“What’s a bit of pump n’ grind between friends?” - Lawless

 

Lawless didn't need to peer far through the dark and the noise to feel the crawl of eyes on him from somewhere within the chaos of the ramble crowd.

It was a heaving over his skin.

It was a tingling in his throat.

His bones knew.

Or more accurately; his aching Johnson.

Maelstrom was his noise and self-awareness with the space around him.

Lifting the beer bottle to his mouth he took a long draw, the brew had grown warm and he placed it on a near table, choosing instead to rest his shoulder on the wall he let his deviant eyes track through the sea of bodies.

It was a usual Renegade Souls party. An end of the month bash, good business, good crime blowout where they let the locals in ... who dare come that was. Naughty fish were always curious about what went on behind their doors. The club had a bad reputation and most folks in Armado Springs feared Lawless and his boys. It didn’t stop them coming along to see for themselves with their greedy, naughty little mouths agape.

Malleable minds were so fucking predictable. So were greedy glands.

He couldn't figure why, not that he cared why, most everyone's opinions flew over his shaved head.

Maybe because he was a genius and didn't need to hear anyone else's wah wah drone.

Or maybe he just didn't give a rat’s ass.

His brothers were having fun in their little orgies of two's and threes, the music thumping, he could smell the weed in the air and none of it held his attention.

He was bored more and more lately and that was never a good sign.

There hadn’t been anyone to kill or torture recently and that was just a crying shame to let his skills rot in the dirt. He was a surgeon who needed to keep in tip top shape.

The heat was killing him, reminded him of times he’d rather forget of the stench of a trailer park, if he stepped outside of the air-conditioned room he’d sweat bullets and that just pissed him off. Lawless hated being irritated by anything, small or big.

Sweat running down his back or someone begging for their life, it was all the same irritating noise to him. Please, don’t. Please, I’m sorry. If only he had the sweet pleading sounds in his ears.

It was the way his mind was created; all his wires and neurons didn't always align perfectly and he was fine with that until he wasn't.

And just who the fuck was eyeballing him? Goddamn greedy eyes.

What new fish would dare try to eye-fuck him …

Only it wasn’t one of the locals, was it? Nah, they knew too well not to fuck with Lawless. They told stories about him, posted about him on their little Facebook feeds, like he couldn’t hack each one of those accounts in his sleep if he wanted to. Let them talk, let them gossip. Fish were boring.

His eyes narrowed, moving past Pretty-boy getting hot and heavy with Marietta and her cousin, wicked dude double teaming. Lawless smirked but didn't take the time to voyeur, he wasn't interested in a sex show if he wasn't involved and public displays of ... anything gave him the scratch.

Didn't he almost shit a brick when that kid of Zara's ... Angela ... clung to him like a goddamn koala last year. Shit, he could still feel her claws under his skin.

Digging. Digging. Digging. Pleading for help.

Nasty business.

Air shunted through his chest, he stopped moving his gaze.

He knew who it was. The little bitch wouldn’t dare.

He felt the stare in the middle of his forehead, a hot poker and it just stirred him up in all the wrong ways because they'd had this crap out before and Lawless didn't do repeat conversations. Wasting his time and breath was for fools and unless it was his momma no fucker would dare call Lawless a fool. Not unless he wanted to die slow and painful begging to Jesus to take them.

One groupie associated to the club a few years ago had once called him a crazy psychopath. The naughty little maggot had been attracted to not only the club's notorious reputation, but to Lawless' own dark façade. Not that he went for any of the sort, he wasn't slapping on guy liner or growling at saccharine innocents. He'd found it funny and indulged the bad meat for an hour or two, she'd walked away satisfied and formed an attachment he didn’t pay a second’s attention to. But now he couldn't even recall her name, maybe she'd gotten herself caged with a wedding ring, maybe she'd died. Who cared.

He wasn't a monster, or so he liked to claim, but that was the truth, he didn't care much of anything. He didn’t see the day coming when he cared like Rider did for Zara or Preacher with his woman. It just didn’t feel right to him, like the noise was a drone of wrongness, it made his eyes itch right in the socket.

The sensation persisted. His skin tingled, his throat burned and he sought out the fucking eyes on him.

Bingo.

Heat and lust and greedy, greedy want waved through the crowd.

Only this pair of eyes on him, as he'd suspected, were familiar eyes he saw every day.

Oh, you mother of all Motherfuckers.

He had no time for covetous little monkeys.

Lawless' eyebrows dropped, he stared nastily for a minute, nostrils flared, mad as hell, and he shifted himself off the wall and headed in the opposite direction, one legged stride after another, down the long corridor of doors and didn't stop until he reached the very end, he stepped inside one of the storage closets, his custom ankle length coat flapping making his entrance, the place had several similar rooms, mostly for the kitchen shit, Zara was making quite the pint-size queen running domestically around the clubhouse nowadays, his boots connected to a crate of bottled waters, he used his toe to move it back a bit, shrugged out of his coat, tossing it over a sack of whatever-it-was. The room throwing off shadows.

If they followed he'd know it was more than a mere eye-fuck.

Don’t you fucking dare. He warned.

And Lawless didn't have to wait long at all. He was behind the door when it creaked open like it did on those Scooby Doo cartoons he watched as a kid when his momma was in one of her better moods. E.g. Not being her usual crazy-bitch-self. Momma, what did I do wrong?

He waited a millisecond. Oh, yeah, Lawless had the patience of a serial killer. Just so happened he was one, wasn't that funny? Maybe he should talk about it at his next book club meeting.

Letting air into his lungs, he narrowed his eyes.

He grabbed the neck of the eye-fucker before the door could close.

Caught the noise they made.

Creeping bastard thought Lawless wasn't here? Gonna pretend shock? Really? After they followed him down here. Meat never learned.

Feeling the dominance rise in his chest, that steady thump-thump-thump behind his ribcage. It wasn't his daily flavor, he was not wielding a flogger on the regular, what was it the kids said; he dabbled from time to time. Again, it was his boredom, nothing much held his attention until he wanted it and then he became obsessed. It was always best that no fucker caught Lawless' attention, really ... it was best all around.

To be wanted or hated by Lawless, he'd pondered it a few times the way he was, oh yeah, he knew exactly why, he was a smart cookie for figuring out his own mind.

But figuring out the minds of others, when he clearly showed who he was with a stark stay the fuck away warning, and still they gave him the look.

Truly, he deserved some sort of shiny award for his restraint.

Only tonight he was not restrained in the least.

He felt it stir beneath his skin, that prickle of dominance, to overpower, to fucking reign like his favorite pharaoh King Tut, and indeed, the body under his hand, as his fingers clasped around the back of the neck, would do just fine, they'd followed him after all, isn't this what they craved? If that wasn’t permission, Lawless didn’t know what was.

Truthfully, that pharaoh was worth channelling this evening.

Naughty, dirty bastard under his strong fist.

Secrets were delicious on the right tongue. Lawless held this secret for a long while now ... what was it ... the night of that raid on the Rebel's MC, it had come as a bolt out of the blue, shocking Lawless, and that was hard to do, what with him being a monster and all… hold up, his mind replaying his earlier thoughts like an old-fashioned tape recorder, hitting pause and fast forward to find the right section of memory, he’d decided he wasn’t a monster, yeah, that sounded right.

The same night Rider rescued his now old lady, his baby-mama, and the same night Lawless had that little limpet girl wrapped around his mid-section sobbing into his chest, fucks sake, he'd played cards with her for hours, fetching her food, growling for her to eat and to drink the goddamn water, what kinda kid didn't know they were hungry? she'd looked up at him with her sad almond shaped eyes like he was a god.

Lawless was no god. Sure, his play things cried out oh, god, more, god, please, god. And that was all fine and good, but there was nothing godlike about him, who could live up to that reputation?

Finally, he spoke. The body hadn't moved almost as if they knew not to.

He couldn't say good meat, ‘cause he knew this fucking meat and there was nothing good about them at all.

"Didn't I fucking say if you wanted something, to ask? Chicken shit giving me the eyes and sneaking after me like a motherfucking liar."

The body groaned when Lawless pressed them into the wall, using his full weight to anchor them there.

Two breaths panting in the dark.

"Fucking coward, aren't you? Yeah you are." He used his weight on the rigid spine, reached around and the groan turned frenzied when Lawless grasped the zipper, tugging it down.

His own restraint caved in. His dick hardened.

"Hands on the wall, you, bastard coward, don’t make me repeat myself."

"Law..."

"Not interested in a fucking tête-à-tête, neither are you, don't pretend otherwise, do yourself a favor and shut your fucking trap. I should be caving in your fucking skull." Nagging irritation went through him. Electric annoyance.

He didn't like being used.

Flesh met his hand as he reached inside the worn denim.

Hard wanting flesh met his fingers, he grasped in a tight fist and dragged it out into the open.

And began pumping the huge cock through his palm.

"This what you want, to get your rocks off while you keep your dirty, nasty secret?" He let go and thrust his hand through the dark in front of the face. “Lick my fucking hand, chicken shit.” His palm was wet immediately and he grasped again. Up, down, Lawless pumping angrily at the cock, the grunts from the body did nothing to tamp down the feeling in his chest even as his own cock tingled at the tip. He pressed harder with his other hand around the nape, pinning the guy to the wall, rendering him unable to move even if he wanted to.

"I never took you for a pussy." His voice box like grit.

"Fuck..."

Lawless laughed low in his throat. An offensive sound.

"Always got summit to say, except now, huh?"

He worked the cock like he was stroking his own steel pipe, fluid leaking from the tip to make for a wet slide. Faster, tighter. Under him, bones and thick muscle grew taut, he knew better than most the sacrifice this guy was taking to have a taste of a craving, hadn't Lawless been there, done that, got the bloodstained T-shirt once over? But he was no one's convenience to be used like a sack of rotten potatoes.

Fuck you to hell, and take my momma with you.

It only made him angry enough to spill blood on the nice clean floor Z-girl would be pissed about.

Each jerk of his hand, riling up the thick cock only served to solidify his own irritation. He'd succumbed to this guy’s wicked hunger once before because he was hyped up on the murder of the evening, call him a sentimental bastard but bloodshed got his Johnson hard, on a fraught night when adrenaline was at its highest, everyone had done mad things.

Every. One.

It had been pleasurable. A depraved release and those were so easy to come by. In any other circumstance, Lawless would have forgotten it had even happened, he certainly hadn’t give it a second thought. Never to have repeated that’s for fucking sure. But giving him the eyes and acting like Lawless was someone’s menu to pick from, all the while keeping your deviant secrets. Nah. Now he was mad. He was no fuckers happy meal.

"So, are you a coward now? Maybe we should change your name legally."

"Fuck. Don't be a dick, Law." The body beneath him groaned, shoving his hips into Lawless' hand as he squeezed and pumped, the head dropped between his braced arms, Law could hear him struggle to drag air into his lungs past the blast of lust.

"That's funny considering what I've got hold of." With speed, he grabbed the back of the shirt and flipped the guy around, crashing him hard into the wall hard enough for a less robust guy it would have broken a bone.

Face to face, inches apart, just how he preferred right before he killed a person. He could taste the beer fumes on the chuffed air in his face. Dutch fucking courage.

The guy panted and waited for Lawless to make a move, his own dick so fucking iron hard ready to pump, pump into a hole, Lawless glanced down at the wanting meat and smirked like a taunting demon, not reaching down for it just yet.

"Wanted a bit of slap and tickle in the dark, did you?" When the guy growled and made to shove Lawless back, Law got right in his face, using his bulk to keep him there. "You fucking came to me, remember, like a begging dog," he laughed, tauntingly. "Standing there wanting what I can give and too chicken shit with your cock out to even ask for it. Poor scared bastard so warm with your secrets can’t even say it out loud, can you?"

Willing victims were how Lawless described his bed partners, not that anything he did took place in something archaic as a bed, please. Who was he, Romeo?

"The gutless sub wants a dominant to be all mean and tough and give you a slap and climax is that right? Did your own hand stop working? None of the eager gashes out there willing to suck you dry?"

"Not a fucking sub." Growls dripped from the guy making Lawless smirk like the truthful bastard he was and add in a harsh whisper, "liar."

Only as Law wrapped his fist around that thick cock again, punishing the purple head with fast furious painful twists did he watch the play of emotions cross that hard face warring with himself to admit what Law already knew, the skull reared down, hanging on the thick corded neck and a puff of air expelled from his throat.

Defeat. Submission. Acceptance. Good fish.

Lawless realized then why the guy wasn't arguing or fighting back, no matter how much he taunted him with his secret truth.

He needed this like medicine. Humiliation was his kink, his valve to normalcy. And right then leaning into the wall, that massive chest heaving for air with Lawless jacking him off, Law saw how the release was desired.

And who was Lawless to judge? His own appetites bordered freaky by anyone's standards and fuck them if they said a word to him about it. No one judged the housewife on her knees for dear old husband, did they? Why then would they for the shit that jived for Lawless? Assholes.

His voice grew hoarse as he asked, "Do you need my belt, bastard sub?" His tone was very precise, spoken like the monster he was accused of. He’d go so far as to admit he wouldn’t allow anyone else to manipulate him this way, damn those warm fuzzy feelings he held for his club-brothers.

Snake's head reared up so fast, pinning Lawless with a startled stare, he gave three long blinks, heaving in air, he slicked his lower lip with his tongue, then said "Yeah."

Air shot through Lawless. The stab of surprise. He’d expected Snake to tell him no, to go fuck himself and storm off.

Medicine was a bastard, wasn’t it? It was a stinker what a guy needed to feel normal.

"Fuck. Okay. Okay. If I kill you it's your own fault, I won’t shed a tear at your funeral. I probably won’t even go to the service, not for the likes of you, not even if they served lobster, I’m busy that day braiding my hair." The humiliation was making the cock in his hand harder.

He let go to unbuckle and pull off his belt, the leather whooshed through the denim hooks, the metal echoing in the small closet.

Lawless' knowledge for many things was varied, he could pick out a person's hidden appetites long before they even spoke about them. He and Snake had never discussed Snake's sexuality, though he'd seen him fuck countless women in the years they'd known each other, nor had Snake ever talked about his broader ... proclivities, but last summer Lawless had recognized an undisguised need in his fellow troublemaker, one that had flashed through his eyes that fateful night. Murder had brought the jittering club brother to his knees and it had been Lawless who had leveled Snake back out.

The scales of power always tipped in his direction, he couldn't see a day when he'd give that up to anyone, least of all a sexual partner, it gave Lawless hives under his skin to even contemplate, but he could recognize the need in others, to let go and have someone else take the reins.

He loved the fucking reins.

The reins felt good in his large paws.

When he buckled the belt around Snake's neck he supposed they were both cognizant of what they were doing was fucking wrong in some small way.

They were club brothers. Friends. Murderers-in-arm. How sweet and nostalgic. Lawless got all tingly. Or maybe it was just his Johnson wanting to shoot off.

And this was the second time Lawless had commanded his dominant side over Snake ... at Snake's request.

It was like he was running a day-care for deviants.

With the ends of the belt wrapped around his fist, he tugged and made Snake's head cant down. His other hand kept moving on his cock, drawing the leaked fluid down the shaft.

Snake was groaning heavily, the pleasure making him spit curses.

Lawless had a bit of a book club going with Texas. No dicks were harmed in the making of those e-readers.

He supposed this was his freak club. Dicks included.

"You gotta get your shit together." Law told Snake. “Life’s too fucking short to deny the kinky shit you like. And I won’t do this again for you, are you listening? I’ll snap your fucking neck if you ever look at me like this again.”

"Do it." Snake issued thickly in a tortured voice that didn’t even sound like him. “Please…” The submissive asked and what could a dominant do but answer.

God-fucking-damn.

This was all wrong.

And right.

And it felt good.

But still, fucking wrong, wrong, wrong. Friends did not choke each other out just because one friend was a closet motherfucker who liked to be treated like shit. Didn’t they make a song about that? He’d have to check his Spotify later.

Lawless sucked in air and then very slowly he twisted his wrist and tightened his belt forcing a fresh bout of grunts from Snake as he struggled to contain what he was feeling.

Strange that Law hadn't thought he'd be choking a brother tonight. He might have dressed up for it.

Stranger still to know they'd both get off very soon.

He knew what he was doing, hadn't he watched a YouTube video that one night when he was drunk and covered in pussy.

His own blood boiled.

Fuck.

Fuck.

"Get me out." He issued in a voice that croaked nastily. For good measure, he kicked Snake's legs wider, making his back crack against the wall and the belt to tighten around his throat cutting off his air. Erotic asphyxiation between friends, just what every boy wanted for Christmas.

Fingers went at his jeans.

Lessons were for those who wanted to be taught. He wasn't the right man to show Snake it was okay to be who the fuck he wanted to be. Bi. Straight. Alien fucker. He didn’t care what a person was.

But for this one last time the dirty, secret bi-sub wanted to be fucked like a whore and what do you know, the meat between Lawless' legs began to pulse, some lessons he could give.

Their groans rained.

Teacher was in session.

An hour later when Lawless had showered off the sex from his skin, he took a stroll through the party to grab a drink and maybe a couple of dogs from the BBQ before he went to feed his kittens, he saw Snake, heard him first actually, with his big barrelling laugh. A woman with little titties popped out of a tube top sitting on his lap, hands all over him as she helped with lowering the zipper to his jeans, she was grinding on Snake’s dick like the hungry serpent all women were.

Lawless laughed to himself. That asshole had bigger problems than Lawless could ever dream of. At least his own secrets were at face value. Snake’s went deep, so deep he used any sweet malleable pussy to hide behind.