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Posted to the RoswellSlash mailing list March 12, 2001

Collide
by Pilar
Warnings: On the slightly non-consensual, consensual side. m/m slash
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Hey, Katims, you try this one and you can keep 'em. I will bow at your feet and say nothing else. ;)



        "You know you want it, just say you want it."

        "No."

        "Bitch. You know you want it."

        His arms hold me tight, fingers taut around my wrists. The length of his body presses hard against my back, feet spreading my legs at the ankles. And I know that as hard as I fought back, I allowed it.

        His fingers twist in the back of my hair and pull my head to his shoulder, his lips crush against mine as I clench my teeth.

        "Tell me, bitch. Tell me now. Tell me how you want it."

        Against his mouth I told him no. I. Told. Him. No.

        Against my mouth, he presses harder. Tongue digging, fingers twisting tighter; my hair tore under him, scalp giving under his grasp. I clench my jaw harder and refuse to give in.

        "No."

        "Oh, so butch now... it's sexy," he told my unforgiving mouth. Fingers released my hair and clutched onto my neck, teeth sliding against jugular and across shoulder blade. I gasped. I didn't mean to.

        No means no, right? That's what they had always said.

        Meanwhile, my body hates me for my lips and lungs and vocal chords.

        My flesh gives under his callused paws, my legs relax.

        Cock pressed hard to my sphincter; if I'd been able to see it, I would have noticed it's sheen; slicked up and lubed, purple and angry.

        "Tell me."

        "No."

        "Fuck you, then."

        "Fuck me, then."

        "I wouldn't worry about that, honey."

        I wasn't necessarily wondering. I had followed him inside the pitch black room, abandoned the rest of them to see him in the dark. But I hadn't necessarily expected this. It was nearly as though he had read my mind.

        But. Just. Not.

        Fingers slide and probe inside me, legs spread further, my head thrown back on his shoulder now. I let my mouth open and he bites my tongue.

        "You don't listen."

        "I don't have to."

        "You think you're special? You think you're the motherfucking king?"

        "I--"

        "Just say it. Just tell me. Now."

        I felt the icy cold as he stepped back from me, pants around my ankles and legs extended, lubed up wet ass taking the air around me, cock pressed tight against the wall.

        I wouldn't meet his eyes, even though he waited for me to.

        I wasn't going to let him know anything. I couldn't let him know anything.

        Closer again but not touching, fingers back in my hair fingers tightening against my hip fingers pulling me toward him until it hurt.

        "Fuck. You."

        "Yeah, that's what I want to hear, baby. Tell me again; show me how fucking butch you are, little bitch boy. Tell me how bad you want it."

        Breath a hushed growl against the side of my cheek; tongue sliding against my jaw line as punctuation.

        Cock head raging against my ass, pushing against it firmly but not hard enough. Still wouldn't let him know. Still would never say it. Still would stand ground.

        He'd never hear the words.

        Finally pushed inside me, finally my head pulled back so hard I felt skin loosen from muscle, finally legs spread so wide I think I might split. Finally.

        Finally.

        The rest of me presses harder against the wall, half-hard for tenacity. My hand goes back around him and urges him deeper but is slapped away.

        "You don't get to change your mind, cunt."

        He slams into me pressing me harder against the smooth wall, pumping himself deeper. Pumping. Himself. Deeper. Thrusting into me until I think that he is going to tear me in half. Hard. Fast. Fuck.

        My lungs betray my mind; my mouth lets out a long groan. His hand slams over my mouth.

        I taste his blood before I even realize my teeth.

        And I feel his pulse. That pulse. That tremor. That shake.

        And I feel my pulse as he empties himself inside me, and I feel myself let go onto the paint.

        When he's through, he flips my face back to his and he stares into my eyes -- I see dark brown pitch black and angry. I'll hold the bruise where his palm connects for the rest of the night.

        I register shock as he zips, that chain clinks against itself and it's the first sound I've heard.

        "King. Nice." He laughs, then. Maniacal and enveloping.

        THE END

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