A/N: This is pretty much just one big AU f#ckfest centering around young!Con/Worth. OH HO HO! But seriously, it's basically just lots of pr0n with a lot of plot. Just an F.Y.I. So yeah...enjoy!

This is for you Dhampir72, since you asked me to put it up~ I love your stories and hope this one isn't too bad in comparison to your awesomeness! :]

Disclaimer: I don't own anything...so yeah...

Warning: Graphic male-on-male sex. You've been warned.

Crossfire, Chapter One:

It's the last week of summer, just before you start your senior year when you meet him.

Short blond hair, clean shaven. There's this air of complete and utter indifference around him, as if the way he took in and released a breath conveyed a message of: 'Go screw yourself.'

And you're smitten. You're suddenly hit with this wave of infatuation for this man you don't even know.

All of your adolescent doubts about sexual orientation are thrown out the window, because you know now, more than ever, more than that time when you gave away your first kiss to that art teacher way back when, that you're gay.

And you just know, deep deep down, that if you don't go and talk to this person right the fuck now you're going to regret it for the rest of your life.

So you do, because living with regrets isn't really your thing yet, you save that for when you're older and a little bit wiser, more protective of your heart, aware of how comforting regret can be. At least it's not heartache, heaven forbid. Because you're naive and trusting. You're seventeen for goodness sakes, of course you are.

You excuse yourself from the small group of friends you entered the game shop in the mall with and run towards the crowded second story escalator, quickly pushing your way through one person after another, ignoring the disapproving remarks they throw after you.

You get to the first floor and you're quickly scanning the area, looking for that sand-blond hair.

Your black irises widen behind your glasses as you spot him, this unconscious, innocent smile coming to your too thin lips as you run after him.

You swerve in and out of people, eyes never leaving his back, and your worn converses are squeaking with the effort against the mall's dirty linoleum.

You get stuck in a crowd that's gathered around some display of one product or another and you watch as he exits the mall, the doors sliding open and shut in an omniscient manner, as if mocking you at your lost chance.

But you don't relent. It's almost as if your chase is renewed as you squeeze your way through with a sudden burst of new found strength.

You make it, nearly falling forward from the momentum of finally being free, and you only take a few precious seconds to catch your breath before you're sprinting out of the building.

The summer heat hits you like an unmerciful bitch the moment you step outside, of course your baggy black zip-up doesn't help the matter one bit, but you're going through that phase where taking it off was out of the question.

That jacket's like a security blanket to you and you're not ready to part with it yet.

You're searching the surrounding area, trying to catch a glimpse of that man because shit you can't believe you're going to regret this your whole life and god dammit why couldn't you have just tried a little harder?

There's this harsh chuckle coming from behind you and you turn, mind still racing from the prospect of screwing the fuck up, your easily swayed pessimism reacting quiet violently to the person now standing in front of you as your thoughts happily die right on the spot.

Because it's him.

He's right there and now that you've gone through all the trouble of chasing after him you realize that you have absolutely nothing to say.

'Hello. Sorry about the impromptu stalking, but my body is reacting so strangely to you, hope you don't mind. I'm sure you get that all the time. Wanna get some coffee?'

You're sure that would go over real well.

You finally register that he's actually been talking, talking to you, for the last however many seconds while you decided to go on a small internal mind quest.

"Huh?" You eloquently supply and he gives you this look of: 'Are you completely retarded?' You feel like punching yourself in the gut because, holy shit you want this person more than anyone you've ever met and you're fucking it up.

"I said the fuck'r you doin' followin' me kid?"

'He has an accent' is the first thing that runs through your mind, and you're too busy computing his voice to memory rather than answering the question because he's fucking Australian and this somehow means something fiercely important to you.

"O-oh! I was...I was, uhm..." Because really what the fuck are you supposed to say? You look at your shoes, stalling for time, for time to think.

But he takes that weight off of your shoulders with his next words, "Yer not t'e sharpest tool 'n the box are ya kid? 's kinda cute."

Your head shoots up, looking at him with unguarded surprise. And then you're scowling because you don't like the undertones that 'cute' implies rather than the insult itself.

That you're young, that you're not a prospect. "I'm not cute." You retort with the slightest pout.

And he laughs, this broken wild tone that makes your insides tighten.

"Sure yer not, kid, sure yer not." He gingerly wipes away a few tears of mirth from his eyes.

Your scowl deepens, "And I'm not a kid." It's a feeble protest. "I'm seventeen," You glumly add on as if it makes a difference, shoving your hands into your pockets.

"O' really now, prac'ticly grown up aren't 'cha. Good fer you." He even pats your head with this condescending air and everything.

Dear God, he's sarcasm incarnate. Just your luck.

You're glaring at him, and yet, somewhere deep inside of you, you're not the least bit angry. You're glad that, despite how shotily this meeting is going so far, that it's happening at all.

He gives you this approving smirk, obviously enthralled by your reactions. "Aw, did I hurt yer li'tle fag feelin's?"

"I'm not a fag!" You practically yell at him.

"So yer jus' followin' af'er me fer kicks are ye now? Do ya get off 'n tha' kinda shit fagboy-"

And you snap and punch him right in the jaw. Because you're young and unrestrained and you don't have all your priorities or morals or whatever they're called in a perfectly straight line yet.

This isn't going exactly as you had hoped at this point.

He staggers back, his long thin fingers running over his pointed chin, and his eyes are sharp and so distinctly pleased.

You're wondering what the hell you just got yourself into as he gives you this assessing look, a quick sweep up and down that makes you squirm in the most uncomfortable way as his crooked smile grows even wider.

He grabs your wrist and starts pulling you into the parking lot, quickly tugging you along as you practically spaz out behind him.

'Oh shit oh shit oh shitshitshit what the FUCK did I just do?' You think frantically, almost too distracted by the sheer heat that's coming from this man's hold on you. It's like he's a goddamn portable heater.

Your thoughts are cut short as he lets go of your wrist momentarily and your eyes are wide behind your glasses. He pulls a set of keys from his pocket and shoves one into the car the two of you are standing in front of. A dumpy piece of shit, the paint flaking and completely missing in certain spots, a light dusting of rust to give it a very broken-down hue.

You want to say something, anything, but you're not really sure what and before you can even get out an 'I'm so sorry' the driver's side door is pulled open and you're being shoved inside.

You grimace at the fact that you just squeaked from being tossed around so easily and that intoxicatingly dark chuckle is surrounding you again as he climbs in on top of you.

You try to melt into the seat, just like the several rather rancid-looking stains that covers the upholstery as well as the rest of the inside of the car. It really was a piece of shit.

He follows you, his hand deftly reaching for the handle on the side of the seat and you're suddenly lying flat and much too overwhelmed to really make a statement on the situation you've literally stumbled into.

"How old d'ya say y'were again?" He asks, his voice sending a tremble down your spine.

"Se-seventeen," You barely manage to get out and it's the most pathetic you've ever heard yourself sound and you just want to die because of it.

His lips quirk up the slightest bit and you're vaguely aware that you're being straddled by a man that's probably twice your age and comes from thoroughly questionable origins, too busy noticing his eyes are this dark dark brown, nearly black color that's so freaking unimaginable.

" 's good 'nough fer me." He says before he roughly bites your neck and you can't stop your body from arching up, from reacting to the harsh treatment.

You hiss as he runs his hot tongue over the abused skin, dragging it up your neck, to your chin before it's opening up your mouth.

You follow his lead, because really you have no fucking clue as to what to do. But his mouth is warm and you can vaguely register the taste of nicotine.

You're not completely inept, you've smoked before.

Once before, and you practically hacked up your lung through the whole process, but still.

It's almost like he's fighting you, his hands tugging roughly against your jacket, his knees digging unnecessarily into your too thin hips.

He runs his tongue over the backside of your teeth, the roof of your mouth and you moan.

Your mother would probably kill herself if she found out, but being the tight-ass bitch that she is, she'd probably kill you first.

He seems thoroughly pleased with your reaction, because you can feel his lips smirk against yours as he trails a hand under your jacket, under your shirt, against your overly-heated skin.

It's like every nerve suddenly buzzes to life and you're squirming and arching and you don't know what to do.

Your hands find purchase on his boney shoulders and you shut your eyes tight.

This certainly wasn't what you thought you'd be doing when you woke up this morning. Actually, being felt up by a blond Aussie never really crossed your 'Things To Do' list now that you think about it.

Not that you're complaining or anything, oh quite the contrary.

Those lithe hands grab your hips, fingers digging into your skin ruthlessly as he practically drags your pelvis against his.

And suddenly things have gotten much too hot.

You gasp out, voice stuck somewhere in your stomach as your fingers tug at his hair. "D'ya like that?" He whispers into your ear and you bite your lip, your groins still in perfect alignment as a strangled tone of agreement manages to spill through despite your best effort.

It's the closest sound to a whimper that you've ever made.

You like this a little too much in all seriousness.

He's biting your neck, much harder than before, but you can't seem to care.

Because you like this, you want this so fucking badly.

To be claimed, to be taken hard and fast and Jesus what the hell was he doing with his tongue?

You're panting now, your mouth open wide as his tongue leaves yours and he sits up, his nails dragging against the exposed skin of your flat stomach.

His eyes are filled with this animalistic need and you're breathing out 'yesyesyes' without even knowing what you're agreeing to.

Another smirk before he flicks open the button of your jeans, not even bothering with the zipper before his hand is down your briefs, encircling around you and you scream, throwing your hips into his touch.

He laughs again, and it just spurs you on as he runs his hands up and down your rather lacking length.

He doesn't seem to mind really, and he's leaning back over you, pulling you to his neck. "Bite me," He whispers and you're not coherent enough to protest, and your teeth are on his skin just as harshly as his were on you.

His hand tightens around you and your teeth dig in deeper, "That'sa good pup'." He breathes, picking up the pace of his pumps.

"Ha...ahhh, please, please" and you don't even know what you're pleading for as your breath comes out in heady pants, but you are and you want this and you want him and you just wish he'd hurry the fuck up.

Because you're young and needy and always in heat whether you're aware of it or not.

And almost as if to spite you he slows his hand, "Wha' was tha'?"

He gives you one long agonizing stroke and your lip starts to bleed from how hard you're biting on it as you arch into him.

His teeth are suddenly biting down on that lightly punctured lip, drawing out more blood which he greedily laps up and his hand isn't in your pants anymore, but that's okay because he's grinding against you and you're painfully aware of how hard you are, and pleased to find out you're not alone.

You never thought you'd get off on this kind of shit, on something hard and fast.

You've never really considered yourself to be a masochist.

But the way his belt buckle is digging into your abdomen and rubbing the skin raw sparks more need in you and your rocking against him, faster and faster, one moan spilling out after the other.

"Yer jus' askin' fer it," He purrs against your collarbone and you nod frantically, too lost in the sensations, in everything new that this man was creating within you.

Because you're a virgin after all, if the relentless blush against your pale cheeks is anything to go by.

He flips you over, harsh as ever, pinning you tightly against the seat, and grinds against your ass without missing a beat.

His nails are rough against the back of your neck and you're straining to push yourself up onto your hands. He makes room to accommodate, but only momentarily so that your hips are in the air before your face is pushed into the seat again.

And yet you moan at the treatment, you're absolutely lost in this.

The continuous friction against you is driving you ape-shit crazy and you just need and want and he seems to get the message by the broken sounds that are being muffled by the cotton fabric your face is still pressed against.

"Ya really 're fuckin' queer, aren't'cha kid?" The mockery never left his tone.

"Says you," You manage to shoot back, but your head is being pushed down again as he laughs.

"Fuckin' precious, tha's what ya 're." And he doesn't even need to hold you against the seat anymore, you're rather comfortable with this ass-up face-down position he's put you in.

And your heart speeds up at a near impossible rate as he quickly pulls your pants down, the soft flesh now being rubbed against the harsh material of his jeans and you moan and lean into it, meet every shift and movement.

His nails are digging into the pliable skin of your ass, and you hiss as he pries the cheeks apart with another thrust forward for good measure.

You vaguely hear the sound of a zipper, but you're so lost in the feeling of him against you and oh god this is getting WAY out of hand when suddenly he enters you and you scream loudly, sheer pain filling your voice, and you just know something must be torn because your body wasn't built for something to be shoved into it like that.

And you know the two of you have skipped some steps in the progression of all of this and what the fuck was that all about?

Your hands are scrambling for purchase on something and tears are streaming down your face, but you just can't stop. Because that searing pain between your legs is slowly relenting and he keeps thrusting into you with these hard swift jerks and you want to moan yourself into oblivion and never come back.

The hand that's resting oh so wonderfully on your ass is slowly pulling you into every thrust, trying to coax you into responding more actively, and you follow that hand, meeting every forward motion with one of your own and he smirks. "Tha's it Princess, jus like that." And his voice makes you swoon as your fingers strain against the top of the driver's seat, the knuckles going white.

You don't even care that you're probably bleeding, that you've just lost your virginity to some random stranger that you've only known for a total of about maybe twenty minutes by now, that you're being taken in one of the grimiest cars you've ever laid eyes on and that anyone could walk by at any moment and hear exactly what was going on.

Words are falling from your mouth and you just can't stop them, you've lost count of how many times 'harder' or 'more, please...' has been lost to the boiling air around you.

He's thrusting so fiercely that the entire car is shaking, and you're rocking your hips against him and you take him in balls deep, fully accommodating to his rather substantial girth like a pro.

"Can ya feel that? How fuckin' deep I am inside ya?" You whimper to let him know that you do, oh God you do and much to your amazement the thrusts get wilder and you can't take it much longer and he's biting on your shoulder now exposed shoulder, your jacket having slipped loose awhile ago, and you pray that there'll be a mark there so that you'll know this wasn't all just some crazy, hormone-induced fantasy.

And right before you're convinced this can't get any better, or any worse the still rather conservative section of your mind grimly supplies, his hand is around you and with every forward thrust he's stroking down and with every pull out of your heat he's palming your head, fingering the slit and letting a few droplets of pre-cum escape, slowly leaking onto the seat and adding to the nice plethora of stains already accumulated there from God knows what.

You don't know if you should move backwards or forwards, the all consuming heat that your body is fully saturated in is driving you insane and you don't know how to fuck his hand and his dick at the same time. But you're trying, and you think you've almost got the hang of it when he's leaning over you again, and you realize just how much you love the way his body feels against yours.

"Yer fuckin' close ain't ya, bet ya just wan'ta come righ't? Ya want me to come deep in'side yer fuckin' ass don'tcha?"

And you lose it because really who the fuck can say things like that and not expect this kind of outcome? That coil that's been tightening gradually in the pit of your stomach finally snaps and you're cumming so fucking hard that you can't even breathe. You scream out one final time as your semen coats his rough fingers, and your throat just feels so raw.

Your ass convulses around him for what seems like forever and he's cumming too, right into you and you're not really sure what to do with this information that your body is sending to your brain.

You instantly decide that you really REALLY don't mind the feeling and your heart beat starts to regulate itself, and you catch your breath as he promptly catches himself from collapsing on top of you.

You can feel him soften within you and it's one of the most thrilling sensations you've ever experienced.

You want to say something, you really really do, but you can't seem to make any coherent thoughts other than, 'holyfuckingshitdamn'.

He pulls out, and you suddenly feel so fucking empty that it's just not fair, and a huge frown fills your bruised lips.

You hear that zipper again as you try to support yourself on your hands, try to get up. You can't manage to look him in the eyes.

"Was tha' why you 'ere fuckin' tailin' me like some lost pup?" He manages to say, his voice a little breathier than it was before and you find some sort of satisfaction in the fact that you're the cause of it.

You want to say "Hell no!", but you're just too sedated and happy and holy crap, you just lost your v-card and it was everything you never thought it would be so you nod dumbly and he smirks at you.

You're surprised though, when you feel him pull up the waist band of your underwear, followed soon after by your jeans. It just doesn't seem like something that he would do, it was almost, dare you think it, caring.

You give him this lost look, but you realize you can't see him all that well. Your glasses are apparently M.I.A. and this takes up all your attention. "Shit." You lean back over the stained seat, mindful of the newly acquired wet stains, and grope around the floor of the car.

"What?" He asks, leaning his head over to the side. "My glasses," You grumble as you continue to search and your fingers lightly brush against their frame, and quickly wrap around them. You sit up and hastily try to put them on your face, but his hand stops you. You look at him, his face is so close and you can't understand why.

His lips ghost over your cheek and you close your eyes as they fall against your lips.

It's slow and languid, everything that the sex hadn't been and you're melting from the near-earth-shattering emotions that are filling you.

You know it's cliched and that there is most definitely something wrong with all of this, but as he lays one last peck against your mouth, his breath ghosting over your face in a lengthy sigh you can't really see the fault in it.

Because your foreheads are pressed together and you're just so goddamn content despite the collective spike of soreness centering around your posterior, nothing could ruin this for you.

Well, almost.

Your phone rings and the both of you are startled by the sound.

You quietly apologize as you pull the cellular device out of your back pocket, surprised it hadn't dropped somewhere in the car like your glasses had, and answer it.

It's your friends and they're wondering where the hell you are, and what the fuck it's time to go.

You tell them okay and you'll be there in a few, promptly ending the call and shifting awkwardly from where you're sitting on the seat.

"I've...I've got to go," You tell him warily, unsure about the protocol for all of this. Your high school didn't exactly have a Post-Intercourse Etiquette course, so you're a little ill-informed.

You don't want this to be a wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am sort of situation, but at this rate it's turning into one. You look at him, and you feel so lost and swept away, and god dammit why are you crying?

He pulls you toward him and roughly bites your ear, it's as encouraging as he can be apparently, and you close your eyes and try to stop the tears. His lips slide to just behind the lobe and sucks harshly, leaving one last mark and your phone slides out of your hands without you knowing it.

The two of you separate and he seems just as reluctant as you are. You exhale in finality and get out of the car.

He slips into the drivers seat as you close the door and the window is quickly rolled down.

Your hands are back in your pockets and you're not really sure where to look.

"Th-thank you, I guess..." You trail off with this uncertain smile. You realize that you're just as smitten as ever when he lights up a smoke and takes a drag.

"M'pleasure," He says nonchalantly, and he looks you up and down again before giving you a nod. He starts the engine, and shifts into reverse, looking behind him once.

He gives you a fleeting glance after he backs out of the spot then he's gone.

And you stare after his car, after that piece of shit car.

Your fists clench as you turn to walk back into the mall, the heat outside doesn't seems to be as bad as you remember it.

Something finally hits you right between the eyes as you step through the automatic doors.

You just gave your virginity away to some guy, and you didn't even know his fucking name.

And what's worse?

You left your phone in his car.

A/N: So there's chapter one~ Please review :D There's much more to come!