Chapter Text
Harris sighed as the door of his latest Hinge date’s apartment closed behind him. The night had been…fine. They’d gone on a couple cute dates, and the guy had taken a genuine interest in Harris and his journalism internship, his nerdiness about photography and communications, and his family’s apple farm. He told Harris about his day, he made Harris laugh. As they got closer, their messages had heated up, and the guy had been talking a big game about wanting to pound Harris until he could barely walk, wanting to pull his hair, slap him, mark him, claim him. Everything had seemed so incredibly promising.
These promises had started to ring false as soon as Harris’s shirt had come off. The man - Earl? Ernest? Something with an ‘E’, but he wasn’t sure anymore - who had been absolutely devouring Harris’s mouth and groping him enthusiastically had barely held in a gasp, and then started to ask Harris a bunch of personal questions that immediately had Harris’s arousal dimming as his anxiety took over instead. For a moment, he’d even been sure that he was about to be apologized to and gingerly walked to the door. Instead…Ethan? Eric?...had softened his gaze into one usually directed toward a puppy, or perhaps an especially adorable toddler, and purred, “That’s okay, sweetheart. I’ll take good care of you. You don’t have to worry about anything.”
What followed was…again, fine. The suddenly gentle kissing, the lighter touches, the languid, borderline sluggish movements of the man’s hand on Harris’s dick weren’t unpleasant. But when, somehow, this had finally gotten Harris excited enough to pant, “Please, take me,” into the man’s no-longer-ravenous mouth, (Emmet, maybe?), he’d gotten back a concerned, furrowed brow, succeeded by, “I’ll go slow, I promise. I won’t hurt you.”
The man had thrust slowly and carefully into Harris, just barely enough sensation to be pleasant, but definitely not anywhere close to “pounding”. He’d cradled his head tenderly, called him a good boy, which had, admittedly, gotten Harris closer to the intended feeling, and had kept fucking into him so slowly. Harris liked to think he was pretty confident in bed, despite the ample opportunities to develop insecurities about his body, his nerdiness, his particularly obvious brand of gayness, and he wasn’t one to keep quiet in bed, knowing that speaking up for better sex could be worth the nerves of voicing his mind. But no matter how much he’d murmured things like “Please, harder, I want more,” or “I want your cock deeper, fuck,” Evan or whoever would murmur back, “You’re so good for me”, and do nothing whatsoever to pick up the pace. For a brief, crazy moment, Harris had considered slapping himself to see if this guy would finally understand what kind of treatment Harris was looking for. He’d decided against it, and had tried focusing on the minuscule pleasures he was experiencing, though they were inescapably stained with the sourness of disappointment. He’d even managed to cum, eventually, though he’d had to artificially tense himself and send all of his attention down to where E-man (fuck what his name was) had carefully started rubbing his cock again.
When they had both finished, the man had gently petted Harris’s hair. It was such a light touch it felt more like a bug crawling on his scalp than the soothing caress it was probably meant to be, and it took all of Harris’s self-control not to flinch away from the lightly tickling sensation.
“You’re perfect,” the man purred. You were too, until this, Harris thought bitterly.
Harris typed out a short, polite rejection text as he exited the apartment building. Thank god for his burgeoning communications career, at least this part he was good at. He’d wait to send it - he wasn’t a monster. But he was now sure that this previously-promising, chivalrous, kind man’s bed was the last place he wanted to end up again. It was time for a different approach.
***
HungLooking4Now didn’t take Harris out for coffee. He didn’t ask him about his passions, he didn’t pull out a chair for him at the bar Harris just barely convinced him to meet at in lieu of inviting him over directly. The minute Harris had finished his drink (10 whole minutes after HL4N, which he seemed pretty annoyed about the whole time), he leaned in and asked, “Are you ready to invite me over now? I’ve been waiting to fuck you all night.” He didn’t hold Harris’s hand as they walked the three blocks over. If he noticed Harris’s scar after he’d roughly pulled his clothes off, he didn’t show it. And he was currently slamming into Harris with a gusto that had Harris wondering if he’d need to leave the neighbors an apology note tomorrow, maybe with some of the muffins his mom had sent him home with yesterday.
“Take it, you can take it deep, can’t you?” the man growled, slapping Harris’s ass to punctuate his words. Harris moaned, feeling - for once - like he was actually being fucked properly. Fucked hard, like he wanted, like he craved.
“Yes, fuck, take me,” he groaned, and felt nails into his hips.
“You like it rough, yeah?” the man continued. “Like taking my hard cock like this?” Just then, he shifted his angle, and started thrusting straight into Harris’s prostate.
“Ahh, fuck, fuck,” Harris wailed.
The man grabbed his hair and pulled him up from where he’d been burying his face in the sheets. He snaked a hand around Harris’s face and clapped a hand over his mouth. “You’re such a whiny bitch for me,” he rasped. A cold, but unfortunately arousing shiver of fear ran down Harris’s spine. They hadn’t talked about degradation, and the man’s grip was just this side of too hard to be comfortable. But Harris was so fucking close, and he could feel the man’s hot breath on his neck, and -
“Come for me, you fucking slut. Come on the cock you love so much.”
Harris came with a muffled scream. The man then released his grip on Harris’s face, letting him fall forward, and kept fucking him hard. Harris was rapidly becoming so, so sensitive, and he was about to ask the guy to stop, when -
“Fuck! Shit, yeah, right there, fuck -” The man’s hips stuttered and gave a few erratic, deep thrusts as he finished. “There, that’s what you’re good for,” he muttered as he pulled out, tying off the condom he’d almost refused to wear and dropping it on the floor without even looking around for a wastebasket. He looked over at Harris. Harris looked back. He saw no kindness on his face, no consideration, no impulse to even check in with Harris beyond a cursory glance. Harris felt relaxed and thoroughly well-fucked, but he knew he wouldn’t be trying to see this guy again. The cynicism seeped in before he could stop himself - it’s not like he’d ask for it, either. Maybe in a few months when he’s drunk or something, he thought.
It wasn’t fair, he thought as the man left. He wanted sex that felt good, that made his body pulsate and made him come his brains out. Why were the only guys willing to give him that always such obnoxious assholes? Why was safe, rough, and consensual so hard to come by?
It wouldn’t be forever, he tried to tell himself. Harris himself was a decent, considerate guy who liked it rough, and he couldn’t be the only one in the world. Those guys had to be out there. It’s just a matter of time before he’d meet one.