Another story, not beta'ed....but will stay like it is...
Joey...
A whisper he can't push out of his memory. That voice whispering lewd and hot in his ear. Volumes of desire, want and need mixed together.
A hard kiss that cuts his lip. Rough hands in his hair. Burning heat inside him.
Touches and kisses that he can't wash away. Rough and hard. Breaking him down until he can only beg and plead for more.
He doesn't want to feel this. He doesn't want this. Not now. Not ever.
It doesn't matter. It is a drug that he can't get out of his system. An addiction that he can't stop.
Like quicksand, the more he tries to stop, the deeper he sinks.
That is why he is at the bar. Watching him. Wanting him. Needing him.
That is why he will show up later at his house. On his back steps. Knocking at his back door.
Asking to be let in. On his knees if he has to. Crawling, if that is what it takes.
Joey...you love me, don't you?
No. He doesn't love him. It's beyond love. Beyond hate. Beyond any words that human kind has come up with for emotions.
This feeling rips at skin. Tears at muscles. Shatters bone.
Leaves him a mere shell.
Waiting. Constantly waiting.
Waiting to be filled. Waiting to get his "fix". Waiting for his drug.
It is never enough. Never enough to leave him satisfied.
Always leaving him craving more. Always needing more. Always wanting more.
He lights a cigarette and takes a long drag. Blows the smoke in the cold night air. Wonders how it got this far. When he got so hoplessly addicted.
When a fun way to pass the time became this fucked up....
Relationship? Friendship?
No. Too little of one. Too much of the other.
This fucked up thing they have between the two of them.
Joey...baby, sweet baby, wanna come in?
The voice whispers in his ear, hot as the hand going down his pants. He can feel the sweet torrid electricity curl up and out, going through his veins. The addiction burning through him.
"Yeah. I'll come in, C."
It's not really like he has a choice....
A whisper he can't push out of his memory. That voice whispering lewd and hot in his ear. Volumes of desire, want and need mixed together.
A hard kiss that cuts his lip. Rough hands in his hair. Burning heat inside him.
Touches and kisses that he can't wash away. Rough and hard. Breaking him down until he can only beg and plead for more.
He doesn't want to feel this. He doesn't want this. Not now. Not ever.
It doesn't matter. It is a drug that he can't get out of his system. An addiction that he can't stop.
Like quicksand, the more he tries to stop, the deeper he sinks.
That is why he is at the bar. Watching him. Wanting him. Needing him.
That is why he will show up later at his house. On his back steps. Knocking at his back door.
Asking to be let in. On his knees if he has to. Crawling, if that is what it takes.
Joey...you love me, don't you?
No. He doesn't love him. It's beyond love. Beyond hate. Beyond any words that human kind has come up with for emotions.
This feeling rips at skin. Tears at muscles. Shatters bone.
Leaves him a mere shell.
Waiting. Constantly waiting.
Waiting to be filled. Waiting to get his "fix". Waiting for his drug.
It is never enough. Never enough to leave him satisfied.
Always leaving him craving more. Always needing more. Always wanting more.
He lights a cigarette and takes a long drag. Blows the smoke in the cold night air. Wonders how it got this far. When he got so hoplessly addicted.
When a fun way to pass the time became this fucked up....
Relationship? Friendship?
No. Too little of one. Too much of the other.
This fucked up thing they have between the two of them.
Joey...baby, sweet baby, wanna come in?
The voice whispers in his ear, hot as the hand going down his pants. He can feel the sweet torrid electricity curl up and out, going through his veins. The addiction burning through him.
"Yeah. I'll come in, C."
It's not really like he has a choice....