Page 2

(Scout)

It had been crazy busy all night, but people were finally filtering out of the bar and down to the beach for the bonfire, and it was a good thing too, since the kitchen had already announced last call on taking orders.

When he turned from restocking the tequila, he spotted the big man he’d been eyeing all night watching him from the other side of the bar and instantly felt a surge of energy course through him as he sauntered over.

“Can I make you something, or would you like me to refill that?” Scout asked, inclining his head towards the mug in the big man’s hand.

“You wanna make me something, you can make me happy and get your ass up on the bar, then pass me a bottle,” the massive guy remarked, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“You want the bottle first, or my ass?”

“Surprise me.”

Jaw-dropping, he reached for the hem of his shirt, then immediately glanced over at Ms. Kat to make sure he wasn’t about to fuck up.

“You’re free to give the man whatever he wants,” she said.

That was all he needed to hear to get him moving. He stripped down to a purple thong with playtime written across the front and his boots, glad he’d worn the cutoffs because he never would have been able to get jeans off over them.

“Goddamn, boy, if that’s what you’re offering, let me get in on it too,” another man called, the big one the first guy had been arm wrestling; Scout was pretty sure his name was Creature.

“With all due respect, brutha, you can fuck off right now,” the first man said. “To the victor goes the spoils tonight, all of them, so keep your hands off him.”

“Hey, it’s all good,” Creature said, holding his hands up and stepping back. “I’ll catch him another time.”

“Maybe,” the first guy said, before nudging him aside as Scout passed him the bottle of tequila he’d shoved under the bar so he wouldn’t have to make another trip to the backroom.

“I can get you something different if you want.” Scout offered.

“Nope, just don’t go skimping on the lime and salt.”

“Yes, sir,” Scout replied, and immediately started cutting a trio of limes into wedges as Ms. Kat started hustling people towards the door.

“All of you, git,” she growled, brandishing a metal spoon at those who’d lingered or doubled back on their way out the door. “Let Kong enjoy his welcome home in peace.”

Oh, shit. This was Kong. Anyone could see how the man got his name. Letting his eyes drift up that massive torso, Scout made him for 6’7, easy, and only because his older brother stood a solid 6’3 and Kong was noticeably bigger than him.

Scout set a bowl of flavored margarita salt on the bar beside the limes and tequila before hopping up on the bar and stretching out, a human offering for Kong to do with as he wished.

“What’s your name, boy?” Kong asked as he moved a lock of hair out of Scout’s face.

“Scout, sir.”

“Alright, Scout, here’s the way we’re gonna play this. You’re gonna lie there, and you’re gonna let me hear anything you like about what I do, got it? I don’t want you quiet, and I don’t want you still while I lick this fine-ass tequila off your skin.”

“Yes, sir,” Scout replied, nuzzling against the hand Kong was using to arrange his hair.

“Do you belong to anyone?” Kong asked as he finally moved his hand away to crack open the bottle.

“No, sir.”

“Then how’d you get to be behind the bar?”

“Teddy. I needed a job, and he said they needed help here and brought me over,” Scout explained. “I’m not usually behind the bar, though. I’m the janitor. They just needed extra help tonight.”

“Looks like you know how to handle yourself back there.”

“Yes, sir, my brother and his buddies taught me to bartend.”

“Did he teach you how to carry a tray full of pitchers through a rowdy crowd the way you did?”

“No sir, fuckin’ up taught me how to get it right.”

Seeing the big man’s lips quirk up in the ghost of a smile was a good feeling, and Scout relaxed against the wood as Kong poured his first shot, then drizzled it over Scout’s chest, the cold making him tense and giggle.

The moment the sound left his lips, his eyes widened and he felt his cheeks heat up, ‘cause damn it all, he wasn’t supposed to be giggling like that around these men.

How many times had his brother pointed out that he just wasn’t hard enough?

The last thing he needed was for these men to think the same thing too.

Kong’s eyes narrowed as he took a pinch of salt between his fingers. “All the sounds. Every last one.”

Shocked, Scout let the breath hiss from between his teeth as he sucked in air, the feel of Kong’s finger tracing salt over the tequila he’d poured, one that made him arch and shiver.

“When was the last time someone touched you?” Kong asked as he reached for a lime.

“Two days ago,” Scout replied.

Maybe that was too honest. Maybe Kong wouldn’t want anyone who he thought was being passed around, but it wasn’t like that. No one in the Jokers had laid a finger on him until tonight.

“I’m gonna erase every memory you have of them,” Kong replied, leaving it at that, and it was a good thing too; Scout didn’t have a name to give him. He didn’t know the name of the man he’d been with, not his real one anyway. The man who’d been directing their video shoot had called him Ace.

Kong took his time with the lime juice, squeezing a little down the center of his chest and across his abs.

When his fingers slid into Scout’s hair and he tugged just a little, before his tongue started chasing the lines he’d made, Scout’s back bowed as he arched up off the wood, mewling at the feel of it laving over his skin.

Cool air hit the warm, wet places Kong’s tongue left behind, and Scout shivered, then whined as more tequila was poured on him.

“How long ago did you start working here?” Kong asked as he repeated the process of rubbing coarse salt over Scout’s skin.

The roughness produced a different sensation, but it wasn’t a bad one, not even when Kong ran it along his side, making him gasp and then giggle again when Kong’s finger hit a ticklish spot.

The man seemed to get a kick out of that, and with every lick, every lap, every drizzle of lime, and trickle of strawberry-lime rimming salt, he found a new way to make Scout squirm.

“Fuck, you taste good,” Kong groaned as he latched on to a tequila-soaked nipple and slowly sucked it clean.

“Oh, fuck yeah,” Scout moaned, body tensing for a moment as he fought back the urge to rock his hips until he remembered Kong’s instructions and gave in.

“That’s it, don’t hold back. Not one little sound, not one little squirm. I want them all and anything else you’re willing to give me tonight.”

“You can have whatever you want; I’m good with anything,” Scout replied, almost wishing he hadn’t said that, because there were a few things he had absolutely no interest in, not that the man who ran the video shoots cared when creating the scripts.

“Never tell someone that unless you trust them implicitly,” Kong cautioned, pausing in the middle of another line of salt to meet his gaze.

The fierce look unnerved him slightly, but the concern he sensed in those warm brown depths disconcerted him more.

“You can get yourself hurt, trusting the wrong people,” Kong said as he gently traced a fingertip along Scout’s jaw.

“Can get myself hurt trusting the right people too, if shit goes sideways.” Scout blurted.

“True enough,” Kong said before dragging him up for the last thing Scout ever expected to receive. A kiss.

Briefly soft before morphing to rough and possessive.

Scout gave into the sensation to feel the long curls that were held in place by Kong’s bandana.

There were no words to describe the color.

Not honey, not gold, just waves and waves of loose, spiral hues cascading to the middle of his back.

The smooth sound of glass on wood preceded the sudden jerk of being pulled upright, swung around, and crushed against Kong’s barrel chest. Scout’s immediate reaction was to wrap his legs around Kong’s waist. When he couldn’t hook his ankles together, he pressed tighter with his knees, like when he rode his motorcycle, and with his fingers still tangled in Kong’s hair, he rocked against the man like a desperate spider monkey, ‘cause holy shit, what was bulging behind that zipper was something he ached to feel.

“Please,” Scout whined, canting his hips, seeking friction through the thin fabric of his underwear.

“Please what?” Kong growled before jerking his head back and sucking at a spot of tequila and lime juice still dripping down his neck.

“Please, sir, can I have some more?” Scout shot back before he could check himself, tensing when Kong paused, then threw his head back and laughed.

“Oh, so you got jokes.”

“M-maybe,” Scout hedged.

“You got a place with a soft bed to go with those jokes?” Kong asked, still letting out the occasional chuckle as he pressed Scout against one of the wide wooden posts that stretched from floor to ceiling. “Or do I have to take you right here?”

“I’ve got a mattress just across the parking lot in room 107, and a roommate who won’t be back until his shift ends at six.”

“I need to bring my own supplies?”

“No sir, I’m fully stocked in every flavor, texture, and size you can think of.”

“We’ll see.”

A hand kneaded his backside, fingers slipping beneath the edge of his thong to tickle his balls, and Scout groaned and rocked against the man slowly tormenting him.

“You said room 107?” Kong growled.

“Y-yes sir,” he gasped as he was hoisted higher, body shifted by the press of a steely hand against his hip as Kong flung him over his shoulder.

An image popped into his head, of one of the old movies he’d loved watching with his old man, and he giggled as he was carried across the courtyard.

“Something funny?” Kong asked.

“Only if you’re a fan of old black and white Hollywood movies,” Scout replied.