April Liked it Rough
Title: April Liked it Rough
Pairing: Roger/April
Rating: NC-17 for sex and drugs.
Summary: April likes it rough -- and she's dying.
It was no secret that April enjoyed a large degree of rough n’ tumble in her life - from dating bikers, to attending all-night rock sessions at shady bars known for frequent violence, to cutting her hair short with a butcher knife on her old high school campus - so it was to no one’s surprise when she hooked up with Roger Davis and started heavier drugs. She became a constant company to his shows, sitting atop bars and shooting up right in the middle of a chorus line - rolling her head along with her boyfriend’s lyrics. April wanted to dive into life with high heels and straddle it with leather-clad thighs, regardless of the repercussions. She was wild. She was gorgeous.
She was dying.
“Your turn, baby,” April purred, glittering lashes fluttering even as she spoke, a rancid cube dissolving on her tongue as she offered its twin to the singer on whose lap she was perched. Roger tipped his face up - blonde hair cropped and eyes already glazed - and allowed her to place the drug on his own tongue, shaking his head slowly as it dispersed in his mouth. He could feel the frantic beat of April’s abused heart against his chest, even through his thick leather jacket, and couldn’t resist humming along with its feverish pace. So fucking fast… He opened his eyes, pupils dilated and swallowing up his honey irises, April’s blurred smile moving to meet his in a sloppy kiss.
Roger’s coarse palms - calloused and rough, just as all of April’s lovers hands were - slid up the thin and torn material of her I Heart NY t-shirt, fumbling over naked breasts as April giggled and tugged on his short hair. Roger had no idea where they were - their dumpy mainstreet apartment? the back of the bar? an alley near Central Park? - but it didn’t seem to matter, the pads of his thumbs brushing over pert nipples, his tongue massaging against April’s in a messy tempo.
Her jagged, purple-painted fingernails found the zipper to his tight jeans - April tugged it down, one clicking metal tooth at a time, until Roger was able to slide her from his lap and pull the skin-clutching clothe from his legs, kicking them off somewhere into the shadows closing around them. April peeled off his comically childish tighty-whities and flung them, giggling and nodding her head as if to the lingering beat of one of his songs, somewhere behind her.
Roger’s mouth was dry when his warm hands fastened around April’s hips to hike her up, sliding the slick leather folds of her mini skirt out of the way - April never wore panties, as it went against her wicked and wild choice of lifestyle. Blindly, Roger thrust his cock forward and - April moaning and laughing all at once, eyes bloodshot and dilated to dangerous degrees - slid hard into the slickness of his girlfriend’s cunt. Her hands wound around his shoulders, thighs clutching his naked hips and forcing him almost painfully deep - and he fucked her, just like that, hard and rough like she always whined for.
It was no secret that April liked it rough - just like it was to no one’s surprise when she died because of it, AIDS invading her system as drugs had once done.
Pairing: Roger/April
Rating: NC-17 for sex and drugs.
Summary: April likes it rough -- and she's dying.
It was no secret that April enjoyed a large degree of rough n’ tumble in her life - from dating bikers, to attending all-night rock sessions at shady bars known for frequent violence, to cutting her hair short with a butcher knife on her old high school campus - so it was to no one’s surprise when she hooked up with Roger Davis and started heavier drugs. She became a constant company to his shows, sitting atop bars and shooting up right in the middle of a chorus line - rolling her head along with her boyfriend’s lyrics. April wanted to dive into life with high heels and straddle it with leather-clad thighs, regardless of the repercussions. She was wild. She was gorgeous.
She was dying.
“Your turn, baby,” April purred, glittering lashes fluttering even as she spoke, a rancid cube dissolving on her tongue as she offered its twin to the singer on whose lap she was perched. Roger tipped his face up - blonde hair cropped and eyes already glazed - and allowed her to place the drug on his own tongue, shaking his head slowly as it dispersed in his mouth. He could feel the frantic beat of April’s abused heart against his chest, even through his thick leather jacket, and couldn’t resist humming along with its feverish pace. So fucking fast… He opened his eyes, pupils dilated and swallowing up his honey irises, April’s blurred smile moving to meet his in a sloppy kiss.
Roger’s coarse palms - calloused and rough, just as all of April’s lovers hands were - slid up the thin and torn material of her I Heart NY t-shirt, fumbling over naked breasts as April giggled and tugged on his short hair. Roger had no idea where they were - their dumpy mainstreet apartment? the back of the bar? an alley near Central Park? - but it didn’t seem to matter, the pads of his thumbs brushing over pert nipples, his tongue massaging against April’s in a messy tempo.
Her jagged, purple-painted fingernails found the zipper to his tight jeans - April tugged it down, one clicking metal tooth at a time, until Roger was able to slide her from his lap and pull the skin-clutching clothe from his legs, kicking them off somewhere into the shadows closing around them. April peeled off his comically childish tighty-whities and flung them, giggling and nodding her head as if to the lingering beat of one of his songs, somewhere behind her.
Roger’s mouth was dry when his warm hands fastened around April’s hips to hike her up, sliding the slick leather folds of her mini skirt out of the way - April never wore panties, as it went against her wicked and wild choice of lifestyle. Blindly, Roger thrust his cock forward and - April moaning and laughing all at once, eyes bloodshot and dilated to dangerous degrees - slid hard into the slickness of his girlfriend’s cunt. Her hands wound around his shoulders, thighs clutching his naked hips and forcing him almost painfully deep - and he fucked her, just like that, hard and rough like she always whined for.
It was no secret that April liked it rough - just like it was to no one’s surprise when she died because of it, AIDS invading her system as drugs had once done.