Does it hurt?

(It's mostly a rhetorical question, because there is no way that it doesn't hurt; it's just a part of him that is morbidly curious)

Haine, that motherfucker, just gives him the look before he coughs up another bullet and winces.

(Yes, it fucking hurts, thank you very much, would you like to try for yourself?)

Badou finishes his cigarette and inches closer to the albino. He touches the wounds gingerly and feels Haine's body tremble beneath as he coughs up more lead and blood.

(The sight of him, bloody, tattered, leaning against the wall as if he actually needs the support, makes him excited – it feels as if Haine is coming undone right before his eyes)

He proceeds to remove destroyed clothes and Haine just sits there passively, not even bothering to look at him.

(It hurts to breathe, and his body is burning in agony – it's rebuilding fast, but not fast enough, and he just wants to die)

Not yet, he says when Badou suggests shower to get rid of all that blood, and scent of metal and gunpowder, and pieces of leather stuck in the wounds. He watches those foreign objects being rejected by albino's body, watches them fall to the floor with soft 'thump'.

These are some shitty bullets, he comments, wondering just how the hell does that feel, and Haine laughs. It's distorted, wrong sound – like ripping a paper, or skin; like trying to breathe with your lungs full of blood. And lead.

(But he isn't worried, not much, because this is Haine and Haine survived worst. He just hates the mess these kind of situation bring. He hates cleaning up. He hates the expression on Haine's face)

He touches thw wounds again and can feel metal object being pushed out in one of them.

(It's sickening sensation – kind of reminds him of giving birth – except this offspring is made to bring destruction and death and…heh. Maybe not so different from real children, then, but he doesn't fee like paying more attention to that thought. Not now)

Fuck, Haine, he says like everything can be summed up in those two words, and kisses him harshly.

(It's Haine's fault, really, for looking so broken – though he is so broken that further damage doesn't matter anymore – it can't be fixed, never, anyway)

Haine hisses in pain as Badou's fingers enter his wounds, but the red-head doesn't feel especially guilty for not going easy – it is intoxicating having him this, this penetrable, and Haine, Haine can take it; he takes it and even kicks back; he bites, feverish, stray dog he is, and the blood in his mouth is not his only anymore; the pain he receives adds up for him but for Badou it just starts – though it's worth it all when they become tangled mess of limbs and red hair on the floor.