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It’s not sweet, not cute.
The way your lip quivers and your body rejects his every move. Your skin burns and your heart races like your life depends on adrenaline because it can’t tell love from corruption.
You feel so small beneath him. Your helplessness makes you ill.
His eyes feast on you just like his. You try to shut the memory out. He’s not here. This is your Touya. And he won’t hurt you.
Birds of a feather. They’re really all just the same. His eyes drift from your face, instead feasting on your skin, fantasising of the mess he’ll make of it in pursuit of his pleasure.
And still, you love him anyway. Just like you said you never would.
Your shaking hands grip his shoulders, unsure whether to push or to pull or to claw into the flesh until it's red-raw and stinging.
You instead choose to hold on. Delicate hands feel and grip him like somehow he’ll save you from this feeling. You only notice how alien he is; how different his body is in comparison to everything you know. He’s stronger, wider, and even his scent twists at something in your gut.
He presses a kiss to your forehead, a blatant display of his trust and a gentle attempt to comfort you. It doesn’t dull your fear; you envy the ease of it. His lips leave a wet patch on your skin and you fight the need to crinkle your brows in revulsion.
“You okay?” He whispers. His voice is so deep. It’s times like this when you remember what he is and what you are. You feel like a little girl again and you want to go home. You shouldn’t be here at all. This isn’t your bed; it’s too cold and the sheets reek of stale cigarette smoke; weakly masked by cheap cologne.
“Mhm,” you nod. It’s all you can manage. He notices the way your eyes swell with tears, you know it. They build quickly and you can hardly see him through them now.
“It’s okay,” he repeats. This time you let the tears fall and he wipes them like he knew you would. “I’ve got you.”
You could be lying. He’ll wipe them anyway and he’ll hold you still. He’ll take what he wants and he’ll make you feel good. It’ll be okay once he can make you feel good.
He lowers his head, trailing gentle kisses down your neck and toward your collarbone. It’s better this way, when you close your eyes, run your fingers through his hair and pretend you’re in control. When your mouth says no, but your neck says please.
“You’re okay,” Touya repeats, muffled against your skin like his words weigh nothing. His hands tug at your underwear and you can’t swallow down the ache in your throat anymore. Sobs escape your lips with full force. There’s no containing it anymore. Touya coos you because he knew it was coming. If he tugs your clothes off faster, it can be done faster. The movement makes you sick. Mixed between the sobs and the revulsion of it all, you don’t know which it is that makes you gag. But before you can contemplate either, he’s inside you.
“That’s my girl,” he says with a smile, scarred hand reaching back up to wipe the fresh tears. You smile back and lean into it. It doesn’t hurt so much when you don’t think.
“Harder, Touya,” you breathe. You hardly recognise the sound of your voice.
He doesn’t need to be told twice. Birds of a feather. All the same.
Fear chokes on pleasure and the tears continue to fall, but without a source.
If it feels this good, how bad can it be?
He’ll take what he needs, and you’ll convince yourself this is love and you’ll love him anyways.
But you know, you’ll always be crying during sex.