Papa’s Got A Brand New Bag

Someone gets a shot

It’s always so hard to say no when his hands are on me and he has me pinned to the bed so gloriously like every other time.

“… we can’t… shouldn’t be doing t-this… ”

“Just shut up and like it.”

And he knows it, too.

It’s always that same old thing he does with his tongue and those same old calloused and sometimes nicotine stained hands making their way… down.

“N-no… lower… ”

“… and just the way you like it.”

But why does it feel so new?

It’s always a trick when his blue eyes peer into my own, dark and hooded, and I almost think they mean something.

“H-he… knows… about us, he really thinks he does… ”

“Keep them open.”

But they never really do.

It’s always funny how I end up whispering his name, even when he’s caught me in a deadlock grip, and is chewing on my skin.

“J-Jon… Jon… God… ”

“… do ya hafta be so vocal about the whole thing?”

He hates it when I do.

Thrusting up into oblivion, because that’s the way he orders it every time. Wrapping me up in his newly rolled joint and the stuff that comes with it.

He never kisses me, and I never kiss him back – it’s a weird deal we have. Proposition? Negotiation? A compromise. It’s all balanced out in the end, as much as we might hate it.

It’s his teeth that do all the talking, and his hickeys that pick up the messages. My hands would join in on the conversation, but his hands like to stop me before I get there. It’s an interesting relationship, that. At least he likes to write on me, with his fingers and mouth; and if I’m lucky, he’ll leave me a memo or two. But I never usually am.

You’d think by now I’d have committed to memory his face, but it’s his face – the one who really counts and I’m doing this for, that gets me every time. He knows it, and he never tries to take me back. He just like to spice things up a little, make it that much harder for me to grovel when it’s time. He likes it when I do.

And time and time again, I find myself at his doorstep, looking for more than drugs, and ending up with more than just release. It never did make sense, the way he stepped back every time, and never complained when I trailed in mud on those especially dirty days. I never take off my shoes – I wait until he does in his room.

We usually start off with my back lodged into the doorknob, his tricky hand trying to lock the thing, while the other one throws a party. But in the end, he’s on top, with my hand down his pants, and his nightlight off on the side. Because he used to have a brother.

“So. What’s up? You were especially hard today.”

“Nothing. I just—”

“Wish it were fucking him and not me. Yeah. I got you, man. But I’ll hafta do.”

“I wasn’t gonna say that, just… wish I could help, or something.”

“With what? That fucking dad thing you told me about? That shit is messed.” It’s then he reaches for the joint, clicking his lighter. “… but I’m sure the kid can get over it, he’s cool like that.” And I’m smelling weed, and I particularly don’t care.

“Yeah… they seemed all right about the whole thing, but. There’s still the boyfriend thing… and I want it to be a thing, but not so much a thing that he gets that it’s a thing and not just a thing, but just enough that… he gets it. Y’know?”

“I don’t know. But maybe it’s the drugs, huh?” A low, hazy chuckle and it’s all over me.

I shrug.

And then he grinds down into me, crushing my potential erection, but he’ll get to it.

“Nngh… hurts – shit.”

“Mm… ” he does it again, but more deliberately, getting to the point – and getting to me. Again. “Don’t act like you don’t like it, you always do.”

My hand down his pants would make its move, but it looks like he’s already done it for me. And it all works out fine that way, it always does – because he’s the expert here, and giving me a thoughtful eye drop.

But Riley’s not like that; he won’t give my lightning heart a shot.

A little somethingsomething. I'd like to dedicate this to the late (but still great) James Brown (the man who grooved and moved me when no one else could), the Godfather of Soul. (Pretty) important: check out my homepage for your review replies, I decided to plagiarize (not).