Notes/Warnings/Disclaimer: This is dark. There is violence and anger and dub-con (dubious consent) sex. I don't want anyone to come back at me crying bawww, okay? Life not always rainbows and butterflies. I had intended to do this more as a direct songfic to "Snuff" by Slipknot, but the connection ended up being tenuous at best, but I'm alright with that. I recommend you listen to that song, just because it's good. I don't own that song or the lyrics from it I snuck in here. I also used a (modified) Stephen King quote, I don't own that either. Finally, I don't own either of these guys. They belong to Vince, themselves and Melina and Maryse, respectively. =] There may or there may not be a part two, it depends on how I feel about it. Okay. Are we all prepared? Have we been suitably warned? I hope so. Now. Go forth, read, and review. I always like to hear when I don't suck. xD

John stretched beneath him on the bed, his shirt discarded to some dark corner shortly after he'd entered the room. His wrists were pinned above his head, the bones grinding in Mike's tight grip. He shut his eyes as Mike nibbled a none-too-gentle path down the side of his neck, biting firmly where neck met shoulder. John groaned and arched his hips, seeking friction, but Mike moved just out of reach, laughing under his breath.

His eyes remained closed as Mike showed similar attention to the other side of his neck, biting down even harder. For a moment he thought that he should warn the other man about leaving marks, but he knew it would be futile. Mike didn't care about the marks he left on John's skin, didn't care about the excuses he would have to make outside of this room.

Mike bit down on John's lower lip and his eyes fluttered open. He raised his head and parted his lips, hoping to entice Mike into kissing him. As the younger man leaned down, and John shut his eyes in anticipation, music blared from the nightstand beside them.

With a muttered curse, Mike released John's wrists and sat up. He grabbed his phone and then rolled his eyes when he saw the name on the call ID.

"Maryse," he said, and reached down, covering John's mouth with his hand. He touched something on the phone, cutting off the chorus of Framing Hanley's "Lollipop" mid-sentence.

"Hey baby," Mike drawled, his voice sickeningly sweet. John could hear Maryse's tinny chattering through the phone, but he couldn't make out what she was saying. Mike was sitting on his thighs, staring intently down at him as he spoke, his cool smirk betraying his cheerful tone.

"Aww, I'm sorry to hear that. Can't you reschedule for another time?" Mike took his hand away from John's lips, fixing him with a warning glare. He switched the phone to his other hand and let his fingertips drift down John's bare stomach, pausing just above the waistline of his jeans.

"Well, why don't you ask one of the Bellas to go with you?" His hand dipped lower, fingers now tracing the ridge of John's cock through the denim. John pressed his lips together in an attempt to keep silent but he couldn't keep his hips from rising to press more firmly into Mike's hand. The hand lingered for a moment, and then moved back up, stroking John's midsection.

"Honey, I don't know what to tell you. You know as well as I do how busy my schedule is. Why don't we…." He trailed off and his lips quirked in annoyance as Maryse interrupted him. John reached for Mike's hand, hoping to direct it back towards his groin, but Mike smacked it away with a sharp crack. He ignored the wounded look on John's face, focusing the best he could on Maryse's latest dilemma.

"Listen, we have a couple more days off coming up, and we'll do something special then, okay?" Mike's voice was gentle and consoling, but the look he fixed on John was cold, cold. He felt his breath wanting to catch under the ice of Mike's eyes.

"Okay, we'll figure it out later. I love you too. Bye babe." He pressed a button and tossed the phone back towards the nightstand. It hit the edge with a clunk before bouncing to the floor.

"Now…" he murmured as he reached for the button on John's jeans. Much to his surprise, however, John pushed his hand away. Mike watched with growing agitation as John sat up, shoving the other man's shoulders.

"John, what the fuck." He moved off of John's legs before he could be pushed to the floor. John ignored him, walking around the bed and searching the floor for his shirt. He kept his back to Mike as he located his discarded shirt on the other side of the room and slipped it on, smoothing out the wrinkles. Mike had enough of this silent treatment. He walked in front of John and grabbed the sides of his chin with a rough hand, making it impossible to not look at him.

"What the fuck is this? You think you're going somewhere?" John grabbed Mike's wrist and pulled the hand away from his face.

"I'm leaving."

"No, you're not." He leaned a shoulder against the wall, his voice bleeding dead certainty.

"Get out of my way, Mike." Without waiting for the other man to move, he pushed past him, walking towards the bedroom door. Mike grabbed his arm above the elbow, his fingers digging into his skin, pulling him backward and then holding him in place.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

John yanked his arm out of the grip and whirled around; Mike was surprised by the anger that flashed in the other man's eyes.

"I'm done. I'm tired of lying to everyone, of trying to balance this… thing with the rest of my life. I'm tired of hearing you lie to Maryse. I'm not doing this half-assed sneaking around bullshit anymore. I lost Melina because of all this. I want something real with you or I'm done."

"Oh, Jesus Christ, John. Not this shit again. Save your fucking breath. How many fucking times have I heard this shit from you? I fucking told you—" Mike could feel his pulse begin to rise; how many fucking times was John going to bring up this relationship shit? Relationships were for pussies who didn't know how to get what they wanted any other way. Or if you needed a good cover.

"I know what you told me. And I'm done, I'm gone."

An unamused grin crossed Mike's face. "Oh, I've heard that line before too."

"I know. But this time I mean it. I walk out that door, and I'm not coming back."

"Fine. Go." He waved a hand dismissively towards the door before crossing his arms over his chest. "Don't let the door hit your ass on the way out."

But John made no move, and for a moment they stood staring at each other; John waiting for Mike to tell him to stay, Mike simply waiting.

"You honestly don't care. Even after all this time." John's eyes, large and deep and soft, seemed to set something off within him, and adrenaline shot through his system in red sparks.

"Quit with that fuckin' puppy dog shit, John. It doesn't suit you," he warned.

"I don't know why—"

"Yes you fuckin' do know why. How many times have I told you? You knew going into this what this was gonna be about." He could feel his head beginning to pound in time with his racing heart. This was not want he wanted to be doing. He wanted to be getting laid, damn it.

"Yes, I know. You made it very clear. But Mike, I—"

Mike was in front of him, shoving him backwards into the wall before he could finish speaking.

"You want to stop right… fucking… there. Or I swear to God, John, I will not be responsible for my actions."

John reached for Mike, not dropping his steady gaze, and very gently laid his fingers on his cheek. His skin was flushed, burning with anger.

"I'm not like you. I can't stand here and pretend that all of this doesn't mean anything to me."

Mike stepped back and John's hand wavered in the air for a moment, then dropped back to his side.

"Get the fuck out of here," Mike spat, turning his head away.

"No."

"What do you mean no?" He turned back towards John, eyes wide and disbelieving. "That was not a fucking suggestion. Do I need to clarify it for you? Get the fuck out or I will beat the shit out of you." He raised his arm and cocked it back. "Say one more wrong thing, John. I dare you."

John was silent, his gaze darting from the fist held over Mike's shoulder to his wild grin. To his eyes, that at first glance were full of a dark, smoldering rage but he thought – or perhaps only wanted to imagine he thought– there might be something else lurking among the depths. Something sane and rational. His gaze darted back and forth. Fist. Eyes. Grin. Fist. Eyes. John closed his own eyes and took a deep breath, knowing he was about to provoke a very dangerous reaction.

His eyes opened again and he met Mike's murky gaze steadily.

"I love you."

Mike's fist arced out and slammed into the side of John's jaw almost before the last word was all the way out of his mouth. The motion had been such a reflex he hadn't even thought before his fist was moving through the air. He had pulled the punch at the last second, but not by much.

John's reached a hand up, cradling the side of his jaw, covering his mouth, his hair curtaining his face. His breathing seemed very loud in the silent room. Mike examined his hand. There was blood on his knuckles. Dull pain started to throb through his hand. He wiggled his fingers. His hand would probably be sore in the morning, but it didn't seem like anything was broken. John raised his head and watched this cursory examination take place. His heart was roaring in his ears, throbbing in his jaw and split lip. As soon as he realized he was being watched, Mike looked up, meeting John's eyes through sweaty strands of hair. Blood oozed from between the other man's fingers and a bright red trail slipped down the back of his hand.

After a moment John moved slowly away from the wall, watching Mike with wide, stricken eyes. Mike let him pass and listened as his footsteps faded off in the direction of the kitchen. After a moment he heard all the familiar sounds of a makeshift icepack; water running, the freezer opening, the clunk and rattle of ice cubes. Mike took a step closer to the wall; a fine spray of blood droplets caught his attention, bright crimson against white paint. He touched the spots lightly with the tips of his fingers, leaving a smudged fingerprint. That had been a hell of a good hit; an absurd sense of pride rose within him, all but drowning out the guilt and horror he otherwise might have felt.

Footsteps alerted him to the fact John had returned. He stood in the bedroom doorway, an old kitchen towel pressed to his jaw and over his mouth, hiding the damage.

"Are you bleeding all over my kitchen towels?"

"Yeah, well, fuck you too," John mumbled, his voice muffled by the icepack. "How the fuck am I going to explain this?"

"I didn't fucking break your jaw, did I? Tell everybody you walked into a door."

"No, but it fuckin' hurts. You split my lip."

"Oh geez, ya baby. There's some codeine in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom if it's that bad."

"Oh, taking pity on me now?" John couldn't help but raise a sarcastic eyebrow.

"No, you fuckin' deserved it, jackass."

John huffed and turned around, this time disappearing into the bathroom, rattling through various pillbottles. Mike sat on the end of the bed, staring blankly ahead and flexing his hand unconsciously. The rage had mostly snuffed out with that one strong hit, although he could still feel it simmering somewhere backward in his bones. All John had to say was another wrong thing. He should have just let him leave in the first place. But then he had to pull that puppy-eyed horseshit and look what happened. He could feel anger pulsing through his veins again at just the thought of it. I love you. Jesus Christ.

He didn't realize John had left the bathroom until he was sitting beside him on the bed. The makeshift icepack was still covering the brunt of the damage, but it was clear that his lower lip was beginning to swell, and in spectacular fashion.

"I fuckin' warned you," Mike muttered, glaring over at John. "I fuckin' told you and you had to push me. You couldn't have left when I told you to go. You ready to leave now?"

"No."

"For fuck's sake, John. Do you want me to break your goddamn nose too?"

"Well, I'd prefer it if you didn't."

Mike snorted in response. "Then you'd better get the fuck out, I make no guarantees."

For a long moment, neither man spoke. Mike stared down at his hands, the blood on his knuckles. The sounds of the city drifted in through the half open window; traffic and sirens and the lives of hundreds of complete strangers passing within scant miles of this increasingly insane situation. John shifted on the bed, readjusted the ice against his mouth, and waited for the slow pulsing ache to fade as the drugs kicked in.

"I meant what I said." That was probably the wrong thing to say. But he'd already said it once, been hit for it, and he wasn't going to back down now. Consequences be damned.

Mike stared at John in wide-eyed, incredulous disbelief. "You really are an idiot. I cannot fucking believe you. You think some stupid little meaningless word is going to change a goddamned thing? It doesn't mean shit, and you know it."

"I don't know why it's so hard for you to accept."

"Please. Love? Love is an excuse. You can do anything you want to anyone, and they'll sit back and take it, because they love you, because they think you love them. Look at you. I could've broke your goddamn jaw and you're still fuckin' here. What's it gonna take?"

John was quiet, opening his mouth to speak and then shutting it. A few minutes went by and it seemed he could not find any defense against Mike's cynical words. Finally he just shook his head slowly and stared down at the carpet beneath his feet.

"You can't change my mind about how I feel."

Although John didn't see it, a cruel grin spread over Mike's face.

"Are you sure about that?" He murmured. In a move so quick John didn't even have time to register it, Mike snatched the icepack away from his face. He threw it sidearm across the room where it hit the wall.. The bloodstained towel thumped to the ground, followed by a splash of ice and water. John's eyes were wide with shock, watching as water dripped down the wall across the room. His attention was suddenly diverted as Mike grabbed him around the nape of his neck, pulling him in and kissing him roughly. His swollen lip pressed against his teeth and he gasped in pain, twisting away from Mike's grip.

"Ow, Mike, Jesus—" He was cut off as Mike pulled him in again, kissing him even harder, if it were possible. He focused on the wound, tonguing the cut and biting down, enjoying John's pain-filled groans. He wove his fingers through John's hair, holding him in place as he mauled his injured lip. John found that his hands had stopped trying to push away and instead latched on the other man's shoulders. He tasted blood as Mike's tongue forcibly parted his lips and thrust into his mouth.

Just as suddenly, Mike pulled back. John's head spun, unable to fully comprehend the situation. He had time to run his tongue over his lips and wince at the sting of an open wound. Then fingers hooked into the hem of his t-shirt and in one forcible move Mike yanked the shirt over his head. He heard it hit the floor beside the bed and then Mike pressed against him, attacking his lips yet again. Warm hands grabbed roughly at him, fingers sinking into his shoulders, his lower back. They pushed him until he was laying back on the bed, Mike's body anchoring him down. The pain in his mouth and jaw were becoming secondary now, heat and desire and lust spiraling through him with every upward thrust of his hips.

The warm weight of Mike's body lifted and John opened his eyes, blinking dumbly. He propped himself up on his elbows as Mike first made quick work of his own shirt and then fumbled with John's jeans, yanking them off. John slid further back on the bed and watched as Mike tugged his own jeans off. He licked his lips, not even noticing the sting. Mike paused and watched with a smirk as one of John's hands stole down and wrapped around his cock, stroking slowly. He enjoyed the sight for a moment before joining John on the bed, hovering over his body, allowing him a few moments of pleasure.

"Enough of that," he muttered and grabbed both of John's wrists in hand, pinning them to the bed. John tilted his head back to look at his bound hands and then back up at Mike, a slight smile on his face.

"This seems familiar," he said softly.

"Shut the fuck up." His tone was equally matched to John's; quiet and unemotional, yet it hit him like a slap. His eyes widened and he pulled against Mike's grip. Mike held on tighter and smirked down at John. A cold chill trickled up John's spine; something was wrong here.

"You're not going anywhere. You should have left when I told you to leave. But no. You stayed. And now you're going to see exactly what love gets you."

"Mike," John warned feebly, still struggling. His heart was beginning to pound.

"Sorry John," Mike whispered. "It's too late now." For a moment he almost did seem sorrowful, biting the side of his lip as he looked down with wide, clear eyes.

Keeping both of John's wrists firmly bound in one hand, he slid his free hand around his cock and stroked himself to full hardness, smearing pre-cum over the tip. He released himself and switched the hand that was binding John's wrists, a sense of urgency overcoming him. Moving quickly now, he maneuvered John's legs apart and knelt between them.

When he realized what Mike was about to do, John began to struggle in earnest.

"Mike. Please don't do this. You made your point, I'll leave, you'll never have to see me again. Just let me go, okay?" He realized he was babbling, but Mike had never fucked him dry. The potential for overwhelming pain made him panicky.

"Shut up, John," Mike said again, still speaking quietly. With a few minute adjustments, he was pressed against John's entrance.

"Mike, no. Please—" he tried again, but before he could finish, Mike pushed slowly inside. What started out as a plea turned into a wordless cry as pain seemed to burn throughout his entire body. He turned his head away to he wouldn't have to look up at the man who at one point had been his lover.

When he was as deep as he could go, Mike paused for a moment, his eyes closed. John kept very still, hoping that if he didn't move, it wouldn't hurt as much. Even breathing seemed to echo pain all the way up and down his spine. He wanted to beg Mike to stop, but he couldn't find the words through this agony.

And then Mike began to move. Slowly at first, small movements, taking his time.

"How… do you… feel now?" Mike panted as he slammed into John. "Do you still love, John? How does it feel?"

John turned his head to center, looking up through his hair. Mike stared down at him, his eyes wild and unforgiving. He couldn't meet that gaze for long and closed his eyes, shaking his head slowly from side to side.

"No? You're still… saying no to me?" He sped up, thrusting harder.

"Mike, please—" John whispered hoarsely, his voice raw.

As he sped up, he changed the angle of his thrusts just enough to hit John's prostate. John gasped in a shuddery breath, surprised at the heat that rose up through the pain. As if he sensed the change, the potential for pleasure, Mike released his hold on John's wrists and reached between them, curling his fingers around John's flagging erection, jerking in time with his thrusts.

John found his newly freed hands gripping Mike's shoulders instead of pushing him away. The pain began to fade, to be overtaken by heat and pleasure as Mike continued to speed up his ministrations. His hips rose to meet Mike's thrusts again and again and again, the pace now just short of frantic. He turned his head back and looked up at Mike; eyes closed in concentration, lips parted, breathing heavily.

Before he could stop himself, he slid his fingers around Mike's neck and pulled him down into rough, messy kiss. Mike's eyes shot open in surprise but didn't slow his movements. He met John's steady gaze and growled into the kiss, biting and licking, their teeth clacking together.

Then John's eyes slipped shut and he could hear his breath speeding up as heat pooled in the base of his spine. It was too much; the pain in his lips, in his jaw, Mike inside him, Mike's hand on him and his hips bucked up hard, once, twice and he moaned as he came. He felt his muscles clench and warmth pool on his stomach. A few moments later, Mike followed, thrusting hard and then falling still, whispered obscenities drifting from his lips. His head hung down, his forehead pressed against John's collarbone, John's hand still curled around the nape of his neck. He stayed still for a moment, catching his breath.

He seemed about to say something, but merely pulled out of John and then collapsed beside him, watching him warily from half-lidded eyes. John turned on his side, wincing as pain flared briefly in his guts, and pillowed his head on his arm. Before he could quite stop himself, he reached out and gently touched Mike's cheek. His eyes widened again and he reached out and wrapped his fingers around John's wrist. Then his eyes slipped all the way closed, not loosening his grip. John smiled slightly, his own eyes dropping shut.

Maybe Mike was right and he was an idiot. Maybe everything Mike said was true; even after everything that had happened tonight, John couldn't imagine leaving, couldn't imagine not having Mike in his life. He'd given up too many things for this man already; he had nothing, no one else.

Exhaustion tugged at him with soft implacable fingers and he felt himself sinking away into unconsciousness, Mike's fingers around his wrist, grounding him. There's gonna be hell to pay in the morning, he thought as he drifted off into a dark, dreamless sleep.