Work Text:
Your parents had work, plus you were old enough to handle yourself by now, weren't you? Getting your wisdom teeth removed was a natural step in your journey to adulthood, and your boyfriend Andre had agreed to come pick you up. What he did not expect was that you would be this out of it. You cried all the way home, yelling about there being things in your mouth and how you don't want anyone to know that you watch anime sometimes. It was amusing at first, then it became extremely irritating. When Andre parked in your driveway, he jumped out of the car and slammed the door, pacing a few times before he came around to get you. You were being insane. Was anesthesia really this powerful?
"You hate me!" You yelled—or tried to yell—hitting him with a weak arm. All this because he slammed a door?
"I don't hate you." Andre unbuckled your seatbelt and started grappling you out of the car. In this moment, he was more than glad you had hedges that blocked the view from your neighbors.
"Hate me—and there's- there's teeth in my mouth! I can't feel.. anything." You sniffled, being dragged to the door, "You're sooo strong."
When Andre finally got you inside, he was fed up. You pulled the gauze out of your mouth and threw them in the toilet, you tripped over a sock and cried, and now you were on the floor refusing to get in your bed.
Andre grabbed either of your arms, trying to pull you up. He said your name harshly. "Come on. Get in bed." He said through gritted teeth. You pressed your hands against his hips, pushing him away and saying you wouldn't in a confused slur of words. "Jesus Christ, just get up!"
Your fingers dug into his jeans. "You get up!" You hissed back. Your eyes were glossy, and when you talked a little blood found its way to the corners of your mouth. Andre couldn't help but enjoy the sight in front of him—you grovelling on the floor, pouty and loopy with your hands on him.
"I could get it up, for this." Andre's hand brushed the back of your head. It's not that he wanted to hurt you or anything, at least not too bad, but you looked really pretty down there. Maybe it was a bad joke to make—maybe he had said it too grimly, because you pulled away and looked up at him with wide eyes.
"What..?"
He didn't like that. He didn't like that you seemed to expect such abuse from him. You were his partner, his love, and right now you were his responsibility. The hand that was on you threaded through your hair, pulling your head back slightly. "Oh, you're so pretty like this, aren't you?" He cooed your name in that mocking tone he used when you were being 'retarded.' He was pissed. "I bet you don't even know what's going on. Who am I? Who's dick are you sitting in front of?"
You were confused, but not completely out of it. You could barely feel the bottom half of your face, the dead weight making it as if your lips weren't yours. You stared up at him, your arms hanging down in your lap. "You're my boyfriend," you replied carefully, moving your hands to hold the back of his calves.
"Yeah, and you're not scared of your boyfriend, right?" His grip became tighter. It contrasted the lack of feeling in the lower half of your head, which almost felt good—but you were concerned more than anything.
"No..." you still carry that unsurity in your tone, the unsurity that sometimes blinds Andre with anger. He stares at you for a moment before cursing under his breath and letting go of your hair.
"You're fuckin' stupid." He grumbles, making you whine. He knows his face is red now, and since the start of this conversation his jeans have felt a little uncomfortable. He continued to mumble to himself, thinking it over. "...pissing me off ... always acting like ... have to pick you up..." You wait, surprisingly patient despite your current state, slowly leaning closer to his legs. Eventually he pushes you back by the shoulder, holding you in place. With a rough motion he undoes his belt, ripping at it only needing to use one hand. You're not sure what to think. When you shift in the floor, he barks your name, telling you to stay put as he squeezes his thumb into your collarbone. You wince and stop. He has to take his hand off you to actually get his pants off, ripping the button and zipper open in one aggressive motion. He kicks his pants off behind him clumsily, having to lean over and pull the waistband over his foot. You're watching in fearful fascination as he captures your face with a hand. His thumb digs into one cheek and his middle and ring the other. You can feel it slightly, a dull ache. A bit of blood runs down your bottom lip, forced into a squished position. Andre is grinning as he finally pulls down his boxers, already hard. "Don't be scared," he said as he squeezes your cheeks. That dull ache making itself known as you whined and tried to pull away. Andre's hand eases up, sliding down your throat and then exploring until it lands on your nape. "Open."
You don't know why you listen. He says you shouldn't be scared—you are. Your mouth hangs open, at least you're pretty sure it does because you can't exactly feel your lips or chin like you should. All you can feel is where his hand was and where your sutures are. A rush of warm runs down your spine as his fingers squeeze you. Andre groans, "I wish you were always this fuckin' easy," he says, rubbing his tip across your lips. The little bit of blood from earlier smearing against him and staining pink red. Something nags the back of your mind, telling you to mind future pain.
"Andre—" You try to speak, but he pushes himself into your mouth and stifles a weak moan, his head falling back. It feels weird, you can tell he's in your mouth but can't exactly feel what's happening. He twitches against your tongue and you feel a sharp pain shoot through the back of your mouth where you used to have extra teeth. "Ow!" you whine, not coherent with his cock in your mouth.
"Shut up." He snaps, slowly pulling back and then pushing forward as he holds you in place by the back of your neck. You can feel tears welling in your eyes, and when he looks down at you that familiar wicked smile creeps up his jaw. "Look at you, drooling all over my cock." He buries himself deeper this time, making you gag. "Fffuckin' whore." When he pulls back, almost all the way out, blood is smeared across the sides of his dick. He obviously likes it. You can't really cough or clear your throat, that shooting pain climbing up your teeth if you try. You're hyper aware of the feeling of your sutures against your molars. You guess that Andre isn't prepared to wait, your tears starting to fall down your face as he rams back in. "Oh, fuck," he groans, forcing you down by the neck as he moves forward in unison. Searing pain explodes in your mouth, and you claw at the skin of his legs trying to fight the hand on your neck. He practically growls in response, using both hands on the back of your head to keep you where he wants you. "—Bet you fuckin' like this. You like this, don't you?" He coos your name so sweetly that you almost can't believe he's brutalizing you this way. "You do." He continues to ramble through groans as he slams into your mouth and down your throat. Your throat feels like it's on fire, you're trying to breathe through your nose but barely can. "Ah- Ah, fuck I'm—" He slams into your throat, pressing your nose into his abdomen. He twitches in your mouth and spills directly down your throat. After a couple seconds of catching his breath he finally pulls back and lets you breathe. A dark pinkish mix of fluids covers his cock and dribbles down your numb chin. You're crying, hiding behind your hands. Your mouth feels raw and burning, the sensation of friction making your teeth ache. Andre is petting your head. You try to speak but it comes out strangled and incomprehensible.
Andre let's out a frustrated sigh, pulling his boxers up from his thighs. "Come here," he says, helping you up and then into your bed. "I'll get you some Tylenol."