My Way 18

Hi…I’m sorry I’ve been away a while, matters have been a mite hectic. I hope you have a lovely weekend.🥰


My Way

20 Joe





“Joe…lube.” Two words. A world of promise.

“P’raps…in the bedside table?” Joe had a vague recollection of stashing some in there, just in case

He hadn’t met a soul he wanted to share his sanctum with though…so why the bejeezus he’d brought Mac up here without giving it a second thought, Joe knew not. That was a helluva lot like inviting the fox into the chicken coop. Joe was p’raps far too fond of foxes, but— He quite forgot to finish reasoning his way out of that when Mac switched the bedside lamp on.

Strewth… Joe stared, dazzled by the play of light and shadow making Mac gleam burnished bronze. Every inch as taut and toned as the profile of that oh, so pert posterior. He was a work of art as exquisite as the Bronzi di Riace...as if plucked from his plinth at the Museo Nazionale della Magna Grecia for Joe’s delectation

“I…you’re beautiful…” He could scarce string three words together, let alone rustle up a sentence sans drool. 

“Wha—” Mac’s incredulous expression crumpled into befuddlement when he turned toward Joe, with much the impact of being smacked in the face with a shovel. Stonethebloomincrows. 

“Mac…please…” Joe stuttered, before puttering to a stop. He couldn’t think. Or blink. Every muscle tremouring, primed to launch him Macwards, but Joe seemed to be frozen. Even his eyelids. Especially his eyelids.

“Tell me what you want…” Mac’s voice was whisky-laced cream, as luscious as sunkissed skin lapped by lamplight.

Joe really wasn’t fussed ‘what’, or ‘how’. The ‘why’ was a no brainer. Only the ‘who’ and ‘when’ mattered: Mac. Now. 

Tell me what you want…

Joe had been badgering the bad-ass all day, to no avail. What happened to Mac’s Way or the Highway? Contrary Mary. Unless…the query was another tricksy torture technique dead-set on driving Joe doolally: Tell me what you want and it’s the last thing you’ll get…if you’re lucky. Joe was starting to suspect that the less he asked for, the more he might get. 

My way. On my terms. 

Now there was a thought worth thinking. A rare and splendoured thing indeed, so Joe took note: Sid’s My Way would make the perfect encore for next week’s gigs. Joe had been plunged into darkness again…so he was musing this while waiting for Mac to return. Chances were, he would soon find himself facing the bedstead, so he wouldn’t miss too much Mac-in-all-his-glory, but bummer. The snaffled bandana would make the perfect garter, à la Sid…and p’raps he could ask Adam to procure a white tux to wear? Sorted. Just in time, too. 


The mattress dipped and what felt a lot like a knee brushed Joe’s right thigh, roundabouts where the bandana was to be wrapped. Mac cocked the other leg to straddle Joe’s and bent low, hovering a hairsbreadth above his back. Joe’s skin was a silent scream, shivering with awareness. The press of plush lips to his nape was a brush of blowtorch breath that robbed him of his own. 

“I am not here to service you. Nor am I a member of your entourage who finds it a privilege to cater to your every whim…sexual or otherwise. I will fight you every step of the way. Never, ever, forget it. I want you…and I’m taking you. As simple as that.”  Mac’s voice dripped dark intent; almost as delicious as the promise of his threat.

“‘Kay…” Joe gasped when that oh, so talented tongue started trickling down his spine. 

I want you…and I’m taking you. As simple as that. Joe would agree to whatever dastardly shenanigans Mac dreamed up, and the bad-ass knew it. 

Firm fingers gripped his hips and tugged, propping Joe on his knees. He was still scrambling up onto his forearms when Mac swept a lavish lick along happy valley. The flare of flame that thrilled through Joe’s veins almost face-planted him into the pillow. 

“Mac…please…” he whimpered, wondering how much longer Mac intended to make him wait. Minutes…hours? Joe was starting to suspect the scoundrel was quite capable of torturing him for days. Weeks!? I’ll die, then he’ll be sorry. If only on the deficit of duty front. Demon.

“Oh so impatient,” Satan’s spawn sighed. Theatrically. Afore thrusting two slick fingers into Joe’s body.

“AAHH!” Joe’s spine damn near snapped, such was the sizzle of shock to his system. He’d barely registered Mac’s “Better..?” before the blackguard plunged them deeper, swivelling when he pulled them back, only to surge forth again. “Yesss…” Joe hissed when Mac flexed them, sending a white-hot bolt of bliss blistering through his body. Over and over that mind-boggling knot of nerves they wafted ’til Joe was reduced to a writhing wreck. Never more securely shackled…and Mac hadnae even bound him. “Fuck me! Pleeease!” Joe screech was still clawing the walls when he was coshed by an ache so hollow he wanted to weep. 

He couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped but how he wished it hadn’t. Joe had never felt so…naked, exposed, in his life. Even on stage. Not even by lurid headlines and deer-in-the-headlights snapshots that plastered his fears across the front pages. Writ far too large in eyes that couldn’t hide their truths from a world ever eager to spit in them.

As if it had ever been in doubt, such self-pitying piffle proved all-too well why a man like Mac could never want Joe. Not enough, never enough, to make it imperative to claim Joe as his own. Rather than something he’d get around to when Mac was done amusing himself with his own dastardliness. 

“Yuurrr goin’t be the deeth of us…” had scarce sandblasted Joe’s skin when he felt the briefest press about his person. A snatched-off breath before Mac snapped his hips, burying him balls-deep with a sound like sin itself. Grit and gun oil, sand and glue. Soused in sex. 

Joe had never felt so full. Everywhere. Impossibly so, as if his lungs and heart might burst. Every fibre of his being, filled with Mac. Strong and sure and…staying there; pressed so deep there was nothing, nothing but him. Joe was scared to breathe, perchance Mac…what? Realised what he’d done? Fear cared not a jot for such fripperies as sense.

“Joorr…” One word, wrung from Mac’s throat as if it…mattered. That he said it? UnlessFuck no.

Mac…don’t stop…please…” Joe begged, scrunching his eyes as tight as elsewhere. It felt as if his entire self had locked down.

“F’fucksakes! Jor!” Oops. “I cannae see straight, let alone move…” Mac hissed.

“Sorry…” Joe blew out a loong breath and…unscrunched matters a mite.

“‘Kay…” It was with a low whistle that Mac eased back, almost all the way. “Just f’the record…I don’t intend to…”

If only that was as open ended as it sounded. A flight of fancy obliterated by a thrust so fulsome it expelled the air from Joe’s body and made the darkness bleed scarlet. That was the last nugget of nonsense his brain rustled up for quite some time. It was too busy being blissy after that. Too entranced by the ferocity of Mac’s focus and panther-hipped prowess. As incomparable as his bad-ass billing. 

Joe’s entire existence, narrowed to need; to here, now and the man branding him mind, body, soul. Whether Mac intended to, or not…it made no neverminds, when that’s exactly what he did. Jack-hammer hips pounding with fearsome finesse, fingers gripping tight enough to paint their imprints in rainbow hues for days. Grinding ever deeper, driving Joe to the very edge of himself, and beyond, beyond the bounds of reason why and why not, when there was only thisss. Him. Mac. Meanest Jo-fo on Earth or thereabouts. Hereabouts…and how.

“This what you wanted?” Mac growled, slamming himself home. Ratcheting the impossible pressure another notch or ninety. Heavy heat radiating from the base of his spine to spark along its length like a test-your-strength dinger dead-set on hitting the jackpot. 

“YESSS!” Joe gasped. A response that pretty much assured Mac would promptly pull out. All the way. 

“Ma—” Joe’s protest was cut short when the scoundrel grasped his right thigh and tugged. Hard. Toppling Joe onto his side…flat on his back. Mac had no sooner hooked a leg over each sinewy shoulder than came the blunt nudge Joe craved. More intensely than smack in that moment, a miracle in itself. He’d barely got his bearings but his body welcomed Mac as if it had been starved for a lifetime. Now it knew that it had. ‘Twill be hell to live in after this.

“MAC!” Joe gasped, tightening his ankles to force him deeper still. “More…”

“Not had enough yet?” His bad-ass rasped, pressing forwards, pushing Joe’s thighs towards his chest, folding him in half. 

“Never…” Oops. That was a mite too much info. Um, it could mean ‘more’? Not never-forever.

“You might wish you’d never said that…” Mac muttered, hefting Joe a mite higher and shifting a smidge to rattle off short sharp thrusts that blitzed Joe’s system with sparks of pleasure…as potent, sure, strong, as the man in complete control of the havoc he wreaked. On Joe, who was an utter mess. A sweaty, sodden mess, fringe stuck to his forehead, fists snarled in the sheets. Squirming like a wanton wench in a bodice ripper. All breathless pleas, raggedy gasps…and strangled cat sounds he’d never made in his life.

“M-m-ah! Ach! Pleease…” 

“Surrendering already?”

Joe could hear Mac’s dastardly grin when he rolled those lethal hips. Demon. “Yes…” Joe sighed, all out of wherewithal for wit. It was all he could do to unfurl his fingers and relinquish the sheet in order to reach—

“No.” Mac barked.

No…? NO? 

“Bu…but Mac!” Joe wailed. Stupid, stupid, stinging burning his eyeballs.

They all-but plopped on the bed when his cock was encompassed in a tenderfierce clasp as brutal as barbed wire. As staggering as the word that ripped from Mac’s lips. “Mine…”

A single syllable that ricocheted round Joe’s head, swallowing its own echo, making less and less sense with every sweep of Mac’s wrist. In perfect simpatico with that serpentine spine in a melody so sublime, it would haunt Joe forever.

The only better there could possibly be, was letting go of the impossible pressure. Teetering on the brink of maddening pleasure, desperate with desire, drunk on lust. 

“Maac!” His name, of course his name, in the throes of white-hot bliss. There was no more than him. The inescapable agent of Joe’s doom. He was well and truly buggered. In every way. Ah well…

Best not go down without a fight tho’…the bad-ass had a reputation to preserve, after all. 




_71881317_002957838-1 - Edited (1)

 Bronzi di Riace.

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