Charlie's biting his lip hard as Sawyer thrusts into him. He didn't ask for this, though now he has it he's not going to complain. No-one has much to say to him any more; not after what he did to Sun. Outcasts have to stick together and Sawyer punishes him better than any trips to Coventry could. He lowers his shoulders to the rough blanket under him and grabs his own cock; hard enough to hurt, rather than get himself off.
Sawyer has a grip on his hips that Charlie knows is going to come back to haunt him tomorrow, but it's the only way to assuage the guilt that permeates his whole body. It hurts, but it's worth every bruise to his shame-filled soul. He pushes back, feeling the sting of Sawyer's only-just-spit-coated cock as it saws in and out of him, making him gasp in pain.
Sawyer doesn't care any more than Charlie does that it hurts him; his kind of self-punishment has a slightly different taste to it. He's already managed too much alcohol followed by a fist-fight to make things better. Charlie's anger stoking him into this violent crescendo is simply the icing on his cake, and he's just giving Charlie exactly what he wants.
Despite the pain, Charlie's hard as a rock and the way he's pulling his cock shouldn't be something that'll make him come, but as Sawyer grunts into his orgasm, Charlie squeezes his inner muscles and jerks to climax seconds later.
Sawyer growls something unintelligible as he pulls out roughly and flops back onto the blanket beside Charlie. Charlie's panting and his ass feels more raw than his heart. He collapses onto his stomach, gasping through dry lips and wishing the sex had made him forget how bad things had gotten. Sawyer slaps his ass as he sits up, scowling as Charlie turns his head in his direction.
"Didn't make any difference, did it, Elvis?" Sawyer rasps, reaching for his jeans. "But you'll be askin' for more before you give up on it as cure, I'm bettin'." He hops awkwardly, trying to get the pants on, and barely manages to zip up before he's swiping his shirt from the pile of Charlie's clumsily cast-off clothing and stomping out of the shelter into the night.
Charlie hasn't said anything; there's no point. Sawyer's an expert at this kind of thing, and he isn't wrong; Charlie already knows what he'll be asking for tomorrow night.
Oh yay! I'm so very pleased you like this! I think these two are pretty hot together, especially in that S2 dynamic. So glad to have helped your morning! ;-)
Sawyer has a grip on his hips that Charlie knows is going to come back to haunt him tomorrow, but it's the only way to assuage the guilt that permeates his whole body. It hurts, but it's worth every bruise to his shame-filled soul. He pushes back, feeling the sting of Sawyer's only-just-spit-coated cock as it saws in and out of him, making him gasp in pain.
Sawyer doesn't care any more than Charlie does that it hurts him; his kind of self-punishment has a slightly different taste to it. He's already managed too much alcohol followed by a fist-fight to make things better. Charlie's anger stoking him into this violent crescendo is simply the icing on his cake, and he's just giving Charlie exactly what he wants.
Despite the pain, Charlie's hard as a rock and the way he's pulling his cock shouldn't be something that'll make him come, but as Sawyer grunts into his orgasm, Charlie squeezes his inner muscles and jerks to climax seconds later.
Sawyer growls something unintelligible as he pulls out roughly and flops back onto the blanket beside Charlie. Charlie's panting and his ass feels more raw than his heart. He collapses onto his stomach, gasping through dry lips and wishing the sex had made him forget how bad things had gotten. Sawyer slaps his ass as he sits up, scowling as Charlie turns his head in his direction.
"Didn't make any difference, did it, Elvis?" Sawyer rasps, reaching for his jeans. "But you'll be askin' for more before you give up on it as cure, I'm bettin'." He hops awkwardly, trying to get the pants on, and barely manages to zip up before he's swiping his shirt from the pile of Charlie's clumsily cast-off clothing and stomping out of the shelter into the night.
Charlie hasn't said anything; there's no point. Sawyer's an expert at this kind of thing, and he isn't wrong; Charlie already knows what he'll be asking for tomorrow night.
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