That poncy kimono had fucked with Billy’s brain worse than Temp V ever could.
He was too proud to admit just what he thought when he pushed the kimono open, intentionally giving himself a look at Soldier Boy’s cock. Hard, red, desperate. Nothing super about it, as far as he could tell.
His infected blood rushed through his body as he grabbed his hips, pulled him forward and tried to press him down onto his own cock. Somehow, he felt small underneath Billy’s scarred hands. Like some sort of delicate bird that he’d crush in his useless fuck-up hands, as his dad’d say. But he knew better. He knew how much of a beating the bastard could take.
He went in without lube and felt no remorse at how he groaned like he was being tortured; like music to his ears.
Soldier Boy fell back on the bed and took it, called him a faggot as he moaned like one of the girls in those cheap Vought pornos. Billy could feel the radiation penetrating his bones and sinking into every cell, metastasizing a cancer he didn’t even have. He grabbed a thigh and spread his legs apart, thrusting into him hard and crushing his bollocks against his stomach.
“Wake the fuck up, sunshine. Christ, you limeys aren’t all boring fucks, are you?”
He jerked his hips forward, grunting as Billy grazed his prostate. Soldier Boy wanted Billy to fuck him like he was trying to kill him.
“How’s about I get that knife of yours and slit you up? Fuck you like the girl you are.” He grabbed his cock hard, trying to crush it with his enhanced grip.
Soldier Boy tossed his head back and grunted again, the ticket to getting him to shut up and let him at it. The lingering stench of pot and ointment wrapped the scene up in a pretty little bow: Billy, giving his fucking all to an ancient Supe cunt who would’ve vaporized him if he knew he wasn’t getting his end of the deal.