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Dude has always had it in him. Such a generally polite man living in America can really push him over the edge. You can tell the way his jaw tenses when the lines at stores are too long. You can see the way his hands clench around the grip of a gun that isn’t there when sales after taxes go over the expected price. Every time he says ‘I love you’, he really means ‘I would kill for you’, no matter the situation. He would choke a person out just for the sake of letting out his rage. Doing so in defense of you would just be the excuse.
You try to think of his affection more as a ‘I would die for you’ feeling to rationalize his moments of mania, but at the end of the day, when he’s staring at the TV, listening to the news with animosity, you know he would make the entire human population extinct just to satisfy himself.
Dude’s violent urge is like a feral yet lazy dog, and you practically have it on a leash. It boils in his head and paces around in there, pushing against his skull, begging for freedom. You try to keep it in there with reassurances, or sickeningly sweet romantic gestures that make him want to puke out his guts then make out with you. But when you two are watching TV together as the news plays, you feel it running hot under his skin.
You remember when you first discovered how violent he could get. Getting into a fight in the middle of the street, pulling out a butterfly knife you didn’t even know he owned, lacerating the guy several times and splashing blood on the pavement.
You don’t know if he's actually killed before, but you knew he was capable. And you didn’t want to know if or when it happens. Your worst fear wasn’t seeing him gutting a body like a fish. It was having to help him get away with it.
Maybe he’s a serial killer in another life. In this one, he’s just a sleeping sociopath.
You two have been in this relationship for a while now. There was no distinct moment when it was established, and you both weren’t sure what to call it. You two care enough about each other to ask how your days were, but you two fuck like that’s all you're both good for.
You didn’t mind how he lived in an RV and barely made it by paycheck to paycheck. You mostly paid for things when you two would go out. You would go to work, come to his home, eat, maybe smoke, then share a mind blanking orgasm. You’ve impressed yourself with how well you’ve managed to adapt to his messy lifestyle, cleaning up his place, storing away a concerning amount of weapons in case his place had to be searched. And he would always thank you with a kiss or making you cum so hard you forget how to speak.
Dude’s love for you thought, started to bleed into his violent tendencies. One day, a person on the street stared you down as you walked by. You weren’t sure why, but Dude immediately whispered in your ear how he would kill that guy easily.
“Calm down, maybe he thought he just recognized me,” you say.
Dude just smiles and kisses you on the cheek, but makes it feel like a threat.
“There was something in his eyes…” he explains, voice low and deep, just like the way you said you liked it when you two fuck.
“Really?”
“Really. Because I look at you the same way.”
When you get home, Dude has you folded in half and pounding into you like it would make him immortal. You can’t do anything but scratch at his back, pleasantly stinging him and leaving behind those bright red lines he loves so much.
“Baby, fuck, baby. You’re so tight- fuck-!”
His voice and breathing are right in your ear, growling, that pacing dog inside of him threatening to break out.
You push it back though, cupping the sides of his face into a wet and sloppy kiss full of nothing but tongue.
“You feel so good, babe,” you whisper against his lips, “harder. Harder… Harderharderharder!”
“Fuck…”
You feel his cock twitch inside of you, and he sits up, grabbing you by the back of your knees, thrusting faster, your insides wet and slick with his precum. He then presses his hips right against you, grinding his entire length inside. He doesn’t even let you get used to his size, just stretches you out and fills you up so good. Your insides are all tacky and hot from hours of foreplay earlier, and it’s only heightening the wet, raw feeling of his cock in you. Hands find their way to your nipples, and he tugs at them, pinching rubbing them between his fingers.
You grab the sheets and try to say something, but only moans and incoherent babbles come out.
He groans, “heh, fucked too stupid to beg for more? God you’re fucking dripping… I love using you like this. I should just keep you in my place all day. I can use you whenever I want, use your hole to milk my cock dry…”
He leans in for a kiss, but you grab his neck, wrapping your hand around it as best you can, and squeeze. You know how much he loves that.
It pushes him over the edge. Dude cums with a loud groan, cursing and riding out his orgasm with your hole, pressing his hips deep against you. The choking almost stings him, and he loves it.
You're absolutely filled with his load, it gushing out of you against his cock. He grinds his hips against you one more time, then pulls out.
“Sorry… you’re a mess…” he sighs.
You can only look up at him with dreamy eyes, “then clean me up.”
And he goes down on you, licking out all of his cum and drinking it down, sticking his tongue so deep inside of you that you cum instantly.
You grab at his hair and pull at it, hips grinding against his mouth, all wet and dripping. He feels your insides throb on his tongue, and he’s in heaven.
He looks up at you with the most smitten smile, “you’re fuckin’ nasty, babe.”
You want to shoot a comeback at him, but instead just fall back onto the mattress, absolutely fucked out.
“Lemme get you a towel,” he says with a final kiss to your thigh.
When he enters the bathroom, the first thing he does is look at the marks you left behind on him. Risen scratch marks so plentiful and prominent and red they look like some intense tattoo. Hickies littered on his collarbones and abs that he will definitely jerk himself off to while you’re at work.
His bathroom is right across from the bedroom. The whole time, you can see him looking at himself.
Sometimes you want to see Dude pushed over the edge. You want to know what it’s like when that dog gets let out of the cage. Taking so many lives with no remorse whatsoever, bodies littering the streets with their entrails, him covered in blood like a vengeful demon from some fucked up legend.
You watch him fix his hair in the mirror so casually like it’s another day. He then walks out with a towel you’re not even sure is clean.
“When was the last time you did laundry?” You ask.
He looks around in thought, then shrugs, “I only use this towel for my hands.” He says that as if that’s any better.
As he gets closer to you, crawling over your body to clean you up, you throw your arms around his neck and pull him into a deep kiss.
He throws the towel on the floor and slides his arms around your waist.
“I would kill for you,” he whispers into your lips.
You sigh, and look up at the ceiling.
“I love you too.”