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#Post#: 1435--------------------------------------------------
All In- Joe and Kaiden
By: Minyaagar Date: February 16, 2026, 5:56 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
Late-night subway hum.
The car swayed with the rhythmic clatter of wheels on tracks,
fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead. A faint smell of
metal, stale air, and someone’s takeout lingered in the car. Joe
sat sideways on a worn plastic seat, his scuffed bike propped
beside him, one arm hooked lazily over the handlebars to keep it
steady.
In his lap — a half-full sketchbook, pencil smudges creeping
along the side of his hand. He’d been at it since he boarded,
eyes flicking up every so often to catch another set of
features. A tired office worker with a sagging tie. A woman
scrolling endlessly through her phone. A man asleep with his
forehead pressed against the window. All sketched in quick
strokes — the kind of faces you’d see once and never again.
And then… him.
A blonde man leaned back in the seat across the aisle, one arm
draped casually over the backrest. His hair was mussed like he’d
been in the wind, shadows deep under his eyes. There was a thin
scar on his right cheek, the kind that didn’t come from
clumsiness. He wasn’t looking around like most people — his gaze
was fixed somewhere down the car, steady and unreadable.
Something in that stillness carried a weight Joe couldn’t name.
Dangerous, maybe. Definitely not soft.
Joe found himself sketching without even thinking, lines forming
quick and certain. Sharp jaw. The way the shadows curved along
the bridge of his nose. That scar. And something in the man’s
expression — distant, but not blank — that made Joe slow his
strokes, as if catching it exactly mattered.
He glanced up once, caught the faintest flicker of movement —
the man’s eyes shifting toward him for the briefest second.
Joe’s stomach tightened. He looked away, busying himself with
shading, pretending he hadn’t been caught staring.
The train rattled on. Stations came and went. And Joe stayed
quiet, too shy to try for conversation, his pencil capturing a
stranger he might never see again. Still… he couldn’t shake the
pull in his chest.
The intercom crackled, announcing his stop. Joe hesitated,
pencil hovering over the page before he slid it into the spine
of his sketchbook and closed it. He stood, slinging his
messenger bag over one shoulder and gripping his bike by the
frame.
As the doors slid open, he glanced once more at the blonde. The
man hadn’t moved much, still sitting with that unshakable
stillness — but his eyes followed Joe for a fraction of a
second. Noticing him.
Joe stepped onto the platform, the cool air hitting his face.
The train doors closed behind him with a hollow thunk, carrying
the stranger away.
That scar. That aura.
Joe mounted his bike, pushing off into the quiet streets, the
image of the man still sharp in his mind — and sketched forever
in graphite.
--fin--
The city lights streaked past the train windows in brief bursts,
cutting across Kaiden MacGovern’s face — catching the silver in
his tousled hair, the faint gleam in his grey-blue eyes, and the
scar carved across his cheek. A toothpick rolled lazily between
his teeth, a placeholder for the cigarette he’d promised himself
he’d save for later. The inked coils of a black dragon curled up
his throat and across his collarbones, half-hidden beneath a
loose shirt.
He was fixed on his mark — a middle-aged man three seats down,
briefcase hugged to his chest, oblivious to the fact that Kaiden
was the shadow waiting to follow him home. But something tugged
his attention sideways.
A man — long-haired, brunette — sketchbook open on his lap.
Kaiden noticed the way he kept glancing over, pencil moving in
quick strokes before darting his eyes away again. Harmless on
the surface… but Kaiden’s gut didn’t do “harmless.” Not anymore.
His gaze sharpened. Maybe the guy was just another bored
commuter. Maybe he was something else — a lookout, a tail, a
problem. The list of possibilities was long, and none of them
ended with Kaiden ignoring it.
When the brunette got off at the next stop, Kaiden was on his
feet a beat later. The original target could wait. He stepped
onto the platform with the crowd, keeping his distance,
following the man’s trail through the cool night air.
Kaiden cut through a narrow side alley, circling ahead. The
moment the cyclist rolled past, Kaiden’s hand shot out, grabbing
the frame and yanking him sideways into the shadows. The bike
clattered against the wall as Kaiden shoved him back, one fist
twisted in the collar of his shirt, the other braced against
stone.
“Who sent you?” The words came low and edged, his thick Irish
accent curling around them in a way that could just as easily be
a threat or a promise.
-fin-
Joe’s back hit the wall hard enough to knock the air out of him.
The sudden grip at his collar pinned him in place, the chill of
the alley sinking through his shirt. His bike lay on its side, a
wheel still spinning lazily in the dim light.
Adrenaline roared in his ears, flooding every nerve with cold
panic. He could smell the man up close now — smoke, faint
cologne, and something sharper underneath. The gleam of the scar
was even more striking here, close enough to touch. Those
grey-blue eyes locked on him, hard and unreadable, and for a
moment Joe couldn’t get his lungs to work.
“I—” His voice cracked, useless. His pulse thundered. This was
it, wasn’t it?
A strange stillness washed over him, like a tide pulling the
panic out to sea. His shoulders went slack against the wall. If
this was how it ended — some stranger in an alley — he didn’t
have the fight left in him to claw his way out. Five years ago,
maybe. Not now.
“No one sent me. I won't scream, or beg you. Just…” He
swallowed, forcing his gaze to meet the man’s. “You can take
whatever you want. I won’t fight you or give you any trouble.”
It wasn’t bravado — just fact, stripped bare.
His gaze flicked briefly to the side, catching the shadow of his
bike against the wall, before returning to the dangerous
stranger in front of him. Joe didn’t make another move.
If the man was going to kill him, he’d already decided how.
--fin--
Kaiden hadn’t expected that.
Most men shoved into an alley fought, pleaded, cursed — anything
to get loose. But this one… he went still. No trembling, no
wide-eyed scramble. Just that quiet, stripped-down surrender.
It threw him.
For a moment, Kaiden just stood there, the distant rumble of the
train fading into the muffled hum of the city beyond the alley.
The stink of damp concrete, rusted metal, and some far-off fry
grease curled in the cold air. Somewhere, a neon sign buzzed
faintly, the pink light cutting across Joe’s face in soft
pulses.
Kaiden’s grip loosened, almost without him realizing. A
gambler’s instinct — reading a table, spotting the bluff — told
him this wasn’t an act. If it was, it was the best hand he’d
ever seen played.
He shifted his weight, still close enough that his shadow merged
with Joe’s against the wall. “Then why were ya starin’ at me?”
His voice came lower now, the bite dulled but not gone, each
word dipped in the slow roll of his Irish accent.
One brow arched slightly, like he was already laying odds on the
answer. In his world, everyone watched for a reason — and Kaiden
never bet blind.
-fin-
Joe’s heart thumped loudly in his ears, each beat echoing
against the walls of his chest as he waited for the scarred man
to react—or for some kind of response at all. The silence
stretched, thick and uneven, and the loosening grip on his shirt
made him glance back up, his gaze landing hesitantly on the
other man’s face.
“Staring?” Joe echoed, his voice low.
Joe froze for a moment, then realized the truth—he must have
been caught in the act while sketching. “I… I’m an artist,” he
said, the words spilling out before he could second-guess them.
“I was… sketching you. And the others on the train. It’s… kind
of a habit. Or… a hobby, I guess.” His voice wavered slightly,
almost apologetic. “The sketchbook’s in my bag, front pocket, if
you want to see. You can—uh—check it, if you need proof.”
He swallowed, shifting slightly, his fingers brushing the edge
of the sketchbook. “You… can take the page out if you want,” he
added softly, a quiet vulnerability in his tone. “Though it’s
not like I share my art with anyone… at least, not anymore.”
He let out a soft, self-conscious sigh, watching the scarred man
carefully, hoping his honesty didn’t come off as strange—or
desperate.
-----
The stutter caught him off guard. It wasn’t fear in the way he
usually saw it — frantic, defensive — but something softer,
almost… endearing. Harmless, even. Vulnerable in a way that
didn’t fit the profile of someone tailing him. It tugged at
something buried deep, something Kaiden didn’t care to name.
Without a word, he slipped a hand into the messenger bag,
fingers brushing over worn fabric before pulling free the
sketchbook. The alley was dim, lit only by the bleeding neon
from a bar sign down the block, its flicker casting Joe’s face
in shifting washes of pink and shadow.
Kaiden flipped the pages, boots scraping faintly against the
grit underfoot. Quick, sure lines. Faces he half-recognized from
the train car. And then — his own.
The detail stopped him cold for a heartbeat. The scar, the set
of his jaw, the particular shade of stillness in his gaze — all
caught with a precision that made the page feel heavier in his
hands.
A smirk tugged faintly at his mouth. “Damn,” he murmured, voice
dropping low, the edge gone for now. “You’re a talented one.”
He let the book hang at his side, his other hand finally
releasing the front of Joe’s shirt. It wasn’t that he trusted
him — Kaiden didn’t do trust — but every bet was a read, and
this one felt like it was leaning in his favor.
He studied Joe for a moment longer, eyes narrowing just
slightly, like he was still calculating the odds. “What’s your
name?” he asked at last, curiosity threading through the
question like a card being slid across the felt.
-fin-
The pressure on his shirt eased, and Joe instinctively pulled
back just enough to breathe. His collar was rumpled, the faint
heat of Kaiden’s grip still clinging to the fabric.
The pink neon from the bar sign bled across the alley wall,
flickering in irregular bursts. It caught Joe in the eyes, sharp
and intrusive after the shadowed subway car. He lifted a hand,
shielding his face from the pulsing light as if it might strip
him bare in a way the man’s stare already had.
His mouth felt dry, tongue sticking for a beat before he managed
to answer.
“...Joe.”
Just that. Not Davidson. Not the rest. The name alone felt
safer, less like handing over something that could be used
against him.
His hand lowered slowly, fingers twitching faintly at his side.
The sketchbook still hung from the man’s grip, and Joe couldn’t
decide if he wanted it back badly enough to reach for it — or if
that might push him back into the wall.
He forced himself to hold the stranger’s gaze for a second
longer, trying to read him the way he had when he'd sketched the
man only minutes before.
--fin--
The alley felt like a throat — narrow, damp, breathing them in.
Neon bled along wet brick in slow pulses, a heartbeat that made
the shadows flex. Somewhere beyond the mouth of the lane, a
siren wailed and fell off, the city’s voice turning to a low,
hungry hum.
Kaiden weighed the stillness in Joe’s eyes the way he’d read a
table: no bluff he could spot, no twitch that screamed trap.
Just that quiet surrender that shouldn’t have tugged at him and
somehow did. Dangerous, that tug — not the kind of risk he
advertised around his crowd. The jokes in his world weren’t kind
to men like him.
He loosened the last of his grip and eased back a step, the
sketchbook balanced in one hand. The pages fluttered once in the
draft like cards on the cut. He flipped to the drawing of his
own face, felt that small, unwilling jolt again, then shut the
book and pressed it back against Joe’s chest.
“Art like that doesn’t belong in an alley,” he said, voice low.
“’Specially not this one.”
A shape moved at the far end — just a passerby’s shadow, maybe —
but it kept the edge sharp. Kaiden tilted his head, choosing his
play. Keep him close, somewhere lit, where questions could be
asked and exits mapped. Don’t bet blind.
He hooked a thumb toward the pink-buzzing sign down the block.
“Well… suppose I can buy ya a drink for yankin’ ya off your bike
and scarin’ ya,” he drawled, the Irish thickening around the
apology until it almost sounded like a dare. “You sit where I
can see ya, I’ll put this—” a tap to the sketchbook “—on the
table. We’ll call it even long enough for a whiskey and a few
answers.”
His gaze held Joe’s, steady as a coin on a knuckle. “C’mon, Joe.
We move… or the night decides for us.”
-fin-
Joe’s hand came up slowly, fingers curling around the
sketchbook. For a second, his knuckles brushed against Kaiden’s
— brief, accidental, but enough to catch the lingering heat of
his skin. The weight of the book felt grounding in his grip,
something familiar after a night that had gone sideways fast.
“...Coffee’s fine,” he said quietly, voice still rough from the
chokehold of fear minutes before. Then, almost as an
afterthought, “And food. Something cheap. It’s not like I’m
rolling in extra cash.”
His gaze flicked toward the street, then down to where his bike
lay. He crouched, righting it and rolling it toward the nearest
pole under a working street lamp. The lock clicked into place
with a finality he didn’t quite feel about the decision he was
making — following a man who could’ve just as easily left him
bleeding in that alley.
But the promise of coffee… and maybe the truth behind that scar…
pulled him in a way reason couldn’t cut clean.
The diner’s neon buzzed in quieter, steadier tones than the
alley light, casting pale pink across the chrome fixtures as
they stepped inside. The smell of coffee and frying bacon hit
him immediately, almost enough to calm the tight coil in his
chest.
Joe glanced over as they slid into a booth, his sketchbook still
close at hand.
“So…” his eyes lingered briefly on the scar before meeting
Kaiden’s, “what’s your name?”
--fin--
The bell over the door gave a tired jingle and then the diner
swallowed the sound, same as it did most things. Chrome hissed
under fluorescent hum. Bacon and old coffee. A jukebox nobody
touched muttering something soft. The kind of place where nobody
met your eyes and everybody minded their own business because
that was the house rule.
A waitress slid two mugs down without asking, like she knew
better than to ask. Kaiden eased a couple of bills under the
saucer before she could turn—cash up front buys privacy—and took
the booth that let him see the door, the kitchen pass, and the
convex mirror over the register all at once. Back to the wall.
Boots light. One hand around the mug, the other idly rolling a
quarter across his knuckles like a nervous tell he refused to
break.
Joe’s “So… what’s your name?” hung there a beat.
“Kade,” he said, giving the short one without blinking. Safer
that way. Names grow teeth in the wrong mouths.
He set the sugar caddy a little off-center to block the
sightline from a corner table where two men pretended to read
the sports page. The walls here weren’t thin, but they had ears;
that was the unspoken pact that made the place neutral ground.
No business, no beef, no names louder than necessary. You came
for eggs, you left with all your fingers.
Kade took a slow sip, buying himself a count of three to study
Joe over the rim. No shake in the hands now. Still pale at the
edges, but steady. The kind of steady that made him curious in
all the inconvenient ways.
“Coffee an’ food’s on me,” he said, voice low enough that it
didn’t carry. “Order what you like.”
A server called “short stack up” from the pass; plates kissed
porcelain. Kade’s eyes flicked to the mirror, then back to Joe.
He’d already pushed his chips into the center by bringing the
man here; might as well let the bet ride long enough to learn
something worth the risk.
“You always cut through that alley on your way home?” he asked,
tone casual but edged. “Rough stretch for a man with a
sketchbook an’ a bike. Street’s kinder than the lanes after
midnight.”
He nudged the menu toward Joe with two fingers, the quarter
still walking across his knuckles. “We keep it light in here,”
he added, a half-smile that wasn’t entirely friendly.
“Questions, answers… no stories that make the walls listen
harder than they already do.” A beat. “Start with this—why
sketch strangers? And why me, in particular?”
-----
“...Kade.”
Joe tried it out under his breath, tasting the syllable like it
might tell him something more than it gave away. Short, sharp.
Fit him.
He glanced at the menu, but only once, eyes skimming over the
laminated page before setting it aside. “I’ll take a grilled
cheese,” he murmured, naming one of the cheaper items not out of
embarrassment so much as practicality. His voice stayed soft,
careful not to carry beyond the booth. “And… yeah. I can keep it
light.”
The relief was real — that Kade wasn’t trying to pry into the
shadows Joe kept bolted shut.
As for the question… Joe leaned back just enough to break eye
contact for a second, running his thumb along the edge of his
sketchbook. “I… draw people when I don’t want to feel
invisible,” he admitted quietly. “Faces tell stories without
asking for anything in return.”
He hesitated, eyes flicking back up to Kade’s — a moment of
weighing whether to hand over the next truth. “And you… you’ve
got this look. Tense. Like you’re ready to move at any second.
But your face—” Joe’s gaze lingered for half a breath on the
scar, the line of Kade’s jaw. “—it’s… striking. Handsome, even.”
The last word came quieter, as if it was the one that might bite
him back.
He dropped his eyes to the coffee, steam curling between them
like a thin wall, and took a sip.
--fin--
The grilled cheese landed with a soft clack and a curl of steam.
Kade thanked the waitress with a nod and a bill under the
saucer—insurance paid in advance. The quarter walked across his
knuckles, click, click—
—and stopped dead at “handsome.”
It wasn’t the word so much as where it landed: clean between the
ribs, where he didn’t wear armor. He let the coin drop to his
palm, closed a fist around it like he could hide the tell, and
bought himself a sip of coffee he didn’t need.
“Faces tell stories without askin’… aye,” he said, voice easy,
carefully even. “You’ve got the hand for it.”
He set the sugar caddy a hair to the left to block a sightline,
then let his gaze skim the convex mirror, the door, the kitchen
pass. The walls here were polite—but not deaf. No business, no
beef, no names. That was the pact that kept the chrome shining.
“You’ve quite the talent, Joe,” he went on, softer. “Why’re ya
wanderin’ lanes like that wit’ a book like this? Sketchin’ in
shadows gets you noticed by the wrong kind. Don’t you have a
gallery t’ be at—or folks who’ll pay to be seen the way you see
’em?” A half-smile; the flirt tucked inside the scold.
He pushed the plate toward Joe’s side of the table like an
apology. “Eat. Coffee’s on me. We keep it light in here.”
A pause. Decision made.
“After,” he added, eyes flicking to the mirror again, “we take a
walk. Two blocks over there’s a laundrette where the spin cycle
drowns every story. No pryin’ eyes, no listenin’ walls. We can
talk proper—if you want.”
His thumb worried the edge of the quarter, then stilled. “Call
it me settlin’ up for yankin’ you off your bike,” he said, a wry
tilt to his mouth. “And… for the compliment I’m pretendin’ I
didn’t hear.”
He let the silence breathe just long enough to be a choice. “You
good for that walk, Joe?”
-fin-
Joe blinked at the arrival of his sandwich, and gave a soft
thank you a breath after Kade had spoken.
He caught the pause of the coin between Kade's knuckles and
wondered if he'd spoken too honestly for the other. Or...was
Kade one of the types that didn't care for gays? Maybe he should
have kept that to himself.
Joe tested the heat of the grilled cheese, and blew on it before
tackling a small bite. Out of habit, he began eating off the
outer crust of the bread first.
As he chewed, Joe noticed how Kade's gaze shifted around the
diner. The other was clearly on edge which had Joe wondering if
the tough guy ever really got the chance to relax.
"Thank you," he said softly after the compliment on his drawings
was said again. "I'm not usually the type people take notice of.
Maybe I've just been invisible for so long I did't think anyone
would ever see me."
He snorted and set his sandwich down shaking his head. "Gallery?
Me? Nope. I barely get by working three jobs. My drawing is for
myself. As for family...I don't really have one," he added with
a resigned sigh. "I used to want my art to be seen, now I don't
really care,"
Joe considered Kade's offer as he finished off the sandwich.
"Sure, why not? Not like I've got any other plans other than
falling into dark oblivion once I get home,"
--fin--
"Then let’s get to walkin’,” Kade said, easy as a shrug. He laid
enough cash on the table to make the check and the question go
away, slid out of the booth, and held the door like it was
nothing.
Outside, the night had teeth. They took the route that wasn’t
quite a line—crossing where the light was strongest, slipping
through the seams where street lamps didn’t touch. Kade kept the
pace unhurried, a coin asleep in his palm, gaze skimming glass
for reflections: a dark shop window, a car mirror, the chrome of
a mailbox. Once, at a corner, he stopped to tie an imaginary
lace, just long enough to see who else stopped. Nobody did. Good
enough.
The laundromat glowed like a fish tank on an empty
block—fluorescent, humming, safe in the way noise can be safe.
Heat rushed them: detergent, hot metal, steam. Dryers thumped
like steady hearts. Kade tipped the woman at the counter before
she could greet him, the kind of quiet arrangement that buys you
a little corridor of privacy. She cracked a door marked
EMPLOYEES ONLY with a flick of her eyes. He let Joe go ahead,
then followed, door sighing shut behind them.
The back room was all linoleum and lived-in: a battered couch
with a plastic crinkle, a wobble-legged table scarred by coffee
rings, two mismatched chairs, a tired vending machine casting a
faint aquarium glow. The dryers’ roar on the other side of the
wall was perfect—white noise chewing every word into harmless
sound.
Kade checked the secondary exit, slid the bolt, and left the
door a finger’s width ajar for airflow. Back to the wall,
always. He set his coin on the table, produced a dog-eared deck
from his jacket, and let it waterfall from one hand to the
other. Cards snapped and whispered; something in him loosened at
the sound.
“How d’you feel about a few hands?” he asked, tone light, eyes
not. “Nothin’ fancy. Winner gets a question. Keep it simple,
keep it clean.” A beat. “You can tap out anytime. I won’t
press.”
He pushed the deck across the table for Joe to cut, then glanced
up, a quick slant of a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“And Joe… it’s dangerous to call a man handsome in public.” The
cards rested under his fingers; his voice dropped, gentler.
“Safer here.”
He tapped the deck twice, like a ritual. “Your cut.”
------
Joe slid out of the booth, sketchbook in hand, slipping it back
into his messenger bag before falling in behind Kade. His face
heated when Kade held the door for him, and he stepped past
without comment, heading straight for his bike.
The night air had turned mean—colder, sharper. He hunched into
it, pushing his bike alongside Kade in silence. Every few steps
Kade slowed, eyes flicking to shadows, checking over his
shoulder like a man who’d lived too long with enemies. Joe kept
quiet.
They stopped outside a laundromat. Joe bent to lock up his bike
while Kade moved ahead, holding the door. Heat hit him as soon
as he stepped inside, thawing the ache from his hands.
Kade jerked his chin toward the employee door. Joe’s brow ticked
at the wordless order, but he went, pushing into a small back
room. He dropped onto the couch—plastic crackling under him—and
for a second he was a kid again, knees sticking to his parents’
old sofa in the summer. The memory tightened in his chest.
Kade’s voice cut through before it could drag him under. Joe
looked up. The man was shuffling cards, hands deft, eyes
unreadable.
“Should warn you,” Joe said, letting a thin smile crease his
mouth, “I’ve played a lot of poker. Might be hard to beat me.”
He reached out, cut the deck clean, set the halves down. His
fingers twitched with the urge to show off a trick—one of the
ones that made the hospital kids laugh.
Then Kade said something that made him still. His smile faded,
eyes narrowing slightly in surprise.
“So… you’re not offended by it?”
--fin--
Kade’s laugh was low and quick, a scrape of warmth under the
dryer-thrum. “Dangerous thing t’say to a man with cards in his
blood,” he muttered, amused. “High stakes it is—within reason.”
He squared the deck, eyes easing but never careless, and
dealt—one-two, one-two—letting the cards whisper across the
wobble-legged table. From his pocket he set down a neat stack of
quarters—laundromat chips—with a soft metallic clink that fell
into rhythm with the spin cycle.
“House rules,” he said, rolling a coin once across his knuckles.
“Five-card draw. Winner gets a question, loser answers clean.
You can tap out whenever.” A beat, the ghost of a grin. “And
since you’re already tryin’ to peek at the river before we’ve
anted—aye, you get one freebie.”
He met Joe’s eyes, held. “No, I’m not offended.” The coin
paused, went still. “Flattered, if I’m honest. Honesty just…
costs more in my circles. So I don’t spend it in public.” The
last word was softer, almost an apology for how the world is.
He let out a breath, some wire in him loosening. Jacket
unbuttoned, shoulders set but not braced. He nudged the quarters
toward center. “Tell you what. Sweeten the pot. If you win a
hand, I’ll give you the story you’re really after—scar and all.
If I win, I want the real answer to why you stopped lettin’
people see your art.” A tilt of his head. “Two hands, two
truths. Fair?”
He slid the deck across for Joe to draw. “And Joe,” he added, a
wry curl to his mouth, “for the record—I heard you. Handsome.” A
tiny shrug, like he was setting a fragile thing carefully on the
table between them. “Safer here.”
Cards waiting, eyes steady, he tapped the felt less wood twice
like a dealer calling time. “Your bet.”
-fin-
Joe let out a soft laugh, shaking his head as he reached for the
deck. “Cards in your blood, huh? That’s a hell of a claim,” he
teased, though his fingers lingered over the cards a beat too
long.
He eyed the quarters like they were part of some sacred ritual,
the clink of metal somehow grounding him. “Two hands, two
truths,” he repeated, almost tasting the stakes. His lips
quirked with a mixture of challenge and nerves. “Fair enough.
But don’t think I’m giving away my secrets that easily.”
When Kade’s words landed—handsome—Joe’s chest tightened in a way
that made him almost choke on his own laugh. He glanced down at
the cards, then back up, and offered a small, crooked smile.
“Safer here, huh? Guess I’ll take your word for it.”
“let me think a minute,” he said, voice steady even as his heart
picked up pace. “And… maybe, if I win, you’ll have to tell that
story sooner than later.”
Joe tugged his baseball hat off and rested it on his knee,
fingers threading through the long strands of hair he usually
kept tucked away—a small gesture that marked him letting his
guard down.
He leaned forward, glancing down at his cards, counting and
weighing them. A faint grin tugged at his lips. “Alright,” he
murmured, pushing a stack of quarters toward the center. “I’m
in. Let’s see if I can make this interesting.”
----
The back room breathed around them—dryer-thrum steady, bleach
and hot metal in the air, the vending machine casting that
aquarium glow across the wobble-legged table. Quarters made a
small, cathedral echo when they kissed the laminate; every clink
felt like a bell.
Kade dealt clean, wrists loose, card edges whispering across
wood. He watched Joe now the way he watched a table: the way the
hat came off and stayed on his knee, the way the shoulders
dropped a notch, the little tell in the left thumb when the bet
went in. Confidence looked good on him. Dangerous good.
Something warm and old pressed at Kade’s ribs; he set a
toothpick between his teeth to keep his mouth busy and let his
jacket fall open, a small surrender to the heat and to the
moment.
Draw. Joe took one. Kade took two. The pot grew by a clink and a
slide.
“Cards?” he said, voice easy. Joe tapped. Kade tapped back.
He let the silence run exactly long enough to feel like a
choice, then laid them down one by one, casual as a coin roll:
seven… eight… nine… ten… jack. Not showy, not loud—just a
straight that landed like a quiet blade.
The toothpick shifted at the corner of his mouth; a slow,
crooked smile followed. He met Joe’s eyes across the cheap
laminate and let his guard drop that last inch, enough to be
seen.
“First hand’s mine,” he said, softer than the grin. “House takes
one truth.”
He gathered the quarters with his fingertips but didn’t drag
them far, leaving the pot as a small silver constellation
between them. The deck sat under his palm, warm from his hands.
“You told me once,” Kade went on, “that you stopped lettin’
people see your art. I want the real reason.” A beat. Not a
demand—an ask. “No gallery answers. Just you.”
He thumbed the deck, then stilled it. “Then we deal again,” he
added, nodding toward the door like he could already feel the
night beyond it, “and if the cards are kind, maybe I pay you
back with a story of my own—scar and all. After that, we take a
smoke break. Fresh air’s better company for ghosts.”
He tipped his chin to Joe—your move—eyes steady, the danger of
the world held at the edges while the room, for once, felt like
it belonged to just the two of them.
-----
Joe’s gaze stayed on the cards a moment longer, his fingers idly
brushing the brim of the hat on his knee. “Alright,” he said
quietly, not quite meeting Kade’s eyes at first. “No gallery
answers.”
He drew in a breath, slow and even, like he was checking if his
voice still worked. “It was my sister,” he said finally. “She
died. After that… my parents split. Everything went quiet inside
me. Numb. Like there wasn’t anything worth putting on paper
anymore—at least, not for anyone else to see.”
He shrugged, but it was a tired one, not casual. “I guess I
figured if I didn’t share, I couldn’t lose anything else.”
Joe’s eyes lifted then, steady but not defensive—just open in a
way they hadn’t been all night. “That’s the real reason.”
He leaned back slightly, letting the truth sit there in the warm
hum of the back room, and reached for the deck. “Your deal.”
Then he was quickly dealing the cards with cool quick efficiency
before setting the remaining deck on the wobbly table.
---fin--
The deck moved to Kade and then away again—Joe’s deal was clean,
quick, no flourish. Dryers thumped a steady backbeat; the
vending machine hummed like a low note. Kade fanned his cards,
toothpick shifting at the corner of his mouth.
Not pretty. He could make it look pretty.
He tossed in two quarters like they were nothing, let three
cards slide back for the draw, and took his replacements without
blinking. Still thin. He raised again anyway, eyes on Joe
instead of the hand—watching the way that hat on his knee tipped
a degree, the way his breath leveled. Cool. Unmoved.
Call.
Kade laid down first, casual as smoke: a pair dressed up like it
owned the place. Joe answered with quiet efficiency—two pair,
neat and unshowy—and the lamplight caught the hint of a smile.
Pot to Joe. Question to Joe.
-fin-
Joe pulled the quarters toward himself with a small, unhurried
motion, stacking them in front of him. The faint curl at the
corner of his mouth didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it was
there all the same.
“Guess that’s mine, then,” he said, settling the cards in a tidy
pile off to the side. The brim of the hat on his knee bobbed as
he adjusted his seat, long hair sliding forward across his
shoulder.
He let the silence stretch for a breath, like he was weighing
what to spend his win on—then met Kade’s gaze. “Alright,” he
said, voice even. “That scar you keep talking about. How’d you
get it?”
No lean forward, no push—just the question placed cleanly
between them, like another card face-up on the table.
--fin--
Kade meant to give the short version.
He didn’t.
He stacked his losing hand into a neat little grave and let his
shoulder find the cool cinder block. The dryers on the other
side of the wall kept time—steady thump, soft hiss—domestic
noises dressed up as thunder. Something in him loosened.
“My da had cards where most men keep a conscience,” he said,
thumb riding the deck’s edge. “Taught me the sums, the patience…
and all the shortcuts you’re not meant to know.”
The quarter walked once across his knuckles; he pocketed it
before the tell got loud. “Ma had the soft heart to match.
Watchin’ me turn into him cracked it. He went first. She
followed quick. Some houses just fall quiet all at once.”
He glanced down at his hands, then up. “I left. New country, no
anchors. Figured I could outrun grief if I kept movin’. Instead
I found the bottom of a bottle and the wrong end of a table.
Money went. I borrowed to keep the wheel spinnin’.”
Two fingers traced the pale seam on his cheek, not
dramatic—habit. “When the due date came and I couldn’t pay, they
took me downstairs. One bulb. Concrete. The man didn’t shout; he
didn’t need to. He just… marked me.” A small tilt of the head.
“Boxcutter’s quiet work. Quick, too. ‘So you remember who owns
the rest of you,’ he said.”
He let a breath out, humorless. “That should be the end of it.
But you asked clean, so I’ll pay clean.”
His voice rounded, the Irish softening the corners. “It wasn’t
the cut that stuck. It was how easy the mean part of me learned
the job after. Collections. Enforcer. You do it long enough, the
decent bits go quiet. I kept bettin’ I could be both men at
once. House kept takin’ its rake.”
Silence rolled in with the dryer-hum. Kade met Joe’s eyes and
didn’t look away—no bluff, no cover—long enough to let it land.
“That’s the scar,” he finished, mouth ticking wry. “And what
rides with it.”
He nudged the deck toward Joe with two fingers; the cards
whispered. “Your deal—unless you fancy that smoke. Ghosts tell
better stories in fresh air.”
----
Joe sat back, the weight of Kade’s story threading through him
like cold water. Not pity—recognition. He could see the shape of
it, the jagged edges that didn’t sand down with time. Different
scars, same kind of silence after.
“Yeah,” he said finally, voice low. “Guess we both got things
we’d rather leave in the dark.”
He reached for the deck, but his hand stilled halfway. A faint,
crooked smile tugged at his mouth, his eyes fixed on Kade’s.
“There’s a third option, though,” he murmured. “One where we
stop digging up ghosts and… get lost in something else for a
while.”
The air between them felt close, dryer-hum gone muffled under
the rush in his ears. Joe leaned forward, slow enough to give
Kade space to stop him, then crossed the last inches in one
smooth movement, bracing his hands on the edge of the
wobble-legged table.
His lips caught Kade’s in a brief, heat-soaked kiss—testing,
tasting, like the start of something they both knew could burn.
--fin--
The kiss hit him like a card turned over he hadn’t seen
coming—clean, undeniable. Kade’s first instinct was the old one:
freeze, count exits, listen for footsteps. The coin he’d been
palming slipped, tapped once against the laminate, and stilled.
He didn’t stop Joe.
Heat moved through him in a slow, convincing wave. The somber
weight of stories fell off like a coat shrugged from the
shoulders, and he let himself meet the kiss—testing at first,
then sure, his hand cupping Joe’s jaw, thumb finding the quick
beat at his throat. The dryers’ roar swallowed the soft scrape
of the table as Kade drew Joe closer; quarters skittered like
scattered chips, silver bright in the vending-machine glow.
“I like your option better,” he breathed against Joe’s mouth,
the Irish curling warmer now. “Say the word if you want me t’
stop.”
He didn’t pull away; he pulled Joe in—guided, careful, the kind
of want that remembered where the walls were. The back room held
them: linoleum underfoot, steam in the air, a hum big enough to
hide a moment like this. Kade sat back onto the couch, giving
Joe a gentle tug that asked and answered in the same motion,
settling him across his lap. For a heartbeat Kade just looked at
him—close enough to memorize the details he’d seen in
graphite—then kissed him again, deeper, steadier, like leaning
into a flame he’d spent years circling.
When he finally drew a breath, his forehead rested to Joe’s,
voice low. “We can keep forgettin’ right here ’til the spin
cycle quits,” he murmured, eyes flicking once to the door out of
habit. “Or…”
A faint, wry smile. “You know a place for this kind of
forgettin’? Somewhere the night won’t try t’ collect on us?” He
brushed a knuckle along Joe’s cheek, all-in and perfectly aware
of it. “Your call, Joe.”
-fin-
Joe’s breath came a little uneven, heat still chasing through
him from the kiss. The back room, with all its hum and glow,
felt smaller now—like they’d pulled the edges in tight around
themselves. His eyes, usually muted, were sharp and alive, fixed
on Kade with something closer to hunger than caution.
“Yeah,” he said, voice low but certain. “Let’s go somewhere
else.” A beat, a faint curve to his mouth. “My place’s close. No
spin cycle to rush us.”
Before Kade could answer, Joe leaned in again, stealing a second
kiss—slower but deeper, his hands finding the shorter crop of
Kade’s hair, fingers sliding through it like he wanted to learn
the feel by heart. He didn’t break the kiss until his lungs
demanded it, and even then he stayed close, lips brushing the
corner of Kade’s mouth as he caught his breath.
--fin--
Joe’s answer put a slow, hungry smirk on Kade’s mouth—but it was
the second kiss that undid him. The sound that slipped from his
throat was low, unguarded, and he felt it all the way down his
spine. When Joe finally drew back, close enough that their
breath mingled, Kade’s pulse was a hard, steady drum in his
ears.
His hands hovered at Joe’s hips, knuckles brushing fabric,
fighting the urge to close that last inch and keep him there. He
tipped his head just enough that his lips grazed Joe’s ear when
he spoke.
“Lead the way,” he murmured, the Irish wrapping warm around each
word. “Before my restraint walks out the door without us.”
He let his hands rest at Joe’s waist for the briefest
moment—steady, claiming—before pushing to his feet. The hum of
the dryers felt louder now, too close, like the walls themselves
were leaning in to watch. Kade kept his eyes on Joe as they
moved, the rest of the room already fading from his focus.
“Your place, then,” he said, voice low and certain, the corners
of his mouth tugging into a promise. “Somewhere the night
belongs to us.”
----
Joe’s lips curved, a spark flickering in his eyes that hadn’t
been there all night. “Guess you better keep up, then,” he said,
sliding his hat back on and hooking his messenger bag over his
shoulder.
He led them out through the warm hum of the laundromat, the
night air biting just enough to make the heat between them
sharper. Their steps fell into an unspoken rhythm, shoulders
brushing now and then as they cut through dim-lit streets. Joe
didn’t look back—he didn’t need to—but every so often, he felt
Kade’s gaze like a hand at his back.
The climb to his second-floor apartment was quick, the click of
his keys loud in the narrow hall. He pushed the door open,
letting Kade in first before kicking it shut behind them. The
lock slid home with a soft, decisive sound.
Joe’s bag hit the floor without ceremony. In the next breath, he
was on Kade—fingers curling into the front of his jacket, mouth
finding his in a kiss that was rougher, hungrier, nothing held
back. He pushed him gently but insistently toward the bedroom,
lips breaking only long enough to pull in air and murmur, “This
way.”
The room was dim, city light spilling in pale and soft through
the blinds. Joe kept moving, guiding Kade until the backs of his
legs brushed the bed. He stole another kiss—long, deep, his
hands sliding up into Kade’s hair again, holding him there like
he meant to memorize every second.
--fin--
The heat between them was heady—thick in Kade’s veins, dizzying
without a drop of liquor or a line of anything. It was a
different kind of high, one he hadn’t chased before, and it
burned cleaner, sharper. The kind of craving that set its hook
deep.
He followed Joe up without a word, the quiet between them
stretched tight with want. The narrow hallway, the faint scent
of coffee grounds and paper from Joe’s place—it all blurred at
the edges, eclipsed by the magnetic pull of the man in front of
him.
When the door shut and the lock slid home, Kade melted into the
kiss that met him—hungry, unrestrained. His hands found Joe’s
hips, his back, anywhere he could anchor himself. The world
beyond those walls ceased to exist.
The bedroom swallowed them in soft shadow, city light spilling
through the blinds in fractured stripes. When the back of his
knees hit the mattress, Kade let himself fall without
hesitation, drawing Joe down with him in one fluid pull. The bed
dipped under their weight, and his fingers threaded into Joe’s
hair, holding him there as if letting go might break whatever
spell had taken hold.
“I want you,” he growled, the words low and certain, his accent
wrapping around them like a promise.
His gaze locked on Joe’s, the kind of look that made it clear—he
wasn’t thinking about the next hand of cards, the next job, or
the man he had to be outside these walls. Right now, he was all
in.
-fin-
#Post#: 1436--------------------------------------------------
Re: All In- Joe and Kaiden
By: Minyaagar Date: February 16, 2026, 6:03 pm
---------------------------------------------------------
Joe’s breath hitched at the pull, the feel of Kade’s hands in
his hair sparking down his spine. The growled words landed low
in his gut, turning the warmth in his chest molten.
A slow, dangerous smile curved his mouth. “Yeah?” he murmured,
leaning in until his lips brushed Kade’s jaw. He nipped lightly,
then again at the curve just beneath his ear—sharp enough to
draw a sound, soft enough to leave him wanting more.
His hands roamed down Kade’s chest, over the open line of his
jacket, palms flat like he was mapping every inch. The jacket
bunched under his fingers, and with deliberate slowness, he
began working it off Kade’s shoulders. His fingers slipped to
the hem of Kade’s shirt, tugging it upward in teasing inches,
skin meeting cool air.
He shifted his weight deliberately, hips pressing just enough to
make his point. “On top,” Joe breathed against his skin,
trailing another nip along his throat, “or bottom?” His gaze
flicked up, wicked and knowing. “I’m good with either.”
Before Kade could answer, Joe kissed him again—deep,
unhurried—as his hands slid higher, peeling away the first
barrier between them. The question hung between them like a bet
on the table, and Joe was already raising the stakes.
--fin--
For a heartbeat, Kade froze, the weight of Joe’s touch and the
question hitting him harder than any bottle or bet ever had.
Every defense he usually kept stacked neat as a poker hand
slipped, one after the other.
Joe’s hands on his chest, the slow peel of his shirt, the press
of hips—he was undone before he’d even spoken. The Irishman let
out a breath that landed half as a growl, half as a laugh, head
tipping back against the mattress.
“Christ, you’re trouble,” he rasped, the words rough with want.
His accent curled thick around each syllable, betraying how much
he’d already given up the fight.
Then he drew a coin from his pocket, holding it between thumb
and forefinger, gleam catching the spill of city light through
the blinds. A smirk tugged at his mouth, hungry and reckless.
“I’m good with both. Why not leave it to chance, hm?”
The coin danced across his knuckles, the old habit now a dare,
before he flicked it up into the air. His free hand slid to
Joe’s hip, grip firm but inviting, anchoring himself to the fire
that was already pulling him under.
“All in,” he murmured as the coin spun, eyes locked on Joe’s
like the outcome barely mattered. “Whichever way it falls, I’m
yours tonight.”
-fin-
The coin spun once, twice, before smacking into Joe’s palm with
a sharp, satisfying slap. He kept it closed a moment longer than
necessary, his gaze locked on Kade’s, a slow grin tugging at his
mouth like he already knew the answer.
When he finally turned his hand over, the coin lay there—tails
glinting in the fractured citylight.
Joe’s eyes darkened with something equal parts heat and
certainty. “Looks like I’m on top,” he murmured, his voice low
enough to make the air feel thicker.
The coin slipped from his fingers, forgotten as his hands slid
back into Kade’s hair, tugging just enough to tilt his head. He
kissed him again—deeper, harder—pressing him into the mattress,
hips fitting snug over Kade’s as if claiming the space without a
single word.
“Your rules, my lead,” Joe whispered against his lips, already
pushing Kade’s shirt up, palms skimming over warm skin like he
meant to learn every inch by touch alone.
Joe’s hands didn’t waste time, sliding Kade’s shirt the rest of
the way off and tossing it aside without breaking the kiss. His
weight settled over him, firm and certain, hips pinning Kade to
the mattress in a way that left no question who was in control
now.
The heat between them thickened, each brush of skin on skin
fanning it higher. Joe’s mouth claimed Kade’s again—deeper this
time, tongue tracing a slow, deliberate path that left them both
chasing the next breath. One hand braced on the mattress beside
Kade’s head; the other roamed down his chest, fingers splaying
to feel the jump of muscle under his palm.
When Joe finally pulled back, it wasn’t far—just enough to drag
his teeth lightly along Kade’s jaw before finding that spot at
his throat he’d nipped earlier. This time, his mouth lingered,
leaving a kiss just shy of a mark, his breath hot against Kade’s
skin.
“You said all in,” Joe murmured, lifting his head to lock eyes
with him. The faintest, wicked grin curved his lips. “So don’t
hold back on me now.”
He pressed him down again with a slow grind of his hips,
claiming space, claiming the moment, every movement
deliberate—meant to keep Kade exactly where Joe wanted him.
--Fin--
The glint of tails caught the citylight and Kade’s throat worked
on a hard swallow. For a man who lived on chance, who’d bet his
soul a hundred times at a table, this flip carried more weight
than all of it combined.
It had been years since he’d given up the reins like this. Years
since he’d let anyone pin him down, not just with hands but with
trust. Yet here he was—flat against the mattress, heat curling
through him in ways he hadn’t dared let himself feel.
“All in,” he rasped, the words little more than a vow as his
accent thickened, roughened by want.
He didn’t fight it. Didn’t even try. Joe’s mouth, Joe’s hands,
Joe’s weight pressing him down—Kade welcomed it like fire after
frost, a burn he needed. His shirt was gone before he realized,
the cool air a shock against heated skin, his breath breaking
under the steady drag of Joe’s palms.
His fingers flexed once against the sheets, then slid up Joe’s
back, pulling him closer with a desperation that betrayed how
completely he’d caved. The gambler’s smirk was gone, replaced
with something rawer, open in a way Kade never let himself be.
“You win,” he murmured against Joe’s lips, the words a surrender
and a dare all at once.
-fin-
Joe’s answer wasn’t in words at first—it was in motion. He
pushed up just enough to strip off his own shirt, the fabric
gone in a blink, then kicked free of jeans and boxers with a
practiced ease. The citylight caught the lines of him, stark and
alive, before he was leaning back down, heat to heat, lips
crashing against Kade’s once more.
His hands moved with surety, undoing the button of Kade’s pants,
sliding the zipper down slow as if savoring the sound. He peeled
denim away inch by inch, then boxers, until there was nothing
left between them but skin and the press of breathless need.
When Kade whispered his surrender, Joe pulled back just far
enough to catch his eyes, his own gaze lit with that same molten
fire. His mouth curved into a small, knowing smile as he
murmured against him,
“In this type of game,” Joe said, voice low and edged with heat,
“there are no losers, Kade.”
He punctuated it with another kiss—deep, claiming—his hands
sliding over bare skin like he was staking his claim over every
inch.
His mouth began wandering lower, nipping along Kade's jaw,
throat and clavicle. Not hard, but in a teasing manner to see
just how much sweet torture Kade could endure.
"You sure do taste good," Joe purred as he moved down to lick
and tease one of Kade's nipples before sucking on it a bit
roughly. Then he moved to repeat the treatment to Kade's other
nipple.
When he finally had enough, he made his way down Kade's gorgeous
scarred body, licking, nipping and leaving a few dark marks in
the journey towards Kade's twitching member.
He paused a breathe away from it and let his gaze look up at
Kade as he slowly licked over the tip slowly. With a pleased
sound, he smiled and then moved in and began pleasuring Kade's
member, licking and then sucking slowly up the length. He pulled
back after a few minutes and gave Kade an assessing look.
"If it's been awhile, I may need to take my time getting you
ready," he murmured thoughtfully. "Want me to use a condom? I'm
clean, just got tested a couple months ago, " he assured Kade.
While it sometimes got awkward when he brought it up, Joe always
made sure to inform anyone he slept with he was tested
regularly.
While he waited for Kade's answer, Joe stroked his hands gently
over Kade's body and member.
---Fin--
The heated edge to Joe’s voice coupled with the careful hands
that peeled away the barrier of clothes had Kaiden squirming and
groaning. His nipples hyper sensitive to the attention they got.
The room was practically spinning in the heat between the both
of them. Marks from Joe’s love bites littering his body like a
love trail before finally Joe reached Kaiden's needy member.
It sprang up when freed and Kaiden's head fell back at the
attention Joe’s mouth gave it, already bringing him close to
release. "It... it has been a while," he admitted with a dark
blush. "Years in fact..." He tacked on before his cheeks got
even warmer at Joe’s question of condom use and std tests.
"I ain't been with anybody since the like time I fucked someone,
I'm... clean... you... don't need one..." He answered almost
shyly.
-fin-
Joe pulled his long hair back and slid a hair tie around it
making a low loose bun to keep it from falling in the way as he
listened to Kade's response, noting the deep blush that filled
the other's cheeks, neck and ears.
"Then let's not rush this," he murmured back as he shifted up
and leaned over Kade and reached to open the side dresser
drawer, pulling out a bottle of lubricant.
He laid it on Kade's abdomen momentarily and then kissed him
slowly, lingering for a few moments as his hands moved to open
the bottle between them and drizzled some over Kade's abdomen.
He pulled back, shifting to move Kade's legs up around his hips
and settled on his knees.
The slight shift had the pool of lubricant start sliding down
towards Kade's chest. Joe hummed softly his hands moving to
catch it and started rubbing it over the man's arousal watching
as it grew harder before getting a bit more and rubbing between
the cleft and over Kade's hole.
"Would it feel better if I use my tongue and mouth first?" He
asked in a gentle lustful tone as his fingers pressed and rubbed
and his other hand slowly rubbed and teased the hard member with
slow strokes.
--Fin--
It seemed Joe meant business as the man pulled up his hair
Before mentioning they wouldn't rush. The man leaning over
Kaiden to grab the items he needed. He felt the cold plastic of
the bottle on his stomach, offset by the intensity of the slow
kiss he was given. His body practically begging for more.
A slight flinch left Kaiden when he felt the cold lube hit his
body but the way Joe played with it and used it just turned him
on more. His hips bucking every so often at the sensation.
"I don't know... do whatever feels right... use your mouth, your
hands, your di.ck... I'm yours.... at least for tonight..."
Kaiden said impassioned and needy from what Joe had already
done. Moans escaping him at every touch.
-fin'
Joe made a humming sound as he kept moving his fingers inside
and his other hand slowly moving up and down Kaiden's member.
The needy reply had his eyes growing darker.
"So..all of the above," he said with a slight smirk before
maneuvering down, lifting the Kaiden's legs over his shoulders
his mouth and tongue getting back in on pleasuring the man.
When he had Kaiden squirming and begging from his attentive
tongue, he pulled back and moved Kaiden's legs a bit wider.
Then he very slowly pressed his throbbing cock into the other
inch by inch. It was a slow impalement, until he was deep inside
of Kaiden.
Though he ached to lay claim and move, he forced himself to stay
still and began nibbling and marking up Kaiden's clavicle, neck
and jaw before biting the others bottom lip gently.
"Ready?"
--Fin--
The words spoken and then attention given had Kaiden melting
into the mattress, the pleasure overtaking his body with every
touch and eveywhere that amazingly wet tounge touched. The
gambler couldn't remember the last time anyone had gotten him
this needy, this ready for being claimed.
"Please just fuck me already!" Finally fell from the Irishman's
lips as his body ached for more. The swift reaction of Joe had
Kaiden breathless, the gentle press in, barely painful from
Joe's sheer size, had Kaiden swimming with desire for more.
Every inch a victory. When Joe finally filled him fully, the
onslaught of attention and marks had Kaiden a puddle of desire.
"Gods yes, fuck me please! Don't hold back..." He begged
shamelessly. All masks and walls lost to passion.
-fin-
Joe's hands wandered over Kaiden's body, teasing it a bit more
before he gripped the other's waist tightly and began to move
quickly.
Kaiden's pleading words had all his restraint disappearing as he
thrust harder and faster into his new partner's body.
"Fu.ck you are so hot and tight, Kade," he groaned back.
Joe was soon moving Kade's left leg up and caressing a hand over
it as he continued his rough treatment.
"You like that do ya? If there's more you want, tell me. Talk
dirty Kade," he purred and then reached up to squeeze the others
chest avd twisted his nipple a bit roughly. "What positions do
you like the most? Maybe being taken from behind? Hands
exploring and touching all over? Teeth marking up your neck?
Your ears sucked and nibbled on?"
-Fin-
*****************************************************