And I mean it: this is rough.

that black

I need this.

***

You knew what he was asking, demanding, begging of you before he pressed his lips to yours in a rough kiss. You knew what he wanted. He wanted you, he needed you and who were you to deny him anything? You never could even when it meant denying yourself happiness or in this case, denying yourself your will. He had been holding on for way too long, caught up in a web of dark fantasies and lies, his own mind already predicting how this dirty tryst was going to play itself out. He knew it was wrong. You knew it was wrong. But you did it anyway, aiding him in the removal of clothing, buttons flying across the room and zippers flying down as fingers, palms, hands searched for flesh to caress. You should've stopped him before it got that far but you just weren't yourself that night.

When did you ever play yourself in this sick game?

You let him touch you, feel you, taste you even though you knew what would happen when the sun came up in the morning, you knew so much more about this moment then he did but you didn't care to voice your reluctance because then he was on his knees and your dick was in his mouth and all inhibitions went flying out the window. You let him get on his knees before you and you didn't care. At all. Something inside you twisted and changed and all you wanted to do was to get to that point in time where everything went black and time stood still and you wanted to get there fast and hard and rough. You didn't care if you hurt him in your attempt to reach that place, thrusting hard into his open mouth, moans and grunts filling the air between the two of you and you pushed and pushed and pushed and then you were there and everything was black and frozen and he was clawing at you madly in an attempt to breathe and you only pushed him away and pulled him up for a sloppy kiss that said you were glad for the release. Release from what?

You should have known.

He wanted, needed more but you denied him that release, your fist wrapping in his hair as you told him what you wanted, what you needed. It no longer became something he wanted; he now had no part in this sick twist of a game. Now you had the control and you wanted this night to end your way.

He didn't want to do that but oh, you made him. You fucking made him. You made him strip and you made him lie face down on the bed, naked as the day he was born: a smoothed skinned man trembling as if he was a boy all over again.

You didn't care.

One finger thrust into his unwilling body, adding another even as you ignored his screams and his tears as you forced in another and another. The only thought that made any sense in your jumbled head was the one that echoed the sentiment that at least you were preparing him properly. You thought that he must want it bad because he wasn't trying to get away; at least, he wasn't trying hard enough. Pulling your fingers out, you prepared yourself, once again ignoring the whimpers and the subtle dragging as he tried to slip away from you. You ignored it all, even the pleading scream that flew from his lips as you thrust fully into his unrelaxed, unwilling body.

That moment.

That was all that mattered to you and you had to reach that place and you had to reach it inside his tight, trembling body. You went hard and you went violent, thrusting with abandon as he clutched desperately at the bed sheets beneath him, begging you to stop, begging you to stop hurting him but you didn't. You didn't. You just focused on that moment of perfect black and frozen time and you strived to make it to that place. Fingers dug into skin and bone as you thrust harder and harder and harder as you tore him in two, cleaved him, killed any hope that he had left inside the broken heart he had so steadily repaired. You slaughtered anything that was still alive inside that shaking little body as you pushed and jerked and groaned and thrust until you were there and you swore you saw stars as your own blissful screams filled the room because you had reached that place and it felt so fucking good.