Warning: Mature Ma/A rating content ahead, rated M for +18 or older, or mature audiences. Sex and mentions of abuse, and well, a lot of f-bombs. Read at your own risk.
It had been approximately 5 months, 23 days, 14 hours, 6 minutes and 12 seconds. If he was counting milliseconds he'd go crazy, they were married now and there was nothing he could do about it. He huffed, slamming his fists into the bag, switching up every counted 5 minutes to a different move, and every 15 minutes to a different fighting style. His body screaming in pain, hot sore muscles burning in his core, his legs threatening to give in jelly, his arms sore and in a piercing pain. It wasn't enough though, his physical pain was nothing compared to the pain that raged inside of him. A storm of hellish magnitude, ripping him apart, he felt like dying. He screamed out as he attacked the bag, frustrated with life, with himself.
He never had her, but hell, why didn't he try? Why didn't he try to have her in his arms the way she was with Four? Why was he the way he was? Sobriety was dangerous, it made him think more and ignore less, which was a problem, getting off his problem was enough to put dents in his walls. His sex life diminished as he rarely hit up the bar if at all, and he held in so much pent up frustration. She hadn't talked to him after her wedding, but he didn't expect her to, telling her how he really felt without fully admitting it to himself was a huge mistake, and must have thrown her out of scale.
Why was he such a shitty person? What was so wrong with him? Predisposed to screw with people's lives it seems, he fucked his own up enough. He sat back, staring at the bag which swung helplessly from the chain, rotating slowly and keeping him somewhat calm. His breath came out in soft pants, and he stripped himself of his shirt, using it as a sweat rag, which didn't help much, Dauntless in the summer time was hell if not worse, minus the burning fires. They had a chasm though, he smirked to himself, his own sarcasm amusing him. Still at a lack of friends it was the only thing he ought to do for entertainment and the prevention of partial insanity, though he was partial to it in the beginning. He expected he'd go home after training, after taking a nice rinse in the showers, oh yeah, and he'd catch up on some paper work for the trainnies. God the world was drab and boring without his bottle of alcohol each and every night.
Either way, it was what he imagined he'd do for the remainder of the day, he did not however, picture the Tris Prior-Eaton standing in the training room, locking the door behind her. He was caught off guard yes, but wasn't phased when he caught the look of rage on her face. Still able to hold a grudge was she? He sighed at her, turning and walking for the showers before she caught his hand and rolled him down onto the sparring mat. He looked at her curiously with furrowed brows as she straddled him, rolling her hips on him and narrowing her eyes. He shuddered under her and let his head fall back, his own waist bucking up in a fluid motion in response, she placed her hands on his chest, doing it again but harder and deeper. Words passed his lips without him meaning to, "Oh fuck Tris," She giggled at him and leaned down, "Glad to see I can get a rise out of you," His eyes widened and he looked up at her, ignoring his throbbing member and staring at her hard, "What are you doing?"
"Seeing something," She muttered, fingers looping in the elastic at his sweats. His eyes widened and his hands suddenly wrapped around her wrists and he flipped her, getting on top of her in a restraining position. She fussed, glaring and tearing up, huffing and struggling to get him off, he jerked her, pulling her up so she would pull back. Then his face was close to hers, "What are you doing here, Tris?"
"What? Too much of a man now to let me touch you? Your therapy sessions make you sterile Peter?" He sighed impatiently, brushing the insults off and glaring at her, making her suddenly tremble, "This isn't you,"
"How do you know?" She pushed, eyebrow cocking. How did he know? Well he was in love with her, but he was her enemy before anything, and hating someone's guts meant you watched everything they did, and read into everything they said. He knew her nervous habits, knew what made her uncomfortable, knew what set her off and what she was tolerable to, there was very little that he didn't know about the girl under him. "Because I know you," He said finally.
"Right, just like you're in love with me?" She hissed, he dropped her roughly, placing his hands on either side of her head and leaning in, "You looking for a fight, Tris?" He asked her, low in his throat and he felt her shiver. She tossed an easy smirk, "More than that," She tried, leaning up to him. He placed a hand on her shoulder and pushed her back down firmly, "Too fucking bad, get yourself straight Tris," He said, getting off of her and walking for the showers, listening to her scramble to her feet, "You fucking coward, can't even take me when you want it huh? How are you sure you'd ever be able to handle me? You're so pathetic," She scoffed at him, slapping her hand down to her thigh and about to turn when he rounded, grasping her wrist tight enough to scare some sense into her but to keep from bruising her. He roared though, making her eyes widen, "If I'm so pathetic why are you here practically begging to fuck me when you're married Tris? Can you answer that?" She stayed silent for only a moment before he continued, "I'm not the coward here, if anything I'm looking out for you, go get yourself some help or go home, you're not getting what you want," He stormed, watching her begin to cry, and melt against him.
Crying was something new to him, especially involving other people. Never before did he imagine she'd be crying on the floor in his arms, it simply wasn't her, she was so strong. So when it actually happened, he tried his best to console her. Her tears were warm against his skin and made him shiver as they trailed down his stomach, "I hate you, you're such a liar,"
"I know," He said,
"You don't love me, you're not capable of loving," His grip tightened on her, that statement hurt like a mother fucker, and it was much worse than the slap to the face he received for kissing her. But he did know that he was capable of loving, especially if he loved her, or maybe it was infatuation that kept him going, that he was able to push down. Either way, his thoughts contradicted her statement, but he agreed with her anyway, "Okay Tris,"
"So why did you say that to me?"
"It's how I feel,"
"Fucking bull shit," She said, and it made him chuckle at her,
"Such a dirty mouth, kiss your husband with those lips?" He questioned, but it made her start sobbing harder. Then he realized she was venting, that she wasn't actually angry with him in particular in fact, angry at her new husband, for something. His hand swept along her shoulders, nails teasing her skin, as he held her tighter, in a more protective manner. If the old him had been there, he would have laughed and spit some BS about them, never before did he think he'd want to keep her from harm. "What did he do?"
"Monogamy is such bull shit, the lies you feed to children," She hissed, glaring at the wall across from her. He sighed, looking down at her and brushing his nose to her hair, "I'm sorry,"
"You're not supposed to be allowed to do that either,"
"What, be sorry?"
"And have regrets, you're supposed to be the asshole that I would never want to be with, but here I am crying in your arms like a weak child when I should suck it up," She muttered. And even though what she said bothered him and made him question how she really felt about him as opposed to what she was saying, he encouraged her, "You're not a weak child Tris, you're the strongest person I know,"
"Yeah, so much for that, can't even handle my husband cheating on me,"
"You love him, it's only natural,"
"He doesn't love me," She muttered,
"He does, he's just stupid,"
"No, he's intelligent and wise and hardly foolish, if he really loved me he wouldn't have continued to do it even after our marriage, they did it for 8 months, and I just found out. I must be the laughing stock of Dauntless right now, the naive little Abnegation girl," He didn't have a response to that, so instead he let her sit in silence, aside from the sniffles she made every once and a while. Eventually he helped her up and she wobbled to her feet, refusing to look at him, her voice much softer now, and closer to being broken, "I'm sorry for earlier, I shouldn't have done those things, or said those things,"
"Don't worry about it," He said to her, "Want me to take you to Christina's? Or will you be fine on your own?" She looked up at him, eyes puffy and red and her face just tired.
"Take me to your place."
He sat her on his couch, a serene sight even if she was in a vulnerable state, he gave her one of his most comfortable blankets which he snagged from Amity in one of his trips. She wrapped it around herself idly and stared around the room, zoning in on what few pictures of his family he had and the areas he had been in, some of his squad mates and himself as they patrolled outside the wall. He sighed through his nose, fixing a glass of water for her and placing it on the coffee table that came with the apartment. She said nothing to him at first, and they sat in silence for the most part, until she grew brave, "I didn't know you had a sister,"
"She transferred to Amity a year ago,"
"Do you see her from time to time?"
"Rarely, usually I have to break from my squadron to visit, she works with children,"
"She sounds lovely," She mumbled, looking over to him before picking up the glass of water he presented. He huffed a laugh through his nose, "A lot nicer than I am," He muttered to her, watching how she smirked and took a gulp. Nearly draining the cup before placing it back down. She was silent again, thinking out her plan ahead as he struggled not to pick at his nails, having her so close for so long made him nervous, even more so now that they were behind closed doors, his closed doors. She spoke again, voice soft, "I came here with the intention of talking, but I don't really want to do that right now,"
"What do you want then?" He asked her, his own mind ranging from zero to one hundred very quickly. She licked her lips before biting them, narrowing her eyes gently before looking over at him. Then she moved, her legs swinging over his, and she was on his lap again, her hair over one shoulder and her lip caught between her teeth. She placed her hands on his shoulders and let her fingers trail back into his dark hair, "I want you to kiss me," She whispered against his lips. He tensed up, drawing back a bit and placing his hands on her hips to keep her from using them.
"Tris,"
"I'm sure I want this, and I'm prepared for whatever consequences come," She mumbled, fluttering her eyes shut and brushing her lips to his. God her lips were soft. He tightened his fingers on her waist, "Tell me you aren't using me, that there's more to this," He said to her, demanded of her nearly as his fingers threatened to leave bruises. The old him would have her on her back and squealing by now, the level of control rushing through him was driving him mad, but he needed to know. She looked at him, blinking slowly before placing a soft kiss on his lips, "I'm not using you, I promise," She told him, and he smashed his lips to hers radically.
He had imagined the sounds she would make, he had thought up all the subtle mewls, and all the cries of ecstasy. He imagined what she would do too, how her fingers would grip at his hair, nails scrape at his scalp, how her lips would part after a little over a minute, he counted. How she would arch into him, or tremble, how she would squirm on his lap, possibly wanting more. And how she would feel under his fingertips. But he was wrong when he thought about the feeling of her skin, or the texture of her hair.
Her lightly tanned skin was warm to the touch, heating his cold fingertips, it was soft, and smooth, and hairless, she had done something to get rid of it on her legs. He felt her muscles tense when she lifted up on her knees, pressing him back and letting her hair drape the side of her head, her lips kissing him this time, a hard searing kiss that was full of mixed feelings. She filled in great, last time he touched her, in any way really, that much he knew by how she moaned when his hands slid up to her ass. When he squeezed her, his fingertips spanning down between her legs, fingertips digging into her inner thigh, making her shiver and squirm.
When she lowered herself, she rolled, brushing herself against him, straining his sweats. His hand left her soft and squishy ass to slide up her back, bunching up her shirt, lifting it with more effort than he liked. He pulled back from her, latching his teeth on her lip, pulling and making her sigh. He was making that happen, he was the one eliciting those sounds from her. His mind told him to devour her whole, to show her what she'd been missing, to dominate and take it all, take her. His body wanted something similar, he didn't comply, much to his distress, with the war going on in his head. He tried not to think, and held himself back, knowing that he would need to play by her wants in order to go through with it.
She was topless, now. Her soft heat pressing up against his bare chest in the most delicious way, he wanted to squeeze her, wanted to play, to tease and fondle what she had hidden until now. She was addicting, her taste swarming his senses, her smell making him dizzy with desire, the heat between them clashing and his body reacting every time he rolled his hips to meet hers. The sounds she made, how she felt. He wasn't surprised when he managed to lift her up from that position, she was lighter than he thought. They didn't kiss while he carried her, instead and nuzzled into her neck and took her to his room, while she squeezed her legs about his waist.
He never imagined, if they ever had sex, hot dominating and submissive sex where she was screaming out his name and begging for the good stuff, that he'd ever do it this way. Her legs were loose around his hips, her body almost completely nude now that he had stripped her. Her eyes watching everything, her chest rising and falling with each pant as he kissed, as he scraped his teeth along her sensitive skin, as he softly bit before licking in that spot, watching for a bit before she arched her back as he sucked at the apex of her thighs to the front of her abdomen. She withered under him, a slave to his touches, to the way he kneaded her soft and supple breasts, how his thumbs flicked and swirled over her sensitive buds.
Her scent was something that made him nearly keel, sweet, and heady. He could take her this way, teasing her as he prepared for the good stuff. He didn't, because she was panting his name and whining, almost begging for all of him. The piece of cloth that covered her flower was removed, and he finished undressing with a swift pull regarding his fingers. He didn't have to ask if she was clean, she'd been with one person, and no doubt would have objected him from sliding into her with some difficulty. He groaned, brows knitting and eyes narrowing, he watched as she arched and gasped, trembling and moaning softly, a long string of his name and something she couldn't coherently put together.
It was slow, and easy, and teasing and his fingers never stopped working her. One arm held her legs up to him even as he leaned forward, invading her deeper and pressing in places that made her cry out. He smiled, watching as she moved with him, at the expression on her face. Eventually, she warned him, she didn't need to, he could already feel her start to tighten, to tense, to hold back and tremble. But when she came it was hard, and he took the opportunity to switch to something more attuned to him, something she gave clearance to by a pleading look on her face. He held himself up on his forearm, his other hand lifting her hips and angling her perfectly, and his thrusts became much quicker. She moaned whenever something felt good, so there was hardly a pause of silence, and she came undone in a few minutes, her flower more sensitive to friction, she was also impossibly tight, and it was nearly enough to make him tumble over that invisible edge with her.
He leaned down to her, and did something he shouldn't have, he kissed her, softly, sweetly, eating her moans as she trembled beneath him again. Her hands gripped at his hair, his shoulders, nails digging into his skin and dragging down his back as he used her weakness against her. Tip to base, was something she couldn't take for very long, but she was struggling to catch up to the other two times she let herself unravel in his bed. She tensed up, and she grew hot, her limbs sweaty and her body shaking as he drove into her. It was when he lost the rhythm they were in, when her hips ground up against his with each thrust in a different angle which made him brush patches and corners, that he filled her. He was much faster now, and groaning shamelessly, panting with her as she mewled, and then he was done for, because she came a third and final time.
He stayed buried deep inside of her as long as he could, until she looked tired, until he really needed a shower. When he pulled from her, she grabbed his arm, and with surprising force pulled him down to a kiss. One that wasn't searing, just slow, one that was deeper, one that mingled and sent shocks through his body, one that made him want to kiss her forever. He turned, his fingers brushing hers as he walked for his shower.
She was dressed in his clothes when he came back, curled up in his sheets as though she were afraid it wasn't real. Or maybe that's what his mind wanted, maybe he was tired of dealing with the fact he couldn't have her to himself. That she was in fact, still married, cheating or not. That she would never be his now in any other way aside from sex. That in mind, he shoved aside his concerns about what he might have thought of her, how he might have taken her, if she'd still be breathing right now if he hadn't gotten help. Haunting thoughts to fall asleep to with honey spice brushing his nose.
