ominousgrey (ominousgrey) wrote in matt_loves_jere,
ominousgrey
ominousgrey
matt_loves_jere

Title: Addiction
Author:ominousgrey
Pairing: Jeremiah Rangel; Matt Lovato
Rating:NC-17
A/N: Written for Eastyn

Addiction. That's what they call it, the indescribable notation of not being able function without the influence of some substance or feeling in life. Some are addicted to sex, others to alcohol. It doesn't matter. It all ends up in the same decisive means of circling habitual actions about one pivotal ritual of life.

My addiction was pain. Pain caused only directly by Jeremiah Rangel. I suppose a well trained psychiatrist could go as far as to say 'I'm enthralled with my boyfriend and the harmful pleasure that he causes me.'

They're only half right. Others, as righteous as they may be, choose to look at it under a completely different, cliched aspect. Abusive. Some would say Jeremiah is abusive. And by some, I'll go as far as to say the grand majority save the handful that distinctly understand the addiction as much as I do.

I push the ebony haired beauty to the brink of his anger. I force it out of him. Why? Because I like the feeling of his fist colliding with the side of my face. I remember the first time Jeremiah hit me- shock bled from his pores like a poison, his eyes staggered with guilt and loss. Fumbling, he'd reached for an apology in the sweat filled air, failing, and leaving his perfectly formed mouth hung open.

'It's okay..' I remember saying, sort of aware of my surroundings swimming as the warm trickle of velvetine blood that splashed the side of my face.

'I think...I think I like it. Hit me again, Jeremiah.'

Jeremiah didn't. I remember how much it angered me, and how the sex that followed was some of the most brutal I'd ever experienced in my life. Dry. Dry sex, no lube, all teeth with tearing fingertips. I'd fucked him that time, feral, past the brink of common thought and burrowed deep within my primitive instincts to just thrust. It was some of the best sex of my life. I've never cummed that hard before in my existence on Earth.

I came to realize that if this painful little action was pursued just right, then each time we fucked we'd cum harder, attack wilder, and behave in such a unequivocal manner that we'd connect on levels so intense that the previously inflicted pain simply didn't matter.

Habit and addiction are very different. Sometimes, I'd use habits to help me feed my addiction. Irritation. Constant bickering. Playfully devastating flirting. Yet these impulsions only proved useful. If I screamed, then Jeremiah pitched an argument right back. If my balled fist landed with a packing sound against his jaw, then his would in turn meet my tensed stomach with a definite thud.

And every time we'd fuck. It seemed to be the perfect resolution, fight, exert stress and aggression, and fuck like the primal animals we were created to be. Each time it'd draw itself out more, and every morning after we'd have to wait longer for the perspicuously administered wounds to heal. Every time, we wanted it. Every time, we loved it. And every time we grew closer.

It'd been a week since we last fought, a week and 6 hours to be exact. I was hungry, starving like a child lost in a desert. Calloused fingertips scraped over the cut that had been delivered to my lip seven days ago, the skin sore, but surely healing. Smugly my lips drew out into a grin, dimples matching my reflection in the mirror. I wander to the doorway of the bathroom, leaning against it in the obnoxiously bright glow that the bathroom is emitting. I always hated that lighting, the sort that made it so bright that it rivaled the sun, but never once fussed. Perhaps it was time to start.

'Jeremiah, this light in this bathroom is too fucking bright.'

I wander down the hall, quite sure that my abrasive tones have echoed far enough along the corridor to rape his ears in the next room. Surely enough Jeremiah's brows are raised as I enter, peering up over the book he's reading and illuminated by the sunlight that's streaking from the window and over the floor.

'Is that so, Matt.'

'Yes, it is so, Jeremiah.'

'Go change it yourself.'

I pause, still encased by the harsh shadowed angle that the hallway has safely created for me. I hadn't really expected such a blunt answer. Hell, it's like he isn't even trying to get mad. Work. He wants me to work at it this time. Well so be it.

'Fuck that, Jeremiah, it's your fucking light bulb. You know, I hate it when you're such a bitch like this, I mean, just get off the fucking chair and-'

'Matt, it isn't going to work this time,' Jeremiah muses softly, eyes directing themselves back to the book in his hands. I'm sure he's not reading it because he's waiting for my reply, so he can cattily check it with his own.

'What's not going to work, Jeremiah?'

'I'm not fighting with you anymore, Matthew. I refuse to hurt someone I care for.'

It's a self-explanatory statement, one that takes me a second to get over because I've been somewhat dumbfounded by this sudden act of justice. How dare he call me on my tactical maneuvers. I resolve to a very simple method: playing dumb.

'What?'

'You know exactly, what I mean Matt. I. Won't. Do it.'

I swallow, and there's a dry annoying bulge in my throat that just won't disappear. What? What the hell does he mean by that? He can't just sit back and take everything I say like a bitch! I, of course, tell him exactly this.

'Matt, it means I won't lay a finger on you. Ever again. I shouldn't have even started that habit in the first place. I mean to break it now.'

I curse, and turn my head to the side. It's a habit for him. I don't think he really understands that it's an addiction for me. The metal of my lip ring slides noisily between my teeth as I take a few hesitant steps into the brightly lit room. I swallow, prepared to do what it takes to get what I need, just like any other addict.

'Please, Jere...just... hit me in the face... once, just once. That's all I ask.'

I sound fucking pathetic. Jeremiah has raised his gaze and he's looking painfully at me, caressing me caringly with his vision. I don't want care. I want pain. I want pain, and hate, and something I can hold against him so I can sexually take it out on his body. Crumpling to the floor in the midst of the room I bow my head, surprised to feel the sparks of tears teasing the ducts of my eyes.

'Just...once...Jere...'

I'm sobbing now. A true addict, begging, pleading for anything that will further administer what they need to go about their lives. My hands cover my face, and I'm plastering my palms with my own salty droplets. My breath hitches in my throat, and my entire body shivers as I hear Jeremiah raise from his seat. A few more steps and he's next to me, arms encasing, and suddenly I know that he means what he says. He's not going to hit me.

'Matthew..' he offers weakly, bending down to kiss the fly away spikes of my hair. Crudely my arms entwine about Jeremiah's mid section and I'm sobbing recklessly against his shirt. A smooth hand catches my jaw line, and guides my face upwards. Jeremiah looks as if his heart is being mutilated at the source of my pain, and softly he presses his lips to mine.

His pain hurts me worse than any hit will ever be able to. This time, strangely enough, I hate it. I want to kiss away all his worries and pain and mutter some cheap and over used word of condolence in his ear. But I don't. I just return to his chest, sobbing against his shirt, drenching the white fabric so it's rendered see through.
'Matthew... we can work through this. I promise,' Jeremiah mutters against my head, nuzzling his nose to the gelled mess. I nod meekly, a trembling sigh fighting past my mouth.

A few minutes later Jeremiah comes to a stand, mumbling that he's got to go out for a couple of hours, and won't be back till later tonight. I remain on the floor a few minutes, a trembling mess amongst the masterpiece of the house, before bringing myself to a shaky stand. There's only one way to win in a situation like this- continuous persuasiveness.

A couple hours later I pick up the land line and press in a few memorized numbers, smiling bitterly to the chipper voice that answers on the other end.

'Jeremiah, hurry home. I've got to talk to you about something...'

Attitude and insistence. This addiction will be fed yet.

He arrives twenty minutes later, already in a tempered bad mood, cursing harshly about 'how busy the freeway was' and how 'some bastards just need to learn how to fucking drive. His look fades to a soft and sympathetic smile as he takes the reigns, remember the promise from earlier.

'I'm sorry, baby, I forgot you weren't feeling well.'

Well. That's a blunt way of putting it. Meagerly I force a forgiving expression to my face, ghosting towards my boyfriend to whisper a kiss against his lips.

'S'ok, Jeremiah. Don't worry about it.'

Jere pauses, his eyes searching mine, which are still likely stained red from my moment of weakness earlier. There's an uneasy silence in the air, the awkward sensation of having to tip toe carefully around each hurdle the other opposes. After a few frightening moments Jere leans into my seductive charm, flourishing my lips with his own. I can't help but to grin.

'Hey, Jere, I was thinking...' I begin, rather softly, my voice hinting of lust and passion. Jeremiah simply regards me with a slow dark smile. I take this as the necessary means to continue.

'I wanted to... try... something...'

'Oh?'

Jeremiah pulls his head back, and his curiosity is perked, much like the announcement of a gift or sign of affection. In a way it is a gift, affection, and much more; but it also atones a demand. I allow a creeping grin to surface, and while talking guide him down the hallway to my elaborately thought out plan.

'Yes, you see... well... I was thinking...' I begin, my hands slipping forward boldly to ravish his body as my lips lean caressingly towards his neck, tickling and playing with the soft skin encasing it. We're sliding down the hall, and somehow fumble our way into the near dark room. His body caves under mine, bouncing gently against the bed, and I leave to straddle him, fingers working tentatively up the long tendons in his arms. I catch a bit of skin between my teeth before continuing on with my manipulative ballad.

'If we aren't going to do this... beating thing anymore, then you know, there's always other options.'

He stops immediately, chest heaving, out of breath, and looking like a horny, cheap slut. Quickly his eyes search mine before there's a distinctive click from the top of the bed. This if followed shortly after by another, and Jeremiah's eyes begin to search mine much more rapidly. Devilishly I grin at the prisoner, fingering nostalgically the handcuffs that now chain my boyfriend to the metal head board.

'Y'see, I understand your need and wish to not hurt me, but it's a simple fact Jere: We both get off on pain.'

For emphasis I thrust my hips forward, constricting his already throbbing erection. With a sleek grin I slide off his pants and boxers, loosing my own clothes in the process. By the time I reach Jeremiah again it's skin against skin- except the poor man is still wearing his shirt. A miscalculation on my part. Perhaps I should have planned that better.

Oh well, that will coincide nicely with the second piece of my plan. From the bed table I grasp a fine knife, blade sharp, reflecting diamond like streaks off of what little light there appears to be in the room. Jeremiah's eyes grow wide for a second, before I shift subconsciously and cause him to groan. This brings a smirk to my face. I love the effect I have on Jeremiah. What's even more, I love the fact that I have full power to distribute the very same effect.

As I slide the cool side of the steel against his shirt I can feel him shiver, and I haven't even done anything yet. With drawn out strokes I bring the weapon up to the collar of his shirt, grinning rather savagely.

'I'm afraid this is going to have to go, Jeremiah. And you're not permitted to say otherwise, or you will be dealt with accordingly. Be a good boy, and your pain will be next to minimal. Refer to me only as Master; do you understand?'

Feverishly Jeremiah nods his head, eyes straining to look down at the proposingly harmful instrument. Smirking I slit the fabric covering his body, and within seconds it's a shredded heap on the floor to the right. Slickly I move my face down to his chest, flourishing his body with kisses. My mouth slides, up his body, legs tensed against his, until I'm decorating his jawline with sentimental affection. Soon he's hungrily searching for my mouth, sealing against my lips and tasting my saliva. He's innocent and forgotten nearly that his hands are restrained. He's hungry and wanton, just as I planned.

Disarmed and unaware, just how I want him.

Without warning the knife comes into play, tickling against the skin above his right nipple. He gasps into my mouth, but it evaporates into a groan. A bead of sanguine trickles down his pale skin, and once again I'm moving down his body to taste the metallic copper for myself. Jeremiah gasps, another thin and invisible line creating itself on it's torso.

'Oh...Matt...'

I stop. He freezes. Fearfully his gaze flickers down to plunder my own. I raise a dark brow and press the blade in a little deeper.

'What did I say, Jeremiah?'

My voice is threatening, commanding like a ridiculing Captain. He gasps once more, legs pinned, but body flinching against the pain.

'I'm-I'm sorry, Master!' he whines, eyes screwing shut. I simply smirk to myself.

'No, Jeremiah, you're not sorry. Not yet, anyway.'

Somehow I manage to maneuver my entire body down, shifting it slightly so his legs are still pinned, but his throbbing cock is right in my line of vision. I take him in, tongue swirling, throat gagging, and the teeth making an occasional, but seductively painful appearance. In the midst of this pleasure I place the knife away to the side, and Jeremiah's much to busy with shaking his head back to even realize that I've disregarded his most recent mode of torture.

My fingers encircle around leather.

Quickly I stop, leaving him just on the brim of orgasming, and he whines. Whines, but doesn't beg. Little Jeremiah has apparently learned a valuable lesson. I lift the whip into his view, so he can get a good, albeit lustful gaze of my next method of punishment.

'Do you see this? Answer me, Jeremiah.'

'Yes, Master.'

'Do you want me to use it on you?'

'No, Matt- I mean Master! No, Master!'

Inwardly I explode at the slip up. Softly my fingers linger along his jawline, and Jere leans into the touch.

'You slipped up, Jeremiah.'

The whip crashes hard against his skin, leaving perfect red marks against the previously alabaster canvas. Smirking I administer a second, heavy blow, tossing the weapon aside. Jeremiah's arching from the mattress, half screaming, half moaning. He's enjoying every fucking second of this.

I spit on my hand, quickly applying lube to myself, and not even bothering to stretch him. After all, that's for the more caring love sessions. This is mean to be brutal and painful- which I think I'm accomplishing quite well at the moment. Without warning I thrust into him, giving him mere seconds to adjust to the feel of me before I begin to establish a pattern.

He's gasping, back arched, blood dried and clotting in his wounds, head reeling between his two captured limbs. Around me his legs wrap as I hit his prostate, and he pulls me in deeper. I'm met face-to-face with his ribs, skin pulled tightly over them, a beautiful cut remaining. My tongue reaches out to flick the wound as I begin to drive harder, faster, and with more power. Jeremiah groans low, and deep. It's drawn out, timely, taking it's pleasant time as it forms a name.

'Ohhhhh Mattttttttt. Fuckkk, fuck me Matthew.'

It always seems so dirty when Jeremiah uses my full name when we fuck. I don't even mind the fact that he called me ''Matt''; I'm too busy driving into him to care about much of anything right now. The pattern picks up, becoming more irrational, and soon Jeremiah's whimpering that he's close, and fuck, I am too. The whimpers give way to screams and Jere's spinning ribbons all over our stomachs as I empty within him.

Simultaneously we both collapse. Our body's are heaving and I'm clutching Jere's for dear life. Air seems to be a substance that neither of us can get enough of right now. The room is spinning, and I think about nodding off before I hear Jeremiah shift uneasily in the cuffs. Smiling to myself I drag myself painfully slow up the bed, acquiring the key from the bedside as I go. Wordlessly I unlock the cuffs, choosing to silently come to rest at Jeremiah's side as I watch him carefully.

'Now... I know that you liked that... and I know we can't fight... so I was thinking, even if it's not all the time, that maybe...we could do this every now and then... just to keep it interesting, y-'

My words are cut off by soft lips and I smile against them before yielding. Jere draws away and looks at me with dark and heavy eyes.

'Alright. But next time, I'm the Master.'


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Alright, this was a secret Santa thing, but I've written a second part to it with hot man sex ;) Comment if you want it put up :o
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