This is not one of my normal RL/SB fanfictions. It is rated Mature for a reason. It contains unwanted sexual advances. You have been warned. Enjoy, if you still wish to read.

Never Kiss A Whore

It was not pleasant. It was not quick. It was not painless. And yet, it was not completely unwanted.

As I lay in my bedroom across the hall from his own in the flat we've shared since leaving school, I listen to the water running in his attached bathroom. A part of me itches to join him, but assertive is one thing I've never been with him. For some reason, I've had the feeling since the moment I entered my room some hours ago that something was going to happen tonight. Something big and unplanned.

The water shuts off, forcing the pipes in the flat to make a terrible creaking noise, as though they were about to fall apart and crash through the walls. My heart thunders in my ribcage. I hear him padding barefoot across his wooden floor, trying to not imagine what he is wearing (or not wearing) as he moves about his room. I shut my eyes as a metallic click meets my ears; he no longer resides in his room, and I hear the click of my own doorknob, my eyes still tightly shut.

He does not bother to knock before entering my room, as I would always do for him. I crack open my eyes, carefully examining him before he notices me looking. He dons only a pair of haphazardly thrown on jeans, his long mane of black hair dripping minute rivers down his bare chest. I try not to look pleased, hungry as I remove the book I had long-since given up reading from my lap. I push myself into a sitting position upon the bed in my room, staying silent, for lack of knowing what to say. The look on his face is anything but normal, and I feel my instincts earlier were quite accurate.

A growl sounds deep in his throat as my amber eyes scan his well-presented body. He is undeniably gorgeous, though that has always gone without saying. I know I shouldn't be looking, but at the same time, I know he came to my room thus dressed for a reason. He wants me to look at him; he wants me to want him. He needs confirmation, and that is exactly what I have given him.

Never breaking eye contact, he saunters across the room and crawls his way onto my bed, an air of seduction emitting from his every pore. His knees place themselves upon either side of my hips, as his hands pull my shirt up over my head in one quick, practiced motion. Never once does he give me the chance to accept or decline whatever it is he plans on doing. He knows he doesn't have to ask me. I'd always do anything he asked of me, and this is no different.

He runs his hands down my pale, scarred chest, coming to rest at the waist band of my jeans. He has them unbuttoned and unzipped faster than I'd have thought possible. He slides a skilled hand into my jeans, his other one busying itself with his own zipper and button.

I do not stop him, though I have since tried not to encourage him. But with his hand shoved in my boxers, it is a little more difficult to hide that he is indeed having quite an effect on me. He grasps me with his strong fingers, and gives one quick pull. My whole body gives an involuntary jerk at the unexpected motion. He merely smiles, his stormy eyes closed.

His jeans are now a crumpled pile upon the floor and his hands are now pulling my own jeans over my bony hips. I try not to look embarrassed or ashamed as my boxers follow the course he is leading my jeans upon. Never have I lain so completely naked and exposed with anyone in my life.

He grasps my hands and pulls me forward, off my back. For a second, I think he's going to kiss me, but I am mistaken. He merely pulls me over, allowing himself to fall over upon his back, myself sprawled atop him. His hair is spread upon the comforter like that of a fallen angel. The fallen angel that he was, I now look for sprouting horns.

I try not keep my gaze from his face as he rubs himself against me, letting out a low growl that twists and contorts his features into the most unattractive and lustful of facial expressions. It is almost frightening, but I know that at this point, there is no use in trying to fight him and whatever it is he plans to do. It would be fruitless to try to stop him. That would, inevitably, end up quite badly for me.

He is throbbing against me, tiny beads of sweat appearing along his hairline and upper lip. I try not to respond to him, not wanting this anymore, but my body betrays me, choosing that precise moment to let out the tiniest of moans. His hand is between us now, grasping me tightly. I breathing hitches at the feel of his hot, bare skin upon my own.

He rolls over on top of me, freeing his arms to hold himself above me. His eyes are glazed over as he looks into mine, and I know he is not seeing my face beneath him in his mind. I can only imagine who he is pretending I am.

"Turn over," he commands harshly; these are the first words he has spoken to me since entering my room unannounced and unwelcome. When I do not immediately do as he asks, he kneels above me, grasping my shoulders and almost painfully forces me onto my stomach.

I know what is now to come, and I can do nothing but squeeze my eyes closed as tightly as possible bracing myself with clutched hands. He does not prepare myself with his fingers, nor does he prepare himself with any kind of lotion or oil, as he positions himself over me.

Without so much as a whispered warning, he thrusts into me, and we both can do nothing but cry out; himself in pleasure, myself in pain. I clench my hands around the comforter, as he continues to drive himself into me, my teeth sinking into my lip as I try not to whimper. My eyes are streaming; my mind is reeling. No transformation has ever equaled the emotional and physical pain I am experiencing at this very moment.

He gives one final thrust, his nails digging unmercifully into my hips as he holds me firmly. His scream is loud and lustful as I feel him come inside of me, his whole body jerking and twitching.

A relief washes over me as I realize it is over. He is done. I am free. He pulls out of me and I give one last whimper. I cannot move. My body will not permit it. My heart cannot bear it. My mind cannot comprehend it. He cleans himself quickly before lying upon the opposite side of my bed. I can see his chest heaving as I roll onto my side, my back to him, my legs curls into my abdomen.

I feel weak, used, degraded.

He stole my pride, my virginity and my trust.

And yet, I cannot bring myself to call it rape.

If only had had allowed me just one kiss, I would not feel like such a common whore.

Okay, there you have it. I hope you liked it. Please review. It makes me happy.

Prongsie :)