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He was mad again.

Dave sat on the couch, rolling his eyes with exasperation. He was
always mad, and Dave was getting tired of it. Tired, and maybe a part
of him was scared, but he had no other place to go. Besides the clubs,
that is. He loved the clubs, he would meet people there, gorgeous men,
and if some john wanted to take him home, even better. He could never
stay, but for those few hours...

"How can you just sit there??"

Dave blinked, glancing up from his work. He knew this game. The anger
would be directed at him now. Nasty things would be said.

"You always do that, you sit there while I'm trying to talk, all the
time! Can't you fucking say anything? Of course not, you're too busy
getting fucked up, or just plain fucked, you slut!"

Dave flinched. He couldn't help it. He didn't care about him like
that, the words shouldn't hurt him, but they did, every single time
they did this. Thankfully, it was a quick game, and now they were
getting close to the end of it. Next, however, was the part where his
things would get thrown around. Quickly, he tried to stuff his papers
away. He'd been working so hard.

"Where do you think you're going?? You're such a class act, you know
that, Dave??"

His books hit the wall. They were getting closer still. He prepared
himself for violence.

"You always try to make yourself look like such a saint! God, here I
am struggling, and you're the one who's fucked up and you get away
with everything!! Sweet, perfect Dave. I'll show you perfect!"

Here it was, the end of the game, the worst part of it. He grabbed
Dave, grabbed his wrist in both hands and pulled him off of the couch.
He pushed him, hard, and Dave nearly fell to the floor, which would've
made things worse and Dave didn't like to be kicked. Thankfully, he
kept his footing and went where he was supposed to, to the bed, but
that wasn't enough. It never really was. He wanted Dave on his back,
like a slut. He wanted to see his face when he spit on him and hit him
and slammed into him.

It hurt. It always did, but he responded anyway like he was supposed
to, gripping the headboard and begging for more. If he was quiet he
would hit him to get a reaction, or - worse - fuck him harder. He
liked it when Dave cried for him to stop.

He was getting close, Dave could tell by now. He urged him on, moaning
and writhing, hoping he would come soon and he did. He pulled out and
straddled Dave's chest, Dave opened his mouth and closed his eyes.
Warm stickiness hit his face, and it was over. He lay there, out of
breath, sweating, hurting, spit and semen on his face as he got off of
him and began to leave.

He turned back. "Go clean yourself up, you look like a whore."

He flinched again. As if he didn't know.

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To be continued...
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