Bridgycat
Need

It's the first time you hit him and mean it. His skin doesn't feel like skin in that moment, it feels like a flat sting and it burns your hand for about a nanosecond or so right after you've done it and it's around then you realize what's going on. So, fine, it's just a slap, a girly little slap by your tiny, weak fucking hand and it probably doesn't even hurt that much anyway but it's the fact that you actually do it that just makes you stare at him staring back at you for seconds that feel like eternities during complete and utter silence. You know he's not the type of person you just hit and that's that, you know he's stronger than you and he could probably beat the shit out of you if he had the slightest desire to but you don't do anything to prevent a reaction like that as you just keep on waiting for whatever it is that's bound to happen real soon.
His eyes make you uncomfortable (as though the situation itself isn't dreadful enough) because you can't read him and there's a very, very light blush creeping up over his cheek as his lips are slightly parted in an expression you're too disconnected to be able to see through.
The next thing you know you hear your nose break before you even feel any pain, warm, thick liquid already trickling down towards your upper lip as his fist's just rammed into your face. Your blood in your mouth, your heartbeats in your ears, his body close to yours and his pain throbbing with insanity in your own head. You can't tell if it's your face or your mind that hurts the most, all thoughts collide in lacerating blurs and the only thing clear about anything right now is that you need him so much it's surreal.
You want to touch him and in the same time don't, his knuckle's got your bloodstains on it and he just holds it in the air as he somehow penetrates you with his eyes and the whole scene is so intense or maybe it's just the world spinning in your brain and your sweet, warm blood on your tongue but you feel like falling endlessly and let him pound his fists all over you how long and how roughly he wants and this immediately turns into one of the few times you wish you were unconscious and aware of everything at once.
You're twelve and you're playing in the schoolyard. He kisses you and then hits you in the head when the other kids come out to join. You don't know what to feel and you go home that day with a knot in your stomach that still has yet to disappear.
You don't know if he keeps on hitting you, you don't care, he can do whatever he wants with you. You're sore everywhere and opening up your eyes after discovering them to even be shut in the first place you see him so close to you, so close without a single touch, and his head is tilted backwards and up towards the only light in the room that is brighter than you remember it to be. He looks focused and beautiful and you want him so much you confuse your mental pain with the physical, it all melts together and none of it really matters anymore. Has it ever?
You can't help yourself as your hands shoot up to his neck, the back of his head and almost as a reflex he mimicks you and his fingers on your skin, in your hair, feel so good, they feel so incredibly good, and you don't know if you even see his eyes again before you move towards his bedroom. You don't need to speak to know you're going there, it's selfsaid. You like those kind of understandings with people, they've always made you feel safe somehow, like you have this special bond that cannot be broken because you get each other so well.
He's still holding you like before in the hallway once you're standing by the bed, only now he's actually looking at you. His eyes have always been able to dig themselves into yours whenever he feels like using that ability, and even in the dusky darkness of his completely unlit room you see them glisten and practically feel them in your own sockets when he stands there before you, seeing right through your pretty little self like he always does when it's like this. Just like this.
When he fucks you is probably the only time you really feel him there, the only time you really know him, touch him, smell him, he's just as close as anyone possibly can be. Doesn't like holding you afterwards or anything sleazy romantic, like you'd be his lover instead of a mere fuck to him, and you're fine with that because you have to be but this time he pulls you so near himself it briefly makes you think of a child and it's favourite stuffed animal, like you're his treasure, the only thing he loves unconditionally in the world, and after that he doesn't really seem to know where to put his hands.
It's silent. You watch him as you adjust to the situation, letting your fingers quietly reach his chest and stroke your thumb below his collarbone and again it's as though he follows your moves like a trigger, the hand he punched you with God knows how long ago (the one with your blood on it, the one with your pain on it) now settling somewhere near your shoulder blades and the other one up in the curls upon your head. You've always liked the feeling of nails against your scalp and he must know that by now because there they are, the tips of his fingers scraping up against your skin and the roots of your blond hair and you can't help but lean even further forward towards him and let a tiny kiss linger a little too long on his slightly swollen bottom lip. It hurts but you don't care because he feels so good, he always feels so good.
Your eyes meet for the first time since just before he came and you see yourself reflected in the glazy dark. See your own embarrassment making love to his and relief mingled with another little knot somewhere inside of you just strike and after that everything is sort of in this new light even though the only thing that's changed is him seeing you too.
He kisses your lips so briefly you don't even have the time to acknowledge its existence before it's over. His lips instead take place just below the side of your barely aching nose, over your cheekbone, your temple which he holds on to so long with his mouth it's almost like he's afraid to let go. Almost. Then he just lies there with you, his hand protectingly on the back of your neck and leaning his forehead heavily against yours, his eyelids down and his breaths lingering with yours as you inhale each other's exhales in the so small space of numb, silent air in between you.
You don't speak for minutes, hours, might as well be weeks, and by the time you fall asleep crawled up next to him you don't think you've been that close to anyone before in your entire life.

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