Rosie & Eric - a Savage Passion

Rosie & Eric - A More Savage Passion

[Authors' note: Rosie and Eric have history. Lots of it. Some of it they may even remember.

Theirs is a story of two people clinging to each other like a life raft in a tempestuous sea. The story has thematic elements regarding drug use, domestic violence, and physical abuse. There is rough sex.

Remember, dear readers, these two really do adore each other, but they do have some shit to work through.]

Shattered remains of a dinner plate and half-eaten spaghetti marred the white tile of the kitchen floor. Seeing the damage Eric's anger had caused brought on a sudden calming effect, like all the anger had left him when he threw the plate, dissipated by the sound of shattering pottery. In his moment of tranquility, he almost forgot that Rosie was still screaming at him from the other room.

"I've told you three times, motherfucker, Felix doesn't want me

that

way anymore. He's just being friendly," Rosie's shrieked as she stamped her little foot down hard on the floor of their shared apartment. She was only dressed in a band T-shirt she'd DIY cropped so that it ended just above her waist and a pair of cotton panties that were only a shade or two darker pink than her bright, bubblegum pink hair.

In their on again, off again relationship, they were just coming back to on again. While Rosie and Eric had been briefly broken up this time, Felix and Rosie had gone to a rave together. Eric had gone through her phone when she'd forgotten it while working at the art gallery she was employed at. Eric knew that was a prick thing to do, but he felt that his guilt about invading her privacy was absolved when he found photos of her on Felix's lap. In one picture, Rosie was throwing a peace sign, her pupils saucer-like while wearing only nipple pasties and the shortest of short-shorts, her body decorated with enough accessories and glitter that it looked like she'd been covered in glue and thrown into

Claire's

.

Felix was shirtless but otherwise dressed, displaying a strange variety of tattoos that varied from photorealistic animals to a traditional "MOM" heart across his upper body. In the photos, Felix's arm was around Rosie's waist, but in all fairness it was at waist height and appeared to be for Rosie's stability. Felix's was full of piercings and his hairstyle was unmistakably edgy, almost like he was trying too hard. It rankled Eric that Felix was one of those vegan surfer guys, too - the kind who regularly brought over homemade pot brownies or vegan treats, claiming he just had a little extra to share.

Rosie and Felix had been romantic in the long past, but Rosie knew that there were no lingering amorous feelings, at least on her side: Rosie regarded Felix like a brother now. Her excuse for sitting on his lap had been that the warehouse space where rave had been hosted didn't have much seating. It had been a stupid E-induced mistake, but in Rosie's eyes it certainly wasn't worth the fucking mood that it had put Eric in.

"Felix has a

boyfriend

now, if you must know!" Rosie roared, stamping her foot again, her cheeks bright pink as she shouted. "Besides,

you

went through

my

fucking phone and hurt your feelings jumping to conclusions, asshole! Now come back here and apologise for doubting me!"

The serenity in Eric's moment of calm passed as Rosie stubbornly pressed on with the argument. He had been ready for it to be over, maybe even felt a little bit smugly pietistic in that transient moment, but her shrill demand for an apology instantly set him off again.

"Show me something to stop me from doubting then," he retaliated hotly. "You fuck off all night, acting like a little slut with your friends, what the hell am I supposed to think?"

"Acting like a little slut? I'm the one who worked all day, you fucker!" Rosie shrieked, the most unhelpful thing she could have done given the situation. Her pretty blue eyes stared back at him, incredulous that he could even consider what she'd done acting like a little slut. Sitting on her friend's lap was utterly harmless, it was a rave in an abandoned warehouse, not a fucking sex party. It wasn't like he had his cock out, cumming on her full tits or something.

"You punched that blonde girl in the fucking mouth for less, if I remember correctly," he snapped. He wasn't sure if he did remember it correctly, but he was pretty sure he had a sense of a night when a little blonde had been somewhat taken with him and Rosie had, in turn, taken exception. He was pretty sure it had ended violently, but, like many nights together with her, the images in his mind were a bit hazy.

"Yeah, I

punched

her. I didn't

stab

her. I'm learning!" Rosie replied hotly, gesturing to the Hello Kitty flick-knife she had left on the table by the door, with her keys, beside her Breakfast at Tiffany's DVD. It was a white lie, the only reason she hadn't stabbed that bitch was because the knife had been at the bottom of a chaotic mess in her purse but Eric didn't need to know that part.

Eric was a bit dumbfounded by Rosie's remark, but in a moment of paranoia, he fixated on the knife. Suddenly worried that he might find himself on the receiving end of the powder pink blade, he lunged for it, convinced that

this

time he was only trying to make sure it was put away safely.

Rosie let out a shrill, wordless cry and leapt at Eric, thanks to her defective fight or flight instinct that was always jammed in fight mode. She came at him like a wildcat, pouncing and finding a hold on his body, sinking her teeth into his shoulder firmly. By her standards, it was merely to express her displeasure rather than to really hurt him, but the bite was painful nevertheless.

"Affhoe!" Came Rosie's muffled screech, her mouth still stuck on him mid-bite. Her powder-pink eyebrows that matched her hair were drawn into a furious V-shape. Her flamboyant look was made complete with glittery barrettes made to look like tinfoil: Rosie was an eclectic dresser with a personality to match. Where most people saw rage, Eric saw beyond her vivid existence to the core of her fear that made her feel as though she had to fight everything and everyone. Eric was the only one who could withstand Hurricane Rosie.

Eric had reflexively tried to push her away before she could truly clamp down with her sharp little teeth. It wasn't the first time things had gotten physical between them and Eric had almost expected her to go for the bite - it was a classic Rosie opener. Rosie was a fearless brawler and had given him his share of the hurts, little and large. He gripped her chin, pushing his thumb and forefinger into her cheeks to get her to release his shoulder.

"Fuck off, Rosie!" he shouted. "I'm just trying to put the knife away for fuck's sake. Neither of us need another trip to the hospital right now."

Rosie's pupils, wide and lightless as they were, underscored the reason for his sentiment: given that she was high and there was a significant amount of drugs in the apartment, there was no way she wanted to go anywhere where law enforcement was almost certainly lurking. Rosie obliged and released the hold her mouth had on Eric's muscular shoulder guiltily, immediately kissing the bitemark she'd left to soothe it. Rosie's mood had cycled once more and she was being every inch the sweetest kitten she could be while staying clung to his body like a rabid koala. Rosie cooed while her soft lips pressed against Eric's tattooed skin apologetically.

"Don't put the knife away, leave it there. What if

someone

comes to the door?" Rosie asked, equally paranoid that this hypothetical

someone

could require a bladed intervention. The seed planted in his equally paranoid mind, Eric saw the logic in what she had said.

"Fuck, that's true," he conceded as her apologetic kisses found his stinging shoulder. Setting the knife back on the table, he stroked her hair gently and let her cuddle into him, held and supported in his strong, tattooed arms. Rosie's conciliatory behaviour was much preferable to her volatility.

"I'm glad you apologised," he said softly, believing the fight to have ended. Rosie sagged and let out a frustrated noise, the drugs coursing through her veins and her combative nature bouncing her back for another round of verbal sparring.

"Apologised? I'm still waiting for your apology," Rosie huffed. Although Eric's hands on her bubblegum pink hair softened her mood, she was aggrieved that he had gone through her phone. Didn't he trust her? The way Eric held her and petted her did wonders for her mood and he knew that and cared enough to want to soothe her. That counted for something to Rosie. She arched her back against him while rubbing her body against his, sighing in resignation.

"Like, I didn't cheat on you, not even a little. I didn't even kiss another girl this time. Like that rainbow-haired girl at that show we went to? How was I supposed to know that wouldn't be cool?"

Sure, Rosie had lied about where she'd gone and who she'd gone with, but that didn't change the fact that she hadn't fucked Felix. She'd lied because she knew Eric would think that she was going to the rave with Felix to make him jealous and she'd wanted to avoid a fight. Instead, Eric had found out, became jealous, and they'd fought anyway, Rosie thought in frustration.

"I'm not about to apologise to you because you acted like a slut, Rosie," Eric snarled, tempted to grab her by the hair. To shake her shoulders. "What is this, reverse-world or some shit? You were out, fucking around with your ex, right? If I so much as

look

at another girl, she gets stabbed. How the fuck is that fair?"

"I. Didn't.

Do

. Anything! If I

was

going to fuck around, I certainly wouldn't take photos of it! And I stabbed a girl ONE TIME and you act like it's a habit! I'm growing as an individual, Eric. I even had a smoothie this morning." Rosie pointed out as though that somehow mattered to the current conversation.

Rosie was the first to admit that she had a bad habit of skipping breakfast, but the statement was the type of squirrelly non-sequitur that regularly popped out of her mouth: she was making a point, but even she wasn't always certain what the point was. The non-sequitur made Eric lose the thread of the conversation again and had him trying to remember what had pissed him off in the first place.

"I don't think you would stab

every

bitch," he said evenly. "Just like maybe you

might

, you know?"

Eric's hands were soft again, petting Rosie's hair gently when he suddenly had the urge to push her down to her knees and feel her lips wrapped around him. Something in his mind told him that he shouldn't, but he had trouble pinning down what that something was, so gave her a firm push downward with obvious intent, uncertain whether the timing was quite right, but a little too fuzzy-minded to care.

The soothing voice, the tender petting, and the authoritative pressure of his hand had done their usual trick and Rosie's mood had oscillated wildly from angry to amenable. She felt the weight of Eric's hand guiding her downwards while he looked sternly into her eyes. Rosie dropped to her knees obediently, knowing exactly what came next. Looking up with her pretty blue eyes, she bit her bottom lip coquettishly.

"Can Rosie say sorry this way, Daddy?" Rosie purred, rubbing her cheek against the bulge in his pants. Rosie arched her back and pushed her ass out, smirking and pouting her juicy lips as she let Eric take stock of his kneeling girlfriend. While she was certain that she hadn't misbehaved at the rave and didn't feel anything but friendship for Felix, she also knew that she'd never hear the end of it from Eric unless she atoned for it properly. The idea that she was fucking Felix would stick with him and eat away at his mind, unless she made him forget all about it.

In Rosie's mind, she could clearly see that, whether Eric liked to admit it or not, he actually cared about her. He wasn't like the parade of Asshole Boyfriends Past who hadn't given a shit about her. Who turned her out on the streets or couldn't give a shit about who she fucked, only using her for pussy or for drugs. Unlike so many others, Eric actually fucking cared. The

Fucker.

That meant that she had to try to repair the damage she'd done even if the damage was based on a misunderstanding. People had so rarely stuck around for long enough for her to learn how to repair things properly that Rosie was breaking new emotional ground every time the dysfunctional pair managed not to break up during a fight.

Rosie's half-lidded eyes looked up at Eric adoringly as her hands snaked up his thighs, moving to help release Eric's cock from his clothes. Her demeanour had become reverent and apologetic as she slipped into the tender state of mind that anticipation of sucking Eric's cock always put her in.

"I knew you would say sorry," Eric growled in a satisfied reply, pushing his cock against her lips as he pulled her closer by her pink hair. Rosie mewled in protest, still wanting to argue that she didn't have anything to apologize for. She had wanted to take her time teasing him with her mouth but yielded instinctively when she found Eric's cock firmly pressing against her soft, glossy lips. She looked up at Eric, hips squirming happily while her mouth opened, automatically accepting his cocktip into her mouth.

By that point in their relationship, her reaction had been second nature: if Rosie had something emotional to express, she had a tendency to express it intimately. Expressing her feelings scared and overwhelmed her unless she delivered them using physical intimacy. Then, she could at least blame the way she felt on the postcoital afterglow, typically forgiving Eric while held her, his cum leaking from her freshly fucked cunt.

Between Eric and Rosie, the anger of the fight was fading away along with the frenetic energy of the chemicals pumping through their systems. They wanted to get lost in each other's arms, feeling the passion and the hurt in equal measure, to stop the whispers of doubt in their minds that were returning after having been drowned out by a brief euphoric haze. Escapism was often the way with Rosie and Eric. Denial and distraction with drugs or booze, exhibitionism, or hedonism. They were destined to live fast and only time would tell if they were to die young.

Eric pushed his cock deeper into Rosie's mouth, ignoring the same complex emotions that she was also actively pushing away. He wanted her to feel how intensely he felt, while avoiding consciously thinking about the source of those feelings. His desire to avoid the conflicting emotions soon became manifest in his hard cock pressing into the back of her throat, making her take it deeper and gag so they had something tangible to focus on instead of their turbulent thoughts.

Rosie's muffled protest after gagging was brief, and she huffed, but accepted his hard cock deep into her throat and set to work, sucking his hot, stiff shaft as though her life depended on it. If nothing else, her sanity depended on it anyway, as she reached up to caress his cock and balls while sucking him with enthusiasm. She carelessly impaled her throat on his cock more than once, gagging and sputtering, tears welling in her eyes. She immediately blinked them away prettily, her cheeks and chin shiny with her saliva.

Rosie moaned happily, as though she wanted to be doing nothing else than precisely what she was. Her blue eyes were unfocused and serene, as though whatever had been concerning her was now the last thing on her mind. The only noises she was making was the sloppy, wet smacking of her lips against his cock and occasional soft gagging when her enthusiasm got the best of her.

They both lost themselves in the building intensity of Rosie's ardent sucking. Eric watched raptly as she became increasingly messy, needing to see how she took the little hurts that came with the increasingly rough fucking he was intent on giving her face. For his part, he wanted just as much to feel the sting of her teeth as the tender skin of his cock rubbed against their sharp edges. Even though she tried to shield him using her soft lips, when Eric fucked her mouth this forcefully, Rosie could never fully protect him. She usually ended up with bruises in her mouth and had learned to give Eric exactly what he wanted: her open mouth and throat.

Rosie loved surrendering to him fully, gagging and whimpering happily while he used her face. There was something peaceful to her about being in that moment with him, where nothing mattered except from the connection they found in the loving brutality. They both wanted to hurt, but not hurt each other: they wanted the little bit of pain for themselves.

Given the chance, they would carry on with rough oral sex until Eric filled her throat with his hot cum, but somehow, they both knew that they needed more than the rough blowjob would give them. With a grunt, Eric pulled Rosie off of his cock by her hair, looking down at her sternly, remembering to be angry, but forgetting exactly why.

"Give it back, Daddy!" Rosie cried out in protest, her back arched thanks to the fistful of her bubblegum-pink hair that Eric had in his grasp. She mewled, wiggling her hips while she gazed up at him, giving him her best Kitty eyes to try and convince him to return her favourite thing to suck. He ran a hand over her wet lips and chin, smearing her face with the mess from her mouth, before running the tip of his prick against her lips and adding his slick precum to the mix, giving her exactly what she had asked for.

His hand still wrapped in her bubblegum pink hair, he pulled her from her knees and drew her in for a long, desperate kiss. Neither of them wanted to let the other yield from the kiss nor from the hurt of their mouths pressing hard against one another. Rosie never backed away from Eric, nor tried to slip out of his grasp: the onslaught was an inescapable result of the passion they shared and Rosie was equal parts enthusiastic recipient and participant.

While they kissed, their hands began to tear at each other's clothes, pulling fabric away frantically, needing to remove absolutely everything that stood between them. They needed to fit together in a way that demanded nakedness. Rosie's worshipful, bouncy and remarkably resilient nature made her a natural choice for a lover as much as her fine little dancer's frame that Eric was revealing as he stripped her of her clothing. Rosie's eager mouth was already kissing along the black ink of muscle under Eric's tattoos as she allowed her limbs to be manipulated in a doll-like manner.

"You like when I'm a little jealous," Rosie smirked, somehow remembering the fight and stubbornly trying to make her point. Rosie was assuming that Eric enjoyed the fawning attention she invariably gave him when she thought that he was starting to lose interest in her.

She was petrified of being abandoned and tended to try to reconnect with someone physically in place of establishing a deeper emotional connection, to make the best of what she'd learned to think of as her charms, the messy and naughty things she could do to her partner when she ended up in a relationship. Eric, however, was different: he liked the sex, of course, but he had always been sure to stick around and take care of her after he'd cum.

"I don't know if I like the jealousy, but I know that I feel it too, baby," he replied, knowing he was still angry with her but unable to put a finger on why. Pulling her shirt away over her head, further words were unnecessary as he grabbed her and found one perfect little dusty rose nipple with his mouth. Rosie's next reply was a sharp gasp as she wrapped her arms back around Eric's neck, pushing her perky little tit against his mouth wantonly.