Wafflish

My Way 14

My Way

 

 

 

16 Joe

 

“Earth to Joe…” Mac’s whisky-warm voice filtered through the fuzz, summoning Joe from his happy haze. He blinked, trying to refocus on a green as lethal as a shot of la fée verte.

“Better now?” Mac asked with a husky chuckle.

“Mmmuch…kiss me,” Joe pleaded, needing to know if Mac would or, if…if he was done proving his point now? Or…or…Joe could keep going for quite some time, avoiding the real reason—No. Two reasons; equally compelling. 

  1. Joe was the neediest knobhead on Earth. Mac was right, except ‘greedy’ suggested a tendency to sneak a snackeroo too many. Joe’s appetite was so insatiable it had never known when to quit clamouring for more. Fucknows what. It sure as sausages wasn’t food. Or even sex, which left him hungrier than ever, more oft than not. As if he’d scoffed a crumb, when he could cram a whole loaf in his cakehole, with room for a dessert (trolley), while he was on the subject, an’ all. Despair had driven Joe t’drink. Then, to ‘recreational’ drugs. His one-way fast-track ticket to the epiphany that was: it could be sedated. He’d given up sated as a lost cause. 

See…? Joe could give stuff up, if he wanted.

  1. He was not a jot convinced he hadn’t just had the best hallucination of his life (rather than blow job). Joe wanted…well, he wanted to taste the truth for himself. On Mac’s lips. 

His own scent assailed Joe’s nostrils even before Mac melded their mouths. The kiss itself was, in no way whatsoever, a bonus. It was a breath-snatching slam of…tenderness. As shattering as it was incomprehensible. He’d be carted off in a straitjacket in a minute. It was impossible to care…while being taken apart by lips intent on reducing Joe to roadkill. 

He was done for, now. Doomed to a forever of knowing

The not knowing had nearly finished Joe off in an effort to quell...some unknowable need he could neither name nor satisfy. Or source some magic pill that would suffice, instead. It would be an irony too cruel if finding it proved the final nail in Joe’s coffin. 

“Mac?” Joe couldn’t stop himself asking when the dream drifted to an end. If he didn’t, it would keep gnawing away till he had a head full of sawdust. 

“Aye, Joe?” His oh, so grave tone didn’t do a damn thing to suppress Mac’s dastardly grin. 

“Is…was—” Where the bejeezus were Joe’s words? Drained dry prob’ly, like the rest of him.

“Is-was-what…?” Mac smirked. He was enjoying this far too much. Sadist.

“I-why…did you…do that?” Success; a sentence. Of sorts. Eventually. 

“Which part?” Demon.

“Any…all of it.” 

“Because…we wanted me to? Is there a better reason?” Mac shrugged.

“No…but I…didn’t think you wanted…me.” Joe puttered to a halt. He could scarce string three words together, they kept getting stuck in his throat on the way out. It was like coughing up shards of glass. 

“And yet…you saw for yourself that I did.” Mac pointed out, oh so reasonably. “Quite clearly…and commented on that fact, so you can’t claim otherwise.”

Joe’s entire self was itching to spring up and run around having a flap, to syphon off some tension. He wasn’t sure he could have stopped himself, if he wasn’t still tied to his own bloomin bed.

“Having a bit…a lot of a boner is different from doing…and very different from…giving. If you’d told me to blow you, I wouldn’t be so befuddled. You know I would have, and gladly, so why…give when you could have taken?”

“Perhaps I simply wanted to.” A big fat fib alongside another shrug. 

“I don’t think you do anything ‘simply’,” Joe informed him. “You’re too…considered. Deliberate.” 

“Perceptive…but not entirely true in this instance,” Mac sighed. “Fuck, I need a smoke.”

“Chance would be a fine thing,” Joe hmphed.

“I’m going to fetch them first, Mister. Otherwise you’ll lock yourself in the loo in the meantime,” Mac muttered. 

“You don’t need to…there should be a stash of smokes in here, somewhere. P’raps on that shelf, by the door?”

“So there are. Okay…” When Mac planted his palms on the bed to push himself up, a clutch of cold air coshed Joe’s chest. After leaning over to fiddle with the knot securing his right wrist to the bedstead, Mac let the arm flop free, bandana still intact. 

“Mac…?” Joe wondered, when the bad-ass started work on the scarlet one.

“Aye?” 

“Can I…keep this?” Joe asked, aiming for ‘airy’. Missing by a mile. 

“Cannae see why not, it’ll come in…handy for tethering you to the nearest table when I need to empty my bladder. I’d rather not have an audience, thank you.”

“Bummer. I wish I hadn’t asked now,” Joe grumbled, but still found himself grinning. Despite the fact he’d just scuppered two tasty alternative trips to the loo. Joe’s en-suite or Mac’s. 

Ah well, there was a chance he might be granted a far more salubrious sighting than the latter…and the bad-ass had promised not to stop Joe shooting up…so it wasnae too bad a deal, on the whole.

“Here, let me sort it or you’ll look like a bloody Morris Dancer. I suppose you want them both?” Mac grunted while rebinding the black bandana, wristband stylee.

“No, I like the red one against your skin. It’s rather rakish…” 

“Rakish…” Mac chuckled, unpicking Joe’s knot and unravelling the slash of scarlet before wrapping it around his own wrist and tying it off with his teeth. Ooh. “What?” The bad-ass had the bare-faced temerity to ask, raising a (rakish) eyebrow. He knew damn well what. Bodge bodge. 

“You’re driving me doolally,” Joe groaned.

“Not guilty, I’ve only been here a few hours. That balloon floated away many a moon ago, I reckon.” 

“That wouldn’t stand up in court, y’scoundrel. You’ve already tied me to my own bed and blown my brains out.” Joe huffed.

“A good day’s work, in all, I’d wager.” Mac announced with a satisfied glint o’teeth.

“Are you clocking off now?” Just checkin’.

“I clocked off about an hour ago.” Mac corrected while sashaying off to fetch the smokes.

“You’ve just contradicted yourself. Again. Is your work day done?” Joe was still none the wiser.

“I’ve answered that, so what are you asking? Spit it out,” Mac grinned, retrieving a fresh pack of cigarettes. Once he’d extracted one, he shoved it between devilish lips, then tossed the box Joe’s way while foraging in his pocket for a lighter. Joe waited till he’d lit them both before taking the bull by the horns. Or the bad-ass by the balls, so t’speak.

“Mac, can I blow you?” There. That was spat out succinctly. Joe would have preferred: If it is? Would his lordship care to slip into something more comfy and let me assist him in unwinding a little? But beggars can’t be choosers…tralala…

“Nope.” The scoundrel smirked.

“No...never…?” 

“I wasnae thinking that far ahead. I merely answered your question.” Mac stated, blowing a stream of smoke ceiling ward. Grrrrrrr…

“Why don’t you want me to?” 

“I do.” Mac rustled up a c’est la vie shrug. He had a wider variety than Inuits have words for snow. 

“You’re doing it again. Contradicting yourself. Why won’t you let me, if you want me to?” Joe might p’raps have pouted. 

“Joe. My way. On my terms. Ring a bell?”

“Oh fuff. Okay. Damn blast’n’bugger…” he muttered.

“Quit chuntering.” Mac snickered, reaching out to ruffle Joe’s hair while leaning forward to flick ash into the overflowing ashtray.

“You’re doing my head in.”

“Stop sulking, you agreed to the terms, so suck it up.” Mac snorted.

“Humph. If only. Laterwards?”

Joorrr…” Mac warned. Damn, he even pulled off as-sexy-as-fuck while telling Jor off like a five year old.

 How was Joe supposed to stay miffed and have himself a huff when his cock kept perking up, cutting his strops off well before their prime? He would explode soon if this kept up. One way or another. Blackguardy bad-ass.

 

***

2 thoughts on “My Way 14

  1. Ah, your gorgeous descriptions always take my breath away! Sigh…
    “Earth to Joe…” Mac’s whisky-warm voice filtered through the fuzz, summoning Joe from his happy haze. He blinked, trying to refocus on a green as lethal as a shot of la fée verte.
    “Better now?” Mac asked with a husky chuckle.
    You sum up that desperate need for love – and the ‘let’s try and fill that hole with anything we can even though tis never going to be enough and only makes us hungrier’ – state of affairs so perfectly here; heavy words, lightly thrown:

    Joe was the neediest knobhead on Earth. Mac was right, except ‘greedy’ suggested a tendency to sneak a snackeroo too many. Joe’s appetite was so insatiable it had never known when to quit clamouring for more. Fucknows what. It sure as sausages wasn’t food. Or even sex, which left him hungrier than ever, more oft than not. As if he’d scoffed a crumb, when he could cram a whole loaf in his cakehole, with room for a dessert (trolley), while he was on the subject, an’ all. Despair had driven Joe t’drink. Then, to ‘recreational’ drugs. His one-way fast-track ticket to the epiphany that was: it could be sedated. He’d given up sated as a lost cause. 

    And I LOVE this description: It was like coughing up shards of glass.  – I can feel the pain and doubt and the sheer ache of all those emotions just through that one phrase, it’s wonderful.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Oh how scrumptious of you…thank you. ❤️I can’t tell you how much your lovely words mean. 🥰 I’ve been a bitalot worried about blethering on and boring everyone to death with all their inner mutterings. I’m so glad you liked the quotey parts and chuffed if I’ve managed to squeeze in something worth reading along the way.😳 xxxxxxx

      Liked by 1 person

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