I’m so I’ve been so tardy…it’s been a busy weekend. I hope that yours treated you well.❤️
When Mac stood up, Joe’s eyeballs all-but plopped in the bath for a bob-about. Blimey, no wonder he’d looked so uncomfy. Immaculately cut worsted cloth straining across a stonking boner…inches from Joe’s face. If it were not for the bad-ass bubbles, the impact of this would’ve been as blatant as it was…buoyant.
“Crikey, I have a room with a view, all of a sudden…deluxe, at that.”
Well really…who on Earth could ignore that without comment? Joe knew not, but they sure as strewth weren’t sitting in his bath being blinded by a far from Wee Willie Winkie. Eye-watering, it was. As huge as it was hard. It sure looked a helluva lot glad to be gay to Joe. Whether Mac was…up for proclaiming that loud and proud, or not. A pertinent part of him sure was.
Blimey, with a bitalot o’luck Joe might just find himself choking on his own size-queen quip. He did not utter that aloud, but earning bad-ass points for good behaviour sure didn’t look a very lot likely if the one Mac coshed him with was indicative. As hot as hell it was, too. Joe might have mentioned this. Or words to that effect, honesty being the tralala…
“Joe…” Mac warned, fixing him with a green so glinty it should be banned near bath water. Chucking the toaster into it would p’raps have felt similar. Taserman strikes again. It was pure sex. As impure as ’twas potent. Just like Mac…lust on legs. Lithe, long legs…tautly muscled thighs straining against tailoring as sleek and sharp as its wearer. Joe’s entire field of vision was filled with taut ’n’ tight ’n’ turgid.
This was wish fulfillment beyond Joe’s wildest d—oh. P’raps not…but still as sublime as the fact Mac was busting his britches. Joe was naked. It was hard not to hope for a correlation between the two.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come. In? You’ve already come out, by the looks of it.” Loud and very clear…that Mac dressed to the left.
“Joe, I am not here to share your bath.”
“Just my bed,” Joe sighed, a mite perplexed, it must be admitted. He had no idea how Mac could say that with a straight face, all things considered. It was very impressive. So was his expression. P-p-p-poker face par excellence.
It was a miracle Joe didn’t start mum-mum-mum-mah-ing, at the very least, but that possibly wouldn’t aid his endeavours to secure himself a bad-ass in his bath. Or, in anywhere else at all, so he figured that finding out why would be his best bet. If Mac wanted—but didn’t want to—there must be a reason. If not to refute (possibly impossible) then to work on dissuading him of.
“Cos it’s not professional or, cos I’m junkie scum..?”
“I have never shagged a client,” Mac stated. Firmly. “Don’t you dare let the bastards convince you of that.” His glittery glare was almost as flammable as the fact he grasped a fistful of Joe’s hair and yanked. Hard. Ooh…mean ‘n’ masterful t’boot. Is he hell-bent on boiling the bath water?
Joe couldn’t help but suspect Mac knew damn well what he was doing. His mouth might unleash ‘no’ on a loop but the bad-ass blighter had an uncanny knack for locating buttons he outright refused to press…while bodging away with glinty glee.
“You’re sacked then,” Joe shrugged. Sorted. “It’s too late…” His attempt to muster up a smile was…tragic. Not in the thespianic sense, he’d be booed offstage. It was just crap.
After tugging that rug from beneath Joe’s feet by pointing out he wasn’t coughing up for Mac’s services, the scoundrel slammed his lids shut, stealing away the sight of those glorious greens. Ah well, every cloud an’ all that… As quick-as-a-flash Mac couldn’t see, Joe shot out a hand, clasped the back of his head and tugged. Hard. There was a lot of that about.
Joe may have launched a stealth attack but Mac was the most lethal mo-fo-foe on Earth, or thereabouts. As strong as he was sharp; he could have stopped Joe from crashing their lips together. He did not.
But strewth…stone the crows ‘n’ crikey… Joe might’ve done the mouth mashing, but that didn’t prepare him for the staggering bolt of white-hot want that blitzed his body. Bedazzling his brain. It felt akin to standing onstage as the trapdoor abruptly gave way beneath his feet; such was the jolt to Joe’s lackadaisical system.
Oh, those lips…soft, sultry, lush. For one breath-snatching, soul-searing snatch of time…it stopped. There was nothing but those lips, the scent filling Joe’s head, the hand still clutching his hair, holding him there now as Mac laid waste to his mouth. It might’ve lasted a fraction of a second or forever. It was...everything, encapsulated in a kiss. Far too perfect to be permissible.
Thus, it was with a guttural groan that Mac’s grip relented and he started trying to straighten up. ‘Trying’? Joe was somehow sure that Mac subscribed to the ‘do or do not, there is no try‘ school of Mcbadass mastery. So, Joe increased the pressure of the palm clamped to Mac’s nape, stilling him. For an abated breath, Mac froze…then…the fingers still tangled in Joe hair started to unfurl. Until they were supporting his head—rather than steering it—as Mac unleashed a devastating assault of tongue, lips, teeth. Taking even as he gave…more, so much more. Every inch of Joe ached to be crushed beneath hard-packed muscle, his skin screaming for Mac’s touch but he was stuck in the bath. He could scarce move, let alone struggle to his feet without shattering the moment or breaking the kiss.
“Fuck…” Mac gasped, jerking his head back with a snap so abrupt Joe was left swallowing air. “Stand up…”
Joe scrambled to do as he’d been bid, surging from the water with a schlepping splash. He’d scarce found his footing before his arm was grasped and lifted aloft for Mac to duck beneath it and hoist Joe over one shoulder as if he were weightless.
“Keep your elbows in…” the scoundrel instructed, turning to stride from the room. “Fuck knows how we’ll manage those steps, but at least you’re conscious this time,” he muttered, setting off at a pace so impressive it suggested he’d ‘manage’ every bit as fine as Joe’s view on proceedings. A rhythmic bunching of buns that propelled Mac up the rickety staircase. Upon alighting at the top, he headed straight for the bed and tossed his holdall to the floor before bending to shrug Joe onto the sheets he’d deemed acceptable. When Mac righted himself, he stood, sweeping a blazing gaze down Joe’s body in a scorch akin to being blow-torched, inch-by-incendiary-inch as his skin sizzled in its wake.
“What am I going to do with you…?” Mac wondered aloud, folding his arms and narrowing those eyes to flinty slits of green.
It sounded like a rhetorical question, so Joe kept schtum. As long as Mac did something, he couldn’t care less, which was a wee bit desperate but Joe damn well was. With a rabid intensity as insistent as his more customary cravings, at that. P’raps his overwrought system had got them in a muddle? Joe’s cock sure didn’t look confused. The sight looming over him was, for once, more seductive than Joe’s stash. Its promise…every bit as potent.
Mac himself hadn’t promised Joe bugger-all, o’course, but that was beside the point. The bad-ass might’ve been hewn from Highland granite—or sculpted from Grampian marble—by a master craftsman intent on driving Joe t’distraction. Or demented, but that ship had looong since sailed.
Plush lips twerked in a smile so dark it made Joe’s toes scrunch into the covers. He watched, rapt, as Mac raised his left hand and started tugging on the knot of that incongruous slash of scarlet binding his right wrist. How Joe hoped it wouldn’t wind up wrapped ’round his head, instead. He didn’t want to miss a moment of whatever might ensue, even to blink. When Mac was done unpicking, he flicked his gaze to Joe’s face while unwinding the scrap of cloth, a devilish smirk dancing in those glinty greens. So transfixed was he, Joe’s wrist had been snatched up while he was still wondering if he was about to be blinded. By the glint or a red bandana. First. Phew.
“I think it’s time we set a few boundaries…as I clearly cannae trust you. There’s only one way I’ll be able to keep you out of trouble. My way. On my terms.” Mac declared, every word dripping dark intent. Once satisfied that his new knot would hold, the scoundrel yanked the arm he’d bound above Joe’s head with a swift tug on the trailing end of the bandana. By the time that had been secured to the brass bedstead, Joe was so hard his cock was quivering, his balls drawn so tight he could barely breathe when he remembered to bother.
“You have the hungriest eyes I’ve ever seen in my goddamn life…” The bad-ass informed him when Joe chanced a hopeful glance at Mac’s other hand. “Greedy.”
As long as Joe was fed the seconds it seemed fortune might just favour him with, he wasn’t fussed how gluttonous it made him. Mac’s left arm was similarly adorned but the red-rag-to-a-bull bandana had been too eye-catching to register the not-so matching black one at first. It had no sooner slithered free with a swift swiiip, than Joe’s right arm was secured to the bedstead. “Now you’re safe. I’m quite inclined to keep you there ’til we leave on Monday,” he sighed. Lavishly.
Joe couldn’t hold his tongue any longer, his head was about to explode. His skin felt like a six-foot shriek.
“Please? You’ve sacked me. Along with the right to request fuck-all…”
“You said I couldn’t sack you,” Joe huffed.
“Well, there you go…proof that I endeavour to be accommodating.” Smirked with a nonchalant shrug. Oooh. After unleashing that gem, Mac turned to glide over to the chair and parked his baddest-ass on it with a demonic grin. Nooo…is he stopping for smoke break?
Joe expelled a looong breath when Mac bent to tug on his boots, yanking them off to place them precisely side by side at his feet. His fringe had fallen forwards in the interim so, when Mac straightened up, it was to glower at Joe through fronds of hair, grazing the length of his body like ghostly fingertips as he lay, helpless. Oh dear. Mac hadn’t even touched him elsewhere, but Joe’s blood was all-but fizzing in his veins as his skin crackled static.
In one smooth melody of motion, Mac rose to his feet, shrugging his shirt off. It fell to the floor, unheeded. Joe’s jaw may have followed suit, if he hadn’t been flat on his back; Mac’s torso was as taut ‘n’ tight as the muscle cording his sinewy arms. In the hazy half-light he might’ve been dipped in molten bronze for Joe’s delectation…but Mac wasn’t meant for him. Joe had never done a damn thing to deserve this. Quite the contrary.
“Nevertheless…If you do want me. To stay. Two conditions and I’ve made both more than clear. My Way. On My Terms,” Mac rasped, prowling toward the bed.