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Dave is rough with you, in a way that nobody else is ever rough with you, ever was able to be rough with you. He pulls your hair and slams you against the wall, kissing you desperately, viciously, with years of pent up fury and fear and need behind it, and it leaves you dizzy and breathless, gasping against his mouth as he grinds his thigh into your crotch and makes you moan for more. Your name is Dirk Strider and you’ve surrendered control of the situation, and for once you’re alright with that.
Your hands grip his shoulders, trembling, your lips bruised and hanging open while he plunges his tongue past your teeth and maps out the interior of your mouth with it; rather, though, not so much mapping as conquering, and you don’t have it in you right just then to resist. You’re touch-starved and just as desperate for this as he is; you need this as much as he does. He bites your lower lip and you moan again. “Fuck, Dave,”
“Shut the fuck up.” He growls, punctuates the growl with another hard rut against you. The sound dies in your throat. His tone stings more than you thought it would, like a sudden whip crack, but you’re eager for it; you grind back against him and suck on his tongue as he lets go of your hair only to close a hand around your throat (his hand shakes, you know he half-expects to feel blood under his palm, flesh sliding away). He squeezes gently and you growl back until he squeezes harder, until you can only just breathe. You whine when he pulls back from the kiss, but the whine dies too, replaced by a gasp when he slaps you hard across the face.
“I said shut the fuck up.” He hisses into your ear, and you can feel his shoulders shaking, his voice cracking despite his tone. You let go of one shoulder, feel up the back of his head to stroke his hair and tap against his neck twice (keep going, it’s okay, you’re doing fine) and he nods once and resumes. He reaches between the two of you and undoes your pants, slides a hand into your underwear. You shiver as he bites your ear.
You’re hard and aching before his fingers meet your cock, and when they do you suck in a wheezing breath as he closes them around it and pulls it out of your clothes. He’s still choking you so you can’t say a word, can’t beg no matter how much you want to beg like a gibbering slut, but you can move against him, try to rut into his hand while he keeps his grip too loose for you to get any proper traction. He grinds against your hip and you revel in it, in being used without getting off yourself.
You turn your head and try to kiss him, but he takes control and bites you again, hard enough that you’re sure there’ll be a mark to lick and prod at later (he always tells you that you shouldn’t, you masochist). His grip on your cock goes firmer and you groan into his mouth, stilling your hips as he drags his thumbnail across the top of the head, makes your back arch in a tense, trembling curve. His kiss turns gentle for just a moment as he sucks on your lower lip and drags his tongue across the bite mark before he lets go of your cock, releases your neck in the same instant and leaves you gasping for air.
“Dave,” You wheeze, you’re ready to apologize for messing up the scene, but he slaps you again and you know you’re still in the game. You calm down immediately, groan again until he pulls your hair and drags your head back to bite into your neck.
“You just can’t shut up, can you?” His tone hits you right in the gut, makes something clench hotly in your chest and spread the heat across your whole body. His mouth never leaves your skin. “Or I guess maybe you like being slapped around like a two-penny whore with too much attitude. Is that it, Dirk? Are you telling me you want to be slapped around like some cheap, mouthy slut?” He slides a warm, callused hand up your shirt, tweaks one of your nipples hard enough to make you gasp. “Answer me, bro; don’t leave me hanging now that I’m actually giving you the permission to speak up.”
“Yes,” You breathe, a wet, ragged noise, your hips canting up against nothing as you try to get some friction to your cock. “Yes, yes, yes, to everything you just said, fuck, fuck me, please.”
He makes a groan that matches yours in the back of his throat and you know you’ve hit the mark with your begging when his lips pop off your neck and he forces you to your knees. You look up at him, mouth open as you pant like a dog while he grips your hair with one hand and shoves his pants down with the other. His cock is pretty much the same as yours, but it looks a lot bigger from this angle, feels a lot bigger when he drags the tip across your bruised lips.
“Show me how much you want it, then.” He says, his voice gone husky and low. He licks his lips. “Come on, suck.”
His fingers go slack in your hair and you don’t need to be told twice. You lean forward and mouth at the tip, bypass it and start slurping your way up the sides. He moans above you, murmuring something you can’t hear over the rushing in your head as you take the tip between your lips and suck, tonguing the slit.
As tempting as it is to touch your own cock, you know you haven’t earned the right yet, so you spread your legs to alleviate the pressure just a little, give him a nice view of you all needy and eager to please. You place your hands behind your back and grip your wrist as he rolls his hips forward, testing the give of your mouth, and you encourage him further in with a swirl of the tongue. He sighs, heady, low, pleased. “Fuck, Dirk…”
You glance up at him and suck harder, making him choke on another moan before you take him deeper. Your lips wrap tight around the shaft, your tongue grinding into the thick vein on the underside in a way that you know from experience he can’t resist. Both hands are in your hair now, but he only grips your hair for support, lets you control the pace because he already knows you’ll do what he wants. The thought makes you moan, too, the sound of it vibrating down his cock and he swears again. “God fucking damn you really know how to treat a cock, don’t you? ‘S not fair how nice your mouth feels, holy shit, I’m doing my level best to keep calm here with you facefucking yourself on me.”
His thumbs brush over your temples as he re-angles his hands, and you’d think the soothing gesture was funny if you weren’t too busy being so horny you’re out of your goddamn mind. You close your eyes and moan again, taking him deeper until you feel the blunt tip of his cock at the beginning of your throat. His breath hitches when you bump it into the narrow curve so you do it again, bouncing on and off his cock in short little bursts that always end in him bumping your tonsils. It makes you gag softly but never really pushes further than that, and it’s worth it for the sounds he makes. He pants, whines, his hips moving with you like he wants to stay in your mouth as long as possible.
“Dirk, Dirk, holy shit, slow down a little I need to breathe,” The irony of the statement isn’t lost on you, and you’re tempted to up the intensity a little to see if he really will blow so quickly, but you slow down instead. Your lips leave his cock with a downright pornographic noise, still connected to the tip with a string of spit and precum. You glance up at him and he groans when you snap the thread with your tongue. “Goddamn, you are killing me over here.”
You drag your tongue up the underside again just to feel him shudder, underlining how much you both want it, and he pulls you off by the hair. It’s a testament to how horny you are that you don’t snap at him for messing it up, shudder with pleasure-pain instead. Something drops on your leg and you don’t have to look to know that it’s a packet of lube.
“Alright. Okay.” He takes a couple of deep breaths, runs his fingers through his hair. “Get yourself ready for me; I need to calm down a bit anyway.” He’s already stepping away from you, giving you space so he can see you better. You want him close, but hey, you’ll deal. The temptation to climb him like a tree can be ignored for now.
You awkwardly work your pants down your hips and you think it makes you look stupid but it seems to have the intended effect for him, judging by the noise he makes. It’s definitely got the right effect on you when you tear open the lube with your teeth; some of it squirts on your lips and you’re momentarily glad that he gets the bland kind because worrying about the ingredients would be really unsexy right just now. You swipe the stuff off your mouth with two fingers and squeeze half the packet on before spreading your legs and reaching down behind yourself. You think the way it makes your back arch is probably pretty enticing, if nothing else.
He licks his lower lip, slowly, achingly slowly, something hungry and impatient in the way you know he’s watching you move. You push the first finger in with a shivering breath and tilt your head back so you can’t see his face as you bare your throat, but you can hear his breath hitch behind it. You put on your best porn face as you finger yourself with slow, shallow thrusts, your cock still hard and leaking with every moment. You feel around for a moment until you find your sweet spot and then the porn noise is real, you press down hard and slide your finger out only to push in with two.
“Damn,” You hear him whisper to himself. You glance down to his hands, make note that he’s not touching himself but his cock is just as hard as yours, and you lick your own lips slowly, let your tongue trace the upper curve before you drag your teeth over the lower one and fix your eyes on his over the rim of your shades. Your fingers are starting to get a little dry, you think, so you keep your eyes on his while you squirt more lube on them, three this time, and push them in as far as you can with a throaty groan.
It hurts a little, a dull ache in your joints where you’re bent oddly and the burning in the muscles you’re stretching that shouldn’t really be stretched, but you hardly care because Dave is eyeing you like he wants to memorize the sight. You’re shaking a little when you push your fingers a little deeper, but then you curl them just right into that spot that makes your whole body tighten up and you hardly care. You bounce on your thighs a little, gyrate your hips, anything to try and get more pressure to that spot but mostly you just make your wrist hurt. Your cock feels just shy of painful but you can’t spare a hand to touch it, using the one not three fingers deep in you to keep your balance.
You breathe. Sweat is starting to trickle down your spine and when you spread your fingers you can’t help the whine in the back of your throat. It’s only a little while longer before Dave finally gets up and takes hold of your wrist, slowly easing your fingers out of you as he kisses you again, his tongue tangled in yours. You hear the crinkle of a condom packet and take it from his shaky fingers, peel it open and press the unwrapped condom into his palm.
“Come on, Dave, I think I’ve waited long enough.” You murmur into his mouth and it’s your turn to pull away. You don’t watch as he rolls it on but only because you’re getting your pants around your knees and turning around, presenting your ass to him. It’s an incredibly vulnerable position, one you wouldn’t take very often if you can help it. It’s different with him, with the way he runs his hands over your hips, your thighs, squeezes the cheeks of your ass before pushing them apart.
“Ready?” He murmurs. You nod. He presses just the tip of his cock to your hole and stays there; it’s not anywhere near enough and he knows it, but he holds your hips in place when you try to push back. “Come on, bro, you’ve gotta say it before I do anything.”
“Just fuck me, Dave.” You growl. The end of the sound curls off into a choked moan when he pushes in partway, and you just go on, urging him deeper, harder, “fuck, please, please, I need this, Dave, Dave,”
You’re breathless soon enough, a panting, moaning mess while he’s mostly heavy breathing and hissed swearing above you. He’s so warm you almost can’t stand it, almost can’t stand all the places you two make contact after so many years of only yourself; it’s too much at once and yet you can’t get enough, so you claw at the carpet until the tips of your fingers are red and blistered and beg him to fuck you harder.
“Going as, fuck, nnnghfuck, going as hard as I can,” His fingers bruise your hips and you want to scream because it’s still not quite enough to push you over the edge, but you’re so close, you’re so close you feel like it’s going to crush you. You arch your back and he hits a spot that makes your eyesight fuzz and sparks pop in your brain like a short circuit. You grind down on his cock like your life depends on it and he reaches around to grab hold of your cock.
It hurts when he strokes you, but it hurts in a way that makes you unsure of where you should be moving, into his hand or against his cock. The burn from behind is bordering on the wrong kind of pain but with the way he grips you it pushes you closer and closer towards the edge. You groan in your throat and roll your hips in tight little circles, practically bouncing against his thighs until he near collapses on you, mouthing at your shoulder with murmurs of your name.
“I’m gonna come,” He gasps. “Fuck, fuck, I’m gonna come, Dirk, I’m gonna ffuck,” He bites down hard on your shoulder, and the sound you make is inhuman, but your whole body tightens up and you spurt across his fingers in turn, clutching the carpet so hard that you’re sure you’ve scraped your fingers raw on it. You don’t care. You can hardly breathe, your mind just blanks out entirely on even the most basic of semi-voluntary actions. You’re done.
It’s over with surprisingly little fanfare.
The both of you lay there, Dave on top of you and nuzzling his cheek on the back of your neck, you with your cheek pressed to the floor as you try to get your pulse back to normal. You’re sticky and sweaty and the summer heat is bearing down worse than ever, but you’re boneless and content. He pulls out and you hear him peel off the used condom, probably tying it off and tossing it in the trash.
“You good?” He asks, rubbing your shoulders. “Hey, Dirk, still with me? You still good?”
“Yeah,” You breathe, glancing up at him. “Yeah, I’m still good.”
“Okay.” He says. He helps you up- you don’t think you could stand without help after that- and he guides you to the couch where he helps you lie on your front and gets you a glass of water and a straw. The stain on the floor can wait, you think, as he cuddles up against you and kisses your cheek. Right now the two of you need to come down from that, need to slowly put yourselves back together after all that bashing around. The affection is just as much part of the scene as the roughness.
“You good?” You ask him.
“Yeah,” He says. “Yeah, I’m still good.”
You feel around for the remote and turn on the late night news, and the two of you fall asleep like that, half naked and gross and warm.