Welcome to Wednesday Briefs, where authors post free fiction of 1000 words or less each week. I used this prompt: “It’s a fact of life.”
At Full Speed, #2
After watching Bruce weave his car into traffic, Jake released a sharp breath. He thumped his head against the backrest of his seat, waiting for his racing heart to calm down. There was also his raging hard-on he had to take into consideration—he couldn’t drive with his erection pressing painfully into the fabric and, more importantly, the zipper.
His heart-rate decelerated to a normal pattern after a while. If he could only say the same for his cock. His fucking, treacherous cock that had brought him more trouble than he liked to think about.
What exactly had Bruce meant with his remark ‘I’ll deal with you’? That could mean a lot of things. Maybe he wanted to talk to Jake. Now that would be a very rational and adult-like thing; very Bruce-like too. Jake allowed himself to replay the scene in his mind—Bruce’s raspy voice, his wink and utter self-confidence. No, talking wouldn’t be on Bruce’s agenda.
He’d spoken of Jake needing a firm hand, and of course, Jake’s brain and cock—stupid organs—had short-circuited at the same time. Had Bruce picked up on some of Jake’s subtle signs?
While he tried, really tried, to be self-assured, especially in his sexuality, he wanted someone to set rules and ground him. His ass cheeks clenched and he coughed to dislodge a lump in his throat. He shouldn’t want this. This fucking desire to have someone dominate him had gotten him into trouble more than once. He couldn’t do it again—the last time he’d followed his heart had ended in a nightmare.
A shudder ran through his body despite the late September sun heating up the inside of his car. For a moment, he eyed his heater, but instead of turning it on, he berated himself. “Get over yourself, you coward.”
With a brisk shake of his head, he turned the ignition and drove home. He needed a shower before heading off to Bruce’s place later.
Jake roughly dried himself after his shower and strode naked from the small bathroom into his bedroom. He stopped in front of his closet when he caught sight of himself in the mirrored left door. His skin was as pale as ever, and without any scars.
“You’re a lucky bastard,” he told his reflection. He’d never believed ruptured skin could heal that perfectly. Sure, there were a few light bumps, but they didn’t really show, and so far no one had ever commented on them. Although no one had taken much time to explore his body either. His… relationships—if one could name them that—largely consisted of the ‘let’s-fuck-and-never-see-each-other-again’ kind. Before Bruce, that is.
Jake reached for the doorknob of the closet and pulled it open. He didn’t want to think about the past.
“It’s a fact of life that it can kick you in the nuts. Here’s hoping it has other things in store too,” he muttered.
After grabbing and discarding several shirts and pair of jeans, Jake leaned his forehead against the cool, wooden door of his closet. From the corner of his eyes, he glanced at the clothes scattered around him. Nothing appealed or he found some kind of fault with everything. Those skinny jeans, lying crumpled in a heap, were soft on his skin and the faded blue color accentuated his eyes, but wouldn’t they make him look slutty?
What had Bruce meant by his remark? No matter how hard Jake tried to ignore Bruce’s statement, all his thoughts whirled back to those specific words. What if he’d misjudged Bruce? So far he’d shown a serious talent for finding the craziest wackos running around freely.
His stomach heaved and Jake raced into his bathroom, barely making it in time to bend over the bathtub. He emptied himself, tears streaming down his cheeks, and his abdomen pressing painfully into the unyielding porcelain edge. He retched a couple more times while he rinsed his tub, then slid onto the dark green bath mat, ignoring the moistness clinging to it.
“I can’t do this. Oh, fuck, I can’t. I just can’t.” Jake’s voice sounded hoarse and foreign to his own ears but it helped. While talking to himself pissed him off on some level, he’d needed to hear these words aloud. He picked himself up from the floor and staggered back into his bedroom.
Finding clothes was easy this time. He snatched a pair of briefs, warm socks, a pair of sweatpants and a plain shirt and sweater. Comfortable clothes that hopefully would help him get warm again. Of course, he’d never wear them if he’d go over to see Bruce. Should he call him and cancel? He’d come up with one reason or another; he’d always been good at keeping people away if he needed space.
With a sigh, Jake bent down and collected his clothes. He refolded them, closing the closet door firmly afterward. For a moment he stood in his bedroom, indecision having a firm grip on him. Squaring his shoulders, he said, “I’m not afraid, there’s no reason to be.”
If only speaking those words aloud would help as much as it had done earlier…