i'm never gonna love again

he looked up to the man even before starting to work with him, but soon learnt how chaotic things could become due to someone's intense personality. he doesn't think much when his boss shows up to the office with a particularly displeased look to his face, rushes him to his office in a seemingly stressed tone, nor when he hears the distinct sound of the door locking. the man probably wanted to discuss a peculiar move in the highly secretive upcoming case involving a celebrity.

IT FELT LIKE EVERYTHING WENT TO SHIT at the same time. first, his girlfriend of three years weaned him out of her life while by ignoring his calls until she let him down ' easy, ' then he was laid off and couldn't afford rent... so back home it was.

his high school job was waiting for him the same day he dropped back into his parents' house with two suitcases and a guitar in hand for the first time in five years. and much like the rest of the town, it looked mostly the same - only difference was they'd gotten a slushy machine that stuck out against the relic that was only drugstore in town.

he was leaned over the counter, resting on his elbows with his head hung low between his shoulders when the bell jingled over the door. without so much as a glance to see who had come in, ellis opened his mouth with a noncommittal description of that day's deals, “ today we're having a two for one - ” he sighed as he forgot the word “ - deal - on... ” another sigh “ ... slushies. ”

open to m (age 25)

ellis friedmann. he/him. 25. bisexual. 6'4. musician. writer. drugstore cashier. pinterest board.

well, he learned from his mistakes: he needed some protection. the drugstore's empty beside himself and the unenthusiastic cashier. jace scans the aisles, paying absolutely no mind to whatever the other's saying, 'till he finds what he's looking for. he looks unfit to the place: pristine (... not really) white floors and sterile smell of alcohol contrasting with his typical streetwear of slim white tank top, baggy jeans and hoodie, and his dear faux shiny chains, like a wolf who wandered into a hospital.

approaches the counter, putting down the black pack of large condoms in front of the tired worker, interrupting the last bit of their little management-mandated greeting. “i'll pass — do you have anything bigger than these?” then, as he fishes his wallet out of his pocket, he finally takes a good look at the other's face, and something about it feels too familiar to ignore. “wait...”

“aren't you that, uhhhh —” he clicks his fingers, trying to urge the right name to the tip of his tongue. “fredman kid? we went to school together, hm?” yeah, the other was one of the weird kids. quiet, "the sensitive kind," probably a queer. the type that jace and his friend would pick on, and in a rowdy way that only rural, unsupervised young boys are. he missed that kind of unburdened youth. “i heard you got out, though. you moved away. the fuck you doing here then?” fuck, if jace got out, he'd never step a foot in his god-damned town. but he had heavy anchors in here. he knows he'll never get out.

tw: sexuality, rape, guns, alcohol, violence, fire, drugs, blood and wounds.

" shut th' fuck up , " beau bites out defensively like it's aaron's fault his thick prick is nearly falling out of lacy panties , his full sack not comfortably able to fit into fabric meant to conceal pretty pink labia . muscled chest bends to swat at antagonistic boots , but the unplanned movement means the older male wasn't bracing for the shift it would cause of that thing between his cheeks and it nestles up against his prostate . it forces beau to waver , clawing his fingers at his nephew's shoe when he wished to strike , biting his lip nearly bloody trying to not let the groan trapped in his throat echo .

he watches as the older man grasps at his shoe, expression hardening . a feral part feels like kicking; teaching him the lesson every boy aged seven and up has gotten . man up . but holds himself back: still his uncle, still built like a wall . could probably still beat his ass . besides, he's not even sure he wants him to man up; man down comes to mind — stop pretending to be a man altogether .

he wants to tell beau: embrace your female-ness, admit what you've got is a cunt . it'd make things so much easier . “ yea, she was right . might take a picture for her, how's that sound ? ” wicked smirk grows, despite the emptiness of the words: he doesn't plan sharing that sight with anyone . not for now .

so, instead, he furthers his step, placing his foot between muscled thighs . his eyes move from the feminine garments to the man's face . eyes attempting fury, red-pink lips quivering in whatever emotion . “ nah, you stay down . ” voice as firm as face, as shaky legs try to stand . hand placed on head — not applying pressure, but a warning touch . i'll keep you down if i have to .