Furihata isn't sure how he got here.
He'd not sure at this point how he'd caved so easily under Akashi's gaze, how he'd managed to get him to say yes despite his nervous stutter or even why he'd chosen here of all places.
His open palms were pressed hard into the lockers, the hinges that were sticking out were digging into the skin of his palms. His grip slipped on the metal again, fingers trying to dig into it for a better grip but to no avail. His arms trembled under the pressure. His shoulders ached from holding his face back from being the thing slammed into those locker doors. The jersey he wore was wrinkled but covered the sweat he was sure was rolling down his spine by now. Only the lower part of his back was exposed and he knew it would be the center point of his aching tomorrow for taking the brunt end of the force being delivered against his ass.
The hands settled onto his hips dug so deep into him that he was sure Akashi was trying to hold the bones. Each snap of his hips was loud, hard and merciless. They were unforgiving and tyranical in their pace and even when Furihata's knees finally gave out entirely, they did not stop. They didn't even slow. Akashi lowered them to the ground, adjusted his fingers and continued to hammer into him.
He was hitting the perfect spot; abusing its presence. Furihata wasn't entirely sure if the bundle of nerves was even going to work after this or if it was going to have permanent damage.
How many times had it been already? He'd lost count. When he hung his head, bracing his forearms against the locker in place of his hands, he could witness the mess left upon the tiled floors. He couldn't be sure whose it was or if it was even just his.
He could see the product of Akashi's pleasure dripping down his legs.
It was all messy, hot and sticky. In the silence of the locker room, he could hear the slick squish of Akashi's cock plunging into him over and over again. It was rhytmic and never skipped a beat. Furihata couldn't even concentrate on how embarrassing that sound was.
He couldn't even moan properly. All his concentration was on ensuring he remembered to breath. Occasionally he managed a stuttered, "A-Aka--" or a strangled "Sei--" but they were always quickly replaced with a gasp for mercy.
'Mercy, mercy.' He thought with each pounding of Akashi's hips.
His mouth hung open, dry from gasping and yet trickles of saliva managed to slip out from under his tongue every now and again to join the mess on the floor.
He was going to break him. He was going to use him up until he was empty and pumped dry. There was going to be nothing left of Furihata after this and he knew it.
And yet that thought was given no displeasure when he felt himself reach another peak, body shaking and gasping pathetically.
His hands slipped again.
His body ached.
Akashi didn't let up even once.