A quick fanfic of Trevor being horny and in love and then breaking down when that post nut clarity hits. My poor baby.
TW: Sex, self hatred, yearning, rough sex, fem partner.
Trevor is not a gentle man, but he feels like a sick puppy for her. Her hands and how they contrast his, his rough callouses feeling not unlike an assault on her soft skin. Where he had fire she had softness. A passiveness about her. Like she was just content wherever. Like she was just happy being by his side. Trevor doesn’t consider himself merciful. He doesn’t make love, he fucks. He rips and tears and jackrabbits his way to completion. The gentleness is terrifying. But he wanted to be gentle with her. In the same moment he wanted to ruin her.
He could picture his rough, heavy, dirty hands holding down her shoulders. He could picture the way her pink velvet walls would wrap around his cock as he took it too fast. He pictured the blissed and confused look on her face as he fucked into her, brows squeezed together almost as if she didn’t want what was happening but the moans and her hands would betray her. He lost himself in the way his teeth would catch her shoulders and chest, the way the whimpers falling out of her lips would make his heart pound.
His hand found his belt before he had enough time to focus on it, before he had time to delve into the fantasy. His rough hand instinctively rolling up and down his shaft.
The thoughts of him holding her down, covering her mouth as he found his way to the deepest part of her. He knew the impact would be painful and he knew her face would look angelic as he threw himself into her. He pictured his fingers down her throat, pulling down her jaw to leave her mouth wide and gaping and spitting into it to make her swallow. He pictured the hairpin curve of her lips in a grimace and the furrow of her pleading brows.
He needed to see her with bruises from his fingers. He needed to see her sobbing and choking on his cock, he needed to see if her blood was as red as his.
It was more than enough, completion coloring the backs of his tattooed knuckles. The fantasy leaving his mind with each pant and huff.
And then it hit. That sinking feeling, the way he knew he’d ruin her. It wasn’t that she wasn’t tough or strong, but that it was him. That Trevor would break her like he broke everyone else and she would leave. The guilt that he couldn’t be soft and gentle in the ways she deserved, he could dote on her all he wanted. But in the pit of his stomach he knew that he would show no tenderness. That he would bite the hand that feeds. That he would destroy them both. But god did he want those lips, that pretty smile.
(You can read this on AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/86019526 )