Something I wrote rather spontaneously, just because I found a random blank page in a notebook and challenged myself to fill it out front and back. This is what came out… because apparently I'm just that much of a pervert. Also inspired by pomegranate lip balm.

Warnings: Slash, non-con, sex, irony, general twistedness. Drabble. PWP? Not terribly explicit or pornographic, but enough that I'm somewhat embarrassed to be submitting this.

(Also, the original word count of this was exactly 500 words, if that counts for anything.)


It must be uncomfortable with your back pressed so forcefully against the wall. My grip must be leaving bruises, trophies of my conquests. I can't help myself; it's too easy to trap you like this, too enjoyable. You're too irresistible.

Your face is contorted in pain and fear. It's cute.

I don't want to take my eyes off of you, it's too hard, so I leave them open as our lips crush together. I'm met by resistance and that pomegranate-flavored lip balm.

I love pomegranate. It tastes like you.

Your tongue is aggressive, fiery, seductive. You seem to think it's warding me off, along with your fierce teeth, but it's only luring me in. And don't think I don't hear that obvious moan. You're needy.

I almost want to laugh when I pull away to see you flushed and panting, eyelids droopy with unquestionable lust. You're doing a poor job of convincing me you don't want this.

Those passionate eyes really come alive as my hand fumbles to unfasten your pants.

"N-no, stop!"

Quit squirming, quit objecting; it's not helping your case at all. You're hard.

"Please…"

You should know by now what begging does to me. And in context, you're asking for it.

I wish you could see yourself, the way your body defies every protest your mouth comes up with. And even that part of you gives in eventually, as your vocalizations instead become evidence of your pleasure.

Still tears are rolling down your face, and I think I love you because of them. You look so pretty when you cry.

It doesn't take long for you to lose yourself. You're very responsive.

I pause for a moment, letting you shudder and struggle to catch your breath. You come down, and if the look you give me doesn't define submission, doesn't scream "take me," then I'm a madman.

Well.

A kiss, some shuffling, and a few groans later, I'm fully inside of you. Don't even try to hide it. You love it.

I pound into you with shameless abandon, fueled by your cries and the sensations of your body. You're so tight, so beautiful.

Your face escalates the ecstasy, so innocent yet undeniably dirty; a paradox in its own right, and how breathtaking.

Only you can make me finish so soon, so vocally, you know.

Even after the deed is done, I ride it out, not wanting to lose this perfection. But you grimace, and so I pull out with a laugh and kiss you a last time, decisively.

You look rather broken as I allow you to collapse onto the floor, humiliated, violated. It's stunning.

"Are you leaving?" Your voice is weak but poignant in the satisfying silence.

"Yes."

"… Are you sorry?"

"Of course not."

You cry again, just for me. All I can do is watch in awe of your beauty. I suppose I might stay for a while if you keep doing that.

It's quite unfair, cruel even, the power you have over me.


Don't worry, it's meant to be sardonic. Review?