“Why won’t you let me, if you want me to?” Joe looked beyond bewildered. As well he might. Mac was all-but gnashing his teeth. Sitting on the bed beside a sated, naked Joe, suffering the worst case of cripple cock he’d ever endured.
Christ. Want him to? There was only one thing Mac craved more…but a blow job would have sufficed in the meantime. He couldnae afford to hand over the reins ’til he was damn sure they’d be relinquished—or surrendered on command—if Joe preferred, as Mac had a hunch he might.
“Joe. My way. On my terms. Ring a bell?” This was excruciating. Mac had worked undercover before, but never as himself, f’fucksakes.
“Quit chuntering,” he couldn’t help but chuckle—or refrain from ruffling Joe’s fluffy shock of hair—after being treated to some much miffed huffing and puffing. “You agreed to the terms, so suck it up.” A most unfortunate expression if ever there was one. Mac was driving himself nuts (which, in turn, were protesting painfully).
“Humph. If only. Later-wards?” Joe actually fluttered his eyelashes while pinning on an angelic grin. The monster might’ve sighed “Oh, okay…” when Mac growled his name, but those irrepressible eyes belied his acquiescence. “What time is it?”
“Time to eat. I’m starving.” Mac stated, in tones that brooked no argument.
“You can’t say I didn’t offer,” Joe muttered.
“Joe. Food. You havenae eaten sod all, except cereal.”
“Tasty it was, too. I’m really not hungry. For food.” Added with a toothy grin.
“What are you willing to ingest?” Mac emphasized.
“Y’cannae survive on smack and crunchy nut cornflakes,” Mac stated, scraping a despairing hand through his hair.
“Y’can. I’m living proof of that.”
“You must have the constitution of an ox. It’s a miracle you can still get it up at all.”
“So it seems, as the Doc is far too fond of informing me. When he’s not issuing proclamations of doom about its future prospects…and those of my fingers. Someone’s put him up to the hands thing, I’m sure of it. Be my voice box next, I bet. Blighters.”
“If I order something in, will you share it?” Mac asked, rather than respond to a prognosis he couldnae refute.
“No, cos I want crunchy-nutters.”
“Fine. I cannae be arsed to argue the toss about cornflakes. C’mon, put something on, so we can get you fed.”
“My robe’ll do…it’s comfy.” More huffing and puffing accompanied Joe’s progress from bed to bathrobe, followed by a ‘much miffed’ stomp downstairs.
Doc McCafferty’s diagnosis? All show and no substance. If Joe was indeed pissed off, Mac sure as hell wouldnae be standing around assessing that fact.
“What are you having? There should be some tasty stuff in the freezer.”
“I’m not fussed, t’be honest. Are there enough crunchy-nutters for two?” Acceding to said moniker seemed a wee concession in the scheme of things.
“There should be, Adam said he’d brought six, so I’d better bloody remember to eat ’em. I can’t have forgot to scoff that many.”
If there was an answer to that…it wasnae about to suggest itself this side of six bottles of scotch. “They’ll suffice, for now…there’s some bananas in my bag. D’you want one slicing up for yours, while I’m doing mine?”
“I’d rather eat it separately.” Joe decided after musing the matter as if it was a tie breaker on University Challenge.
“Okay,” Mac mustered a nonchalant shrug. As opposed to thrusting a triumphant fist in the air—because Joe had agreed to consume a piece of fruit—f’chrissakes. He was going soft in the head. After bending to break a couple of bananas off the bunch in his holdall, Mac placed them on the countertop and extracted the switchblade from his pocket.
“Crikey…Mack-the-Knife, all present and correct. Have you got a pair of pliers too?”
“No, just tranquilizer darts and manacles.” Mac shrugged.
“Fibber. I really doubt you came bearing gifts. If there’s Ketamine in that bag, I’ll eat my hat stand.” Joe snickered, pouring a crunchy-nut mountain into two bowls he’d retrieved from the cupboard.
“I can’t really argue with that. Thanks,” Mac added, slicing a banana to scatter on his own and handing one to Joe when he’d done the milk pouring honours.
“Hmm…that smell…” After pretty much shoving his face in the bowl, Joe inhaled with a lingering purr of appreciation. How the hell does he make every damn thing seem so…charming? Even when he’s being bloody impossible? Even when? He ratchets it up another notch or ninety to counter that fact. Mac was starting to feel uncannily akin to Kindergarten Cop. On acid.
NB: Persuading Joe to eat a piece of fruit = Triumph > Torture in the time it takes to peel a banana. Eat? The monster fellated it.
“Joe,” Mac growled.
“Wha—?” The miscreant managed to communicate, while freezing mid-bite, lips wrapped obscenely around its…shaft.
“You know very well ‘what’,” Mac grunted.
“Nope, no idea what you’re talking about,” Joe blinked, the picture of innocence. After slowly withdrawing the banana to speak.
“I’d ram that up your arse if I didnae think you’d enjoy it too much,” Mac glowered.
“Perv…” Joe cackled.
“I am not the one performing fellatio on a banana.”
“It’s not my fault. My mouth was watering, all geared up and raring to go. I am simply appeasing its misery,” Joe sniffed.
“You. Are…impossible.” Mac cussed, stomping over to the table with their cereal. His temper was unravelling, toting his patience along for the ride. He felt fit to explode. What dickhead dreamed up this oh, so cunning plan? Without even recourse to a trip to the loo to have a wank in peace?
“Charmin’. I’m being as good as gold too. Mac, when I’ve scoffed my crunchy-nutters…” If the puppy dog eyes hadnae been a dead giveaway, Joe’s toe-scuffing tone proclaimed his plea from the rooftops.
“Yeah,” Mac sighed. “I didn’t expect you to hold out so long.”
“Told ya…I was a mite distracted.”
“I’d be on the Atkins Diet if I ‘distracted’ you as often as necessary.”
“If I can pick my own protein delivery method, I’d be more than happy to go on it. You’d need to, if I had my way. Mac…? What are you doing?”
“Banging my head on the table, what the fuck does it look like?” Mac muttered, having shoved his seat back to do exactly that.
“You’ve gone ‘nanas, I reckon. It would be a lot less painful to just—”
“Joe. Go and shoot up and shut it, for chrissakes or I’m going to stab you,” Mac cut him off.
“Oh, testy. I’d take yourself off for a wank if I were you, before your plot, ’tis lost…”
“I am fine.” Man retorted, mustering a glare so menacing it tended to make more painful means of persuasion redundant.
“Suit y’self. Just trying to be helpful. Please may I be excused, Sir?”
“Aye…just please don’t go overboard,” Mac sighed, resigned to the inevitable.
“I won’t.” Joe’s teasing tone smoothed to a soothing murmur; “I promise. You might get the elbow…and I don’t want that to happen. Mac?”
“Aye?” He glanced up, only to find himself ensnared in bottomless brown.
When Joe shot to his feet, the screech of chair across tile preceded a yank on Mac’s to jerk it Joe’s way. The miscreant had straddled Mac’s lap before he had time to protest. If he’d intended to.
“Soo hard…” Joe sighed. A creamy sound of satisfaction that made matters worse. “Mac…I want you to take me…from behind…every bit as fast, ferociously, as you long to. I want it all…all of you…”
“F’fucksakes,” Mac groaned when his earlobe was snagged with tender-sharp teeth. Dragging in a deep breath, he tried to swallow the breeze block lodged in his throat…and blot out the images Joe had just branded on his brain.
“Exactly…” he breathed, before clasping Mac’s face to tilt it up for a full scale assault of drugging lips…and darting tongue hell-bent reinforcing them in HD.
Only a couple more hours. He could hold out for that long. My Way. On my terms…Mac reminded himself, just as Joe unleashed a mind-boggling roll of hips.