Chances are you came here for a reason, and your looking for this sorta stuff. If for some reason you dont already know, the following story includes description of sexual acts between guys. If that shit turns you off, use your back button or close your browser. If not, your in the right place.
If you want to check out any of my other stuff, check for my name under the "Prolific Authors" section of the Nifty Archive, or visit my homesite at http://homepages.ihug.co.nz/~raekw0n/writing/. Any feedback, comments, suggestion can be sent onto me at raekw0n@ihug.co.nz
Oh yeah. The guys in this story might not be using rubbers, but they aint real. You are. Practice safe sex.
Keep it real.
Anfernee Williamson.
Do not distribute or reproduce this document, all or in part, without express permission of the author. (c) April 20, 2001, Anfernee Williamson
ALONE IN THE DARK
D'Marco couldnt think of anywhere else he'd want to be less.
Stuck in some shit hole tenement on a Saturday night. When he could be out fucking girls. Doing what everyone else would be doing on a Saturday night. Fuck that. What a guy like him was born to do on a Saturday night.
And to be stuck here. Watching the streets. With HIM.
D'Marco stared across the small, dark tenement room at him again. He sat there by the window. Almost as much a part of the shadows as the rest of the night. In the same place he had taken up about three hours ago, when they had first come up here from the street.
D'Marco didnt like being ordered about. He didnt like that he was here tonight of all nights of the week. He didnt like people he didnt know. And certainly didnt like being ordered to work with them. D'Marco didnt know this guy. And being stuck here alone with him, he was very quickly beginning to not like him either.
From what he had heard, he was one of the best killers the Purebreeds had. Efficient. Deadly. An urban predator that no one would mess with. D'Marco had heard all the rumors. When he saw him, he'd wondered what all the fuss had been about. And here he was, sitting in the same room with probably one of the worst criminals in Bradford?
Jackal.
D'Marco wasn't impressed. He seemed like every other homeboy he'd faced on the street. Every other homeboy that he'd beaten down in the line of duty. The youth could see that, sitting there silent in the dark, Jackal seemed more of the shadows than a guy should be. He moved with a deadly, almost predatory smoothness. Not wasting space or time. And waiting in silence when necessary. Unmoving and unseen.
But face to face in a fight? D'Marco stared the homeboy over. He didnt look all that strong. He could take him. Face to face is how any war should be won. Face to face with this Jackal, D'Marco was sure he could bend him. Shove him down on his dick.
D'Marco lay back on the mattered double bed. The stink of it not getting to him in the least as he stared over at the homeboy. Who stared out onto the street. He had a good body, the youth admitted. Dark, smooth. Lean almost. But with an athleticism that was more than obvious in his bare biceps and mean shoulders. A black wifebeater hugged his upper body tightly. Embracing a tight chest and stomach. Impeccably clean clothing, wifebeater matched by baggy black jeans shorts, exposing equally muscular calves. Black basketball sneakers. A black cap, just as clean, almost looking straight off the shelves, worn backwards.
Only two things broke the continuos black of the shadow that was that homeboy. A plain silver chain, thick, almost opulent. Tight about his neck. The brief slash of blood red of his gang colors tied tight about his head, under his cap.
D'Marcos eyes moved again over that face. Emotionless. Albeit handsome. A face that looked as if it had never seen a smile. The youth let out a slight grin. Tight ass. Muthafucka probably never laughed in his life. Maybe that shit they always said about killers was true. They blocked out the streets. Everything about the ghetto. numbed to the reality that surrounded them. Lean, almost tight features, dark and hinting at nothing. D'Marco still wanted to know what was up with those black shades. Only an idiot wore that shit at night.
The youth grunted as he pulled himself up off the bed. He was sick of this all. Conversation had proved useless in the first thirty minutes. The homeboy hadn't answered anything. Took his instructions from their overlords. Come out here, fuck knows where HERE was. D'Marco respected that even less. The tough act didnt cut it with him. Opting for the silence of the ghetto at the late of night was getting more and more unbearable.
A tenement, in the middle of the ghettos. Somewhere. It was well into the evening. The tiny tenement room stunk, looked as if it hadn't been used in years. D'Marco had noticed the blood red marks on the door, knew why this room was untouched. But the silence of it got to him. Only the sound of the street occasionally, from the open window. The quiet hiss of rain. The room was dark, but only because there was no working lights. Else D'Macro would have solved that problem. If not for any other reason than to piss off the dark homeboy.
The youth walked the short length of the main room of the tenement. Into the kitchen and through into the toilet. He'd already looked over the entire apartment a few times. Two rooms almost. A main room, that housed a bed that looked as if it had seen plenty of use. It took up almost all the room, was the only thing remaining in the room, other than a table and few chairs, one of which Jackal had taken and put next to the window. The window had been open when they had come. No one lived here. D'Marco could tell that.
The kitchen was almost an afterthought. Dirty. The drip of the main faucet had near driven D'Marco insane in the hours of silence. Metering time too well in that deadened eternity. Empty cupboards. A stove that looked as if it didnt work, caked with grease. The toilet and shower directly off the kitchen, in a crowning achievement of poor construction. The toilet didnt flush. Something D'Marco discovered the first time. The stink didnt bother him as he unzipped his shorts. Hauled free his cock to piss.
Planting a hand against the back wall, D'Marco leant forward. Groaning loudly as his piss splashed down into the dirt streaked bowl. A ghetto white, far from any pure white. His golden stream only adding to the backlog. His legs wide spread as he released his bowls a second time that night. He stance spoke volumes of his attitude. Relaxed, open as he pissed. Uncaring that his actions only worsened the situation that was. His hand wrapped about his ample cock as his piss splashed momentarily against the seat in his inattention.
D'Macro groaned quietly in contentedness, enjoying the act. Taking from it some small pleasure. His body hunched somewhat over the broken and shit streaked bowl below him. He was bigger than Jackal, something that only fueled his sure confidence, reinforced by his stance. A tight, muscled strength, weight poised in balled shoulders, a thick neck. The homeboy dressed similar to his counterpart, an opposite in color. His light skinned tones, hugged by a white wifebeater. Tan cargo shorts exposing thicker calves.
D'Marco looked everything a hardened Purebreed might. One of the countless many. A thick built youth that made up the endless soldiers on the battlefield of Bradfords ghettos. Pissing uncaring on everything that made up the broken world they inhabited. Defiant and uncaring of authority and law. Making law where there was little hope of enforcing better.
The youth frowned a little as he shook himself dry. His face somewhat heavy. As fixed in an emotion of continued anger and annoyance as Jackal was in a lack of it. Strong where Jackals face was lean. Heavy and confident. Light, browned features crowned by black hair. Short about the sides and back, curled thick on top. D'Marco shoved his cock back into his shorts, worked his fly up. Cussing at the fact his hand had become caked in the dust of the wall. Cobwebs clinging lightly to the gang red about his left wrist. Just his fucking luck.
"So when the fuck we gonna be up out of here?" D'Marco asked as he left the bathroom. He knew Jackal could hear him, even if he didnt care to reply. The youth looked about for something to wipe his hand, opting instead to rub both hands in an attempt to clean himself. Fuck this place.
D'Marco walked back into the main room of the apartment. Seeing little had changed. He hadn't expected it to anyway. His heavy boots hit thumps against the wood floor as he made his way back over to the bed. It screeched in protest and he dumped his weight back down on it. Resumed the same pose and posture. Stared back over at the dark killer on the other side of the room.
"I didnt expect you to answer that one anyway," D'Marco growled. He blew a heavy breath of air. Noticed as the dark shadow glanced back over at him.
"So let me get this straight, homeboy," he asked, staring back. It was the biggest move Jackal had made so far this night. "You don't talk? Or you cant talk? Cause you know this macho shit is fucking pissing me off."
D'Marco hadn't expected an answer anyway. Just like he hadn't expected one for the last few hours. He was becoming more just frustrated at the situation. Alone here on a Saturday night with someone he didnt know. Couldnt even really get to know. All he knew about this guy was what he'd heard from other people. What he'd heard, he didnt find himself believing or impressed by.
"Fuck it then," D'Marco grunted. Jackal stared back out the window. He could see the light spats of rain were hitting the youth occasionally. "At least close that fucking window, Im getting cold."
D'Marco raised an eyebrow as Jackal stood up. He seemed like a shadow in motion. Smooth and fluid. It was times like that. The movement after the stillness, that seemed to catch D'Marco. Making him wonder if perhaps the rumors were true. Made him wonder if perhaps he should be feeling in awe of this supposive legend. If the rumors were true, he could even think of himself in danger just being here. Jackal raised a hand to pull the cracked and broken window down a little. Closing it by half. He settled back down in his chair. Stared back over at D'Marco with those shaded eyes.
Some strange compromise. In the silence of the night so far, it almost seemed like contact.
D'Marco grunted and leaned back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. It was a sickly brown, polluted in color by the ghetto that had aged and battled against every other structure here. A strange disease of the city that corrupted building and human alike. D'Marco could make out the empty light socket in the darkness. He drove himself to conversation, if for no other reason than to dull the pain of silence.
"You know I ain't really heard shit about you," D'Marco commented gruffly. "Nothing that I cant hear from any other homeboy whose scared of that dark, intimidating shit. You know it don't work on me right?"
D'Marco turned his head slightly, laid back on the wooden headboard of the bed. Jackal was staring out the window. His muscular arms crossed.
"Fuck I hear those rumors all the time, homeboy," he continued. Happy talking to himself. Happy to break the monotony. "Them muthafuckas you hear about but never see. They say you fuckers hide in the shadows all the time. Tell us these fucked up stories about how the big boys use you to knock out people who crossed us."
The drip of the facet in the kitchen was getting to him again.
"I hear that most 'Breeds never even meet your kind," D'Marco let out a slight grin, glanced him over again. "Well Im seeing you now, homeboy. Im going to be straight with you. I don't think you all that. I could take you. Aint a boy who stepped to me I aint laid on his ass."
D'Marco hadn't cared any other time in his life. He could back up his boasting with strength. It wasn't even boasting, when it was the truth. Statement of cold, plain fact. D'Marco joked quietly inside that maybe he'd get some action tonight if he antagonized this Jackal.
"Must be some real shit if the big boys thing its important enough to put you here, huh?" the youth smiled, staring back over at Jackal. "Bet it really fucks up your Saturday night plans." D'Marco paused a moment, and kept staring at the youth. "Or what you do on a Saturday night? This what you do for kicks?"
D'Marco grunted, staring back up at the ceiling again. The light wind that still carried thought the half open window was getting to him. The youth didnt exactly want to wrap up in these blankets. They stunk of sex. And worse. Sitting on them was enough. He scratched idly at his stomach a moment.
"I tell you homeboy, this is fucked up my Saturday night," D'Marco commented. Almost a hint of regret in his heavy voice. "Fuck, Id give anything to be somewhere else right now. Going to say it straight, homeboy, you aint good company."
Jackal glanced over his way a moment. D'Marco kept staring up, just wishing that they could finish what they came to do. Maybe there was still time to make something of the night. Last he checked it was about 11:30pm. The night would just be heating up. And here he was sitting up in this place. Waiting and watching.
"So you don't talk, huh? You want to tell me why you wear them shades at this time of night? You know you look like a dumb ass mahfucka wearing them right?" commented D'Marco. He preferred blunt. No one misunderstands your intentions that way.
Jackal stood up. Something that took D'Marco a little off guard initially. He stood there. Silent. D'Marco could hear the drips in the kitchen again, metering the painful eternity that the shadows there stared back at him. Almost as if Jackal wasn't there, and he was some strange vision or dream. D'Marco didnt like how still he always was, like death. And when he moved, it was just as unnerving. It reminded him that Jackal was there, when otherwise he could have just as easily been in an empty room.
D'Marco felt his breath escaping again as he let it free. Had he held it in the first place? Staring into the depths of the night, there beside the window. The shadows shifted in a smooth eternity of fluid motion as Jackal stepped away from the place he had spent the whole night this far. The youth knew he should have heard a footfall, his mind expecting it, as his senses reported nothing. One step closer. The fall of another drip.
D'Marco stood up, gathering himself as his muscles tightened. His expression only firmed more as Jackal stepped towards him. D'Marcos mind, street bred and hardened, chilling him to the realities of confrontation. Jackals leaner, more muscular, predatory body moving silently towards his. Like the fall of night within night as the youth came toe to toe. D'Marco knew no fear. Not what he'd seen and grown up with. He didnt feel it now. As deadened as the expression on Jackals face.
"So wuddup then? You going to bust me?" D'Marco said. He found his voice quieter than he had expected.
The youth stared into the dull black of Jackals shades. His hand flinched as Jackals hand came up to pull them off. D'Marco grunted a little, unsure of whether he felt surprise or disgust. Or anything else. All but white white eyes staring back at him. The almost soft, almond shape of Jackals eyes squinting slightly as he held his gaze fixed with his.
There was almost an emotion there. With his eyes in plain view. A picture finished in its complexity, that one last final clue given to the full image. Stark contrast against the dark, lean features of Jackals face, completing smooth, handsome features. D'Marco couldnt place the emotion he saw there. But saw the smooth good looks that stood completed before him.
The white disappeared as quickly as it had broken the shadow. Jackals nose flaring slightly as the hint of breath escaped him. Communication, as strange as it was, the answering of a question. D'Marco found the silence between them speaking more volumes than it had so far that night. He didnt find himself fearing him, not even feeling as if the gesture had been a threat. Maybe he'd lighten up a little on whoever this guy was.
D'Marco turned and dumped himself back down on the bed. Causing a cacophony of noise as the bed protested his presence. Adding some break to the silence that had fallen, like the shadow of night. The inky darkness that seemed to retreat back to the sanctuary of the window side. D'Marco grunted a little, scratching again at his stomach. Still restless. More bored than anything else.
"I don't suppose Im going to find out from you how that happened, huh, homeboy?" D'Marco wasn't even sure why he asked, already knowing the answer. Hearing it in the drip of the facet.
"What I want to know is, if you so fucking good at your job, why Im playing backup to you?" the youth glanced over to the window. It was if Jackal hadn't even moved. "I mean why the big boys wanted me here if you could just do this shit so good yourself."
D'Marco groaned a little, stared up at the ceiling again. This way almost a strange form of torture. Maybe he'd pissed someone off. He was rubbing at his stomach, feeling the soft material of his wifebeater move against his abs. "Fuck I could be doing so much better than being up in here. When Im going to get my dues?"
The drip hit back to D'Marcos senses with the force of a gunshot. There. And again, after a long silence. Even the street outside seemed to have fallen into a deadened silence. Everyone else here had someplace else to be. Somewhere better than rotting in this hell on earth. Especially on a Saturday night.
"Id be out fucking some bitch about now," D'Marco said, feeling as if he had to impress his thoughts on Jackal. He saw no reaction, naturally. He chuckled darkly to himself. "Maybe in some club, hit on the first bitch I see. Its all cunt you know. Aint hard to make them your slut."
D'Marco entertained the thoughts briefly, at least bringing himself some silent pleasure in the motion of his hand. The thought of this being some girls room, and Jackal being that girl. That would be a better scenario on a night like this. He could bare the sounds of nature then. When the drip would be replaced by his firm grunts and the groans of the bitch beneath him. Little more than copulating in an act of base pleasure.
"So you get yourself laid much?" D'Marco asked. He thought to answer the questions himself from here on in. At least the conversation would be better. "You good enough looking to get yourself a bitch pretty easy. You spend all your nights in some dark alley, like all them homeboys say? Waiting for your hit?"
Jackal was looking back at him again. D'Marco found that his hand was wandering closer to his groin. That his groin was responding to the thoughts and feelings that were keeping his body company in the silence there. He grinned, brash, uncaring. Knowing that Jackal could see easily enough how he was pawing at himself. Maybe he'd give the homeboy something to look at.
"We get done here maybe Ill take you back to the place I would have gone tonight. Get you some bitch to loosen you up a little," D'Marco noticed how Jackal turned back to the window. Stared out of it. There could have been little more than shadow there. The youth didnt know what to feel at that.
"Fuck this shit," he muttered quietly. "If Im gonna be fucking bored, at least I can get off."
D'Marco unzipped his cargo shorts, pushing his hand in through the fly to haul free his cock. Unashamed. His partly hard cock flopping slightly in his grip as he pulled it totally free of his shorts. As blunt and brash a statement as any other of D'Marcos street attitude laden actions. All blunt truths of gang attitude coming back to the same point. The one that slowly hardened within his hand.
The youth let out a moan of sorts as he relaxed back. At least he could spend the time a little more pleasurably. Getting at least a little of what he would be getting otherwise. D'Marco let himself slip into the fantasies of his mind as he began to squeeze and work his dick up to its full height. A thick, blunt shaft of veined flesh. Jutting from the opening in his shorts, the hint of thick, dark hair below. His nuts tightening up with the stimulation that he began to stroke into the length of his arousal.
D'Marco found himself staring over at Jackal as he began to pull his fist along the full measure of his cock. His gentle moans adding a new sound within the boredom of the room. The pleasure that began to light within him, warming him against the chill that had taken the night then. A pleasure that fired and licked within the big head of his cock. The blunt truth of his hardened youth.
Jackal didnt look half bad for a guy, D'Marco found himself admitting. His mind working for some reason with what was there, rather than what could be. He found himself wondering if this was what Jackal did in those late nights waiting. Alone in the alleys waiting for his prey. Doing what he might as well have been doing right now. Jacking off alone in the presence of shadows.
Did Jackals muscular body ever writhe over some bitch, like his would have otherwise been doing tonight? Shadows dipping and pleasuring the depths of female sex. He was strong enough to take what he wanted. Perverse fantasies wandered within D'Marcos mind. Asking questions that would never be answered, ignoring to ask them verbally. Getting as much a reply within his mind. Did Jackal ever watch others in the darkness of night? Did he hunt other prey? Did he take what he pleased like he so easily could?
D'Marco let a full smile break his lips as Jackal turned to see him. Cock in fist. Working slowly in the strokes of masturbation. Uncaring of what was seen. Boasting in some blunt and fatalistic way how much a man he really was. Bared for the homeboy to see. He didnt give a fuck. He never did, or would. Having Jackal see him masturbating silently in the dark was something that didnt phase him in the least.
"You aughta deal to yours too, homeboy," D'Marco suggested, straight forward, honest in his intentions. "Its quiet enough. Aint like shits going to happen any time soon."
D'Marco thrilled almost in the way that Jackal stayed staring. 'Yeah, that's right,' he thought. 'See how big a real man is.' He played to Jackals stares, working himself thick and slow. Moaning openly at the steady stream of pleasure that washed over him at the motions of sexing himself. As he lay atop that dirty bed, fucking himself quietly in the dark. His hips thrusting slightly, but firmly up against the tightness of his fist.
The youth grunted a little, wondering if perhaps he was taking some perverse thrill from seeing Jackal watching him jack off. Ending all too quick as the shadows turned their attentions elsewhere. D'Marco continued staring back over at the night beside the window. Feeling as if his sexual partner that wasn't had begun wanting it less. Insult like falling asleep directly after having held them in such sexual rapture for so long.
D'Marcos eyes still played where Jackals didnt. Fueling his horny bliss with a visual fuel. Uncaring of sex. In the silence of night. Where night could not talk, and where others would not see. The perfect crime of pleasure, as D'Marco began slowly undressing the homeboy with his eyes. Wondering more in innocent thoughts what he looked like, what he packed, rather than took it all as source of fantasy.
'Just sit the fuck there then,' D'Marco thought crudely. 'Let me get off for a bit. Nut off looking at you. You fucked up my night enough tonight so you owe me.'
D'Marco gently slipped his other hand down into the opening in his shorts, feeling the warmth of his hand nestle about his balls. Felt the release that it gave, the soft wave of pleasure that followed with the fondling. He kept his eyes along Jackals lean, muscular curves. His eyes taking in the dark. Taking in the deepest shadows beside the window there.
D'Marco was unphased by the obvious implications of his eyes. Of the almost sensual strokes he gave in the heights of horniness. He was more than capable to deal with anyone who thought less. Knew himself well enough. Was secure enough in who he was. Secure enough to do what he needed to do if he drew a bad word for it. He might as well have been alone here in the room, by himself. As far as he was concerned, he might as well have been staring at the wall.
Those thick, dark biceps. Bulging in their strength, yet still lean. A lean, long form of shadow, like some strange, twisted shadow cast on a wall. Lit by some dim ghetto light. The smooth contrast of his smooth, dark skin against the black of his tank top. The way it curved gently over equally smooth muscles. D'Marco found himself wondering at what he'd look like with his shirt off. If he talked, if he did something more than just stare out a window, he'd probably be deadly with girls. Instead of the blunt reality of being a killer of men.
D'Marco eased his fist up over his cock again, rubbing idly at the head. Wondering, with a smile, if this was making Jackal uncomfortable. If so, he didnt show it. But maybe that was it. Maybe he was hiding it, like he did everything else about him. Maybe this was his weakness. Maybe D'Marco could shove it a little deeper, like shoving his cock deep up some bitches ass. Work what little advantage he had, toying with the dark homeboy. Maybe he could fuck with his mind. Did Jackal ever fuck with the minds of those he killed?
"Hey homeboy," D'Marco eased up a little on his cock. "Why don't you take yours out? Let us see what you got?"
The facet answered him in the silence. Jackal still stared out on the street. The light spatter of rain caught slightly in the dim light, drawing a little attention to what form there was to the night there. D'Marco was satisfied in his slow, erotic pleasures. Unashamed of the thoughts and actions that possessed him then.
"You ever get your cock out much?" he continued. Not expecting answers. Still making the conversation anyway. "Maybe in them dark alleys? You got a big one in there homeboy?"
D'Marco watched the silent shadows, still gently working himself. He lowered his eyes a little. Lost in the restless boredom. The quiet of the night. Hoping at least in some small sign of life within his otherwise lifeless partner. Was it true hitmen weren't human? Perhaps every life that Jackal had taken had taken that bit more from himself. Hardened him even worse than the death D'Marco had grown up with.
The youth found himself wanting to have at least some sign that he was sitting there with another homeboy even part like him. They had grown up in the same city. Shared at least in part some experiences. If it were any other homeboy, D'Marco would still have pressed him like he was now. Some might have reasoned that pushing a hitman of all people to take out his cock would have been the worst of scenarios.
"There aint fucking anything out there, homeboy," D'Marco commented darkly, his fist idle about his cock. "Why don't you fucking ease up on yourself a moment and give it a rest?"
Jackal turned to look at him. The shadows barely moving as he turned his head to stare at D'Marco. He saw that glance move ever so slightly downward. Hinting at where it probably lay, down with his stiff dick. The youth watched him turn to stare back out the window.
"Fuck you too."
D'Marco grunted, letting his head fall back against the headboard again. He stared up at the stained ceiling. Only feeling the silence of the ghetto crushing about him again. His small play with his penis only worsening his want to be elsewhere. To be having it attended to properly. Like he would be at this time on any other Saturday night. Why did his overlords hate him so much they'd send him up here with a guy like this. Couldnt he take care of this shit himself?
The restlessness D'Marco felt was like an itch. An itch that only worsened, and amplified with that which he felt within his dick. One that he yearned with a powerful urge to scratch. Maybe there was a way to get past both. Maybe he was going about this whole night the wrong way.
D'Marco steeled himself, dropping his cock, and pushing himself up off the bed. He noticed Jackal glance over at him. He stood there for a moment, gauging the homeboys reactions. Expecting as much as he saw. The dark shadow staying still where he was beside the window. D'Marco stared back. Staunch gangsta, ignoring the fact of his dick, hanging out of his shorts. Not giving a fuck.
"You ever been with a guy, homeboy?" D'Marco ventured. He took a step over towards the shadowed killer. The sound of his boot answered him as it hit against the wood floor.
"You ever wanted to try being with a guy? Fuck whos going to tell, right? " D'Marco felt frustration at questions that needed some sort of answers. Where he wasn't going to get any. He handled his cock a little, as if trying to emphasis the point a little more. There was a strange, dizzying thrill in hitting on a hitman.
"We might as well make the best of this shit right? I mean nothings going to go down tonight," the youth continued. He was standing at the opposite side of the window. Staring down at the shadows where they sat. "You been staring out that window for like three fucking hours. Aint nothing going to happen, homeboy."
D'Marco let his eyes fall down over Jackals smooth body. He saw no reaction at all in the depth of night. He grew tired of hearing the same thunderous pound of drip on steel from the kitchen next door. Sick of it being the only answer to his questions. If Jackal wasn't going to say anything, then he might as well have his mouth full of his cock. He might as well make something of being alone up here with a killer who said nothing. wouldn't say anything. Be able to say anything. Even if he forced him down on his knees.
"You want to try a taste of this?" D'Marco pushed. He took a step forward, in front of the window. Jackal stood up in a fluid motion, again toe to toe with him. The youth didnt feel the threat that he thought might come. Instead felt the cool brush of air against his skin and manhood as Jackal shoved the window up open with a single hand.
"Fuck the window, homeboy," he grunted. "If you so fucking desperate to keep a look out, Ill do it. Just go down on my fucking cock for me."
D'Marco stared straight at black shades. Imagining those albino eyes staring back at him from behind. He'd bent stronger homeboys before. D'Marco had kicked homeboys twice his size. And yeah, even shoved a few of them down on his cock to further the humiliation. He stared straight into the eyes of a legendary death, unphased. Not seeing any of what he had heard. He put his hand on Jackals thick bicep, making his intentions clear.
"I don't care how many homeboys you killed," D'Marco whispered. His eyes still inches from Jackals. "All I know is Im bored as fuck and feel like nutting."
D'Marco stared at the black shades that stared back at him. Almost thinking for a moment that he saw the sturing of those white eyes. His hand still tight about Jackals bicep, the dark shadow unmoving. Feeling like smooth, warm rock beneath his fingers. He rubbed his hand upwards somewhat, onto the tight ball of his shoulder. Preparing to take to violence if he couldnt solve with strong words and eyes.
"So help a brother out," he stated bluntly, still staring at those shades. "Ill watch the fucking window for you."
D'Marco pushed a little on Jackals naked shoulder, feeling a little give as the shadows about him began to fall slowly. He felt a strange thrill, a confusion almost. Half of him had expected to have felt the homeboy fight against his stronger body. To have shoved and fought every inch down to his groin. Some form of disgusted protest to his show of dominance, even in the absence of voice. Anything other than the fall of the shadows about his body, as Jackal moved slowly to his knees before him. Took him into his mouth with a wet slurp.
"Oh fuck yeah homeboy," D'Marco whispered. Thrilling in the sudden shift of events. In the dark night that fell about his waist and took his newly stiffening manhood. He stared down, euphoric at the incredible ease in which he had reduced a hard killer to his knees. Preparing to take his own hit the full distance against Jackal. Then unload his strongest shots, straight to Jackals head.
D'Marco took full advantage of the situation, finally, for the first time that night happy of where he was. If only he had turned this situation about in his favour earlier. Forced the point of getting head earlier on in the time that had passed. D'Marco already making up for the lost time as he pulled Jackals black cap off, then his blood red bandanna. Exposing his very short haired head. Tossing the killers clothes aside as his hands pulled them off. D'Marco thrust eagerly against Jackals mouth, feeling the hunger in which it was met with.
'Boys greedy for some cock then,' D'Marco thought. 'Probably been starved in them alleys he lives in. Yeah homeboy, let me feed you good.'
D'Marco pushed his hand, treating Jackal irreverent. Like a bitch, his hand stroking against the back of his neck, keeping him in place as he feed his thick cock deeper. Taking pleasures of his mouth that he would never be able to speak of. And if he reacted poorly to the treatment, well he had the upper hand now anyway.
"Take your fucking tank off homeboy," D'Marco ordered bluntly. He pulled off Jackals mouth, feeling the coolness of night against his wet dick as he leant up against the wall beside the window. He saw the reaction that time, responding as quick. "Forget the fucking window. If it was happening, we'd fucking hear it. Take off your fucking tank and get back on my cock."
D'Marco leant back against the wall, feeling its blunt hardness against his muscles. Watched as the shadows shifted before him, pulling up to expose a body of incredible muscularity. A tight chest and an eight pack of highly defined abs. Smooth, predatory strength, complete in its image. Helped defined from shadow by the context of the silver necklace. D'Marco felt his cock surge at the sight of his body. Smoother, stronger than he'd seen any other mans. A fluid smoothness that made him weep inside. Shadow given form in man.
"My dick," he said, encouraging Jackal forward again. He gasped as the killer took him into his mouth again. "Open up my shorts properly."
D'Marco relaxed more fully as Jackal began to work at his shorts. Undoing his belt as the shadows shifted and pulsed before him. The youths world inhabited by a new warmth and pleasure in the depth of night and shadow. Feeling the eventual give as his shorts loosened. Slipped. Helped by hands that drew slight shivers as they played across his skin. Only serving to stiffen him more. As Jackal stopped his mouth play long enough to get D'Marcos thick cock free of his boxers. Joining D'Marcos boxers to the puddle of clothing about his ankles.
D'Marco thrilled at the feelings, enjoying the wetness about his length. Forcing Jackals pace slower and slower. His mind still working over the fact of the reality before him. It seemed implausible. Not that he'd even considered any other ending to his blunt offers. Whether mutual or otherwise. He stared down, moaning lightly, as the deep shadows about his waist and groin moved slowly. Fluidly. That head bobbing quietly on his most male part. Surrendering too easily to his dominance.
The youths strong hands worked onto Jackals shoulders and neck. Feeling the smooth skin there. The obvious strength in those lean curves. Keeping the pace as slow as he could. Perhaps the rest of the night wouldn't be a total waste. With his own hitman in the dark. Following his every sexual want. D'Marco found macho fantasies compounding on the pleasures he took. Expounded on the sight of his blood red about his left wrist. Together against the world, alone in the dark. Jackal and him could do whatever they wanted. He found himself celebrating the power that had pushed such a supposedly powerful killer to his knees before him. The way that he had enforced his will on him.
Never seen. Alone in the shadows. Waiting for its prey. Jackal was little more than the beast he was named after. A pawn in some bigger game. Unwitting and unthinking. Doing what his betters commanded of him for the greater good. D'Marco smiled, moaning a little louder as Jackals mouth worked about his head again. Right now, this was some greater good. Jackal was his willing bitch, doing every little thing he commanded of him.
A fucked up life to lead. But then there were people who dominated. And those who sucked cock.
"Work a little on my balls, homeboy," D'Marco said quietly. He barely waited, reinforcing words with his hands. Moving the object of his pleasure downward. His big cock rubbed against Jackals forehead. Felt the smooth plastic of his shades.
"And take those off," he said after a moments thought. D'Marco dragged the shades off Jackal, dropping them aside with the rest of his clothes. "You wont be needing em for a while."
D'Marco moaned as the wet warmth flowed through his tight nuts. Heard the new sounds of nature within the room. The moans that escaped his lips. The gentle, almost soft sucking as Jackal worked and moved over his sensitive center. He felt Jackals tongue again, the silent shadow speaking more than erotic words of pleasure over his organ. His tongue put to a use more than accepted by D'Marcos blunt ways.
The youth breathed out heavily. Contented. Climax at least a little further from being attained while Jackal serviced his full testicles. Feeling the smooth skin of his face against his inner legs, brushing against his ample, thick pubes. D'Marcos hands playing over the back of Jackals head. Keeping him down. Enforcing his will still fully. Uncaring of the consequences of his actions. Knowing only too well what the consequences of Jackals actions would attain. What they supplied in blissful totality in the silence of night.
Jackals mouth worked up his thick shaft again. Tongue working about the crown of his uncut head. Suckling momentarily at the overhang of his foreskin. The darkness there before him, engulfing him again. Unguided and uninstructed by the power that was, above him, but still far more than accepted. D'Marco stared down, taking in the dark curves of the half naked hitman before him. Breathing heavily as his cock slipped back into the sucking wetness of Jackals mouth. He pushed down on the back of his neck, encouraging more and more of his cock in. Barely stopping as he heard the gagging that followed.
"Take it in good and deep," D'Marco sighed heavily. He didnt let up, his hips pushing upwards, where his hands all but forced down. "You fucking good at this, homeboy."
D'Marco kept Jackals tensing shoulders still, making him more used to the bulk in his mouth and throat. Holding him steady. Refusing to budge, even though he felt the attempts to pull back. The youth forcing himself further upon the deep shadows there. Forcing him to get used to the situation that was. As he thrilled on the base pleasures, and the highs of the dangers of forcing a killer on his cock.
The youth thrust a little, pushing Jackals nose deeper into the brush of his pubic hair. Keeping his grip firm as he began to let his hips work their natural rhythm and urge. Thrusting in slow motions, as Jackals hands moved again up his strong thighs. Steadying himself as D'Marco steadied him. The careful balance that was, centered about the thick piece that worked again and again within the circle of Jackals mouth.
"Get up," D'Marco said, almost hoarsely. He felt the more powerful urges within him, the inevitable ends to the movements within his hips. He repeated himself, more strongly. "Get up, homeboy."
Jackal rose before him. Soundlessly. Like a shadow cast over a quiet scene of peace and pleasure. The two white orbs of his albino eyes trapping the breath within D'Marcos chest. As the two homeboys stared into each others eyes. The youth felt suddenly, starkly alone in the broken tenement room. Like prey caught unawares by a deadly predator. Feeling its last breath, caught within its throat. A brief realization before the end.
Jackal blinked.
D'Marco felt the wave of emotion in those eyes. A crushing, almost horrible sense of what was contained within the breadth of one human. As if he saw what Jackal had seen in all his years. A mix of fear. Hatred. Self loathing and pity. Contained within a powerful firmness of poise and expression. Emotion pulled in rather than targetted on the person of his attentions. D'Marco hesitated. For just a moment as the shadows stood about him. All dark, lean muscle. He heard the drip of the facet pull him back into reality, as he rose his eyes again to meet Jackals.
The killers gaze fell somewhat. D'Marco felt it on his cock, in the way that it throbbed and pounded with the power of his heartbeat. The sudden anxiety pulsing through his body, concentrating and steadying him in a pinpoint of a moment. His eyes took in Jackals lean face, those disturbing eyes. Alone in the shadows, where no one would see. And the shadows would never speak of the breadth held in those eyes.
D'Marco found himself spurred by the need in his cock. Putting a hand on Jackals tight shoulder. His other hand falling to the belt of his shorts. Working it loose as he stared at the homeboys seemingly perfect abs. The youth felt the strong surge of jealousy at the strength there. The smooth grace and power that was Jackals dark body. The shadowy curves stayed unmoving as D'Marco loosened Jackals shorts. Let them fall downwards, uncontested. The power of the emotions he felt washed away by the saturating power that was the storm of his hormones.
"Im sort of glad the two of us had to do this night together," D'Marco remarked. He put his hand about the back of Jackals neck. Stepped out of his own shorts as he pushed the killer back against where he had leant. Trading places. His eyes gliding down the deep shadows of his muscular back and ass. "This worked out pretty nice for both of us really. You pretty cool, homeboy."
D'Marco felt the powerful urges within him. The drive that forced him to prove his power and dominance at every turn of his life. The strength that had him stare and intimidate. That still powerful scowl on his face lightening as he stared over lustfully the prizes of his will. He pressed himself up against the smooth contours of Jackals body. Fitting his own with the killers. Feeling his still hard cock nestled against the hard globes of Jackals ass.
"Actually, Im pretty glad its you," D'Marco continued. Breaking the silence that was. His hands moved about Jackals leaner body as he let a breath escape his lips. "Homeboy, Im going to say it pretty straight, I think you pretty damn good looking for a guy."
D'Marco felt the tenseness as he let his urges consume him. Guide his hips in a powerful, yet poorly guided thrust upwards. Eager in all ways, yet hindered by the same restrictions of flesh that made D'Marco a poor fit. The youth groaning, feeling the writhing tightness beneath his hands as the head of his penis massaged and pushed up within the tight crack of Jackals ass. The tight release of breaths becoming the words of the shadows before him as D'Marco wriggled and pushed in his needy want for satisfaction.
"We make a good pair," he breathed heavily against Jackals neck and shoulders. "Pity we aint met before. We could really get something good going."
D'Marco felt the clenching before him as he shoved. Eager for pleasures too tight to be admitted. Grunting a little in frustration as he felt resistance all too natural. The clear wetness of Jackals previous attempts to get him off, joined with the hot heat of the shadows asscrack and D'Marcos precums mating to smear in a soft, natural lubricant of lovemaking. A passage made easier slowly by the incessant pushing and twisting of D'Marcos broad head against Jackals asshole.
The youth locked silently with Jackal in the moments there. Leaning up hard against the killers lean body. Feeling the presence about him, where previously he had felt so little from the guy. He felt everything he always felt in this same position. No matter who it was, male or female. Willing or not. The soft breaths that escaped Jackals lips telling him all to well the anxieties that tightened him to D'Marcos blunt entrance. The signs of life that D'Marco had begun seeing all to bluntly within the depths of darkness that he stared into.
How could someone stand to stare into the abyss that was Jackal all that long? D'Marco wondered silently to himself as he continued his greedy possession. Pushing at that hugging muscle that had begun to ease a little. Each slight gain taken in tight momentum by the merest sign of weakness and giving within Jackals asshole. How alone was it in those dark shadows that Jackal was. How often did he get these pleasures that D'Marco took so easily?
The youth felt little resistance other than the natural tightness of human frailties to his advance. He took Jackal into the embrace of his arms. Mating silently with the darkness of the night. Alone with Jackal. Alone with himself as he stood with him. Against him. His penis still pushing ever upwards. Carried by weight and poise. An inevitable passage taken part by part with each slight relaxation of Jackals gripping ass.
Darkness with dark.
D'Marco moaned quietly. Feeling the throbbing within Jackals chest. Feeling the power of his body, the life that surged within him. His hand wandering downward until he found the searing heat of his cock. Erect and upright in a long stroke. D'Marco stood mated in unwitting pair to the long, shadowed darkness that was Jackals lean being. More deeply than any with the killer. In an act far in difference to those he was most accustomed with. And D'Marco finding the same of himself.
Each breath seemed to meter another gain. Each heartbeat a mere distance more into the depths of Jackals tightness. D'Marco moaned as he writhed upwards, pushing more than thrusting. Working with a firmness that carried him further within the depths of that night personified. The youth groaned as he felt the give. The slight push back as he bred deeper with the dark homeboy.
"Take it all in," D'Marco whispered darkly. "Make me feel good, homeboy."
D'Marco felt the heat of Jackals body against him, despite the fact he was still wearing his wifebeater. He laid his chin on Jackals shoulder as he worked deeper within that almost painful tightness. His right hand exploring the length of Jackals natural weapon. Feeling the tight shivers that it caused within the lean muscle against his.
Taken by the warmth and pleasure within his hardened cock, D'Marco chanced a firm push suddenly. Both males grunting as they rutted deeper into breeding. D'Marco didnt wait until the tightness subsided to stab again, like blade into hated Los Locos. Taking his hardness the last few inches needed to settle fully within Jackals ass. D'Marco smiled quietly, exerting his dominance again and again as he made Jackal more his with each passing moment. Thrilling still at the control he had over the killer. His weakness the simple need for intimacy. An intimacy that D'Marco was more than willing to give as often and as hard as he could.
D'Marco paused for breath. Feeling Jackal eventually within his embrace again. The tight signs of his body. The light hiss of the rain outside coming to his ears. Alone for a moment in the greedy possession of the dark shadows body. The night seemed almost darker, the youth wondering for some reason at the time. It was probably more than later. The sounds of the street were subdued.
The fire within his hard cock still burnt. As his lust built within the hard curves of his muscles.
Silently, content with the lack of words for the first time that night, D'Marco began to fuck. At first in a tight, almost dry painfulled stroke that both men felt. The natural moisture of their male love no more ample to the task as Jackals tightness was of taking his size. The almost painful passage of his cock within Jackals ring, slowly easing the movement as he loosened to the thickness there. The pleasure of the act building up within D'Marcos hard chest. Dizzying him in its thrill and danger.
Who would have guessed he'd be fucking a deadly killer on a night like this? Saturday nights of all nights. When he would have more likely been up in some sluts ass rather than that of a street hardened hitmans. The power of his dominance over Jackal only continued to intoxicate him more as the stimulation of his cock within Jackals ass made him more drunk. The heady pleasures he took from the leaner gangsta more than his for the taking.
D'Marco begun grunting as he stroked. Feeling the writhing within his arms as Jackal took every inch again and again within the clenching grip of his ass. D'Marco moaned loudly against his ear, enjoying the sensations of the tight fuck. The equally tight curves of Jackals dark body. As he began to fist and pump the shadows long cock. Smiling silently as Jackal drew tight breaths of air, almost silent to the sounds he was making in return. Wondering at the breadth of pleasure Jackal felt with the passage of his thick shaft within him.
Thrust and push deepened as D'Marco took fuller pleasure of Jackals ass. Feeling the homeboy tight on him. Rutting more fully with him, alone in the dark. As his cock began to open him up more fully to the realities of his size and strength. D'Marco heady with the ultimate truths of his dominance in the act of male love. The possession and power he held and took with each thrust. Each powerful drive taking him closer to the high that he sought deep within his aching testicles.
Powerful release at last.
D'Marco felt the pulse along the hard length within his fist. The shuddering tightness that followed through the slopes of Jackals dark body. Clenching like death grip about his thrusting cock, as the killer rained further white to the depth of blackness before him. D'Marco began pushing more cruelly, thrusting as deep as his hips could carry. Up against Jackals still releasing body as the black fell back against him. Dependant on his strength to hold his body steady for the task of mating more fully. Jackals head falling back in a soundless moan as he stared upwards. Penetrated deeper and harder from behind.
"Yeah, boy," D'Marco muttered tightly. His peak surged within his nuts. "Take it silent and open."
D'Marco felt Jackals body all but helpless within his crushing embrace. His arms tightening up about the shadows as he felt the unrelenting urge to shoot build within him like a torrent. Crushing Jackal within him as Jackal returned in kind, about his cock. As his thrusts culminated the powerful act of horny fucking that drove D'Marco in all things. A powerful groan escaping his lips as his seed surged and erupted within Jackals tight and accepting ass.
"Take it all bitch," the youth half grunted. "Oh yeah, you fucking bitch. Oh yeah ... take it all in you."
D'Marco felt his body consumed in a powerful rapture as he fired again his deep surges of semen. Releasing thick ropes of cum within the killers ass, claiming him in the deepest and most humiliating of street defeats. Claiming manhood in the deepest of braggando. Taking the deepest pleasures in a base act of copulation.
The youth grunted breathlessly, hearing the rush of his breath. Of Jackals. Still spiked on his hard organ in his post orgasmic high. D'Marco quivered suddenly as he tried to back off, Jackals assring still tightening and pulsing about his sensitive staff. He pull firmly, suddenly, feeling his length drag free in a long stroke that he felt within every inch of Jackals lean body.
"You can be my fucking bitch any night, homeboy," D'Marco proclaimed, satisfied in his taking. "Whenever you get them urges to give it up to me. Ill slut you anytime."
D'Marco felt the shift of weight. The almost dizzying passage of air and movement. The painful conclusion of momentum that had his head hit solidly against the wall before him. He all but bounced back, already down on his knees as he collapsed where Jackal had been but seconds before him. His mind unable to work the physical realities that shocked hard to his system in the pain he felt. Almost as if he had lost footing. Become unstable in the blissful high of orgasm.
The youth groaned, rubbed his neck. Cussing as he pulled himself up a little, his ass and exposed flesh pushing hard against the blunt coldness of the apartments wood floors. D'Marco felt worse off for the positioning. The humiliation of laying down so exposed in the most embarrassing of positions. He could feel the wetness of Jackals cum against his arm.
D'Marco glanced upwards, seeing the light from outside illuminating the dark shape of Jackals body. Those white white eyes penetrated the darkness easily, D'Marco seeing them fixed down on him. The lean, muscular killer standing two steps back from where he had been. Fucking Jackal just moments before. Was it even possible that he had shoved him down like this? D'Marcos mind struggled to take in all that he was thinking and feeling.
Pulling himself up from the floor, D'Marco stared Jackal down. The grittiness returning to his face as the shadows stood all but naked before him. Jackals long cock softened and lean before his face momentarily as he rose. He saw nothing in the smooth, but handsome features of Jackals face. The deadened white of his eyes. The briefly flash of prey before predator hit D'Marco again. Reminded him of the incredible storm of emotion he had see last in those albino eyes. Now to be replaced by nothing. As cold as the shadows he seemed like.
"Oh, you don't like being called a bitch?" D'Marco asked, all but happy to get his own back. If this was to turn into a confrontation. It was already obvious who had the power here. His cock was still smeared with the blood of his ass. "Is that it, homeboy? Well that's what you were, stuck up on this boys cock."
D'Marco wondered if there was a slight hint of emotion in those lean features. Perhaps a tightening in those dark slopes. Some hint of anger. Anything. The youth didnt wait longer, pressing his advantage as he threw himself at Jackal in an attempt to tackle the fucker to the ground. Shove his cock back up in his ass if that's what it took.
D'Marco felt a hand on his back, almost even before he moved. Felt the rush of wind, the momentum of movement. Those white eyes staring at him, like the culmination of all the death they had seen. The opposite of all the life they had taken. The youth couldnt control his weight, his lunge towards Jackal turning into a fall as the passage of his body carried him into something that was no longer there.
D'Marco hit the ground harder this time. Cussing hard. He heard the drip of the facet.
A metallic click.
Jackal stood above him, pistol in hand. D'Marco found his words trapped sore in his throat as he stared up along the black barrel of the gun. At those white eyes giving contrast to the darkness of Jackals body. Staring down at him. No hint of anything. D'Marco realized with a pain that he saw nothing in those eyes. realized with a greater pain how easily he had been manipulated into this position. He was worse than on his knees before Jackal. All but forced to suck on the hard metal piece of the killers gun.
"What the fuck you doing," D'Marco croaked. That click should have been the end of his life. He stared up at the shadowed silhouette above him. The light of the window behind Jackal cast a deadly shadow down over him. He lay like some beaten bitch under the killer. Those eyes far worse than some husband beating down on the wife that he had suddenly become.
Those eyes closed momentarily. D'Marco watched as he turned his head, glancing back towards the window. The youth used his chance, throwing himself upwards towards the gun. A fearless stupidity born of the streets as he batted the hard metal aside. Finding Jackal beside, rather than before him as he let his weight carry him forward. He felt an almost weightless lift as he stumbled the staggered steps towards the window.
Through it.
D'Marco felt the cold shock of the wind and coolness of night hit him. The spatter of rain on his skin. The hard pain of his chest suddenly hitting the sill of the window. He felt firm tightness of Jackals hand about his neck, holding his head forward. Moving it upwards so he was forced to stare ahead. The cold presence of his gun pressed against his asshole.
D'Marco saw the stillness of street life before him. Passing before his eyes in a silent, almost treacle like pace. The two figures that stood before him on the stage. One in red. A flashy, brutal display of Purebreed symbolic power. A lean youth in flawless street clothing, black shorts, red basketball jersey. Red bandanna. Walking out of the building opposite, along the silent streets unguarded.
The other in black. In the shadows of the alley. Watching silently. The slash of blue tied up about his head.
One Purebreed. One Ngati Tumatauenga.
One prey. One predator.
D'Marco made all the connections quickly. His supposive danger put behind him for a moment as the reality of what was clashed quickly with the spill of sensations. He felt himself fall backwards, pulled lightly by the neck. Momentum carried by weight. Felt his bare ass connect bluntly with the hard wood of the apartment floor again. Jackal was already by the bed, pulling up his shorts. Hiding those albino eyes behind his shades again. A fluid movement of lean muscles and shadow. A shifting that came almost slow to D'Marcos eye as he watched Jackal head towards the door.
D'Marco fumbled for his shorts, embarrassed in his disarray. The sudden shift again the events of the night had taken as he fumbled for his cellphone. Hoping for the first time that night that he didnt hear any sound. The fatal sound that proved only too true in happening.
And for the first time that night, truly alone with shadows. The shadows of his own overconfidence.