FIC: On The Edge (1/1)
Title: On The Edge.
Fandom: Real People.
Characters: Jared Leto, bandmate.
Prompt: Table 2; # 64 - Rough.
Word Count: 489.
Rating: NC-17.
Summary: When the ones you love want to hurt you, you never see it coming.
Author's Notes: Short but in no manner sweet. Warnings for slash, violence, non-con, and possibly one other depending on who the reader thinks the other bandmate is. for 100_situations
There were no pretty words. No please and thank you and that feels good right there yes. No do you like that or does that hurt or did I pull too hard. Maybe there was a time for that, would be a time for that, but it was not this night.
This night there was no room for being nice or gentle or kind. Not from the start all the way to the end. The carpet was rough against his bare shins, against his knees and the palms of his hands as he caught himself before he smacked his head against the corner of the coffee table. He grunted, wincing, as his hair was pulled, twisted between fingers and tugged on, forcing him to raise his head. The hand never left, was only joined by its mate who cupped his jaw, stroked his throat and forced reflex to make him swallow as his eyes squeezed shut. Bruised lips were assaulted again and again, noises of pain or protest only slipping out when they refused to be held back, when his body refused to take such treatment silently.
The second time the tugging didn't feel so bad, or maybe he was just used to it and blocking out the pain. His jaw ached but that would be the least of his aches come morning, that he knew with little doubt. This time he was constantly drawing short of breath, eyes shut from the roughness of it, knees shifting against the sandpaper carpet no matter how he tried to brace himself. A scent that should have been comforting all but mocked him. When he finally could get air it too felt harsh against his tongue, his throat. He started to snap something about his singing but never got the chance to finish as he was pushed down, chest and shoulders scraping the carpet. Hands pinned his so he couldn't push up, not that he could have anyway in the position he was bent in, wincing more as his legs were forced further apart, the air cold and foreboding against his sensitive skin. His cries were muffled by the carpet, and then by their mouth, tugging on his lower lip so hard it bled but that was the least of his pains.
It wasn't over nearly quick enough but when it was he stayed still even as the weight left his back, his wrists. Waiting and wondering if more would come, if worse was to come. When the hotel door slammed he rose on shaky legs and went to the shower, refusing to pass out in such a manner. He thought of locking the door but that would be pointless when they had a key. Sleep never came, no matter how exhausted his body was. He simply sat at the window staring out at the skyline, fingering the drumstick that had been left behind and wondering how things had come to this.
Fandom: Real People.
Characters: Jared Leto, bandmate.
Prompt: Table 2; # 64 - Rough.
Word Count: 489.
Rating: NC-17.
Summary: When the ones you love want to hurt you, you never see it coming.
Author's Notes: Short but in no manner sweet. Warnings for slash, violence, non-con, and possibly one other depending on who the reader thinks the other bandmate is. for 100_situations
There were no pretty words. No please and thank you and that feels good right there yes. No do you like that or does that hurt or did I pull too hard. Maybe there was a time for that, would be a time for that, but it was not this night.
This night there was no room for being nice or gentle or kind. Not from the start all the way to the end. The carpet was rough against his bare shins, against his knees and the palms of his hands as he caught himself before he smacked his head against the corner of the coffee table. He grunted, wincing, as his hair was pulled, twisted between fingers and tugged on, forcing him to raise his head. The hand never left, was only joined by its mate who cupped his jaw, stroked his throat and forced reflex to make him swallow as his eyes squeezed shut. Bruised lips were assaulted again and again, noises of pain or protest only slipping out when they refused to be held back, when his body refused to take such treatment silently.
The second time the tugging didn't feel so bad, or maybe he was just used to it and blocking out the pain. His jaw ached but that would be the least of his aches come morning, that he knew with little doubt. This time he was constantly drawing short of breath, eyes shut from the roughness of it, knees shifting against the sandpaper carpet no matter how he tried to brace himself. A scent that should have been comforting all but mocked him. When he finally could get air it too felt harsh against his tongue, his throat. He started to snap something about his singing but never got the chance to finish as he was pushed down, chest and shoulders scraping the carpet. Hands pinned his so he couldn't push up, not that he could have anyway in the position he was bent in, wincing more as his legs were forced further apart, the air cold and foreboding against his sensitive skin. His cries were muffled by the carpet, and then by their mouth, tugging on his lower lip so hard it bled but that was the least of his pains.
It wasn't over nearly quick enough but when it was he stayed still even as the weight left his back, his wrists. Waiting and wondering if more would come, if worse was to come. When the hotel door slammed he rose on shaky legs and went to the shower, refusing to pass out in such a manner. He thought of locking the door but that would be pointless when they had a key. Sleep never came, no matter how exhausted his body was. He simply sat at the window staring out at the skyline, fingering the drumstick that had been left behind and wondering how things had come to this.