Ang, the Sweltering Celt, gave us ‘Addiction‘ as a writing prompt this week and at first I wasn’t sure what to do with it, as substance addictions have never stuck with me, hard as I’ve tried over the years. But I sat back, relaxed and took a drag of this prompt, let it swirl around a bit, allowing it to settle before exhaling this fantasy:
I pushed open the back door of the bar, expecting to be greeted by a cloud of cigarette smoke. The lack of smokers clustered in the alley echoed the emptiness of the bar. Slow night. I’d been hoping for at least a bit of eye candy, maybe some drama to watch over my pint glass but only found a couple of grey-topped diesel dykes circling the pool table and a clutch of high pitched queens in another corner.
I leaned back against the brick of the alley wall, drawing a deep breath of night air. I considered my options. The bar a couple blocks away was probably filled with the same old tired queers, no sense going there when I felt this way. The tequila bar at the other end of the alley was inviting but I wouldn’t get the queer company I was craving. And I was definitely craving something, something I could go without and often did. It was that craving, that restless, reckless itch that had pulled me out of my house tonight and into the streets of my home town.
I took a pull from my flask and savored the way it burned my throat and curled into my sinuses. The slightest noise called me from my reverie, the scuff of a shoe, the slightest clearing of a throat. I glanced to my right and saw someone loitering there, on the other side of the dumpster. I was standing in the feeble alley light, he was blending in with the shadows. I felt a touch of adrenaline and firmed up my stance, tucking my flask away and keeping my hands loose at my sides, suddenly aware of every object and exit within reach. As he stepped away from the shadowy wall, I saw short hair, hips and a leather jacket. He called to me in a husky voice, “Hey, man, got a light?”
My threat response receded as I realized this wasn’t just any stranger hanging out in a dark alley, this was a member of my tribe. I strode confidently over while pulling a lighter out of my pocket. “Yeah, I always have a light. Kicked the smoking habit a while ago, but haven’t kicked the lighter habit yet.”
He rewarded my weak joke with a chuckle and a slight smile. His wallet chain jingled as he lifted the smoke to his lips. I stood closer than I needed to, as my lighter flared up, its flame caressing the far end of his cigarette. He nodded his thanks and took a long draw, exhaling upward where it fluttered his faggy-butch teased forelock. He was a little shorter than me, somewhat stocky, his Doc Marten’s planted firmly, his shoulders slumped forward slightly. I stared openly at him, appraising, taking him in, and as he looked back up at me, something in the way the dim light caught his eye, something vulnerable and wanting, made my cock pulse. I could feel it rise in me, that reckless feral hunger, the risk-taking, adrenaline-seeking creature that had been trying to get out all night. I wanted this boi and at that moment I knew if I decided to have him, I could.
I shifted my weight back slightly, still looking at him with narrowed eyes and a slight leer. I pulled out my flask again, offered him a drink.
“Um, what you got in there? Rum, whiskey?” He sounded hopeful.
“Oh… I don’t know, tequila usually gets me in trouble.”
Oh, holy grail of openings, thank you, universe, for serving this boi up on a silver platter.
There was some kind of struggle going on inside his head. His eyes were feigning confidence, challenging me, while at the same time, something else was flitting around behind that look.
I grinned big, taking another long pull, holding his gaze while licking my lips slowly, looking at him as if he were a prime cut on my plate. Now, I took a firm step in his direction, leaning over him slightly, looking down, willing him to hold my gaze. It was only a microsecond, but I saw the slight change in his eyes, from defiance to another look entirely. Oh, yes, I had me a subby boy, and whether he knew it or not, he’d just given me permission.
I reached down and grabbed the front of his pants and belt buckle, giving it a tug. “What’s wrong with trouble, hmm? Surely, you’re not afraid of a little trouble.” My voice dropped, challenging him, pushing him along the path I now knew he wanted to take.
Oh, my, he actually gulped. Drawing a deep breath, he said, “No, Sir, I’m not afraid of trouble, not at all.”
“Mmmm, good boi, that’s what I thought” I walked him backward until he hit the wall. His eyes widened but he didn’t make a move to resist me. “So, you want that drink, or not?”
He nodded and I handed him the flask. He took too big a drink and I watched as he choked and sputtered and coughed, trying desperately not to. He straightened back up, a mixture of fear and desire on his face, one of my favorite combinations. This is my addiction, this is what I crave, my hunger building until it drives me out of my house, seeking willing prey.
One hand on his belt buckle, the other resting at the base of his throat, I pressed him against the wall, my hard cock against his. Leaning forward as if to kiss him, I stopped short, watching with amusement as his face registered his disappointment.
Speaking softly, in a low menacing whisper, I gave him one more chance to escape, “So, boi, you up for this kind of trouble?”
I could feel his body shifting, felt the way his hips opened. He looked at me with half-lidded eyes and slipping his hands around my hips, grabbed me by the belt and pulled me harder into his groin. Then he whispered his response.
“Yes, Sir, I’m ready… please, Sir…” and lifted his chin, exposing his throat to me.
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