Note: We're back! Sorry for the long wait, and can't tell when will be the next update, sorry! You will just have to wait and see :)
In the back of my mind was a voice that was yelling me to teach him who was in charge here, as he tugged on my arm so hard that I fell on top of him, and he pulled me into a deep and violent kiss and I forgot.
I was too horny and still drunk enough not to care, but aware enough of what had happened to repossess the situation. He may have been the one to initiate the share of saliva, I was now as dominative as could be, which meant totally. I think.
"I want you, you crazy fucking son of a bitch."
We had just broken the kiss for some needed air when he dropped that bomb on me. Which stopped my lips just above his, as I was about to resume biting that skilful mouth of his.
Had I been sober, I would probably have overthought this. Like, wanting me but being totally flat still. Now my mind was just clear enough to give in to my physical needs, and whatever he still had on him was quickly discarded, and, drily, violently, I entered him.
His cry of pain only managed to bring a smirk to my lips, as I stopped hovering above him, watching his face contort, to plunge right to his shoulder, planting my teeth in it as I began to ram into him without restrain.
I only stopped biting to know if he was still in pain from the harsh pounding, and he was, breathing sharply. I probed myself on my arms again to be able to see his face.
His eyes were shut tightly, but as he noticed my position change, he opened them. His gaze into mine somehow erased my smirk. There was pain, but no hate, no plead for me to stop.
Was he resigned? Or a masochist? Either way, he didn't have a choice, even if I wasn't one to usually top, I didn't mind releasing my primal needs this way. Only the result counted: shooting my load and ride my pleasure. And if right now I could have the added bonus of inflicting him a good amount of pain, I wouldn't deny it.
I slowed down, scrutinising his face as the muscles relaxed, his breathing steadied before it let place to soft moans, quickened and finally released groans of pleasure, his hands gripping my hips tightly to pull me closer.
Obliging, I rammed into him the deeper I could, getting faster, pulling one of his legs up, hooked with my elbow, and as he was in an intense bliss, I let his leg go and pinched one of his nipples, hard.
He screamed, looking at me surprised, but the pain on his face was enough for me to reach my own peak and I pulled out of him, grabbed his hair and yanked him in direction of my dick.
Pressing his jaw to force his mouth open, I spurted my semen on the flat of his tongue.
I pushed him away, and as he crawled on the other side of the bed, I let myself fall on my side and drifted into sleep within seconds.
Oh fuck. My head was throbbing like mad. I cracked one eye open but the light pouring out from a slit between the curtains was too much for my sight. I rolled on my back, but it met something that wasn't the mattress. Whatever it met was gone quickly, and I was forced to open my eyes for good to see what was happening.
Oh right, the hacker lived here now. And I had fucked him last night.
BUT WHAT WAS THE BASTARD DOING IN MY BED FOR FUCK'S SAKE?!
I growled, but he was already on his feet, too far from my fist ready to punch, and I was hungover way too badly to stand up and chase after him, which he seemed to realise, his face going from fear to relief.
He disappeared in the bathroom and I heard him rummage.
The little shit was probably searching for dope, and I would have to get up to bring his sorry ass back here and remind him (the hard way) that I don't do, therefore don't keep drugs in here.
But he was back quicker than my painful body was to stand up, and, sitting next to me on the border of the bed, he handed me a glass of water and a painkiller.
I looked at him, and there was some kind of confidence in his eyes that didn't belong here. I sent him a dark look as I grabbed the pill and the glass, swallowed both, fuming that I was in such a state. Damn wine, there must have been something else in it for this hangover to be so damn painful and body wrecking. Vodka never did that to me.
I gave the glass back to him.
Suddenly, I felt his hand on my back, caressing it gently.
"Feeling better?" he asked? And there was kindness and concern in his voice. What the hell?
I rubbed the bridge of my nose and stood up, uncaring for my nudity.
As he landed on the floor, holding his jaw where I had punched him, blood dripping both from his lips and his hand as the glass had shattered when he fell, he looked at me, and the confidence was gone. Good.
I landed, quite gracelessly, on my ass.
Well then, evidently kindness was unwelcomed. He hit hard for someone with such a hangover. I looked down at my hand, which had blood on it and was bleeding on its own. I stared at the glass that was sticking out of it, blinking.
I blinked up at the crazy bastard as he loomed over me, looking pleased with himself.
"Sorry," I said, dazed.
"We're not friends," he growled at me.
"Don't have to be someone's friend to be a decent fucking human being," I spat back. Damn my mouth— it was a mistake. He kicked me hard in the ribs to show his displeasure. I groaned and curled up, trying to keep my hand out of the way.
"I'm not decent," he said coldly. Stiff and straight and proud, he put on his leather pants and nothing else, and strode out of the room.
Leaving me alone. Again.
I sighed and uncurled and looked back at my hand. It was still bleeding quite freely, which was understandable because of the large piece of glass residing in it. I should take care of that. Carefully, I picked myself up from the floor, probing my ribs with my uninjured hand to confirm that none were broken. Just bruised, so that was good. I dragged myself to the bathroom, fairly certain that Crazy Fuck wouldn't react well to me bleeding all over his floor.
My hands were shaking. God, I needed a hit, but I didn't see it happening any time in the near future. Over the sink, I tried to grip the piece of glass between two fingers. The shaking was too bad. I let go. Stared at it.
It wasn't the most painful thing that had ever happened to me, certainly, and honestly neither was the rough sex that my body was currently reminding me of now that I had given up on my hand for the moment. And it didn't hurt that he was clearly not going to be calling me the next morning. But still, I hadn't even gotten off so the least he could do was get this glass out of my hand.
I turned on the water and rinsed my hand. It stung but if I couldn't get the glass out it was going to be the best I could do. Maybe the doctor would be here, and maybe the Lord of the Fuckers didn't lock the door behind him during his dramatic exist. Maybe I could get out of the room and go to where I had met the doctor the first time.
I sulked to the door, turning the handle slowly with my good hand to check and, lo and behold, he'd forgotten to lock it. I couldn't believe my luck. The man was a genius but apparently even he could be distracted by a hangover and a good lay.
I froze when I heard voices. One was familiar, and I hadn't been in this room long but it felt like a century and it was hard to place. I crouched, realizing belatedly that it didn't make a difference if I crouched behind a closed door or not. I didn't release the handle, worried that it would make a sound or the owners of the voices would notice the movement. It was an awkward position but I pressed my ear to the crack between the door and frame to listen for when they passed.
"-the glock," the familiar voice said. "He's dueta sleep so tonight's the night..."
Suddenly I recognized the voice. It was Tiny. And damn if what he said didn't sound sinister. I opened the door a bit more and strained to hear, but they had passed. Heart pounding, I closed the door again.
Cocaine makes people paranoid. By all means I could have heard wrong, could have jumped to conclusions. But talking about guns and people who are 'due to sleep' (which could be no one but my insane roommate) and tonight being 'The Night.' It just didn't sound good. I had to warn Mello.
It occurred to me, then, what I had just thought. Warning Crazy Fuck was the last thing I should do. If Tiny killed him tonight, I could be free tomorrow. Maybe Tiny would try to keep me, but I could outsmart him. I couldn't outsmart Mello. There was absolutely no reason at all, whatsoever, that I should think of myself as being on Mello's side. He'd made it perfectly clear that my help wasn't wanted. I had a bloody lip and glass in my hand to prove it.
With a frustrated noise, I snatched the glass and yanked it out, hissing at the pain and damage that I'd certainly done, tossing the shard to the carpet to let it stain. I wrapped my hand in my filthy shirt. No, I wouldn't tell Dickface that he was going to be betrayed tonight. I would pretend to be asleep when Tiny crept into the room, and I would even 'sleep' through the gunshot. Fuck him. Fuck all of them.
I tied the makeshift bandage tight and sat down against the bookshelf to wait.