes my body break out in goosebumps and he rubs them away with brisk strokes. He uses the damp towel to squeeze the water out of my hair, and then helps me wrap it around my waist and ushers me through to my bedroom.

I let him dress me, lifting my legs obediently and stepping into the boxers that he rummages in my drawers to find. I poke my arms through the sleeves of a t-shirt he has picked out and pulls over my head for me.

"I need to piss," I say.

"Well I'm not helping you with that," he grins, a quick twist of his lips that's only a shadow of his usual wide smile.

I shuffle back to the bathroom and empty my bladder. Then I brush my teeth until my gums bleed, eradicating any traces of vomit or cum that might linger. I chug down some water and return to my room.

Peter's still there, waiting for me. I crawl into bed, pulling the covers up around me like a nest. It's only here, now, in the refuge of my bed that the tears finally come. My shoulders shake silently and I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to fight them back but they spill hot onto my cheeks and my breath catches in a tearing sob. I feel the bed tilt and dip as Peter climbs in and wraps himself around me. His arms squeeze tight, holding me together while I fall apart. When my sobs subside and my breathing slows and steadies, he loosens his grip a little but stays there, warm and reassuring.

"Please, Jas," he murmurs, his hot breath tickling my neck. "Please stop. I can't stand to see you like this every time."

"I'm sorry, Pete," I whisper. "I'm sorry." But I refuse to make him a promise that I'm not sure I can keep.

The last thing I'm aware of as I drift into blissful unconsciousness is Peter's body against mine. A feeling of warmth spreads inside me, making my lips curl into a hint of a smile.

A/N: This may end up with a sequel eventually, I'm not sure I can bear to leave it here! (edited to add: I'm easily persuaded apparently - this now has more chapters).

Check out the Kinkfest at twikinkfest(dot)tumblr(dot)com. It's still going on and there are lots of prompts that need writers to claim them.
You can read the other submissions as they are posted over on the C2 page: www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/community/Twilight_Kink_Fest_Stories/96302/