notes: 30min writing exercise. warning for mature themes.
"harder," he grunts out, and donghae complies, thrusting in so deeply that it jars a bead of sweat from kyuhyun's bangs. it lands against the wall, an insignificant bead of moisture against the dirty bathroom stall, and kyuhyun wonders off-handedly how many people have been in a similar situation.
but coherent thought isn't what he's looking for tonight. "fuck me harder," he demands again, thrusting back sharply to get his point across. "don't be such a woman, donghae, has all that crossdressing gotten to you?"
"shut the fuck up." donghae bites out between clenched teeth, fingernails digging into kyuhyun's hipbone. he pulls back slowly and slams in again at a different angle, tearing a shout from kyuhyun's throat. his fingers are soon slick with more than just sweat, but he grips harder to maneuver himself and kyuhyun into a rough pounding rhythm.
it doesn't take long until kyuhyun spills over himself and decorates the wall with streaks of cum, his half-swallowed moan sounding pained to donghae's ears. but he still doesn't relent, taking advantage of kyuhyun's slack form to bend him over the toilet seat.
"hurts, doesn't it?" he asks, and wraps a hand around kyuhyun's softening cock. he jerks it with harsh pulls that make kyuhyun whimper in pain and claw at his tight grip. strangely, that's what brings him off - the tight breathy gasps and the sting of cum against open scratches - and he spills into kyuhyun's hot abused hole, muscles spasming with each spurt.
afterwards, when they're dabbling at their wounds with wet paper towels, donghae looks kyuhyun's reflection in the eye and says, "i hate what you've made me do."
"oh, haebaby," kyuhyun croons, and donghae wonders how he could manage to condense so much condescension and sarcasm into two words, "that was all you." he flings the used paper towel at the bin, where it bounces off the rim and settles on the ground below, and strides out of the bathroom as if the last half hour had never happened.
donghae washes his hands until the water in the sink no longer runs pink. his knuckles are bruised and tender, but that's the least of his concerns right now, he decides, eyes fixed on the lines of russet under his fingernails.
not proofread; feel free to point out errors.