A/N. I love this beautiful bean. This one shot doesn’t mean that requests are open, or that I’m going to be churning things out regularly again (I know I suck I’m so sorry guys I’m just so swamped with school its a mess), but I have been inspired and have a few other things in the works that I’ll keep you posted on. Anyway, you guys know the drill, I don’t own anything except the plot, blah blah blah, including the above gif, as much as I wish I could own this beautiful man and some of his biker brothers.
Alright guys, enjoy!
Juice rolled down the street, enjoying the purr of his bike beneath him, the wind in his face. He heard Bobby and Tig behind him, but as he sped up they fell behind. They knew the drill anyway. The Chicken Man was nervous about strangers and wouldn’t talk to anyone but Juice. Hearing other bikes would spook him.
Juice rolled up beside the blue van, which was parked rather conspicuously in the middle of a backroad, got off his bike and walked up to the window.
“Juan Carlos.” the Chicken Man nodded, head twitching to look around the lot. “May I assume the stimulants are in your backpack bag?”
“Yes Chicken.” Juice couldn’t hold back his smile. This was his favourite part, the shady deals. There was just something exhilarating about it, and he had to admit he enjoyed when he was able to do something like this the rest of the club couldn’t. “May I assume you have the cash?”
The man looked around nervously, giving another jerky nod. “Yes. Would you mind getting in? Talking this way makes me feel very conspicuous.”
Juice couldn’t hold back a laugh. “Sure thing man.” He opened the door and climbed into the passenger seat. “You’re a lunatic, you know tha–”
He saw something move behind him, a flash of white. “Shit!”
He elbowed the Mayan (not a Mayan, he realized distantly, but a guy from that gang they were patching over), in the face, but hands, too many hands, grabbed him roughly and dragged him back between the seats.
There was shouting behind him, but he was too busy bucking and twisting to hear them properly. His arms were wrenched above his head roughly, pinned in a way he couldn’t shake off, and a gloved hand clamped down over his mouth. He shouted anyway, kicking and bucking and twisting and strongly regretting leaving Bobby and Tig behind.
The man with the hand over his mouth leaned down, and Juice recognized the president of the other MC. “You tell Clay, my bullshit MC’s got some reach eh?”
A fist slammed into his face and his head snapped back, slamming into the floor of the van. Distantly, over the sounds of fists hitting his face, his own grunts of pain, and the blood rushing in his ears, he could hear the Chicken Man.
“I’m sorry Juan Carlos, but I’ve run up a bit of a tab with these Mexican fellows.”
Juice was very tempted to tell the dick what he thought of his apology, and where he could shove it, but he was a little busy. He lost track of how many times he got hit in the face, and then when he was too dazed to fight back anymore they moved down to his ribs. He noticed distantly that one of the guys behind him was tugging at his arms, and when he bucked against them the jackass behind him dislocated his shoulder. He screamed, or at least he let out a strangled groan, and something absolutely disgusting was shoved into his mouth. He was pretty sure it was a sock. If it hadn’t been in his mouth he probably would have thrown up. As it was he was pretty sure he was going to need to wash his mouth out with soap.
He got hit in the face again, and all thoughts of being sick were knocked from his head.
Since my best friend was killed I’ve lost my center. Ope was always my pull back to true north. Now my doubt and sense of fraudulence barks so loudly in my head that most of the time I can’t hear anything else.
Clay never truly enjoyed being in power. Not sexually. Gemma
could only do so much for him in the bedroom department, she lacked the one
thing he craved the most. Clay sat alone in the clubhouse with only Half-sack
to keep him company. He watched as Half-sack bend over the pool table to take a
shot. He was fixated on his sweet vanilla buns.
He sucked on his cigar like as if it was Half-sack’s meat
pipe. Half-sack watched as Clay erotically licked at his cigar. In return he
threw the pool cue down on the table. “Let’s get one thing straight ol’ man. If
you want this king dong,” He said in front of Clay grabbing at his own cock, “I
am the Daddy.”
“Only if I can be your little girl.” Clay said seductively standing from his chair.
Half-sack nodded in agreement. “I’ll go change.” Clay said with a high pitch
whine. He had been waiting for this moment his whole life. He may have just
found himself a real man.
“Daddy?” Clay sung down the hallway beckoning Half-sack
towards him. Half-sack eyed his little girl. His hair and makeup made Half-sack
harder than he had ever been before. “My, my, don’t you look pretty for Daddy.”
He’s fingers ran over the lace of Clay’s lingerie. Half-sack pushed Clay into
the room kicking the door shut behind him.
Clay could not wait to have complete access to his kidney
wiper. Half-sack let her strip him. Humming compliments as he gracefully moved
around him. “Get on your knees” he growled Holding his love meat in one hand he
guided his lips towards it. “Let me see how you gobble that cock.” Clay abided
kitten licking at Half-sack’s man-axe. Half-sack couldn’t take it, the first set of
licks made him explode all over Clay’s face.