Aiskling
Aiskling
"You're such a fucking ASSHOLE!" I screamed hysterically, hands clenched into fists at my sides. His lovely face contorted into a snarl and I barely dodged the book he threw at me. It smacked the wall near my shoulder with a dull tearing sound, pages scattering as it hit the floor. The motherfucker had aimed for my fucking head.
"Oh I'm a fucking asshole, huh? That's right, I'm always the prick. Well FUCK YOU."
"No, fuck YOU," I spat at him, my voice low and rough with rage. "Fuck you and your egocentric fucking power trips. I don't need this shit." I flung the words at him and turned away, but his powerful grip on my shoulder spun me back around to face him.
"Yeah, you DO," he mocked, beautiful mouth twisted into a cruel smirk. "Without me no one would ever know your fucking name. Hell, no one even knows it now!" He took a step towards me, and then another, until we were standing so close our chests were practically touching. I hated it when he got this close, looking down at me; he had a good 4 inches on me and he used it to his full advantage. "Where are you gonna go if you leave, huh? You're not Wes fucking Borland, you're not a legend, you can't just fucking leave and expect to make it on your own. Who the fuck do you think you are?"
"I'm a fucking human being," I growled, teeth bared, hands clenched so tight they ached with barely controlled violence. "I'm not your fucking bitch, and I don't deserve this shit. I don't fucking care if I never play again, as long as I GET AWAY FROM YOU!"
He paused, looking surprised at the vehemence in my words, but I wasn't even thinking anymore. He opened his mouth to spit out another sarcastic remark and I fucking lost it, I pulled back my fist and hit him with every ounce of strength I had. His head snapped sharply to the side and as he fell backwards I could see the stunned amazement flashing in his eyes. Our conflicts had always been loud and violent, but the aggression always came from him. I'd never hit back before.
"Mo'erfu'er" he whispered, delicate hands cupping his jaw as he lay sprawled out on the floor. I leaned a little closer and almost felt a little proud when I saw blood running from his mouth. Almost. Before the agony of guilt set in.
"Oh shit, oh fuck, Steph, I'm sorry..." I sputtered, kneeling beside his prone form as he grimaced in pain. "I didn't mean to, fuck, you're bleeding all over your shirt..."
"No fu'ing ki'ing," he mumbled sarcastically around a mouthful of blood. "You fu'ing hi' me!"
"I know, I know, I'm sorry," I babbled as I drew his shirt over his head and pressed the slightly bloody fabric to his mouth. At closer look it wasn't as bad as I'd thought; the blood was trickling from a wound on his tongue where his teeth had snapped down on the soft flesh. After a minute or so the bleeding slowed down and then stopped, and I lifted the bloody shirt away. He glared up at me as I gazed apologetically down, a bruise already forming on his swollen jaw.
"Ow…fuck…help me u--ow! Careful. Fuck, I'm not going to be able to sthing for a week," he grumbled as I helped him sit up. I couldn't stop a giggle at his lisp and he glared darkly at me, resentment flashing hotly in his piercing green eyes. Swallowing my laughter I held my hands up in apology.
"Sorry, I'm sorry," I gasped, schooling my face into a more serious expression. Tentatively, I reached out and touched his jaw; he sucked in a pained breath and winced at the contact. "How does it feel?"
"Like I got punched in the facthe by my fucking bassthist," he growled, but didn't move away. I traced the line of his jaw gently with a fingertip, then moved my hand to cradle the uninjured side of his face.
"I'm sorry," I whispered solemnly, giving him puppy dog eyes. He glared savagely at me but didn't pull away as I brushed my lips softly against his. "You know I'm sorry," I whispered into his mouth, running the tip of my tongue delicately along his full bottom lip. His eyes fell closed and I felt him sigh against my mouth, just before he returned the kiss. We kissed for a few moments, then he pulled away to look me in the eye.
"You're still a fucking asshole," he murmured, one fine dark brow arched curiously at me.
I laughed. "And you're still an egocentric prick," I replied, grinning.
He nodded solemnly. "I know," he said. "But you love me anyway, so it's okay." Then he smiled, that half shy-little-boy, half sex-and-rock-god smile, and I couldn't stop myself from kissing him. Yeah, he was a fucking bastard. And I loved him.