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     Verger's streetball contest was today, two days after the 'robe party'. Lorn chuckled at the memory even now, and the people in the same aisle as him glanced at him weirdly. He merely moved on, eyeing the products displayed in search for Verger's favorite energy drink with a squint since the ceiling light was painfully bright and white.

     He was going to be a good friend and show up, hand him the drink and swat his head, then send him on the court and curse his entire family throughout the match. 'Cause that's what friends do. And then, when the game ends, they'll hold their end of the deal: if Verger wins, he gets to punch Lorn in the face, if he loses, Lorn gets to punch him in the face.

     The same deal would apply tomorrow, in the case of Lorn's streetfight. Thought which made him wonder why he wasn't with his friends practicing instead of playing the water boy.

     With a huff, he placed the bottle of Crazy Wolf -sugar free version because it was cheaper- on the counter and winked at the cashier. She raised a ridiculously thin eyebrow and half-grinned, winking back.

     Huh. Verger does it better.

 

     The court was located near the centre of Viscount Street. The centre itself was occupied by this abandoned warehouse that could be seen from any angle of the street, due to its humongous size. People would go there to drift their cars around the warehouse's yard, throw coma-inducing parties on its flat roof, fuck or take drugs in the ill infected corners of the scraped rooms, all that good stuff!

     Lorn smiled slightly at the building that felt like a paternal figure to them all, and in his mind asked it to wish Verger luck. It was just a short thought, one of those prayers you're kind of ashamed to even acknowledge having mouthed, and so he looked away, to where Verger was sitting.

     He was on a wooden bench that stretched a couple meters, with his four teammates seated on both sides of him- he was in the middle.

     As Lorn made his way to him, he took the time to observe the public. There were considerably more people than would be at Lorn's streetfights, mainly because basketball didn't attract as much police attention and was far from illegal, and so people could watch freely without having to keep an eye around for any flashing blue and red lights.

     As he got near the bench, a man with a ridiculous amount of blond hair turned to him and waved him off. Lorn raised his arms incredulously, and the guy rolled his eyes.

     "He does this thing before games to calm his nerves." he pointed at the head-banging Verger, his palms surely leaving bruises beneath those trousers as he slapped his thighs on the rhythm of whatever blasphemy he was listening to.

     "Ah, I see." Lorn slumped, watching with a wince as Verger moved his palms on his teammates' legs, slapping them even quicker than before, while his feet tapped the ground violently enough for the dust to rise into a faint fog around their feet.

      The blond growled through his teeth, but the guy on Verger's right- a weird thing with uncombed hair, dark circles and piercingly empty gaze- simply stared ahead.

     Lorn shook his head, glancing around at the people seated on bleachers, beyond the tall chain-link fence. However, his gaze was stolen by a man that was heading their way.

     He was... tall. Tall and black. There was a piercing on his lower lip, and Lorn bet he could wear the thing as a ring, what with the man's lip being so plump, characteristic of his race. His hair was surely afro, but he tried to tame it by pulling on an orange beanie. He was wearing a large black shirt and knee-length jeans, with a chain hanging by the side.

     Now, despite not being a sore thumb, his looks fitting in well with the Viscount Street standards, Lorn just felt that he didn't belong.

     There was an easiness to the sway of his shoulders, a glint in his brown eyes that unintentionally told everyone around he didn't share their trouble- the trouble of worrying about money, and about that one shady guy that keeps peeking through your window on Wednesdays, and about that gun shop that doesn't really care about formalities and passes the weapons like warm bread.

      "Back off. He's getting ready for the game." Lorn murmured nonchalantly, not having to worry Verger might hear him- he himself could barely chat with the man over the sound of drums emanating from him.

     "Oh I know he is." the man laughed, and the blond turned around to glare at him.

     "Fuck off."

     "It's important."

     "Unless you wanna tell him a strategy through which we'll have those guys' teeth in our pockets by the end of the game, fuck off." he pointed at the opponents.

     The man sighed through his wide nose, then simply patted Verger on the shoulder with a hand that made Verger's head look tiny.

      He took out a earphone and glanced over his shoulder, before gasping and standing up. Then he just stood there and stared, the music no longer muffled by his ear and taking the role of slaying the silence.

     Lorn was right there. Seriously, Verger's peripheral vision must've made it clear to him that Lorn was right there, and yet his eyes stood glued on the black fellow as if he was witnessing a miracle.

     "Lionel!" he laughed and went to hug him, forgetting of the low bench between them and managing to stumble into him instead. The man laughed and wrapped him with his long arms. "I can't believe!"

     "Yeah, I couldn't too." the man laughed smugly, pulling back. "Our coach said we'd come here and join the streetball contest for practice, he heard Viscount players are tough."

     Verger was grinning all teeth, eyes dancing over the man for a couple seconds before he squinted daringly. "Ha-hah, joining the contest for practice, no biggie."

     "I didn't mean it like that." the man scoffed. "So yeah, I was really pumped since I knew you moved here, and was pretty sure you'd be in the contest. And here you are! Shit!" he laughed, rubbing his nose.

     "Yeah, shit!" Verger mimicked his accent, and suddenly he was reflecting the man's presence. A glint in his eyes, an easiness to his position, it made him look as much of an outsider as Lionel was.

     Thus, after a couple moments of watching them chat excitedly, Lorn went to turn around and walk to the bleachers, but just then Lionel retreated something from the big pocket of his pants.

     A Crazy Wolf bottle. It was black and red, unlike Lorn's grey one, meaning it was the kind with sugar. The more expensive one. Of course he'd buy the more expensive one.

     "You remembered!" Verger laughed, and Lorn would make sure to consult Lionel on the recipe to get so many fucking facial expressions out of the guy.

     "Yeah, I did too." Lorn murmured.

     Verger glanced at him for the first time and shook his hand, because that's how they greeted each other, not with flailing-school-girl hugs. "Great! Considering the opponents, I could use two." he nodded, taking both bottles and placing them on the bench.

     "Good. Well, I'll leave you to it." Lorn shrugged, not wanting to interrupt them. Lionel was surely an old friend Verger hadn't seen in a long time, and from what he's heard of their conversation, he'd played yesterday (winning, of course) and was leaving tonight.

     Thus, Lorn decided on letting them be. It wasn't like he was jealous, that wasn't a thing in men's realm of heterosexuality.

     And with that in mind, Lorn wondered why Verger reacted the way he did when he mentioned having many friends other than him, back on their less than hetero 'robe party'.

----------

     Verger's knee died for a couple seconds, making him limp on his spot before regaining his bent position, propped on his knees.

     "This is bad." he barely managed to pant, his lungs attempting to escape his chest. "This is really bad." he eyed the score, displayed on cardboards.

     50-38 for the opponents.

     "I can't." he shook his head, gripping at his bruised rib. Because that was the main obstacle in streetball: no one gave two shits about fouls. Hell, fouls were encouraged by the watchers, it spurred things up.

     Chuck was glancing at him- well, everyone felt as if Chuck was glancing at them at any time of the game. He parted his lips as if he was going to say something, then closed them, letting his head hang as he, too, propped himself on his knees.

     Sand formed a T with his hands, signalizing time out.

     Verger's team gathered in a circle, their breaths mixing in the middle as they wheezed.

     "Look." Sand huffed, and everyone glanced at him from underneath their brows. "We're more than ten points behind. We are pissing our pants as we're speaking and there are two quarters still left. We suck dick and we're gonna lose."

     Verger moved his head to the side to spit before shaking it with breathless laughter. That would be Sand for you.

      "Okay so we may lose." Troy picked up. "But lets give them a hard fucking time before doing so. I have an idea."

     They glanced at him and he looked at each one of them before smirking.

     "Number three has a loose jaw tooth."

     "How in the fuck." Verger hissed, face palming.

     "Adolf, I'm gonna trust you on that." Troy pointed at the man, and the guy nodded, patting his pocket. "No, leave the knife for later on in case we're really close to losing."

     "Dude." Verger complained.

     "And you." Troy pointed at him. "You better keep going or fuck help you."

     Verger nodded. It was, after all, instinct to keep going. Whereas at the moment he felt as if he couldn't take another step, the adrenaline during the game would keep him running no matter how tired he was. He'd give his best at every second of the game, from beginning to end, and feel it all crashing down on him whenever he took a break throughout the play. It was overwhelming, but that was the reason he was the ace in every team he ever had.

     "Chuck." Troy gripped the guy's hair. "Could you flip the switch to that manic side? There's a guy in there that's afraid of clowns- I know him from a party. It'd help."

     Chuck blinked at him, a faint crease forming between his eyebrows as if he had no idea what he was talking about.

     "Useless fucking schizo." Troy sighed, then straightened up and punched Chuck in the face with a sickening thud, sending him to the concrete with another.

     "What the hell Troy!" Verger snapped, but watched in horror as Chuck twisted his head towards them.

----------

     Dead silence settled over the court as everyone fixed their eyes on the ball Sand just threw. Whereas in the movies time went slow, allowing anyone to go and change the ball's course, the reality had it quickly moving on its own, with everyone around useless.

     The orange shape was the only thing focused in Verger's vision, and his heartbeat synced with the bounces of the ball as it danced on the metal rim.

      And then his heart skipped, allowing his legs to do the same.

     He ran with all of his strength. His muscles were dead numb, even the bones and the marrow in them shivered in pain, and his spine felt like a mere string of limp saucers. But he had it in him to ignore them all, the adrenaline sending him through the court like a bullet through a cube of cheese.

     And then he jumped, gravity never having felt so powerful as it attempted to claw him back down.

     His palms slapped the ball and shoved it in the rim, which he then gripped. After letting the ball roll down his legs to his feet, he caught it between them and threw it backwards before letting go.

     He landed and managed to turn around, but that twist was all it took for his legs to give up and he fell on his knees, then sprawled on the ground like a puppet without its puppeteer.

     But he heard the swoosh of the cardboards, changing the score to 102-100. For his team. And so he closed his eyes, ready to fall asleep then and there, but his teammates thought otherwise as they all ran to him and violently jerked him up.

     Lorn's cheer almost overcame the entire public's, his fist penetrating the air fiercely. Next to him, Lionel was clapping with those cymbals palms of his, and Lorn had the impulse to move the guy's head between them.

     And then Lorn saw Verger jog his way to them, his legs moving similar to that of a zombie's- his ankles dangling and his knees wobbly. He'd expect him to go for Lionel, since they seemed to be sooo bonded, but the guy's half closed eyes were fixed on him.

     Thus, Lorn patted his cheek with a finger expectantly, for the first time since he knew himself trembling excitedly to get a punch. And when Verger got close enough, he punched his cheek all right.

     With his mouth.

     Lorn stumbled back a little, head tilted from the violence of his buddy's peck, and with a laugh he hugged him. Verger wrapped his neck and let himself go limp, but Lorn supported him.

     "You did great!" he talked, funnily since Verger's face was still smashed into his cheek and his weight was making it difficult to breathe. "Buddy?" he tried since people were giving them weird glances.

     "Can't." the man coughed into his skin.

     "Ah, it's okay, I got ya." Lorn walked backwards, to the bench. He put Verger down first, then quickly took a seat as the man was about to sway down.

     Despite the fact Verger's skin was entirely oiled with sweat, he let the man lean on him entirely, supporting him with an arm around the shoulders.

     "You were amazing! You got so much better!" Lionel crouched down in front of him and patted both of his knees, letting his hands there.

     Verger only made a faint noise in response.

     "There, there buddy. I'll be your bitch for the day, and you'll be mine tomorrow after my streetfight. Sound good?" Lorn nudged Verger, causing his head to dangle off his shoulder and to the side with a worrying pop.

     "Water..." Verger croaked out.

     Lionel took a bottle from nearby and held it for Verger to drink. He made sounds similar to a thirsty camel, and Lorn took that as his cue to take another water from nearby and pour it all over his friend, uncaring of the fact he wet himself too.

     Verger moaned blissfully, at which Lorn laughed.

     "Come on, let's get you home."

     "Wait." Verger sighed. "Lionel... he's leaving tonight and..."

     The man grinned from his crouched down position. "We're hanging out." he told Lorn, who licked his lips with a squint.

     "Why can't I come?" he asked.

     Lionel glanced at Verger with a knowing look, and shrugged Lorn's way. "We'd like to... ya know, catch up."

 

     Verger's back and neck arched to their fullest, his head rolled back and his mouth as wide as possible and he moaned, the sound bouncing back from the tall, modern walls of Lionel's hotel room.

     His entire body was trembling to shut down from the earlier game, but the lust that flooded his veins kept him going the way adrenaline did when he played basket.

     But it wasn't quite enough to make him participate as much. His legs lay limp around Lionel's waist and his fingers were having a hard time keeping their grip on the sheets. His back shivered in pain with every movement, but for the life of him he wouldn't wish the man to stop.

     Lionel was filling him so nicely, entirely, with that massive cock Verger would more than occasionally 'think back' on even after all that time passed. It was simply surreal, the way it stretched him to his fullest and basically punched his prostate, each jerk managing to make Verger moan like he only did when with the man.

      "I missed you so much Verger." the man groaned, his hair sticking to his forehead and his muscles tensing. Then, he leaned down and caught Verger's lips in his.

     Verger hummed into the kiss, biting the plump pillow of flesh between his teeth. He'd asked him to take off his piercing for this purpose entirely, he simply adored the feel of his lips.

     "Me- too." he groaned between the thrusts, reaching a hand to run it down Lionel's face. His pale fingers leaked down the man's skin like a ghost waltzing through a dark house, and the contrast between the tones of their moans built an arousing duet.

     "I'm so close." Lionel rasped, quickening his thrusts. At that, Verger gasped deeply, his entire body slumping down, useless under the overwhelming pleasure that kept and kept piercing him with each thrust.

     "Help." Verger moaned, and Lionel understood, getting on rubbing his groin with those long, skinny fingers of his. Verger let himself tear up, lips twitching in their effort to grin. "I'll-"

     "Come on, Very." Lionel encouraged. "Come in my hand."

     Verger wheezed, hazy eyes glancing at the ceiling until one of them squinted and his mouth twisted. Then, both his eyes widened and he let out a dry sob, every dead muscle in his body clenching painfully until all of his body finally shut down.

     "Sir?"

     Verger has been hearing that word for a while now, but whoever addressed him had yet to understand he wasn't capable of functioning. It was as if he was in a coma, unable to move a single muscle or respond or even open his eyes.

     "Look, your friend left last night and asked that we wait for you to wake up. It's evening now, and we can't keep you any longer. Should we call a doctor?"

     Verger only caught every other word, but when he heard 'evening', something in his chest shook, letting shivers leak down to his solar plexus where they gathered in a ball of utter shock.

     He opened his eyes.

     "What time is it?" he croaked out. His stomach grumbled violently with hunger and his throat felt like sandpaper, but he ignored them.

     "It's a little past nine, you've been asleep the entire day, hence our worry."

     "Call a cab!" he yelled, pushing himself on his butt and gasping with the pain in his arms and bottom. However, he didn't hesitate before stumbling out of the bed and to his knees, getting himself up and running to the door. "Call a fucking cab!" he yelled back at the stunned maid before running down the hall.

-----

      The streetfight had started at 8pm, but the crowd was still there, and Verger wouldn't know what to think of it.

     It was inside a wide garage, at the bottom of a dark brown building with tinted windows. It took Verger nearly half an hour to get there, what with Lionel's hotel having been outside Viscount Street and the building located in a God forsaken place.

      Once inside the garage, he pushed his way through the mass of cheering people, something in his lungs not feeling quite right. And it wasn't just from the smoke around.

     When he finally got to the edge of the ring, he fully leaned on the metal bars that reached well above his head and fought for breath. But when he looked up, he gave up the task and screamed.

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