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“Bad luck” should have been his middle name, or tattooed on his ass if this day were any indication.

His head hurt, but the pain in his side was probably worse.

Oliver’s ribs felt broken, but he knew from experience that they were only bruised.

Didn’t stop it from hurting like a suma’bitch though.

Shit, freaking walking proved to be a task. In fact, if he weren’t in so much pain he would have given himself a pat on the back for doing it out of sheer willpower.

“Fag! You fuckin’ fag”, the words kept ringing in his head, the sound deafening– Oh wait. No, that was the sound of his blood rushing to his ears in embarrassment.

Honest mistake.

Oliver Grey was a fag. A fucking filthy, disgusting fucking fag. HIs face twisted in distaste.

He hated that word.

To be judged because he didn’t discriminate who he was attracted to. It was just like a bigoted idiot to throw out slurs without thought. He liked women; all women, he appreciated them even. At the same time he also appreciated men, he had no qualms about it. He liked the hard just as much as he liked the soft. His pants still tented at breathy moans and rough groans alike.

He loved all of it.

Sometimes Oliver thought it would have been easier to simply label himself as gay, but… somehow that felt wrong.

Christ, it was like he had engraved ‘cocksucker’ on his fucking forehead, the way those eyes accused him; the way those heavy fists wailed on him; the way those booted feet kicked at him when he was finally on the ground.

Perhaps Oliver should have defended himself, in any normal circumstances he would have. This time? Shit, he just couldn’t find it in him, so he just stood there and took him. Took all of it.

Maybe it was his fucking fault. Damn, it was always his fucking fault.

This is why he hated labels.

The sudden drop of cold moisture made him stumble in surprise.

“Wha–?” he gurgled through cracked lips and blood stained teeth as he looked up.

Fuck me… You cannot do this to me now.

As if on cue, the poker oyna pewter gray skies opened up, drenching him from his dark head to booted toes.

Was that water in his boots? Yup, fantastic.

Alternating between stumbling and squishing, Oliver turned into an alley in hopes of maybe finding a slight overhang to duck under.

He caught himself quickly when he slipped, the abrupt movement bright unwanted tension to his side. Pain shot up so quick that it made his breath hitch and his vision blur.

A choked groan followed by a rather colorful string of curses bubbled from him as he leaned clumsily against the dingy brick of the alley. His hair was sticking to his face in thick, inky locks, but he couldn’t muster any fucks to give.

Okay, so his situation didn’t look too hot at the moment. Oliver found himself slipping into a comfortable routine as he mentally weighed the pros and cons.

He was no longer employed. Con.

But he was talented enough to get another one, easy. Pro.

He no longer had a home to go to. Con.

But he had enough money to rent out a motel room for a few days. Pro.

The nearest motel was three blocks away. Con.

He couldn’t go back to get his bike. Con… Definite con.

Probably couldn’t even ride it if he had anyway. Augh! Con.

He should probably get himself checked into a hospital, that would be a pro, because the hospital would mean a warm bed and medical attention, but his lack of insurance and his body’s present state would mean that cops would get involved, and any biker worth his damned salt wouldn’t want to be shooting distance of cops. They asked too many questions, and they always seemed to hate Liv on sight. Judgemental asshats.

Besides, most of those damned questions Oliver wasn’t ready to answer.

To anybody.

Let alone a damned pig.

So, heavy stress on con.

Fuck, his cons were outnumbering his pros. He quickly tried to think of something positive.

He was alive?

Shit, that could go either way.

“Hey man, you alright?”

Liv canlı poker oyna stiffened, groaning when the movement jostled his side.

“Right as rain.” his voice sounded like he swallowed sandpaper, but his bruised, bleeding lips curved at the pun. He liked puns. They were dorky and cheesy and no one expected it from him.

“Jesus, you look like shit.”

Oliver’s eyes cracked open, pale blue searching out the voice before it landed on an expensive suit stretched over a wide chest.

Christ, how big is this guy?

He was used to being the big guy, it was not every day he met with someone who’s size matched his.

Somehow that annoyed him, “Yeah well, I bet you look just like fuckin’ peaches, asshole.”

“Kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“Nah, just yours.”

Good job, Grey. Pick a fight with a possibly bigger dude who’s not injured… Smart move.

Oliver waited for the blows to come, but was treated to an amused chuckle instead.

“Somehow… I knew you’d be a smartass.”

He thought it was best not to comment. He couldn’t trust his smartass to behave, so he just fixed his eyes to the body in front of his. Pale blue to expensive suit chest.

“Can you stand?” The suit was asking him.

“You mean I’m not?” He was genuinely surprised, he recalled standing, but as he took in his surroundings, it turns out he was, in fact, sitting on the ground his back flush against the wall with his legs stretched out in front of him.

“Shit.” his shit must be worse than he originally thought,

The other man was crouched in front of him, and Liv’s eyes traveled upwards, clocking a chiseled jaw, full lips, a Roman nose before settling on dark eyes.

Fuck.

The man was beautiful.

Looks like either God lost a freaking angel, or the bastard just waltzed off a runway. The suit had dark hair, that was kept neatly trimmed, the hair on the side was cut closer to his scalp, the top kept longer to the swept back and over the side. Simple. Stylish. Definitely not foppish.

The fucker looked pretty damned internet casino near perfect.

Even the un-perfect roguish lock of hair curled over his brow was fucking perfect. With his perfect jaw, and perfect cheekbones, and perfect hair with his perfect suit, with his perfect ability to look perfect when you’re supposed to look like a wet sewer rat when you get caught in the rain.

It made Liv want to perfectly kill himself.

Perfect.

Instant shame filled him and he tore his eyes away. What was a filthy grease monkey like him looking at someone like that?

If the Adonis read his expression, he didn’t acknowledge it. Instead he offered, “I can give you a lift somewhere? Your place, or…” Liv felt the Suit scan his battered form, “a hospital?”

Oliver was already shaking his head, “No, hospitals… Fuckin’ pigs are there.”

Great, now he sounded like a crazy person. How much blood did he lose? It would explain his “Perfect” Bitch Fit. He was feeling a little loopy… Kinda drowsy… Actually, wasn’t he cold earlier? Not so much now.

He felt sleepy now.

Liv was about to close his eyes when rough hands shook him, focusing his attention.

“Hey! Hey! Don’t sleep! Christ, stubborn bastard– Come on, you’re coming with me.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but his movements were slowed, and Liv was hauled to his feet, a deep hiss sounded as his body disagreed.

“Your suit, man.” Liv complained weakly when his arm was thrown over wide shoulders, a big hand settling over his hip; not painfully, but firm.

“Fuck the suit.”

The statement tore a choked laugh from him. Shit, he really was loopy. He was grinning like an idiot.

“The hell’s so funny?” the suit above him asked coolly. Despite the tone, he didn’t sound angry.

“The way you look, ” Liv stumbled, but the Suit caught and righted him, “Thanks– you’re all class and expensive.”

The body next to his stiffened indignantly, “So dressing nice is funny?”

Liv shook his head, “No, it’s that someone that looks like you… don’t match the filth that came out of your mouth.”

“So me saying “fuck” is amusing?”

“Fuckin’ tickles me, Suit.”

“Sounds like it tickles your dick more, jackass.”

“Nah, your mother’s the only one who does that.”

To be continued…

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