by J P Sayle
The guy’s alarmed eyes took in his appearance.
“Please.” Joe coughed past the dryness in his throat. His shaky fingers searched through the backpack, grabbing the bottle of water like a lifeline. He sipped the icy coolness, letting it soothe the rawness and wash away the coppery taste of his own blood.
The stillness of the car registered as his muddled mind calmed. The adrenaline was fading, leaving the telltale signs that he was going to crash and soon. The cracked polyester seat creaked as his limbs trembled and bounced against it. The smells of stale sweat mixed with greasy fast food assaulted his already queasy stomach, making it revolt. Breathing through his mouth, Joe caught movement out the window.
Ducking automatically, “Fuck,” panic had him clutching the door handle. Worried that at any second it would be ripped open, he begged. “Please drive, please now.” The urgency making his voice shrill, but he didn’t care.
Joe lurched backward, his shoulder bashing off the seat behind him, “Arrrrgh.” Joe’s trembling hands grabbed for the seatbelt, paying no attention to the driver as he spoke or the now spilt bottle of water, soaking the matted carpet in the foot well.
“Sorry, but you did say move. You okay? You look a little worse for wear, man.” A Welsh accent sounded musical, but it had the words blending together.
Joe’s felt little shivers travel up his body, the cold seeping into his shocked system. He raked through his bag, finding another jumper, he pulled it on. Spotting his little mirror, he took a fortifying breath before lifting it out and up.
He couldn’t stop the sharp inhale that made his side ache. Self-pity gripped him, barely managing to choke back his distress. The mirror highlighted how unlucky he had been yet again. Dark purple seemed to spread before his very eyes, it tracked across his two eyes and down the whole of the right side of his face. His hair was matted, stuck to his face from his split right cheek. His swollen lips both bled, leaving furrows down his chin and neck. Joe traced the swollen cheekbone, checking for broken bones, satisfied when he found none.
He could see now why the taxi driver had looked so alarmed, he was a mess. “Oww, shit,” patting at his bleeding mouth, chastising himself for whining. That shit wouldn’t fix the situation. He carried on his exploration, thanking God Joel had missed his nose, but the grainy feeling in his eyes told him he needed to get his contact lenses out ASAP, before they caused any damage. Not thinking, he licked his fingertip, swiping his eye as he scraped the lens out.
Wow, shit, his wonky vision instantly making his stomach reel. Having suffered with car sickness as a child, he didn’t want to puke over the poor dude’s car. Swallowing, he breathed through his mouth, quickly removing the other lens. So much for sterile procedures, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Grabbing his glasses, he attempted to cover some of his face.
“Hey, man, sorry to interrupt but where are we going?” The question pulled Joe from his reverie.
“The NCP car park at the Swansea City Gates please.” Looking behind, he couldn’t see anyone chasing him but then he hadn’t seen the attack coming either. His seat creaked in distress as he shifted. Joe considered if he should go to the hospital. At least there would be a record of his injuries. He huffed at what fucking good had that done him in the past. What a fucking mess, all because his dick thought it knew better.
He’d spotted Joel on the training field when he’d arrived at High Wycombe military base. His dick had acted like a dog in heat, sitting up and begging. The attraction had been mutual. Though initially, Joe been a little shocked when the attraction had been mutual with Joel being so macho.
Joe was a typical nerd, wore glasses for short-sightedness and had since he was a small child. His eyes were brown and matched his hair which was floppy and nothing special. His lean body erred on the skinny side when he forgot to eat, which was often when he was entrenched in some new work project. Joel, on the other hand, was stunning, military short black hair, high cheekbones, square jaw, charcoal grey eyes that called to him. Joel’s powerful six foot five body, broad shoulders that lead to a slim waist and solid ass, gave way to long muscled legs. His body demonstrated Joel’s love of the gym, making him drool-worthy. The only flaw at the time that Joe could see was his domineering personality.
He hadn’t listened to his gut, letting his dick overrule common sense. Joel took things to a whole new level of creepy after the initial lovey-dovey stage. In the beginning, he’d let it go, but the first time he’d tried to choke him to death, his jealous rage over Aaden, his commanding officer, left him shaken and back peddling out the door as fast as his small arse could manage.
He could still feel those large hands gripping his throat, pushing against his windpipe stopping any air from getting in or out. His fear paralysing him before his survival instincts kicked in. Struggling hadn’t worked, unable to speak while Joel fucked him hard, all the while asphyxiating him. A maniacal gleam in his eyes scared the living crap out of Joe. The animalistic roar he gave as his cock exploded inside Joe had made his blood run cold. The force of Joel’s ejaculation had Joe convinced he could taste salt at the back of his own throat. Joe’s limp cock demonstrating his total lack of arousal, but Joel had seemed completely oblivious.
Unapologetic for his jealous behaviour, he acted as if nothing had happened. The bruising around his throat evidence enough it had happened, and was harder to explain to his friends. He’d walked funny for two weeks and had cringed at the thought of anyone touching him intimately.
It had been the beginning of the end of their three-month roller coaster ride. His humiliation had continued, when he reported it to his chief officer, only not to be taken seriously. Then Joel had laughed it off when he tried to end it. The weeks that followed had been a total nightmare before it had eventually sunk past the layer of Joel’s disbelief that they were over.
Thinking back on how things had spiralled out of control in the following months. Fuck that is an understatement. Joe remembered the broken bones and bruising he’d suffered, which had taken weeks to heal. Reporting it again had done diddly squat, his commander telling him to take it like a fucking man.
He’d never hidden he was gay, receiving mixed vibes from some of the army personnel. On the whole, whom he dated was ignored due to his brilliance. On the odd occasion bigotry had still lurked, he’d ignored it. He’d spent most of his teenage years in advanced classes with older pupils getting used to odd reactions to him. He knew he’d never really fitted in, so he’d embraced his quirkiness, spending more time with his pet electronic projects. Creating a miniscule bug that the army had been unable to detect, resulting in them offering him a contract at the ripe old age of nineteen.
His army colleagues found it funny to ridicule his size and stature, so he had set out to prove that he could match them on the training assault courses used for new recruits. His only advantage in the beginning was speed, so he’d worked on strength and agility aspects. It had taken time to build, but he’d achieved it in the end.
Joe felt his first genuine smile spread across his face, splitting his cut lip out. Wincing at the sting, he gingerly touched his lip with his tongue, tasting the fresh metallic flavour of blood. His self-disgust coated his sigh, convinced if Martin was still in the army he wouldn’t be in this situation. Martin would definitely have kicked Joe’s arse for mixing with the likes of Joel. He’d warned Joe his dick would get him into trouble. No truer words were spoken in jest.
Joe had met Martin when he’d stepped in at the last minute to take the training Joe had requested to do. Joe was attempting to climb the six-foot wooden wall when the guys he was training with thought it would be fun to pull his trousers down, causing him to lose his grip. He could still feel the splinters digging into his palms as he’d grappled to hold on, humiliation staining his cheeks at their laughter.
It was that hilarity that had brought the wrath of God down on them. Joe would have sneered at the thirty laps around the assault course if he hadn’t had to have the wood
dug out of his hands. Martin had seemed genuinely concerned for him. Their developing friendship had surprised them both. They’d soon sussed out they were both gay, but deciding friendship was more important. Joe instead had become Martin’s shadow following him everywhere.
Joe may have had a few dreams about those delicious plump lips and what they could do to him, but Martin hadn’t needed to know that. Joe sighed in frustration when he remembered he hadn’t replied to Martin’s text message. Now he was being a shitty friend as well, buggering shit! He searched through his bag for his palmtop computer. He glanced out the window trying to gauge where they were. Joe figured he had time to get the information now.
Becoming engrossed, it took a second for Joe to realise his phone was singing. Spice Girls, “Spice up your life”, telling him exactly who it was, chuckling he answered.
“Come on, for fuck sake answer.”
Joe winced at Martin’s bellowing, pulling back the phone he rubbed his ringing ear, laughing. “I’m here. Can’t a man take a wiz without interruption?” His joke fell short when he heard the strain in Martin’s voice as he spoke.
“Not when it’s me, they can’t.”
Shit, Martin’s anger had him pausing. “What’s up? I take it you’re after the info you texted me about yesterday. Sorry, I didn’t get back to you, but something unexpected came up.” Trying to control the tremulous quake, he failed miserably when Martin spoke, his concern coming through loud and clear.
“Hey, you alright, my man? You know you can talk to me about anything.”
Unsure how to answer Martin, Joe considered his options, maybe he could lay low with Martin for a while. The lies formed against his will. “Eh, no, no, it’s all cool. I may need a place to stay for a few weeks if you’re up for a lodger?” His undertone of desperation seeping out before he could stop it, Joe cursed under his breath at Martin’s wary response.
“That won’t be a problem. There is plenty of room at mine. Your welcome anytime, you know that. At least I won’t have to track you down to ask for help then.”
At the mention of tracking, he pulled up a new screen. His fingers flew over his palmtop, searching for what Martin needed.
“Did you find out who owns that car?”
Martin’s question had him responding with a chuckle.
“Hey, you don’t doubt my skills, hang on. Yep, here you go it’s a Malcolm Cummings.”
Martin’s sharp inhale had his belly tying in knots as words shouted into his ear. “Shit, shit, are you sure?”
Joe heard tyres squeal, he hesitated not wanting to upset Martin further, if his first reaction was anything to go by. “Yes I’m sure, isn’t that the same surname as your new boyfriend?”
The eerie silence unnerved him. Joe waited, feeling his anxiety growing at the revving and roars of an engine followed by horns blaring through the phone. They mixed seconds later with Martin’s ragged breathing. “You still with me, take it easy, Martin. Don’t, for fuck sake, crash before you get to him. Ring me and let me know what the fuck is going on. I’m here, man, if you need me.” Energy sizzled in the air as Martin disconnected his phone.
Holy shit, it would appear he wasn’t the only one with problems. Joe scrolled through the information on his screen. Dear God, Malcolm had been on the island for a few days, and if the information was correct, he was part of some zealot group. Reading some of the propaganda, Joe got a bitter taste in his mouth. The hate against the gay population caused his blood to freeze. What the hell has Martin gotten mixed up with? He hesitated, his fingers hovered over his phone. Should he ring him back?
“That’s twenty-three quid.”
Joe glanced up eyes taking a second to focus. His mind trying to grasp what the man wanted. “Sorry?”
The genuine concern that peered back at him had emotions well in Joe’s chest, it had been a while since anyone had shown him any concern.
“You alright, sure you don’t want me to take you to the hospital or something?”
Joe shook his head, giving a half-hearted smile. “No, it’s fine, honest. How much?”
Digging into his backpack for his wallet, he gave a large tip as he paid the driver, getting out he took a deep breath of fresh air. Glad to be out of the stale smelling car, the guy may have been nice, but his car wasn’t. Sniffing his jacket and jumper, sighing when it confirmed he now stank of grease. Thoroughly disgusted, he stalked towards the garage to get his BMW motorbike.
Conscious he could have a tail, he skirted the building, watching. He needed to get his shit together, figure out where he was going to stay and how Joel had found him again so fast. No one knew he was in Swansea, well except his handler in High Wycombe.
It was supposed to be a need to know basis, and no one needed to know what he was up to. Cursing under his breath, Joel appeared to have a snitch, and he had a feeling it might be his handler. Though he was going to need to do a bit of digging before he voiced that accusation. He just didn’t understand why the fuck couldn’t people just leave him alone? The past six months were taking their toll. Dark circles, jittery stomach, weight loss, lack of sleep, he wasn’t sure how much more could he endure. Thinking the field work would help him escape Joel, yet, he kept popping up. The fucking stalking bastard.
It didn’t seem to matter how many times he complained, they were doing nothing, and now the attacks were getting more threatening. Joe was now convinced it was only a matter of time before Joel lost complete control. Fear skittered down his spine at the thoughts of what he would do to him before he’d finished.
The large bag he’d spotted on the ground in the hotel room before he’d escaped had scared the bejesus out of him. Joel saw himself as a Dom, using bondage and toys. Joe had only participated twice, not enjoying the pain that Joel revelled in inflicting. Joe’s hands pushed his hair back in frustration. Why, why, why, had he ignored all the warning signs?
Shaking off his gloomy self-recrimination, he pulled his thoughts together. Think, come on, man think, you need to come up with a plan of some sort, come on.
A resolved expression fixed to his pinched features before a smile began to form. Martin would have recognised it instantly. Joe was fixing to pull some tricks out of his bag. Joe mounted his bike, revving the engine, letting his plans form. It was time to stop being the victim and turn the tables. The punch of power under him had his hands flexing tightly. He could sort this, no, he would sort this!
Then he would visit Martin and figure out if Brad was worthy of his friend.
Stuart
Stuart scowled at his inflamed skin, feeling extremely tempted to itch. Three God damn awful weeks of scratching, how much more was he supposed to endure? Where the hell is my medication, he looked about the room, convinced Princess had moved it. Searching the bedside cabinet again, he was positive it had been in there. His heavy sigh whistled past tight lips, annoying him further. He tried hard not to show any reaction to Princess’s antics but this took the biscuit.
Three weeks, twenty-one fucking days of torture, he deserved a medal for putting up with her. Waking up this morning with her curled on his chest yet again. What was it they said, the last straw broke the camel’s back, well this camel had had enough! If this had been his house, he would have bought a lock for the bloody door to ensure her scrawny arse couldn’t get anywhere near him.
Cursing loudly when Satan’s paw, aka Princess, swiped at his hand, Stuart’s jaw ached as he ground his teeth. Stuart quietly seethed when his hand stung from the deep scratches. “What the fuck was that for?” His anger barely contained at her complete indifference. Feeling his hands fist, he moved out of harm’s way, prowling to the bathroom. Checking his hand, he ran it under the tap, worrying about getting an infection.
“I better not get an infection. I told you if you scratch me again I was going to take you to the vet’s to get those nails clipped.” His hands waved flicking water everywhere, his temper issuing empty threats because Brad would have Martin rip him a new one if he harme
d even one of hair on her tiny body. Stuart sagged in defeat against the counter, counting to ten when Princess rolled her eyes.
He gripped the sink hard, reminding himself she was leaving this morning. Thank God, it had been a long time coming. Brad was finally getting released from the hospital, and ending his cat babysitting. He couldn’t help the glint of satisfaction in his eyes at the thought of coming home to an empty house tonight. He might check out Tinder, there’d seemed to be quite a few new hottie’s on there that were local.
Stuart plucked at his lip, considering his last attempt. Princess had put paid to that, chasing the man’s semi-naked arse down the road, after attacking it first. His screams were loud enough to wake the dead. Dear lord, was it bad that he couldn’t even remember the poor man’s name? Stuart chuckled when images of the man’s impressive cock thwacking his legs as he’d launched himself down the stairs, trying to escape the cat attached to his arse. At least he didn’t have to pay for healthcare, so that was one consolation. Though, how that poor man would explain those injuries would have been anyone’s guess.
Stuart consoled himself that he had offered to help, huffing in frustration as he recalled the ‘go fuck yourself’ comment before he hightailed it in his car. Stuart hoped he didn’t pass the word around that he had a manic cat that attacked his hook-ups. Stuart’s brow scrunched as the thought took root, shit, that could seriously hamper his love life.
He met Princess’s knowing smirk in the mirror and pausing, was she purposefully cock blocking him? Stuart shook off the ridiculous thought when the sound of an engine roaring outside brought a smile to his face. Going to the window, his smile widened watching Martin lift Brad out of the car. Brad’s hands seemed to be roaming all over Martin’s body, his mouth getting in on the action, working up the side of Martin’s neck. Stuart felt the flush creep up his neck, his hot breath ghosted the window as he lent closer. Realising what he was doing, Stuart pulled back. “It would seem someone is pleased to be home, and I’m convinced,” he chuckled at Princess, “if Martin doesn’t get Brad inside soon, he is going to end up on his arse.” Forgetting his earlier angst with Princess, he grinned at her before lifting and cuddling her into his chest so she could see out.