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Warning: smut and violence.

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The human spirit was always persistent. It allowed one to adapt to their surroundings, using their own skills to their advantage. The primal instinct to survive was capable of pushing regular people to some of the most extreme lengths. Sacrifices had to be made in order to gain intel. It was the way of the world.

Mikey tried to keep that in mind as he tiptoed out of the room he'd been given– his second time sneaking out of bed that night– and made his way down the hall, toward the room he'd seen the dark stranger retire to. Seeing that the light was still on, the boy smiled to himself and slowly pushed open the door to the master bedroom. 

The man was sitting at a desk, wearing nothing but a pair of Calvin Klein boxer briefs. He pivoted his chair to face the door, a smirk dancing on his lips as he spotted the precocious young boy.

"I couldn't sleep," Mikey said quietly, answering the question he was sure the man was thinking.

"Oh?" the man purred, crossing his arms over his wide, buff chest. "And what am I meant to do about that?"

The black-haired teen leaned against the doorframe, fiddling coyly with one of the buttons on his flannel shirt. "I'm a guest in your home," he started. "Entertain me."

Based on the look on his face and the growing tent in his boxers, the mystery man seemed to like that idea. He rose to his feet, stalking toward Mikey with fire in his eyes. Taking the boy by his soft, small hand, he pulled him forward and slammed the door shut with his foot. Mikey made his way over to the bed, fascinated eyes fixed on the tall man, who watched him with equal intensity.

"Sit down," the man ordered, and Mikey gladly complied. "Good. Now strip."

Again, the boy did as he was told, removing his clothes until he was left in just his plain white underwear. The dark-haired man eyed the boy's scarred up chest, his tongue grazing his lips.

"What's with the scratches?" he asked, running a finger along the deepest, reddest mark on Mikey's left shoulder.

"I like it rough," the boy replied smoothly, never taking his sights off the stranger's beautiful, rugged face. 

The man's (now fully-hard) cock responded well to that answer, twitching subtly. "What a coincidence."

Their lips connected in a forceful kiss, teeth and tongues clashing violently. The killer's big, strong hand made it's way up to Mikey's slim neck and pressed down, guiding him to lay on his back as the man climbed on top of him. Gasping for air, the black-haired boy scraped his nails down the man's broad back.

Michael was in a state of complete and udder euphoria, and they'd barely gotten started yet. He'd never been dominated like this– by a real man with real power. This was what he'd been missing all this life. It was fucking bliss.

The man pulled away from the heated kiss, still connected to the little vagabond's mouth by a string of their combined saliva, which snapped and landed in a river down Mikey's chin as the criminal moved to his neck, sucking bright red marks.

"Oh, fuck," Mikey whimpered, writhing around like a bitch in heat. "Let me blow you."

Again, the man disconnected from his visitor. "If you beg."

"Please," the boy adjured, not caring how pathetic he sounded. "I'm really good, I promise."

There was a moment of shuffling, the pair changing their positions so that the man was now sitting with his back against the headboard, Mikey kneeling between his legs. The boy stared down hungrily at the clothed cock below him, practically drooling.

"Cockslut," the man commented with a chuckle, tangling his long fingers in the boy's dark hair. "Go ahead."

Mikey wasted no time ridding the stranger of his final piece of clothing, replacing the garment with his warm, talented mouth. The man was much, much larger than any of the patients in the mental hospital, which the boy was grateful for. He loved a challenge, and taking this cock all the way to the back of his throat certainly was one.

"I'm gonna tell you a secret," Mikey stated, swirling his tongue around the erection's glans. "I escaped from a psych ward earlier tonight. That's why I was hiding in that alley when you killed that guy."

The man furrowed his brow, but didn't seem too shocked. "You're crazy?"

"No," the small boy seethed, trying as hard as possible not to get angry. "I'm not, which is why I had to get out of there. But, anyway, they're looking for me now, which means I have to stay here."

"What makes you think I won't send you back?" In lieu of an answer, Mikey smiled coquettishly and returned to pleasuring the man, who groaned out, "Damn, okay, I'm keeping you."

Without taking the cock out of his mouth, Mikey finally asked the question he'd been waiting to ask. "So, will you finally tell me your name?"

The man closed his eyes in a mix of consideration and sexual gratification, releasing a quiet, rumbling hum. "Calum Hood."

Calum. Mikey had been expecting something a little more badass, like Dagger or... Rambo, or some shit like that, but this was nice too. He smiled around the penis, sucking with quite a bit more gumption than he had been before. His plan had worked, and Mikey was now one fact smarter. This was cause for celebration, and what better way to celebrate than drinking his new friend's cum?

"Keep going, pretty boy. Just like that," Calum encouraged, yanking the boy's hair and forcing his head further down. The action caused tears to well up in Mikey's green eyes, trailing down his cheeks in delicate streams and making him all the more beautiful.

With one final beastly groan, Calum came undone, sending bursts of semen down his increasingly-sleepy doll's tight throat. Mikey pulled himself up, his pants for air synching with the other male's in a post-erotic consonance. 

"Told you I was good," the boy boasted, unashamed, as he moved to sit beside the murderer, nuzzling under his arm. 

The older man glanced down at the rosy-cheeked teen's dick, which was still straining against the fabric of his undergarments. "Are you going to do something about that?"

Mikey shrugged. "I usually just leave it. Sexual frustration is a pretty good boredom-killer."

"Hm. You should try whiskey."

The boy let out a sweet giggle, pressing his lips against Calum's tanned cheek before climbing down from the bed and making his way toward the door. "I think we're going to get along," he said before exiting, leaving his clothes on the bedroom floor. He wasn't going to need them.

He made his way over to Luke's room, rapping his knuckles softly against the door before letting himself in. He strolled over to the bed, peeling back the covers and lying down next to the half-asleep blond.

Feeling cocky about his newfound information, Mikey brushed Luke's shaggy hair away from his face, catching the man off guard by pressing their lips together. The tall blond pulled away, wincing slightly at the strong taste of cum that still lingered on the lusty boy's tongue.

"What are you–" Luke started groggily, only to be cut off by the teenager.

"I'm sleeping in here. Are you big spoon or little spoon?"

The blond squinted, profoundly confused. "Uh, big. Did you two... How old are you?"

"Sixteen. Age of consent," the boy replied casually. "We just fooled around a little. He's super hot, don't you think?"

"He's a murderer."

Mikey rolled his eyes, an unnoticeable action in the pitch dark. "A fucking sexy murderer."

There was a moment of silence before Luke responded. "I mean... I guess."

Just as they were about to drift off to sleep, the black-haired boy spoke once more. "Oh, and Lukey?" he started. "His name's Calum."

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