Little one shot based off the song Smoke, Drink, Break Up by Mila J.
Caution: Rough sex and a lot of bad language.
"You don't do anything, Jon!"
That was true. The words she screamed at him usually were. And he knew that, of course. That's why it pissed him off so much. She was always right, and she rubbed it in his face every single time. He had been home less than twenty-four hours, and she was already at his throat.
"When am I here? I'm never fucking here! And when I am here I have to listen to you bitch and complain. I'm fucking sick of it!"
That was also true. He was almost always on the road, travelling to a different city every night. It was exhausting and draining, and all he wanted was to come home and rest for the few short days that he had in Vegas. She'd never let him, though.
"Oh? You're sick of it? Boo fucking hoo, Jon. What are you going to do? Leave me? You tried that before, remember. It didn't work."
She was right again. How many times had they broken up? They had probably been separated more times than they had actually been together. He broke up with her the night before he left to go out on another tour, and yet here he was again. He just couldn't stay away.
"You're such a fuckin' bitch, you know that?"
Yeah, she knew. She always had been, and he always knew it. Yet he stayed, she stayed. The two couldn't stay away from each other. They were moths to a flame. He threw the door open, marching out on the back porch, cigarette already lit. He slammed the door behind him, but she didn't flinch. She was used to slamming doors, used to him in her face. Their screaming fits turned into fist fights almost every single time.
"Yeah, well fuck you, Jon."
She poured herself a drink, swallowing the warm liquid quickly; it burned the whole way down. She didn't even know why she was mad. That's how it was most nights. Something so small would trigger one of them, and then one sarcastic remark after the other and they were fighting again. The only time they ever got along was when they were both drunk, fucking like animals in the warm, Nevada night.
He was contemplating leaving again. Contemplating grabbing his keys, getting in his car, and spending the rest of his time at home in some strip club. This relationship was toxic. It always had been. His friends begged him to stay away from her, the 'narcissistic bitch' they called her. Told him she was no good for him, and all she did was use him for his money. No matter how many times he tried to tell them that wasn't true, they still wouldn't believe him.
She didn't want his money. She didn't want his house. Hell, she barely even wanted him. She could do so much better, they both knew it. She was beautiful, and smart, and had everything going for her. Why she was sucked into this black hole of a fling, she would never know.
He came back inside when he was done with his cigarette. She was sitting at the table waiting for him. That was it, either he left or it was going to be World War III. He knew that look in her eye. The one that said 'you say one word, and I'm going to hurl this Jack Daniels bottle right at your fucking head'. He pulled his keys off of the ring and started making his way towards the front door.
"Where the fuck are you going?"
He rolled his eyes and stopped. He really, really didn't want to argue with her. He was tired, his shoulder hurt, and he was so fed up with her shit. When he turned to face her, she was standing in the threshold between the living room and kitchen, arms crossed. He sighed internally, she looked so cute like that. Like at any moment she could just jump on him and claw his eyes out. He hated crazy, but he loved her crazy.
"Well?"
She was really trying hard to start something. But Jon was caught in a cross hair; if he answered her, they fought. If he didn't answer her, they still fought. If he left, they'd fight when he came back. Either way, there was going to be a fight.
"I'm getting the fuck outta here. Away from you and your fuckin' voice that's like nails on a goddamned chalkboard."
All he had to do was say 'I'm leaving'. He didn't have to add the comment about her voice in there. But back-handed comments were his thing, he really couldn't keep his mouth shut when it really mattered.
"Oh my voice is like nails on a chalkboard, huh? You aren't saying that when you're asking me to scream for you in bed! And trust me, the only reason I would be screaming is in laughter because your dick is so fuckin' small!"
She was in his face now, not intimidated at all by how much taller he was. His fist were balled. He had hit her before, a few times, and he felt bad about it. But God she was so annoying.
"What are you going to do, Jon? Hit me?"
He was seriously thinking about it. Shut her up for the rest of the night. She might even pack her bags and leave for a few weeks. But he couldn't do it. He wouldn't. Instead he grabbed her by the arms and pulled her into him, crashing his lips on to hers.
It didn't take long at all for her to wrap her legs and arms around him. They wasted no time; Jon pushed her up against the wall, unbuttoned his jeans, pulled her panties to the side and pushed himself into her. She gasped, pulling at his frizzy curls. Her mouth hung open as he pounded into her, slamming her up against the wall with each thrust. Her heavy moaning in his ear only added to the built up frustration that he needed to take out on her. She nibbled at his ear lobe sending a shiver down his spine.
"I fucking hate you." He groaned in between thrusts.
Jon pulled out of her and forced her down to her knees, shoving his wet cock into her mouth. She sucked the taste of herself off of him with pleasure. He pulled out of her mouth, slapping the tip against her cheek before exploding on her face. He stood there for a minute, riding out the climax, as she licked the dripping seed off of his shaft. She looked up at him, sticky white liquid covering her face, and smiled.
This was why he couldn't stay away.
She stood up, adjusting her clothes, and wiped the semen off of her face with his t-shirt that she had pulled off of him. Jon fixed his pants and plopped down on the couch, flicking the TV on. "Grab me a beer, would ya?"
She resisted the urge to laugh out loud. "Get your own fuckin' beer."
"You're so ungrateful!"
"I'm ungrateful? I fucking cook your fucking meals, wash your fucking clothes, do your fucking dishes! And what do you do? Nothing!" She suddenly remembered why she was mad at him in the first place.
"Here we go again, for the last time, I'm never fucking here!"