Title: Rough
Author: The Fallen Sky
Rating: M
Pairing: Joel/Ellie
Summary: Something sick and sinister this way comes.
A/N: I prefer not to give too much away, but if you're sensitive to intimate violence, you might wanna stay away from this. Also, this is an AU one-shot told in the second person perspective from Joel's POV. The exact time-frame is up for debate, but it's not crucial to the story.
Dedicated to my Baby Girl. This story wouldn't exist without you. :)
Feedback is welcome. Enjoy!
You force her legs apart, revealing a thick thatch of auburn curls. The sight is mesmerizing and stirs something primal within you which causes your cock to harden to the point of becoming almost painful. You're struck by the sudden urge to touch those curls, run your fingers through them, feel their softness against your skin, but you resist, your hands clenching tightly around her thighs, fingers digging into her flesh hard enough to cause bruising.
Reluctantly, your eyes leave the juncture of her legs and travel upward, slowly drinking in the smooth skin of her taught stomach, which flexes and twitches as she trembles with fearful anticipation. Her stomach gives way to two small but incredibly perfect breasts, each tipped with pastel pink nipples that harden as if physically caressed by your gaze. You linger a moment, oddly captivated by the steady, if rapid, rise and fall of her chest and the wonderful effect it has on the fleshy globes. You find your own breathing becoming a bit labored, your pulse slowly accelerating as your arousal increases. You'd love nothing more than to wrap your lips around one of her pebbled peaks and suck on it like a sugary gumdrop, but there'll be time for that later.
Your eyes continue their journey up her body, across the flat plain of her freckled chest, along the contours of her neck, following the curve of her jaw, tracing the outline of her plump, quivering lips, skimming over her freckled cheeks and nose, before finally settling on her eyes, green, like a grassy meadow in springtime, fresh, vibrant, filled with life, but unsettled, storm-tossed and wild, like the ocean, a hint of fear lurking just beneath the surface.
Instead of looking away, as you expected, she holds your gaze, quietly defiant, brave in the face of what's to come, unafraid to look the devil in the eye.
The smallest of smiles, just the barest hint of an upward curve, hardly noticeable, tugs at your lips.
You're impressed with this girl. And she is a girl, despite the curls and breasts. She inhabits that realm between child and woman, not quite one or the other, but a blend of both, and there's a part of you, a dark part, that craves girls like her. Or, perhaps it's just her that you crave. Either way, you will have her.
The smile falls from your lips, your expression darkening as your right hand slides up her thigh, moving ever closer to her core and those auburn curls that so fascinate you.
Her eyes widen but stay locked on yours, her body tensing as your hand grows closer to her womanhood. She squirms, presumably in an effort to elude your touch, but your left hand squeezes her thigh, causing pain to shoot through her and a grimace to contort her face. She stops squirming, though her body is more tense than ever, her eyes filling with near-panic as your fingers reach their destination, the downy soft curls sliding between your fingers with ease. You play with her curls for a few moments, enjoying the feel of them, before you caress the seam of her sex with your thumb, gentle pressure slightly parting her folds, causing her to gasp and her body to tremble.
That sorta-smile is back on your lips at her reaction to your attentions, but you didn't come here to play with her pubes or finger fuck her.
Without a word and without breaking eye contact, your hand leaves her sex and grasps your achingly hard cock, instinctively guiding it to her opening, and with a hard flex of your hips, you bury yourself inside her, pressing into her until your pelvis is flush with hers.
She cries out at the sudden invasion, her body spasming as it tries to adjust to your girth. She thrashes a bit, trying to dislodge you, but you grab her thighs in your iron grip, squeezing until she whimpers in pain and goes still.
Your eyes slip shut, and you have to bite your lip to suppress a groan as you revel in the feel of being inside her. She's just so incredibly warm and unbelievably tight. For a moment, you think this might be what heaven feels like, if you believed in heaven.
A punch to the shoulder snaps you out of your reverie. You should be surprised that she's actually trying to fight you, but you're not. It's only natural for a woman to try to fight off an attacker, especially one who's in the middle of raping her. You're just surprised it's taken her this long.
She punches you again, this time in the ribs, but there's not much power behind the blow, certainly not enough to knock you off of her or even do much, if any, damage. Still, you're impressed.
Her eyes, once tinged with fear, are filled with rage, her face contorting in anger as she swipes at your face in an effort to claw your eyes, but you easily bat her hands away. She swipes again, this time at your chest, her nails raking the skin, leaving red claw marks and thin lines of blood in their wake. You flinch and grunt at the stinging pain before grabbing her wrists and stopping the assault.
She continues to struggle, frantically trying to free herself from your iron grip, but she's just not strong enough. Undeterred, she proceeds to bite one of your hands, causing you to release her, but the victory is short-lived as you slap her hard across the face, causing her to yelp in pain as her head snaps violently to the side. The stinging echo reverberates in your hand, your nostrils flaring as anger bubbles up within you.
She turns her head back toward you, eyes flashing hatred, her claws arcing at your face. She manages a glancing blow, as you move in time to prevent any serious damage. Her reward is another slap to the face, this one harder than the last, punctuated by a sharp cry of pain and a hissing intake of breath.
Tired of the game, you grab both of her wrists in one hand, forcefully pinning her arms above her head, effectively immobilizing her.
You're glaring down at her, your chest heaving, blood boiling. Slowly, she turns her head to face you, her cheeks red from the slaps, her eyes glittering with unshed tears, her expression one of sad resignation.
You've won.
With grim satisfaction, you slowly withdraw your hard length from within her before slamming it back in.
She grunts and grimaces, her whole body shuddering from the impact.
You repeat the motion, slamming into her even harder, the satisfying sound of skin on skin filling your ears.
You pick up the pace, setting a steady rhythm of hard thrusts, each one culminating with a jarring impact that causes her to whimper and her breasts to jiggle in the most delightful way.
You fuck her like that for untold minutes, your body slamming into hers, your eyes drinking in her sorrowful misery, which only adds to your perverse pleasure, your free hand roughly groping her breast, painfully pulling on her nipple, causing her to scream and beg you to stop.
Her voice irritates you, so you remove your hand from her breast and wrap it around her throat, applying just enough pressure to silence her. Her eyes go wide with fear, her back arching off the bed in an effort to dislodge you, but it only causes you to squeeze harder, cutting off her airflow.
You can see panic filling her, can see it reflected in her eyes as she looks at you, silently begging you to release her, to let her breathe.
You squeeze harder.
She's writhing beneath you, struggling to free herself, desperate for oxygen, but you ignore her suffering, focusing instead on your pleasure, picking up the pace and power of your thrusts.
You can feel her heart racing, can feel it pulsing against your fingers. Your own heart is hammering in your chest, and you swear that your hearts are beating in time with each other, yours fueled by lust, hers fueled by fear.
There's a tingling at the base of your spine, a tightening of your balls. You're close.
Your thrusts become uneven, your pace faltering. With a loud grunt and two more hard thrusts, you're overcome with pleasure, your cock swelling and jerking, spurting thick jets of your essence into her battered pussy. Moments later, her body betrays her, her inner walls rippling and spasming, milking every last drop from your steely shaft.
Slowly, the pleasure fades, your cock ceases to twitch, your heart begins to slow, your breathing evening out.
You loosen your grip on her throat but don't remove your hand. She gasps for much needed breath, sucking in lungfuls of life-sustaining oxygen. Her heart continues to race, but the panic is gone.
Closing your eyes, you savor the feel of being inside her, enjoying a few slow, lazy thrusts of your semi-hard length.
Sighing to yourself, you open your eyes, taking a good, long look at your prey.
Her hair is sweat slick and disheveled, her face red from a mixture of heat and the slaps you gave her earlier, her eyes closed, her lips parted, her chest flushed and heaving, her entire body trembling from exertion.
Beautiful.
It's the first and only thought that pops into your mind, and it makes your heart hurt and your head swim.
The lust and anger drain away, and you're left with guilt, terrible and deep, eating away at you, making your stomach churn.
Your hands begin to shake as you release her, your trembling arms bracing against the bed as you ease your rapidly shrinking penis from her body, a rush of fluid leaking out of her, coating her already damp and matted curls.
With a groan, you flop onto your back beside her, the bed shaking and creaking under your weight.
The room is silent, the air filled with the musky stench of sweat and sex, a harsh reminder of what you've done.
Time seems to crawl as you lie there, staring at the ceiling, nothing but the sound of your combined breathing and your blood rushing in your ears to fill the silence.
The moment stretches on forever before finally being broken by movement beside you.
Her face comes into view above you, filling your vision.
Her hair sticks to her forehead, her cheeks still an angry looking red, and you can already see bruising on her neck.
Guilt and shame flare within you, and you have to close your eyes, because you can't bear to look at her, can't stand to see what you've done to her.
The feel of her hand against your cheek, the gentle caress of her thumb, only amplifies your agony. You want to push her away, want to run as far from her as possible, but you can't. As much as you're dying inside, you can't turn away from her soothing touch and the love behind it.
Opening your eyes, you see her, eyes aglow with warmth and apologetic gratitude, smiling down at you, that sweet, innocent smile that conveys a pure, unabashed affection that never fails to warm your heart and boost your spirits. It's her way of telling you she's okay, that you didn't hurt her, not too badly at least. But, most of all, it's her way of letting you know that she loves you.
For all the violence you've perpetrated against others, especially over the past 20 years, you've never been comfortable hurting women, even in life or death situations. There's a darkness inside you, an evil that has protected you, kept you alive, and you've grown accustomed to its presence, sometimes too comfortable, and there are times when you worry that the darkness will take you over, cause you to lose control, which is why you hate rough sex, especially with her. But, there are times when she craves it, needs it even, and much as you'd prefer not to, you can't deny her. So, you play along, doing your best to fulfill her needs and desires. You're always afraid of hurting her, of going too far, of losing control, but she has absolute trust and faith in you, believes...knows that you could never, would never hurt her, and that gives you the strength to go through with it. Still, you can't help but worry, can't help but feel guilty for the things you do to her in the name of pleasure.
She knows the pain her kink inflicts on you, the price it exacts from your soul, and she loves you all the more for your willingness to suffer for her. You would do anything for her, which is why you'll continue to walk the fine line between pleasure and pain, continue to live with the guilt.
Anything for her.
Anything for love.
She leans down and presses a tender, chaste kiss to your lips, lingering for a long moment before cuddling up next to you, pressing her body against your side, hooking a leg over yours, draping an arm across your stomach and resting her head on your chest, sighing contentedly as you wrap an arm around her, pulling her close and gently stroking her hair as you slowly drift off into a peaceful sleep.