AN:
Lemme clear something up real quick: I didn't say everyone hated Mike or that everyone should. I was just saying I wouldn't blame you if you did. I'm writing a lot of this story from El's POV so I'm in her mindset and I'm not too fond of him right now. It's just how I write, it's not that deep lol.
Secondly, I wanted to say that this story kind of connects to my other ones? Specifically Red Christmas and First Time For Everything. The other ones are meh but those two are in the timeline before this one. If you've read them you can see why El is extra devastated by Mike's distance considering how close they were. Just a bit of perspective to understand why she acted out (which doesn't make it right).
Quick shoutout to 101 for catching the Weeknd thing. I've been switching back and forth between writing this one (set in the 90s) and a modern story and I get all muddled. I fixed it so thank you for pointing that out! I'm such a shit for details.
Lastly: This story is depressing. Angst with more angst. I thought I made that clear. It's gonna have a happy ending but it's not going to be happy until then. If you don't want depressing... run away now.
The door had just closed behind her and El was staring at Mike's back as he ran his fingers through his hair, still in agony over what had just happened. She felt a bolt of guilt, for her stupid plan to make him jealous. It hadn't been smart but he had taken it too far.
Suddenly she was pissed.
"What the fuck, Mike?" Her voice seethed. "You punched our fucking neighbor!"
He whirled, and when his eyes met hers, she felt herself shiver, goosebumps covering her arms, her nipples pebbling beneath the thin cotton fabric, every inch of her skin electric. Now he was looking her all over and she let her hands drop, let him see what he had made her become. A stupid slut.
"You let him touch you."
The words hung heavy between them and she saw rage spark into his eyes as he stared at her, feeling her temper flare back up.
"It's not like you ever touch me!" The words weren't hers, fueled by anger. "It was about time someone did!"
"You let him touch you, El!" His voice was choked. "He touched you, he would have fucked you if you let him. He would have—"
He couldn't finish the sentence, the thought too terrible. Why was this the thing that made him react, someone else barging in? Why hadn't her begging and crying been enough to wake him up?
She wanted him to hurt, spitting out the words.
"Maybe I should have let him. Maybe he should have fucked me. You sure as hell won't."
That was all it took and he was on her in an instant, slamming her against the door, his hands under her thighs, lifting her up and pressing every inch of himself against her. Their mouths clashed, their teeth clacking, and then he was kissing her so hard her lips hurt, her hands tangling into his mop of hair and pulling. His hips were ramming into her, like he was trying to get inside of her even though he was wearing jeans, the friction making her moan.
Finally. Finally.
His hands cupped her ass, squeezing so hard she whimpered, and she bucked against him, more than willing. This was what she'd been waiting for and he was finally giving it to her. Her head fell back and he was biting her throat and collarbones, making her wince as he left red and purple marks all over. Marking her in spots that were hard to hide. Claiming her, so everyone would know.
He was angry at her which had been the point. But she realized she was too.
Is this really what it had taken? Her damn-near fucking another guy for him to pay attention to her again? She didn't even think that James was cute, but it had been the only way to get Mike to even look at her and she was angry that it had taken so much.
Suddenly he was lifting her, throwing her over his shoulder, his arms wrapped around her legs, carrying her down the hall to their bedroom. Her back hit the mattress as he slung her onto the quilt, knocking the breath right out of her, and then he was on top of her, invading every inch of her space and filling up her vision with him.
His eyes were black fire, taking in every inch of her, sitting on her legs so she was helpless to move, licking his lips. There was an obvious bulge in the front of his jeans and she felt heat pooling between her legs, his mere gaze enough to get her wet. This was going to happen and she was more than ready, squirming beneath him, wanting it to start.
Rough fingers grabbed the neckline of her dress, and then there was the sound of fabric tearing as he ripped it open, all the way down to her belly button, her perky breasts springing free. He paused and licked his lips, like he had forgotten how much he loved her boobs, one hand tracing a hardened nipple. His gaze went down further and his fingers round the torn black cotton again. She gasped, eyes widening, and he tore it even further until it split all the way, down to her thighs, the fabric falling open. He choked at the sight of her naked body, already damp with her sweat, her thighs slick from her arousal.
"Fuck, El, I knew you weren't wearing a bra, but not even panties?" He stared down at the dark curls between her thighs before glancing up at her again. "What the fuck were you thinking?"
"That someone was going to fuck me," she spat. "I just wasn't sure if it was going to be you."
His knees forced her thighs apart and he was down on top of her, between her legs, pinning her hands above her head. She fought, trying to pull out of his grip, not wanting him to have control of her but she wasn't strong enough, struggling in vain. He seemed smug about being in charge of her, but then scowled again at her words.
"You really think someone else would have? Is that what you wanted?"
"Yes," she bluffed. A lie.
"You really would let another guy touch you? Let him taste you and feel you?" He was growling out the words. "Let him fuck you?"
"M-Maybe!" She was losing but not willingly.
He got down in her face and she shuddered despite herself as his body pressed against her naked flesh.
"You really think I'd let that happen?" he whispered.
"You don't fucking own me!" she spat. "And you don't even want me anymore! So fuck off, Mike, if I need dick every now and then and you won't even look at me, what do you expect to happen?"
"I—"
He looked stricken, her words causing some realization. It caused him to hesitate, to pause, and she ripped her hands free and threw herself up, flipping them over, so she was straddling him, letting the torn dress fall off of her so she was completely bare. Her hands shoved his shirt up, her hips rocking against him, desperate to get what she wanted. He needed to be naked. Now.
"I let him touch me because I knew it would piss you off," she admitted angrily. "Because it's the only way to get you to look at me anymore."
He was still shocked, staring up at her as she ripped his shirt off of him, her fingers unbuttoning his jeans. She was almost dripping onto him, and she could feel he was as hard as rock, her hand rubbing him through his pants. Mike groaned, grabbing her round cheeks and squeezing them hard, forcing herself onto him even harder and bucking up against her. He was pissed, but he needed to feel her, needed this just as much as she did, and he let go long enough to shove his jeans and underwear down his legs.
His cock sprang free and she smiled down at it, scooting back over him and then sitting on his thighs, so his aching member nestled cozily between her thighs. Her hand gripped him, pumping him lazily and making his hips jerk up, which she noticed with a grin.
"You're so busy and tired all the time," she raised an eyebrow. "But it seems like you still want me, huh?"
"Fuck, El," he groaned, realizing he was losing whatever battle their were having with their bodies. "Fuck, of course I want you."
The words made her shiver in relief, and then she was scooting down, her mouth wrapping around his dick as he let out a strangled groan. She felt a surge of pride, she was getting what she wanted, but she was still pissed. How many months had she layed around, afraid and nervous and unsure, missing his warm touch and hot mouth? And only now he was confessing how felt.
She pulled off of him rather suddenly, deciding she didn't want to give him that. He didn't deserve it. What she wanted was to get fucked so hard her legs shook and her body felt like jello and she wasn't about to suck his dick to convince him of that. She would take what she wanted.
And she would make him hurt, like she'd been hurting. Get him low and then kick once or twice for good measure. Maybe then he would understand what she had been feeling.
Crawling back up him, she straddled his hips and pressed her slick arousal against him, not letting him in yet but feeling his hardness, sliding back and forth and panting. It felt good, so good, and his hands found her hips, gripping tight enough to bruise and moving her faster. They gasped and groaned and his hands wandered up her body, tweaking her nipple and kneading the soft mounds, watching her eyebrows peak together.
For a moment they just felt each other, groaning and panting, their hips banging noisily as they rubbed and grinded. And then he ruined it by talking.
"Did you really wear that slutty outfit to piss me off?"
He asked between grunts and she looked down, surprised he was bothering to talk to her. She cocked an eyebrow, deciding it was a fair thing to admit.
"Did it work?"
"I liked it." He bucked up against her and they both let out matching gasps. "I liked it a lot."
"So did everyone else. Especially James."
She looked down, smirking, but felt her heart stop for a second as his face twisted into scowl and then suddenly he was flipping them again, crashing on top of her, one hand pinning her arm down and the other gripping her leg and pulling it up, rutting against her before pulling back.
"You really think he could do better, could fuck you better?" Mike snarled. "That he could be half as good as me?"
His teeth and tongue were everywhere, covering her neck and sternum, pinching her nipples and making her cry out. The rage, the jealousy, the dominance came roaring out of him like a lion and all she could do was gasp and shudder as he kissed and bit down her stomach to the aching throb between her legs. His hands shoved her hips down onto the bed, holding her down as she tried to shift away. Her knees were thrown over his shoulders and then his mouth met dripping pink folds and she cried out.
"Ah! Ahhhoh!"
He looked up, smug, pressing his tongue to her clit and moving it in circles. She hated it, hated how he looked at her, hated how much she missed him despite how he'd treated her, hated that he was right. She would never find anyone better, it wasn't possible. Instead of letting him gloat she grabbed a handful of his thick, dark hair and shoved his face further into her wet center, biting back another moan.
"H-He could be b-better," she gasped. "I've only ever had you."
It was true, she didn't know if there was something better out there than this. She'd never wondered before, more than content with his fingers and tongue and dick, never needing more. Even now, she didn't want anyone or anything else… but she was okay with letting him think so as long as it hurt.
He shoved his tongue into her aching channel in response, deep but not deep enough, earning a strangled whimper and the lifting of her hips. His hands shoved them down again, keeping her pressed firmly to the mattress as she twitched beneath his lips. A finger replaced his tongue and she jolted, trying not to give in to him but wanting to, a second and third finger making her eyes roll. It felt good, so fucking good, and she gasped, her hands ripping at his hair, her hips chasing his mouth as he pulled away.
His face was damp, nose and cheeks, and he licked his lips as she frowned at him, unsatisfied with what he'd started.
"If you want to cum, you're going to have beg," he said calmly.
Her face went red. "No. I'm not begging."
"You have before." He crawled back over her, catching her leg and pulling it up. "I know you like it. I know what you like, El. No one else does. I know what makes you moan, what makes you scream. What makes you cry and beg." His voice was a growl as he stared into her eyes. "I know what you want."
Anger filled her like a flash of lightning. He was wrong, he didn't know what she wanted. If he did, they wouldn't be here tearing each other into pieces in a mockery of love. He may know how to fuck her, but he didn't know a damn thing about what she wanted.
Her fingernails found purchase in his back and then she was ripping her hands down, watching as he grunted and flinched, his head thrown back in wordless howl.
"Ow, fuck!" he snarled, looking back down at her.
"You don't know me anymore," she challenged. "You don't know anything. You're a liar! All you do is lie!"
It was some kind of cruel dance, and he glared down at her, wincing at the marks on his back and the hate in her eyes. Whatever game they were playing, he wasn't backing down. Not when he was throbbing for her and she was dripping for him. They were going to finish this and he was determined to win.
"I know you, El," his lips were on her, then his teeth. "I know every inch of you. Don't pretend like I don't. You're mine. You've always been mine."
"No," she protested, not wanting to give in. "I-I'm not—"
"You're mine!"
It was growl and then his hips were on hers, his hands fumbling, and he was pushing into her, slowly, like he wanted her to feel every inch. His eyes were closed and he was groaning, like he'd forgotten how good she felt, pushing further and deeper until he was all the in, opening his eyes with a gasp. She was tighter than ever, clenching around him, pulling him even farther.
El's nails dug into his biceps and she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out at how amazing it was, how good it felt to be filled again. She had missed it so much, had missed him, and now he was finally giving her what she had been wanting. Her body reacted, fluttering and clenching as she tried to pretend like it didn't feel totally amazing.
"Fuck, El, you're mine." His hand cupped her cheek, his thumb finding its way into her mouth as she threw her head back. "Your hot, wet mouth when you suck my dick? That's fucking mine."
He pulled back and then slammed into her and she couldn't help it, she cried out, a high keening whimper, her head still thrown back. It was so easy to give in to his dominant words and she felt herself weakening as his head went down to her chest.
"Your pretty little tits? So perfect and delicious." His mouth licked and suckled, laving over her nipples and then blowing, making her shiver and tremble. "These are mine too. All mine."
"No, I—ah! Aahh!" She jolted as he pumped into her. "Fuh-fuck!"
His hips sped up their leisurely pace as he panted into her ear, reaching the spots inside of her that made her gasp, her feet shuffling against the mattress. It was too much, his words, his mouth on her neck and face, his hands on her hips holding her down. It was everything she'd been wanting and she bathed in the crude affection and attention, finally giving in to him.
"Ohhh fuck! Mike!" Her nails ripped into his shoulders and neck, leaving red trails on his pale skin as she cried out for him. "Mike!"
"That's it, El," he slowed and smirked. "That's it, say my name. Tell me whose dick you belong to. Whose dick fucking owns you." His breath was in her ear his hands squeezing her hips and moving her up and down against the bed as he slammed into her, over and over. "Your pussy is mine, El. No one else will ever touch you or get inside of you. I'm the only who gets to have you, fuck, I need you."
"I-I—"
He didn't hold back, his hips a frantic blur pounding her into the mattress as he claimed every part of her, reminded her of who knew her body, of who had her first, of the only one who had ever been so close. Him. It was what made all of it so bittersweet, her first love, first everything, feeling the need to reclaim her as if he knew some part of him had already lost her.
Her fingers curled into her palms and her hand went up to grip the bed frame, needing to anchor herself down as the rammed himself in so deep he hit her cervix. It wasn't gentle in any way, her thighs and ass turning red from their skin slapping together, his fingers bruising her hips and thighs and arms as he used his grip to pull her down onto him harder, the bed hitting the wall over and over. There was no reprieve, no way to back out and he stared down at her body, watching her breasts bounce and her body heave with each punishing thrust.
"God, El, fuck, you're so perfect and beautiful, so fucking sexy," it was a growl, "no one else can have you, if anyone tries to touch you I—" His eyes were filled with a wild, primal fire, something deep inside of him taking over. "I-I would kill them, fuck, I would kill for you!"
"Mike," she gasped, eyes flying wide.
"Mine, El, you're mine, I'm never letting you go," he rasped. "Your body is mine, all of you is fucking mine."
It made her shiver and the anger that had been a low burn hardened into hatred again, his need to own her and control her pissing her the fuck off. Who did he think he was, ignoring her for months and then spewing all this bullshit like suddenly everything was going to be okay? She'd been desperate for him to touch her but now the hurt and anger she'd been ignoring came flooding out.
With help from her mind, she shoved him off, switching yet again as she climbed into his lap and sank back onto his throbbing cock, letting out low huff, her hands flat on his chest. He tried to move but she had him pinned, staring down at him as she began to move her hips, slowly, letting him fill her, the familiar stretch so goddamn miraculous.
"You don't get to claim me," anger made her voice shake. "You don't get to do that anymore."
She moved faster, her nails digging into his chest, her head falling back as she took what she'd been wanting, letting him thrust his hips lightly but keeping control. He had wanted her to beg and she been willing, willing to give him what he wanted to just get fucked. But not anymore.
The swirl of her hips turned into a slow grind that made her teeth clench and her eyes roll, everything feeling so right even though it was wrong. She bounced and gasped, forgetting how perfectly he fit inside of her, how amazingly thick he was, just enough to stretch without hurting. It had been so long since they'd been like this.
"El, c'mon, please." He was begging. "I-I got carried away. I'm sorry."
"Shut up."
"But I—"
"I said shut the fuck up!" she hissed.
It wasn't something she wanted to hear from him right now, the apology that she had deserved weeks ago. Right now all she wanted was to feel the throbbing ache that was reverberating from where they were joined, the fiery need that was building with each thrust and collision. He was grunting and she was panting and keening and their bodies slapped together as she rode him hard enough to bruise, her legs shaking and struggling to keep up.
Her concentration broke and then his hands were on her hips, helping to move her and keep the pace, his own hips jutting up into her.
It was so intense and she cried out, feeling the pleasure shiver across her skin as she squeezed her eyes shut, her mouth hanging open.
"Ohhh, oh, Mike," she sobbed. "Fuck!"
Everything exploded, her vision, her hearing, her mind, and she felt him all the way inside, a familiar growl leaving his throat in the form of her name as he finished deep inside of her. Her muscles went slack, everything warm, and she collapsed on top of him, unable to keep herself upright.
Tears dripped from her eyes, a sob shaking her chest, but she wasn't sure why she was crying, too many emotions overwhelming her, her shoulders shaking.
There were gentle hands on her shoulders, soft, familiar kisses pressed to her hair and temples, the usual gratitude expressed much more carefully. He was always like that, if they were rough, needing to touch her and make her feel safe. For second, she let it happen, let herself rest against him, breathing in his scent, sweat and aftershave. It was safe and easy and what she had been wanting, for him to hold her and kiss her and tell her he loved her.
She could feel the mess they'd made dripping out of her, onto her thighs, the combined results of their pleasure. Normally she didn't mind but suddenly she felt disgusting and wrong.
What was that? What had just happened?
Before, they had been passionate, dominant, loving, and sweet. But that had been… anger and hatred and hurt, and while she wanted to feel satisfied—she had got what she wanted after all—she just felt… used and dirty and disgusting. Why had she thought that sex would fix the distance and not make it worse?
Because it always had before. It was how they found their way back to each other through the years, when long distance made it hard or there were misunderstandings. She knew she could always kiss him and lose herself to his touch, trusting him to make her feel good and giving back the same. It was a connection, not just an action, one that had bonded them since their fumbling first time all those years ago.
Mike's hand brushed her hair tenderly, and she suddenly felt the urge to throw up.
Her hands shoved him off, sitting up and crawling across their bed, her feet hitting the floor as she stumbled to the bathroom, shutting the door behind her with a slam, the lock clicking. The toilet seat was up and her knees hit the floor as she emptied the alcohol she'd had at the party from her stomach in a violent retch.
There were tears in her eyes, not from throwing up, and she let out a broken sob as she heaved a second time. It was wrong. Everything was wrong and she didn't know what to do anymore.
Mike had been her whole world. Her life had started because of him, and she'd always assumed he had felt the same, but she was wrong. She had become a possession to him, a thing to own and conquer and claim. Their love had blackened and nothing she did could save it.
She couldn't save them.
"El?" There was knock and the handle jiggled. "Are you okay?"
"Go away!"
"El, I'm sorry, that was—"
"Go away, Mike!"
She screamed at the door and then turned, reaching for the faucet and turning on the tub shower, as hot as it would go, drowning out his words. There was nothing he could say, they were broken and not even sex could fix it. She wanted to wash herself, get every trace of him off of her, and try and feel clean. To try and start over.
His fists pounded the door but she didn't let it move, unable to handle getting yelled at again, to hear that it was her fault and that she was stupid, as if she didn't already know. She crawled into the tub, her legs too shaky and sore to stand, sitting under the stream of scalding water and crying, hugging her knees to her chest, ignoring the faint sound of him calling her name, begging her to come out and talk to him.
Trembling, she shut her eyes, feeling the spray of hot water but shivering anyways.
They were broken and she couldn't fix it anymore.
AN:
Yeah, like I said. Depressing with more depression. I warned you.
I still don't have an estimation on how many chapters. I originally thought six but I'm not sure yet. I haven't written far enough to see my ending, though I know how it ends. When I know I'll you all know.
Thanks for the overwhelming amount of reviews. You guys are the light of my life. I literally checked first thing when I woke up this morning and couldn't believe it. All of your opinions are heard and your compliments make blush and yeah... I'm ridiculous. But thank you so much. It motivates me to update faster so I can see what you all think of the new chapters.
See you tomorrow.
~Wyn
