Wrong Side of the Bridge Ch. 02

"I don't know, I'm easy to please."

I met his gaze full on and tried to melt him with my eyes. He turned away to toss the gloves. I lowered my voice and delivered the killer blow in a husky whisper right at his ear. "What would look better when my lips are wrapped around you cock?"

It was a lie, of course -- I've never sucked a guy, but the offer always drives them crazy so they'll do anything for you. It worked. Elijah's stumbled backward like I'd punched him in the gut. I grinned. All boys can be broken, and this sexy little virgin was going to be mine.

"Come on," I whispered. "What would you like to see?"

Elijah cleared his throat again. He was looking down and blushing real dark. He mumbled, "A lot of people like the snake bite because any swelling is balanced and it gives an even appearance."

"But what do you like?" I dropped my voice even lower. Elijah was actually shaking.

"One," He whispered.

"Okay. Just one. Let's go."

He made me sign some forms before leading me into the back room, but there was no more mention of getting someone else to do the piercing.

"I'm focusing more on the tattooing side, but I have a free hour before lunch, so..." He explained, in a shaking voice. I thought about asking him to lunch but I wasn't sure what state my mouth would be in half an hour from now. I wasn't going to try and seduce him with a swollen lip.

He nodded at another employee, a girl who was hanging around by the tee shirt stand, and she happily took over the counter for him. I noticed her eyes lingering on him. Back off, bitch; this one's been claimed by Damien.

As I came around the edge of the counter I noticed Elijah was trying to pull his tee down further over his jeans. I couldn't see anything beneath his baggy clothes but I knew he was hiding an erection.

Elijah lead me into an unoccupied room right at the back of the store by the big mirror. He closed the door after us. I knew it was normal but it felt private and sacred.

I lay down on the tattoo chair without being asked. Elijah glanced at me before going over to the sliding draws with all the equipment and jewellery. I was wearing a fitted black tee and cut-off jeans, tight enough to pull at my balls as I lay down so I grabbed the crotch of my pants and readjusted. Elijah didn't look, he never bloody did.

"Ring or barbell?" He asked over his shoulder.

"What'd you like?"

"Ring," He was quick to reply this time. I was getting to him, taking charge of him. "Just don't play with it too much."

I sent him a smouldering look full of sexy double-meaning but he totally missed it.

The room was small. Just the chair and a stool beside it, a bench with drawers for equipment and jewellery. My black Docs looked huge propped up on the chair's footrest. And I could hear Elijah's breathing, the slight hitch with every inbreath that proved he wasn't as cool and professional as he acted.

He settled down on the stool at the right side of my head, and leaned over to rest his elbow across my collarbone. I could feel his body trembling. The hitch in his breath became more obvious this close -- or maybe I was making him more nervous.

His arm was warm against me. I felt like my body was filling with warmth, spreading from the places he touched. I could see the hairs on his arm and a couple little nicks on the backs of his fingers. My cock started plumping up. Right now I could just grab his head and kiss him, he was that close. I could have my way with him right here in this tiny room.

Elijah had gloves on again and gently pulled my lower lip out to look at the tattoo again -- was that a shudder of desire through his body? -- then marked a spot on the outside of my lip with marker and checked inside again. He held up a mirror for me to check the placement.

The actual piercing was over quickly, needle in a plastic sheath then the ring pushed through and the plastic removed. Sharp, intense, quick. Elijah's face was intent as he worked, but he sat back happily after clipping the sleeper closed and glanced over my body as he stood up. It was only then I realised I'd totally rocked up -- I'm not into pain, but something about being that close to Elijah and having him so focused on me just turned me on. The pain of the piercing was actually kinda hot with Elijah so close.

I glanced down at my crotch and saw my cock was clearly outlined in my tight jeans, bulging to the left and pushing against the fabric so it moulded to the shape. A tasty mouthful outlined in denim. Try not noticing that, sexy Elijah!

I kept lying down as Elijah pulled of his gloves and dealt with the trash of little plastic packets. He was tugging at his tee again so I knew I'd had a good effect on him. He kept taking tiny glances at me, like he couldn't resist. Too fucking cute. I saw him flick his eyes across my tattooed arm and away, and then he half-turned to glance at my crotch before blushing deep brown and knocking his hand noisily on the container he was trying to open.

"You can look, if you want," I said in my most seductive voice. It was only slightly slurred by the pain in my lip. Elijah nearly fainted. His whole body shook and his head jerked back. Man this guy was wound up tight, it was too easy to get him worked up -- and too easy to imagine what it would be like to fuck him, to have him twitching and writhing like that when I had him bent over with my cock up his ass.

"My tattoos, I mean. You can have a look, if you want," Elijah was still looking away so I quietly added, "I'm sure your man wouldn't mind."

Elijah turned to face me, bracing his hands on the supplies table behind him like he needed support. I held out my left arm to him, pushing back the sleeve of my tee and acting like I wasn't nursing a very visible boner.

"But you're... You know," His voice was cracking with nerves and arousal. "You're... a skinhead."

I nodded and waited. Then I figured out what he meant. "You mean, I'm a racist homophobe with a bunch of mates waiting outside to lynch you? That's what you think?" Elijah looked down and bit his lip.

"Elijah, for fuck's sake, I shave my head and wear Docs and go to gigs, that doesn't turn me into an asshole. None of that white supremacy shit makes sense and it's not what being a skinhead is about -- just like picking scraps with skins isn't what being straight-edge is about. Bullshit stereotypes. I'm sure as hell not going to beat you for looking at me."

Long and passionate speech, I was proud of myself. And it seemed to work.

Elijah hesitated, then got the stool and brought it around the table so he could sit on my left side. He was trembling. "Why'd you get... You know. That word. Tattooed on your lip?"

"It's just a word. It's only an insult if we let it be," I shrugged. "I think it's kinda cool to snare at a guy and show off that tattoo right before I beat the shit out of him -- like, 'you can think I'm weak for liking dudes but I can still kick your ass'."

I grinned at Eli and he smiled back then blushed. He took my arm in his hands carefully and tenderly, nearly lovingly, and stroked his fingers across my skin as he stared down, absorbed in my tattoos.

I think tattooed guys are hot, but that's nothing on what I saw on Elijah's face -- like a love or hunger, like he needed to be looking at my tattoos and touching them. He traced his finger tips across the big hibiscus, the trail of stars filling up the skin on the way to the koi, the patch of roses. None of my tattoos are original, but Elijah was staring like they were works of art.

He was putty in my hands right now and I couldn't resist. I pulled my arm gently out of his grip and lifted myself up on the chair so I could pull my tee off. I heard Elijah's sharp intake of breath but I didn't look at him until I had the tee bunched in my right hand and lay back down on the padded chair, looking up at his face.

He was gazing down at my torso like a starving man looking at a buffet, his eyes flickering around, unable to focus on anything. I took his hand and placed it on my pec, between my collarbone and left nipple, so his fingers were resting on the calligraphy inked in black there. He seemed to finally come to his senses, and ran his fingers across the two lines of words which crossed my collarbone like a heavy necklace -- 'Loyal neither to friend nor flag, only to music'.

I know I could stand to lose weight, a few too many beers hanging around my gut. But otherwise I know I'm hot. I like the way the muscles form along my sides and how my hips look in my low-slung jeans. I have a smattering of dark hair across my chest and a thick dark trail leading into my jeans, begging the eyes and hands to follow it down.

I figured I could have been the fattest guy in the world though, and Elijah wouldn't have noticed. He was focused on my tattoos, the lettering on my collar bone and the tips of the colourful bird wing from my back piece which came through onto my sides -- I watched the fascination on Elijah's face as he stroked down my ribs.

He was completely absorbed in my body. His breathing was short and rapid and his eyes were wide in amazement. I was feeling it too -- it was so hot to feel worshipped like this, it had my belly fluttering and my spine tingling. I could feel sweat forming on my back where it touched the white vinyl of the chair. I loved the trembling in Elijah's hands as he ran them over my skin. Every brush of his fingers was going straight to my cock.

He tugged at the barbell through my left nipple. I gasped and my back arched and Elijah whipped his hand away quickly, like he had only just become aware of what he was doing. He blushed darker than I'd seen yet, and actually ducked his head down like he could hide it from my view. He looked mortified.

He cleared his throat and got out of his chair, tugging at the hem of his baggy tee again. He wouldn't meet my eyes as he walked me out and I didn't say anything to him -- but inside, I was purring in delight. I was so in.

I saw Elijah a couple more times over the next few weeks. Each time I thought he would be mine and I was more and more obvious in my flirting -- once I told him that I could fuck him so hard he'd forget all about his boyfriend, once I actually groped him through his wet tee shirt and jeans. He'd always reject me, though I could tell how much he wanted me. That just made me want him more.

Then a whole month passed without me seeing him. Work got busy, I had to take up six days and Defiant wasn't open on Sundays so I never got a chance to see him there. There weren't any combined gigs and a big fight between one of my mate's and a straight-edge gig promoter meant I couldn't even try and find him on his own turf. I waited around outside my flat most nights but I never saw Elijah walking past.

I was stuck alone with my hand every night, running through the same memories of Elijah.

Then one night I was lying in bed stroking myself when I heard a pounding at the door. When I got to the window I saw Elijah walking away. I pulled my boots on without socks but by the time I got downstairs he was nowhere to be seen.

I looked through side streets for him and had almost given up when I found some Aryan jerk beating a guy on the ground. I was already running when I recognised the little guy as Elijah. Holy shit.

Elijah

I was lying on the ground, bruised and bleeding with my head ringing and the stench of urine all around me.

Damien had my attacker on the ground and was kicking him like he wanted to kill him. When I told him to stop, Damien stared at me.

I thought he was going to ignore me because he turned back to the guy and stomped on his head. But then he spat angrily on the guy's face and walked over to me.

"You okay little guy?" He asked. His voice was low and raspy, his face screwed up in concern.

He hooked an arm under my neck and tried to help me stand up but I was a real wreck, staggering and barely able to get to my knees. He put his arm around my waist as well and used both arms to haul me to my feet.

I was dripping gross all over him, but there was nothing I could do. I was staggering like a drunk. It felt like the earth was tilting under my feet and my head was agony. I thought I might throw up. I stank.

I wasn't very conscious of where we were going, just leaning on Damien and blubbering to myself and hoping we would stop moving soon so I could lie down and never get back up. I was aware of him opening a door with a key and then some steps -- so many steps! -- that he helped me up. Then we were pushing through a door into a narrow corridor and Damien was dragging me into a bathroom and I nearly collapsed onto the floor of the shower.

The shower had a bathtub in the bottom and Damien had to help me clamber over the high rim of the tub. He turned the shower sprinkler on then climbed in behind me.

I turned my face away from the sudden rush of frigid cold water and Damien swore and started apologizing, tilting the head of the shower away and waiting for it to warm back up. Then he turned the water back on to me and started washing me. I tried to help but I was really quite useless, barely conscious. Everything was spinning and I really wanted to hurl.

I was conscious of his hands, running thought my hair and on my face and tilting me this way and that so I got enough water washing over me. He dragged my sopping wet tee shirt off me and fumbled with the button of my jeans. I didn't resist, just moved however he wanted to get me naked.

All I could see was a blurry distinct shape -- the crying and the beating combined to mess with my sight. I started shaking for no reason.

"It's okay," Damien whispered. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me against his chest, his legs parted so they lay on either side of me and his wet jeans rubbed against my thighs. "It's okay. We'll just wash you off and get to bed, okay?"

I tried to respond but only a wet globby noise came out when I opened my mouth. We stayed in the shower, Damien gently tilting my body so the water could run over different bits of it, until the water started to run cold.

I woke lying in a ridiculously soft bed, my head on a cushion which felt like heaven. There was a warm naked body spooned up behind me and I rolled over to grab onto Pete, nestle into him.

Only it wasn't Pete¸ and I was in agony. My head throbbed and when I moved it was like my whole body was being stabbed with blunt sticks. I sucked in a breath and whimpered and Damien half-woke beside me, mumbling and pulling me closer to him.

Everywhere my bare skin touched him felt warm and sticky. The hand that gripped my ribs made them feel bruised and tender, but when Damien pulled me against him I felt his erection poking against my thigh. Shivers travelled down my spine and across my arm and suddenly I wasn't feeling pain, I was just feeling the heat of his dick against me. I just closed my eyes and tried to get back to sleep.

The next time I woke up was when Damien was trying to feed me. He had cut up some bacon and eggs and was trying to fork it into my mouth. I gagged at the smell and twisted my head away. "Vegetarian," I muttered.

Damien snorted and pushed the bacon off the fork, started poking poached eggs into my face. I pushed him away, memories returned of last night and the man. I didn't want any more experiences with having things shoved in my mouth. I started to cry and must have fallen back asleep.

I finally woke up feeling starving and desperate to pee, and it was gloomy in the bedroom. Damien wasn't there. I staggered out of bed and nearly collapsed on the floor, hands and knees on the gritty carpet.

I thought about dragging myself out on all fours but I didn't know where the bathroom was and didn't think I could find it if I was crawling along like a baby. So I forced myself to stand up and walked like a drunken person, clutching at my side where it hurt.

The bedroom exited on a narrow hallway and I looked to either side. One way lead to a staircase, the other to a small room with a table in it. Damien was sitting at the table and when he heard me he rushed over to help.

"Come on, little guy, don't hurt yourself," He murmured reassuringly as he wrapped his arm around my naked waist and helped guide me down the hall. "Looking for the toilet?"

I tried to say yes but my throat was all scratchy and my lips felt like they'd been stung by so many bees I could barely force them to open. A weird noise came out like a strangled baby goose but Damien didn't make fun of me, just guided me down the hallway to an open door.

He led me through and over to the toilet, his arm around me the whole time. When he reached to grab my cock I pushed him away with a jerk of my elbow. I could do that much for myself, at least.

I grabbed my flaccid penis and waited for Damien to leave, even giving him a pointed look. But he stayed where he was, arm around me and hand on my hip for support. He wasn't looking at me but it was still mortifying. I really needed to pee, so I aimed and let loose.

It was so humiliating, the sound of the stream in the bowl and having Damien just stand there with my dick all limp. I felt sick, thinking about last night, the smell reminding me of being pissed on. I gagged and Damien's arms held tighter around me.

When I was done he helped me to the hand basin and then back to bed. I looked up at him and he was wearing his glasses, I could see the reflection of the glass like points of moving light in the blurriness of my messed up eyesight. I wanted to tell him how good I thought he looked in glasses, but none of the words came out.

He helped me back into bed and paused to claw his own clothes off before crawling in after me, pulling my back to him. The blankets were around our waists and I could see the dark shapes of the tattoos on his left arm. I fell asleep in his arms.

I slipped in and out of sleep for a long time. Sometimes Damien would be there, holding me or feeding me or helping me walk. Sometimes I would wake to find the house empty -- he was at work. He put his number on my phone and left it by the bed so I could call him anytime if I was worried, but I managed to drag myself to and from the bathroom okay.

I guess I could have gone to the hospital, but honestly I didn't feel that beat up. I was battered and hurt, but it wasn't long before all the pain was just bruises and I knew I couldn't have any internal damage. Mainly I tried not to think about the attack. I'd watch TV or try and sleep, just keep my mind off what had happened.

A couple times I had nightmares about giant dicks peeing all over me, but when I woke Damien was there to calm me.

It was a week before I was properly lucid and able to think straight.

I woke up with Damien's dick pushing up against my back and his breath hot and dry against my neck.

I lay still, feeling the unmistakably hard hot flesh flexing and growing against my butt. Most of Damien's body was pushed up against mine, we were touching along the entire length of my leg. But it was definitely that erection which had my attention.

I felt the familiar gnawing sensation of arousal, felt my own dick plumping up and lifting away from my body. I wondered if I could touch it without Damien waking up. If I grabbed and squeezed, just squeezed and didn't move my hand up and down, I could probably get away with it.

Very carefully, I shifted my hand from where it was on my hip. I hovered it along my body, finger tips brushing my skin and sending little shivers up my body. My dick throbbed as my fingers drew close to it, pulsing up and away from my belly so it was easy to wrap my hand around it. The feeling was so good I had to bite my lip to suppress a moan. I was here, in bed with Damien. Not a fantasy anymore. His erection was pressed right against me.