Yondu’s on a street corner outside a bar, the slow, blinking wash of the neon light flushing his skin a sickly red. On, and off. On, and off. There isn’t any stars to see in the sky, the smog above him coating them thick and swirling, but it’s okay. The street lamps pool light gaudily around anyone close enough to want the light. It’s not silent. it’s never silent in the city, with the rasp of horns and crashing hum of voices rising and falling in rage and wanting and hate. He wouldn’t know what to do with it if it was.
Liquor is mellow in his veins, blurring the world soft enough it doesn’t cut into his skin. He waits, sucks in lungfuls of huffer smoke and blows it out in clouds of no future and no regrets. He's young, and he's alone, and he's free, on a world where no one knows his name.
There's a ticket in his pocket for ship leaving day after tomorrow. But tonight, he waits, shivering in the night chill.
Yondu lets his head twist, eyes blinking slow and piercing towards that hot gravel growl of the voice. At first he looks Xandarian - but he’s not. No Xandarian Yondu’s ever met has arcs of fire coming out of their shoulders, or eyes that gleam white and unholy when they catch the light just so. He’s wrapped in cobalt leather, wild flare of steel grey hair flopping onto his forehead, edges silhouetted sharp as a knife by the street lamps behind him. The man's eying up Yondu's bare chest, scarred and studded with glittering rings of gold, the chunk of dull red metal welded to his scalp that's stenciled in geometric electric lines.
“No permanent damage, no body fluids besides blood, and I gotta cunt.” There’s enough shit in his system his voice doesn’t sound in his ears like it’s really coming from himself. It hangs in the air, lazy and aimless like the smoke blown from his lips, and the man nods.
“So breaking skin's fine.”
Yondu should probably be worried, that that’s the first thing this man thinks of. But then he’s thinking of it too, electric blue lines scored down his arms, sharp metal-studded teeth sinking into his scarred blue skin and he nods back.
“No permanent damage.”
The man’s smirk is greedy and dark as a jet fuel fire, but he tilts his head in agreement and Yondu turns away and walks towards the alley behind him, not looking back.
No light reaches creeping fingers in here to illuminate them. Yondu’s pushed against the wall, skin on his collarbone scraping open against the gritty stone. It stinks, like shit and dying things but none of it really touches him, only the feel of calloused fingertips dragging hot and claiming against bare skin.
Fingers are shoved in his mouth, and Yondu digs a sharp incisor down into them, feels one split, tastes the dry sweet iron of blood on his tongue. He makes pulling sucks at it as jagged points of teeth latch on and dig into the crest of his shoulder, worrying blue-black bruises deep into flesh. He pushes into it, needing the claiming of it so hard it wraps around his chest and clenches down like the clamp of the jaw on his skin
The stone is cold against his front, the man hot and hard against his back. He’s rutting slow and demanding against his ass through their clothes, grabs Yondu’s hands in one of his and pins them together above his head. More fingers are shoved into his mouth and Yondu whimpers out a needy little moan around them, lets the scoop of the man’s arm arch his hips back tighter into him.When the man lets go of his hands to push his trousers down his hips, he doesn’t move them off the wall.
“Fuck, not wearing anything under this, are ya,” the man pulls teeth out of skin, palming across Yondu, greedy and possessive, “Came out here looking for this, huh, you were looking t’get fucked.”
Yondu nods drunkenly, worries harder at the fingers in his mouth. A hand is reaching around to dip into his slit, flick lightly up along it, over and over until Yondu rasps out a high needy whine and pushes up on his toes, begging wordlessly for more.
“Aw yeah, you're soaked,” the finger traces lower, starts circling around his hole, “a slut for it, ain’t’cha.”
His spine goes liquid, and he begs out, “yeah, shit, do it.”
There’s a harsh chuckle against his head, and teeth bite into the lobe of his ear, latching on and tugging cruelly at his piercings.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’m gonna give it to ya.”
There’s clinking of buckles, the rasp of fasteners as the man undoes his trousers, then a rough wet dick is rubbing between his cheeks.
“Gonna be a good boy for me, huh, gonna let me pin y’down and fuck you full,” the man’s kicking Yondu’s legs further apart, “you were thinking about this when you was standing on that corner, just begging for someone t’come by ’n have ya?”
Yondu lets the man’s finger go with a spitty pop before he accidentally bites them any harder, roughs out, “yeah, want your cock, want you splitting me open and making me take it.”
It makes the man growl, low and hungry and then he’s pressing flush to Yondu’s skin, guiding his dick between Yondu’s legs. He’s thick, and there’s something about the feel of him that makes Yondu’s fuck-drunk mind wobbles in confusion, before the man pulls back out slightly, lets the feels of a dozen tiny nub-blunt barbs drag across Yondu’s tender insides.
“You feel ‘em?” the man’s voice is filled with wicked, smug amusement, “gonna fuck you hard, scrape you up good until you’re screaming for me.”
It makes Yondu’s choke out a wail and he pushes back hard, arching until the muscles of his back start to cramp with it. He's needed this, needed it bad and the slow drag of the man's cock inside him rough and teasing makes him sob with how good he feels.
“Such a good fuckin’ boy for me,” fingers are digging into his skin, grazing it open in beautiful bright lines of pain, “gonna come on my dick, get what you was out here for?”
And it normally takes longer, takes more, but that dark husk in his ear, the wound-throb in his shoulder, the slick dripping down between his thighs… he’s not gonna last much longer.
“Yeah, just like that, boy” the man croons against Yondu’s sweat-damp scalp, “Such a sweet fuck, darling, so good for me.”
And that’s it, Yondu’s mouth is falling open and he clenches down, all his muscles locking up everything sings, shooting ecstasy through his veins as those jagged teeth snap harsh and claiming on his spine. Its hurts, it hurts so fucking good and Yondu screams into the deadened air as the man ruts hard once, twice into him and then stills.
After, Yondu’s hiccuping out exhausted, satisfied little sobs, brings a hand down to shove it in his mouth but he can’t make himself stop. The man’s still inside him, is soothing his hands up and down, tracing along the low ridges of Yondu’s ribs . It grounds him, and Yondu clings to it as he yanks the scattered, tattered fragments of himself back into place.
“Felt so good, sweetheart,” the man’s voice husks into his ear, “looked so gorgeous getting fucked outta your pretty mind.”
And Yondu knows what he looks like, knows he’s all scarred-up scowls and huffer stink and grime but when the man talks to him like that, he almost believe him. It aches perfect on his raw nerves, and he wants to freeze this moment here, never let it end.
But it does, and the man’s pulling out of him, dragging his pants back up. Yondu doesn’t turn around, doesn’t want to watch him leave, but then the man says, “Same time tomorrow?” all casual and assuming and Yondu says,”Yes, I– yes.”