A/N: Okay, so I broke my own rule of never posting anything that's under 1000 words, but I felt I had to post this. This is written in a style I've never done before. It has no names so the reader can chose who is who in this one-shot. While writing this I, obviously, had the roles in my head of who it was. It's my first angst story so be kind please. If its shit let me know, if you liked it let me know :)
P.S. This is un-beta'd so sorry for mistakes.
Addicted To You
It was nearing two in the morning when I finally decided he wasn't coming back home tonight and it was safe to go to bed. As I lay under the covers, I took extra care to lie on my back. A bluish, black bruise was beginning to rapidly form just above my hip where the coffee table had broken my fall.
Staring up at the black ceiling gave me time to think. I knew it wasn't the best situation to be in. If I were on the outside looking in I would be telling myself to run, leave, never look back. But all I can think of are the good times from the beginning. It was love. In a way it still is, it's just different now. When we first started talking civil to each other, it was only just recently after the war. Scars were still fresh as well as memories of now dead family members and friends.
We helped each other through the tough times because we both knew what it felt like. Our friendship naturally progressed to deeper levels. We became lovers. It was an amazing connection. He liked to be rough in bed and that was okay, it was a good rough.
Things seemed perfect for the first five months. After that though, everything all of my friends were telling me started becoming more apparent. The only problem was I couldn't see it. We were out for a drink with our friends after work one night. I had had a couple of drinks; enough to make me a bit tipsy. Some guy across the bar took an interest in me. The guy would look over every couple of minutes and smile or wink. I happened to be polite and smile back after half an hour of not-so-subtle flirting.
Well, the guy wasn't the only one who saw the smile. That night was the first night he hit me. It was only a slap across the cheek at first. I figured he was just drunk and didn't know what he was doing. But it didn't stop after that. It only got worse. His jealousy bone tends to flare now and then and he takes it out on me; yelling, screaming, and hitting me.
At first I wasn't sure what to do. I just kept letting it happen. Now I'm too far in and there's no way out even if I did want to leave. But I don't. No matter how many times he insults me or yells at me, I still love him. All the times in between the abuse he's adoring and funny and loving.
Eventually I fall asleep, lost in my thoughts. That night I dream of me and him in the beginning; when our love was strong and we didn't have a care in the world other than each other.
I woke up to a wet heat encasing my cock. It was sliding up and down and I was hard. I let out a breathy moan of pleasure and the pressure on my cock increased followed but a deep suction. My hips arched off the bed and my hands curled into the bedspread. My mind could only process what was happening, not who was making it happen. Once the realization hit me, that it was him and not some dream, I tried to hold back and act as if it wasn't affecting me.
He knew what I was doing and doubled his efforts. A hand cupped my sac and another joined the mouth to give me extra friction. I knew I was getting close and couldn't hold out much longer even if I didn't want what he was giving me.
Eventually, my body won the battle over my mind and I had to give in to it. My hips rose rhythmically into the warm cavern of his mouth. I reached down and gripped his hair pulling him as far down as he would go as I spilled into his mouth.
He pulled off of me and finished me by my milking me with his hand. Looking down at the sight of him, my cum dribbling down his chin, almost made me start to harden again, but my dick had had enough for now. I groaned at the feeling of him still slightly jerking me. He stopped just as I became too sensitive.
He knew me too well. He knew every sound I make when he touches me a certain way. He also knows exactly how I will react when he baits me with his words to make me explode in a fit of rage. He knew that I knew him just as well. Like, how I knew this wasn't just a blowjob; it was his 'I'm sorry'. I know he would never say it out loud because that would be admitting to a fault. I also knew that no matter how much I didn't want to accept his apology, I would. I can't stay away from him; he's my world. I'm addicted to him.