Desire
Title: Desire
Pairing: Changmin/fc
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Changmin’s one cruel bastard...but is it all just a mask, a disguise?
A/N: Second person, so you are the fc~
I want to be in your mouth
Between your legs
Parting your thighs
Making you beg
In me through me
Around me touch me
Lick me squeeze me
Bite me teasing me
(je l'ai écrit)
It was an entire night of teasing glances slowly turning to intense, passionate looks, raising the temperature within the room. A drink on him- “Changmin” was his name- a dance or two, a moment in a dark corner. By now things were finally getting somewhere.
You shudder as he breathes kisses against your jaw, down your neck, past your collarbone. When he pulls your hand you willingly follow him out the door past the hall, down the alley. You continue where you left off- hands travel up and down your thighs and waist as his tongue licks your lips and dominates your mouth.
He pushes you against a wall and nudges his knee between your legs- you barely notice. His fingers travel up and down your back teasingly, purposefully getting tangled in the rips of your dress which frame your back all the way from shoulder blades to tailbone, skin peeking through, tempting.
His fist closes around some of the fabric and yanks. He manages to stretch the fabric a bit further, widening the horizontal rips. He turns his attention elsewhere- lifting both your hands from where they rest on his shoulders, raising them high above your head, pinning them firmly with one hand, long slender fingers. The other hand travels slowly down your back to cup the back of one bare thigh and lift it on his hip.
What you don’t expect is the sudden break in the kiss as he pulls back and presses a handkerchief to your mouth, tying it tight. He whisks off his tie and uses it to bind your hands, palms together.
Your eyes fly open. No romance now. Why binding, the gag? What foreplay is this, out in an alley? What the hell is going on? Oh my god...is he a sick person in gentleman’s clothing?
Screams, yells, all throaty moans behind the gag. The hand at your thigh has now worked its way up your dress, fingering your panty.
His grin is sinister, eyes dark as he smiles viciously, in no way romantic or sexy but predatory, dangerous.
“You asked for this...now take it.”
You shudder, eyes wide open. With one swift yank your panty tears and he flings it somewhere behind him in the dark. He backs away a bit, uses his hand to pull you towards him, leaving room between your back and the wall.
You feel something cool and sharp at the nape of your neck. A razor. You jerk in his hold as he whispers a warning about keeping your pretty face in one piece.
The strips of fabric holding the back of your dress slowly come apart as he works his way from shoulders to the base of your spine. Your muffled noises and shouting go up a notch as he lifts his eyes to yours and in dead serious tone goes, “I said shut up.”
You stare back at him silent, afraid he’s going to backhand you (as if that’s the least of your problems). By now the back of your dress is completely open and just a simple movement of leaning forward will make it fall off your body, exposing you from the waist up. The razor gleams a few feet away, discarded. The hand is back at your knee, rubbing circles as it gets higher and closer to your body. You try to fight down your increasing heart rate, anxious and wondering what his next move would be.
Without warning two fingers enter you painfully. You let out a shrill yell, knees weaken and eyes swim but you can’t collapse from the firm grip he keeps on your hands, high above your head.
Your arms and shoulders hurt. You hiccup, tears trickling down your cheeks as he leans in close and licks them, whispering, “Be grateful I’m even prepping you.”
You flick your head to the side, don’t want to hear that voice anymore or look at that face. Who knew such looks revealed what was underneath? Such a monster...
The fingers are gone and his hand hoists your dress up past one thigh, revealing your body to see what he’s doing. You don’t dare look down or at him but keep your gaze planted up- up past his face, his blazing eyes, up past his hair, the broken lamppost to the dark sky overhead.
Occasional gasps wrack your body as your eyes squeeze shut to stop the tears. He kisses them from your cheeks, lips feathery soft on your skin. Then the feeling of something bigger than two or three fingers enters you slowly, spreading you apart thick, wide, long.
Your breathing speeds up. One swift thrust and he’s in you to the hilt, body pressing against body. A scream tears the back of your throat but past the gag it doesn’t sound like anything more than a shrill trill.
He starts moving and you keep screaming, the cries coming from deep within your throat unrestrained. He bites and sucks at your collarbone, shoulders, leaving marks all over. The dress starts slipping off your shoulders from the rocking, revealing more skin for him to mark, making him speed up, more excited. If he wasn’t pressed up so tightly against you, the dress would have already fallen around your waist.
The hand not holding up your arms goes to roughly lift one thigh and wrap it around his waist, increasing the friction. A low moan sounds at the back of his throat; you can barely hear it. You lower your head from the skies, tired and long past caring. Let him have his way and be done with it.
His face is buried in your shoulder, his hair brushing against your cheek. You smell his cologne and note somewhere in the back of your mind the scent still drives you crazy. He shifts and pulls back a bit and you see eyes shut in concentration, a flash of his teeth biting down on his lower lip. Even with all that’s going on, you zero in on that action and find it irresistibly sexy. His hand slides up and down your thigh, ignoring your back which was now being rubbed raw.
You start to get tired- your upper body sore from long ago. The long, slender fingers encased around your wrists comes down, letting your bound hands fall weakly to his chest. His hand goes lower, wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer to him.
Your bound hands rest against your two bodies, grabbing his shirts in fistfuls, wrinkling it. You tug, you pull. He doesn’t notice. The pace speeds up and his breaths against your neck quicken until suddenly there’s a pause and his breath hitches.
You scream with renewed horror and disgust as you feel something pool inside your body again and again, feel it seep down your thighs. You beat your hands against his chest, trying to push him away. He looks at you annoyed.
“Haven’t you screamed enough already? Shut up.”
With that he places his hand over your covered mouth, blocking your nose as well. Your eyes widen and your movements become frantic- hands pushing at him as you can’t get enough oxygen.
He doesn’t notice- eyes closed, head down, he picks up the pace once again, easily moving inside you now that he’s come once. You barely notice the movement or the pleasure of him moving inside you but the searing pain of not getting enough oxygen to your lungs. The last thing you notice is blackness setting in as his motions still go on rhythmically, your heartbeat echoing in your ears. . .
When you come to it feels as if you’re floating on a cloud. A cloud rocking rhythmically. Up and down, up and down, to and fro. With a foggy mind you realize you’re on a bed, in an unfamiliar room with a high ceiling. The tie binding your hands is gone, the handkerchief too. And so is your dress, or whatever remained of it. You’re laying on your back, hands spread across the mattress on either side of you.
You feel sheets at your side- bunched up and thrown aside carelessly as if a bother. To the right shines the moon through floor to ceiling windows, and above you he looms.
He’s shirtless- wait- fully nude, clothes discarded all across the floor. And currently pounding into you again. For the first time you see his broad shoulders, bunched up muscles, toned arms, toned chest, ridged six pack. His head is lowered, not looking at your face but your body, his body, the point where you both are joined. His quick, even breaths hit your stomach. You notice it’s warm, his breath. You close your eyes and shiver.
Your eyes slowly travel back up to the ceiling and your brain slowly registers this must be his apartment. You brush it aside, uncaring. For now you just want to sleep, need to sleep, body screams for it after blacking out in the alley. Your eyes open and close heavily, the past few hours a blur.
Just before they close one final time he happens to lift his head and catch your eyes. For a moment he blinks and there is no lust in them but concern. Concern, guilt, and...hurt and sadness? But then his face is expressionless, watching you until the last moment your eyes close and sink back into sleep, letting the movements continue. You faintly feel a pair of lips gently pressing against your own.
The second time you wake up your head is much clearer. Lying on your back in the bed, sheets still bunched up to your left. The warmth of the body above you isn’t there, but now warmth comes from your right.
You slowly turn your head and jolt, noticing it’s him next to you. He’s sitting up and leaning against the headboard smoking a cigarette, entirely nude. Tendrils of smoke weave through the air as he exhales facing away from the bed, away from you.
His eyes search the city below as if looking for an answer to his questioning gaze. He wears a painful expression on his face, one of hurt and distress. You almost go to reach up and caress his cheek, will his worries away but are reminded of what he’s done to you. You gaze at his profile some more, noticing how handsome he really is, a quiet sort of pensive air around him, really nothing like the sort of man he proved to be back in the alley- forceful, rough.
He lets out a sigh, brings the cigarette to his lips again as his eyes mist over, thinking about something. What was the story behind that look? A lost love? An unrequited one?
Soon though, he checks from the corner of his eyes to see if you’re awake. Seeing you are, his gaze and features harden. Gone is the soft look on his face. Your eyes widen, scared at the sudden change again. What just happened to the fragility moments ago?
He parts his lips and clenches his teeth, speaking in a low voice, “Go back to sleep again unless you want me to fuck you senseless.”
You wince and your look turns to one of hurt as you immediately turn around. Back facing him, your arms wrap around your body, shivering.
In your sleep you weep silent tears and feel foreign fingers wipe them away, gently. Someone spoons you from behind and you feel warm again, unconsciously relaxing into the hold.
Finally it’s morning. You wake up to an empty bed, thank God. You sit up, stretch and notice for the first time that your voice is hoarse and ragged as you try to clear your throat. You’re parched with thirst.
You look around the room for your dress and shoes but notice they’re nowhere to be found. Instead, his clothes rest neatly on a padded armchair in a corner of the room, by the windows. Judging from the way the sun beamed into the room it was late morning, only a few hours to midday.
Soft padding feet reach the room and you quickly reach over and grab the sheets to hide your body. Exposing yourself at night in the dark is one thing, but here in broad daylight...He walks in wearing only a towel, hair wet and fresh from the shower. His eyes make contact with your own for a moment but he looks away, walks to the other end of the room. Again that mask is in place, face not showing anything.
You say nothing but wince to yourself when you try to clear your throat again and hear how raspy it sounds. He jerks his head to the side, looking at you from his peripheral vision.
“I already called room service to bring in food and drink” he says. “It’s about time for breakfast anyway.”
Your eyes widen, heart confused. How should you feel about this? Did he actually think about you for a moment there? Was he human after all, even after what he did? Well, at least he wasn’t trying to jump you right now...this was a rather surprising morning-after.
He faces one bare wall and pulls a handle- immediately a clothes rack pulls out of the wall. Your eyes widen. Clearly he must not be the average poor man. He looks through the selection and picks a pair of sweat pants and a shirt. Then on second thought, he takes another set of clothing and flings them onto the bed.
“These are for later...”
“...l-l-later?”
He smiles wryly. “You can’t exactly waltz out the door in those sheets can you?”
You make a face and look away. You fail to see the look in his eyes that he realized he indirectly hurt you.
The doorbell rings and he goes to answer it. Minutes later he comes back in with a tray of fruit. Your mouth nearly waters and you groan, needing to eat. There is only one glass of water though.
He sits down at the foot of the bed, placing the tray next to him. You sit up and lean forwards, trying to move to him.
“No. You stay there,” he orders. Without asking, you obey immediately. God knows what he’d do if you refused.
Your eyes follow the movement of each piece of fruit from his mouth down his throat, from mouth to throat. You whine, wishing he would stop already and share.
A sideways glance and a smirk is his reaction. He crooks a finger, motioning for you to move a little closer. You shift a bit, sheets falling to pool around your waist but you don’t care right now. Damn it, the food looks so tempting. You lean forward, mouth open, waiting.
He takes a piece of the pineapple and puts it in his own mouth, eyes glinting at you mockingly. He’s just going to starve you, flaunt his breakfast in your face. Just as you sigh and make to move back and sit on your legs, he moves forward and kisses you. As one of his hands cups the back of your neck roughly, he parts your lips with his tongue and before you know it, shoves the pineapple into your mouth.
Surprised, you let out a gasp and nearly choke as the fruit almost goes down your throat. You try to push the food out of your mouth to breathe but his tongue is in your mouth again, traveling over your teeth, pushing the pineapple against the roof of your mouth.
He pulls away as your hand immediately flies to your mouth- coughing and trying to breathe properly. As you chew on the food, he smiles a strange smile not seen before- eyebrow arched up, mismatched eyes crinkled in amusement. You only stare back as you finally swallow and clear your throat. The raspiness is gone.
You reach a hand out to the platter for more but he slaps it away. “No, you don’t touch. I feed you.”
Your eyes widen and you force down a swallow as you wonder what on earth- But he grabs you again and forces something else into your mouth. You bite it, taste it as he sucks on your lower lip the whole time. This time it was a grape. He does this a few more times before your lips are wet and red.
Looking down at you he says, “I think we’re thirsty now, call for some water?” And he takes a huge swig from the glass, leans over, and transfers it into your mouth. Not slowly, a trickling flow but the entire mouthful, leaving no room to breathe or adjust. You cough and sputter, a trail of water rapidly trickles from the corner of your mouth down your jaw and neck. He pulls away and licks up the water, lapping at the trail as you flinched at the touches. You’re panting and gasping.
His hands go to grab your wrists gently at first then harder. His body presses yours backwards until you fall on your back. He continues nipping along your shoulders, traveling down to your chest, then your stomach as you shivered. Then he pulls away and looks at you, eyes boring deep. You look back with eyes wide, scared, confused. Everything stills for a moment.
He swallow, hard so you can see the movement along his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. With a small noise he makes a face, pushes off of you and into a sitting position, head in his hands.
“I can’t do this anymore...” he mutters softly to himself.
What? ...the solitary image of him sitting in bed last night reenters your mind...alone, pensive, sad. Before you know it you’re sitting up and one hand stretches out towards his back. Your fingertips barely brush against his shoulder when he flinches and snaps around. He lets out a shaky breath before he sets his jaw and says in a flat tone, “Get out. Get out of here I’ve seen enough of your ugly face.”
Your eyes widen and your mouth parts in silent shock. He turns back around, refusing to meet your eyes, his head in his hands again. You stare at his bare back, wondering. Do you leave now? After all, he’s given you permission, had his way with you, practically treated you like a whore- hurt you, treated you roughly. You have every reason to hate this man and damn him to hell yet...yet why does a part of him scream pain and why do you want to learn more of his conflicting feelings, the story behind all this?
Taking a deep breath you crawl over to him, facing him and straddling his legs. His head flies up and the look of surprise on his face is indescribable. You swallow. Choose your words carefully.
“No...no I am not going to leave. Because...because I want to stay with you.”
To your ears, it sounds foolish and repetitive but for the first time, his eyes widen with no malice or hidden intent in them. He stares at you for a while then looks away, biting his lip until the skin breaks and it bleeds.
You lean over and kiss the spot, lick the blood away. He brings a hand to his eyes, trying to cover them, trying to prevent himself from breaking down.
“No...no you’re just like the rest of them. Only for the money, always for the money. Get close to me only to leave. Like she did.”
“I’m not her...I’m me” you slowly take away his hand and look at his red eyes. “And I will never leave.”
He draws in a shaky breath and exhales long and slow. Slowly, tentatively he eyes your lips and inches forward as if asking permission. You smile and lean forward, silently communicating to go ahead.
He kisses you softly, slowly, as if there is all the time in the world.
Pairing: Changmin/fc
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Changmin’s one cruel bastard...but is it all just a mask, a disguise?
A/N: Second person, so you are the fc~
I want to be in your mouth
Between your legs
Parting your thighs
Making you beg
In me through me
Around me touch me
Lick me squeeze me
Bite me teasing me
(je l'ai écrit)
It was an entire night of teasing glances slowly turning to intense, passionate looks, raising the temperature within the room. A drink on him- “Changmin” was his name- a dance or two, a moment in a dark corner. By now things were finally getting somewhere.
You shudder as he breathes kisses against your jaw, down your neck, past your collarbone. When he pulls your hand you willingly follow him out the door past the hall, down the alley. You continue where you left off- hands travel up and down your thighs and waist as his tongue licks your lips and dominates your mouth.
He pushes you against a wall and nudges his knee between your legs- you barely notice. His fingers travel up and down your back teasingly, purposefully getting tangled in the rips of your dress which frame your back all the way from shoulder blades to tailbone, skin peeking through, tempting.
His fist closes around some of the fabric and yanks. He manages to stretch the fabric a bit further, widening the horizontal rips. He turns his attention elsewhere- lifting both your hands from where they rest on his shoulders, raising them high above your head, pinning them firmly with one hand, long slender fingers. The other hand travels slowly down your back to cup the back of one bare thigh and lift it on his hip.
What you don’t expect is the sudden break in the kiss as he pulls back and presses a handkerchief to your mouth, tying it tight. He whisks off his tie and uses it to bind your hands, palms together.
Your eyes fly open. No romance now. Why binding, the gag? What foreplay is this, out in an alley? What the hell is going on? Oh my god...is he a sick person in gentleman’s clothing?
Screams, yells, all throaty moans behind the gag. The hand at your thigh has now worked its way up your dress, fingering your panty.
His grin is sinister, eyes dark as he smiles viciously, in no way romantic or sexy but predatory, dangerous.
“You asked for this...now take it.”
You shudder, eyes wide open. With one swift yank your panty tears and he flings it somewhere behind him in the dark. He backs away a bit, uses his hand to pull you towards him, leaving room between your back and the wall.
You feel something cool and sharp at the nape of your neck. A razor. You jerk in his hold as he whispers a warning about keeping your pretty face in one piece.
The strips of fabric holding the back of your dress slowly come apart as he works his way from shoulders to the base of your spine. Your muffled noises and shouting go up a notch as he lifts his eyes to yours and in dead serious tone goes, “I said shut up.”
You stare back at him silent, afraid he’s going to backhand you (as if that’s the least of your problems). By now the back of your dress is completely open and just a simple movement of leaning forward will make it fall off your body, exposing you from the waist up. The razor gleams a few feet away, discarded. The hand is back at your knee, rubbing circles as it gets higher and closer to your body. You try to fight down your increasing heart rate, anxious and wondering what his next move would be.
Without warning two fingers enter you painfully. You let out a shrill yell, knees weaken and eyes swim but you can’t collapse from the firm grip he keeps on your hands, high above your head.
Your arms and shoulders hurt. You hiccup, tears trickling down your cheeks as he leans in close and licks them, whispering, “Be grateful I’m even prepping you.”
You flick your head to the side, don’t want to hear that voice anymore or look at that face. Who knew such looks revealed what was underneath? Such a monster...
The fingers are gone and his hand hoists your dress up past one thigh, revealing your body to see what he’s doing. You don’t dare look down or at him but keep your gaze planted up- up past his face, his blazing eyes, up past his hair, the broken lamppost to the dark sky overhead.
Occasional gasps wrack your body as your eyes squeeze shut to stop the tears. He kisses them from your cheeks, lips feathery soft on your skin. Then the feeling of something bigger than two or three fingers enters you slowly, spreading you apart thick, wide, long.
Your breathing speeds up. One swift thrust and he’s in you to the hilt, body pressing against body. A scream tears the back of your throat but past the gag it doesn’t sound like anything more than a shrill trill.
He starts moving and you keep screaming, the cries coming from deep within your throat unrestrained. He bites and sucks at your collarbone, shoulders, leaving marks all over. The dress starts slipping off your shoulders from the rocking, revealing more skin for him to mark, making him speed up, more excited. If he wasn’t pressed up so tightly against you, the dress would have already fallen around your waist.
The hand not holding up your arms goes to roughly lift one thigh and wrap it around his waist, increasing the friction. A low moan sounds at the back of his throat; you can barely hear it. You lower your head from the skies, tired and long past caring. Let him have his way and be done with it.
His face is buried in your shoulder, his hair brushing against your cheek. You smell his cologne and note somewhere in the back of your mind the scent still drives you crazy. He shifts and pulls back a bit and you see eyes shut in concentration, a flash of his teeth biting down on his lower lip. Even with all that’s going on, you zero in on that action and find it irresistibly sexy. His hand slides up and down your thigh, ignoring your back which was now being rubbed raw.
You start to get tired- your upper body sore from long ago. The long, slender fingers encased around your wrists comes down, letting your bound hands fall weakly to his chest. His hand goes lower, wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer to him.
Your bound hands rest against your two bodies, grabbing his shirts in fistfuls, wrinkling it. You tug, you pull. He doesn’t notice. The pace speeds up and his breaths against your neck quicken until suddenly there’s a pause and his breath hitches.
You scream with renewed horror and disgust as you feel something pool inside your body again and again, feel it seep down your thighs. You beat your hands against his chest, trying to push him away. He looks at you annoyed.
“Haven’t you screamed enough already? Shut up.”
With that he places his hand over your covered mouth, blocking your nose as well. Your eyes widen and your movements become frantic- hands pushing at him as you can’t get enough oxygen.
He doesn’t notice- eyes closed, head down, he picks up the pace once again, easily moving inside you now that he’s come once. You barely notice the movement or the pleasure of him moving inside you but the searing pain of not getting enough oxygen to your lungs. The last thing you notice is blackness setting in as his motions still go on rhythmically, your heartbeat echoing in your ears. . .
When you come to it feels as if you’re floating on a cloud. A cloud rocking rhythmically. Up and down, up and down, to and fro. With a foggy mind you realize you’re on a bed, in an unfamiliar room with a high ceiling. The tie binding your hands is gone, the handkerchief too. And so is your dress, or whatever remained of it. You’re laying on your back, hands spread across the mattress on either side of you.
You feel sheets at your side- bunched up and thrown aside carelessly as if a bother. To the right shines the moon through floor to ceiling windows, and above you he looms.
He’s shirtless- wait- fully nude, clothes discarded all across the floor. And currently pounding into you again. For the first time you see his broad shoulders, bunched up muscles, toned arms, toned chest, ridged six pack. His head is lowered, not looking at your face but your body, his body, the point where you both are joined. His quick, even breaths hit your stomach. You notice it’s warm, his breath. You close your eyes and shiver.
Your eyes slowly travel back up to the ceiling and your brain slowly registers this must be his apartment. You brush it aside, uncaring. For now you just want to sleep, need to sleep, body screams for it after blacking out in the alley. Your eyes open and close heavily, the past few hours a blur.
Just before they close one final time he happens to lift his head and catch your eyes. For a moment he blinks and there is no lust in them but concern. Concern, guilt, and...hurt and sadness? But then his face is expressionless, watching you until the last moment your eyes close and sink back into sleep, letting the movements continue. You faintly feel a pair of lips gently pressing against your own.
The second time you wake up your head is much clearer. Lying on your back in the bed, sheets still bunched up to your left. The warmth of the body above you isn’t there, but now warmth comes from your right.
You slowly turn your head and jolt, noticing it’s him next to you. He’s sitting up and leaning against the headboard smoking a cigarette, entirely nude. Tendrils of smoke weave through the air as he exhales facing away from the bed, away from you.
His eyes search the city below as if looking for an answer to his questioning gaze. He wears a painful expression on his face, one of hurt and distress. You almost go to reach up and caress his cheek, will his worries away but are reminded of what he’s done to you. You gaze at his profile some more, noticing how handsome he really is, a quiet sort of pensive air around him, really nothing like the sort of man he proved to be back in the alley- forceful, rough.
He lets out a sigh, brings the cigarette to his lips again as his eyes mist over, thinking about something. What was the story behind that look? A lost love? An unrequited one?
Soon though, he checks from the corner of his eyes to see if you’re awake. Seeing you are, his gaze and features harden. Gone is the soft look on his face. Your eyes widen, scared at the sudden change again. What just happened to the fragility moments ago?
He parts his lips and clenches his teeth, speaking in a low voice, “Go back to sleep again unless you want me to fuck you senseless.”
You wince and your look turns to one of hurt as you immediately turn around. Back facing him, your arms wrap around your body, shivering.
In your sleep you weep silent tears and feel foreign fingers wipe them away, gently. Someone spoons you from behind and you feel warm again, unconsciously relaxing into the hold.
Finally it’s morning. You wake up to an empty bed, thank God. You sit up, stretch and notice for the first time that your voice is hoarse and ragged as you try to clear your throat. You’re parched with thirst.
You look around the room for your dress and shoes but notice they’re nowhere to be found. Instead, his clothes rest neatly on a padded armchair in a corner of the room, by the windows. Judging from the way the sun beamed into the room it was late morning, only a few hours to midday.
Soft padding feet reach the room and you quickly reach over and grab the sheets to hide your body. Exposing yourself at night in the dark is one thing, but here in broad daylight...He walks in wearing only a towel, hair wet and fresh from the shower. His eyes make contact with your own for a moment but he looks away, walks to the other end of the room. Again that mask is in place, face not showing anything.
You say nothing but wince to yourself when you try to clear your throat again and hear how raspy it sounds. He jerks his head to the side, looking at you from his peripheral vision.
“I already called room service to bring in food and drink” he says. “It’s about time for breakfast anyway.”
Your eyes widen, heart confused. How should you feel about this? Did he actually think about you for a moment there? Was he human after all, even after what he did? Well, at least he wasn’t trying to jump you right now...this was a rather surprising morning-after.
He faces one bare wall and pulls a handle- immediately a clothes rack pulls out of the wall. Your eyes widen. Clearly he must not be the average poor man. He looks through the selection and picks a pair of sweat pants and a shirt. Then on second thought, he takes another set of clothing and flings them onto the bed.
“These are for later...”
“...l-l-later?”
He smiles wryly. “You can’t exactly waltz out the door in those sheets can you?”
You make a face and look away. You fail to see the look in his eyes that he realized he indirectly hurt you.
The doorbell rings and he goes to answer it. Minutes later he comes back in with a tray of fruit. Your mouth nearly waters and you groan, needing to eat. There is only one glass of water though.
He sits down at the foot of the bed, placing the tray next to him. You sit up and lean forwards, trying to move to him.
“No. You stay there,” he orders. Without asking, you obey immediately. God knows what he’d do if you refused.
Your eyes follow the movement of each piece of fruit from his mouth down his throat, from mouth to throat. You whine, wishing he would stop already and share.
A sideways glance and a smirk is his reaction. He crooks a finger, motioning for you to move a little closer. You shift a bit, sheets falling to pool around your waist but you don’t care right now. Damn it, the food looks so tempting. You lean forward, mouth open, waiting.
He takes a piece of the pineapple and puts it in his own mouth, eyes glinting at you mockingly. He’s just going to starve you, flaunt his breakfast in your face. Just as you sigh and make to move back and sit on your legs, he moves forward and kisses you. As one of his hands cups the back of your neck roughly, he parts your lips with his tongue and before you know it, shoves the pineapple into your mouth.
Surprised, you let out a gasp and nearly choke as the fruit almost goes down your throat. You try to push the food out of your mouth to breathe but his tongue is in your mouth again, traveling over your teeth, pushing the pineapple against the roof of your mouth.
He pulls away as your hand immediately flies to your mouth- coughing and trying to breathe properly. As you chew on the food, he smiles a strange smile not seen before- eyebrow arched up, mismatched eyes crinkled in amusement. You only stare back as you finally swallow and clear your throat. The raspiness is gone.
You reach a hand out to the platter for more but he slaps it away. “No, you don’t touch. I feed you.”
Your eyes widen and you force down a swallow as you wonder what on earth- But he grabs you again and forces something else into your mouth. You bite it, taste it as he sucks on your lower lip the whole time. This time it was a grape. He does this a few more times before your lips are wet and red.
Looking down at you he says, “I think we’re thirsty now, call for some water?” And he takes a huge swig from the glass, leans over, and transfers it into your mouth. Not slowly, a trickling flow but the entire mouthful, leaving no room to breathe or adjust. You cough and sputter, a trail of water rapidly trickles from the corner of your mouth down your jaw and neck. He pulls away and licks up the water, lapping at the trail as you flinched at the touches. You’re panting and gasping.
His hands go to grab your wrists gently at first then harder. His body presses yours backwards until you fall on your back. He continues nipping along your shoulders, traveling down to your chest, then your stomach as you shivered. Then he pulls away and looks at you, eyes boring deep. You look back with eyes wide, scared, confused. Everything stills for a moment.
He swallow, hard so you can see the movement along his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. With a small noise he makes a face, pushes off of you and into a sitting position, head in his hands.
“I can’t do this anymore...” he mutters softly to himself.
What? ...the solitary image of him sitting in bed last night reenters your mind...alone, pensive, sad. Before you know it you’re sitting up and one hand stretches out towards his back. Your fingertips barely brush against his shoulder when he flinches and snaps around. He lets out a shaky breath before he sets his jaw and says in a flat tone, “Get out. Get out of here I’ve seen enough of your ugly face.”
Your eyes widen and your mouth parts in silent shock. He turns back around, refusing to meet your eyes, his head in his hands again. You stare at his bare back, wondering. Do you leave now? After all, he’s given you permission, had his way with you, practically treated you like a whore- hurt you, treated you roughly. You have every reason to hate this man and damn him to hell yet...yet why does a part of him scream pain and why do you want to learn more of his conflicting feelings, the story behind all this?
Taking a deep breath you crawl over to him, facing him and straddling his legs. His head flies up and the look of surprise on his face is indescribable. You swallow. Choose your words carefully.
“No...no I am not going to leave. Because...because I want to stay with you.”
To your ears, it sounds foolish and repetitive but for the first time, his eyes widen with no malice or hidden intent in them. He stares at you for a while then looks away, biting his lip until the skin breaks and it bleeds.
You lean over and kiss the spot, lick the blood away. He brings a hand to his eyes, trying to cover them, trying to prevent himself from breaking down.
“No...no you’re just like the rest of them. Only for the money, always for the money. Get close to me only to leave. Like she did.”
“I’m not her...I’m me” you slowly take away his hand and look at his red eyes. “And I will never leave.”
He draws in a shaky breath and exhales long and slow. Slowly, tentatively he eyes your lips and inches forward as if asking permission. You smile and lean forward, silently communicating to go ahead.
He kisses you softly, slowly, as if there is all the time in the world.