Note: This story contains BDSM themes. It was edited by MadamWhitewalker; thank you for your work! Comments are always appreciated!
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"Fuck."
It wasn't an unusual thought for Bill to have. He bit his lip, staring at the crisp, white envelope he'd just taken out of the mailbox... and threw it in the kitchen bin unopened. He knew exactly what it contained. Well, there were actually several possibilities, but whichever notice it was, he didn't have the money. Fuck this shit, really. Fuck 'em all.
Fuck the kitchen, fuck the fridge, fuck the moldy yoghurt. Fuck the... what is this, even. A lasagne? Isn't this ready-made shit supposed to last forever? He'd only got it last... whatever. Beer's gone, too. Again. Fuck.
Billy went to the pile of socks and jocks on the other side of his apartment and dug through until he came up with a jockstrap. He sniffed it; yeah, maybe not clean, but close enough. After some more digging he had a pair of compression shorts, a wife beater, a hoody, and two almost-identical, almost-clean sports socks. Bill got himself dressed. He looked at himself in the mirror and flexed. Blue steel, dark blond.
"At least I look great, fuckers. This is what I call buff, bro. Fucking pumped, man! So shut the fuck up, or I kick your faggot ass!"
Billy went on his way - through the apartment door (make sure to lock it!), down the stairway, out the front door.
Fuck Ms. Ashe, stupid bitch. "You really need to start behaving like a professional, Bill." "We do not tolerate sexual harassment at this company, Bill." "It's becoming very obvious that you haven't had to work for a single thing in your life, Bill." Yeah, yeah, whatever bitch. Was it his fault that his parents were loaded? No, it wasn't, so fuck right off, Ms. Sorry-but-we-have-to-let-you-go-Bill. Let me go, my ass. I quit, bitch, I quit!
Past the news-stand, across the street, past the bus stop.
'Sides, it wasn't like Dad's money would do him any good, 'least not until the old man died. Fucker. "We supported you for too long, William." "At 26, you're really supposed to be taking care of yourself, William." "This is hard for us, too, son." Oh, really? Hard for you? Of the two of us, who has unpaid bills, and who has a shitload of money just sitting there doing nothing? Yeah, that's right, so fuck you!
Past the coin laundry, past the Police station (heart beating), across the parking lot (dude, relax.)
Because this... new thing... was working out just fine, so fucking relax already. The second time had already been much easier than the first time. In fact, the first time hadn't been very hard, either. It was just nerves! Nothing to be 'fraid of, really. As long as he was careful... I mean, way back in high school, Emma's house got burgled. They never caught the fucker, insurance replaced everything. No harm done, just gotta be smart, and careful. And Bill was very careful. He'd never get caught, either.
Past the car wash, across the street... here. (Finally!)
Bill entered the gym. This, this was what he loved. The one place where he could forget about his bullshit problems. Problems, what problems? Always completely empty as well, at this hour. Time to pump some steel! Bill put his sports bag in a locker, and crossed the showers.
"Whu...?!"
That was one scary looking chink, staring directly at him. Walking directly towards him! Trouble, no doubt, this was going to be trouble. Bill tensed, fight or flight. The chink was lean and athletic; tall, perhaps late 30es... maybe Bill could take him? It could go either way, really. Bill was beefier, but the stranger had a no-nonsense intensity about him that was fucking scary. Bill looked around, there was no one else in sight. What? What did the fucker want?
"William Fubo?" the stranger demanded. It wasn't really a question.
"How do you know my... what do you want?"
"I want my laptop back, for starters. And my titanium watch. And..."
Wham! Billy didn't even see it coming. Hard knuckles against his face, then the cold tiles of the shower floor against his back. Bill scrambled, slipped, and landed on his ass. The stranger was just standing there, legs wide, muscles tense.
Bill rallied. He got to his feet, let go a wordless cry, and threw himself against his opponent, his right fist aimed at the stranger's face. The other man moved like a shadow. Bill missed, felt a blow to his abdomen, and crumpled to the floor. He stayed there, on his knees, hunched over, hands protecting his head, expecting another blow. None came.
Slowly, Bill lifted his head. He looked at the looming stranger. It seemed safer to stay on his knees.
"Have you already sold the watch?" the man demanded.
"No! I mean... I... I can get it back! I'll get it back, man, and your laptop, too! Just give me... a week, to..."
Bill winced as the man's face hardened even more. Expecting another beating, he raised his arms to protect himself as well as he could. But the man didn't move. He seemed to be thinking.
"Incompetent as you are, you'll never get my belongings back," the stranger stated, matter of factly. The calm, hard tone cut right through Bill's panicking mind. He knew it to be true the moment he heard the words. Bill lowered his head. He didn't know what would happen next, but he knew, with a sudden certainty, that there wasn't a single thing he could do about it. Overcome with a combination of shame, resignation, and patience, Bill waited, the tiled floor pressing hard against his knees.
This was strange, Bill thought, while time seemed to stand still. A strange feeling. Not unpleasant. Not completely unfamiliar, either. He tried to remember when he had last felt like this; but it was as if the memories slipped through his fingers as he tried to grasp them. Thoughts and emotions that had become mere phantoms after years and years of relentlessly suppressing them.
"Oh, so that's how you'd like to repay me?" scoffed the stranger. Billy blinked confusedly, looked up to the stranger's face. The man wore a hard smirk; his eyes were wolfish and... surprisingly playful.
That's when Billy noticed the pull between his own legs.
He looked down in panic. Bill had no idea what was happening, but somehow he had gotten an erection. He wasn't particularly well equipped, but an unmistakable outline was clearly visible against his compression shorts. Pre-cum was already oozing through the spandex, leaving a dark stain.
"I... I'm not... I mean..." Billy blanked.
The stranger had lowered the elastic of his dark sweat pants, revealing a considerable bulge underneath grey, tight cotton boxers. He moved closer.