Bitch

"How's it going?"
       Brodie drew back deeply on his cigarette and smirked.
       "He hates me."
       "Challenge?" Nim lifted an eyebrow.
       "Hardly!" the big Irishman laughed. "He hates me 'cause I give 'im what he wants but he hates himself more 'cause he can't help wanting it." Brodie shook his head. "Sad really, Joely's a natural submissive brought up to be dominant. He's a sweet little fuck though, when he lets go."
       The red-head chuckled.
       "I'll take your word for it." he leant towards his cousin, trying to not let his clothes make contact with the sticky pub table. Grey eyes glittered. "Anything interesting?"
       "Not really," Brodie frowned, "though he did say something about fucking his Uncle's horse once. No, his pony. It was a present from his cousin, or some such. He was off his tits at the time so I don't know if he was bullshitting…" he shrugged, then noticed his companion's stillness. "Means something?"
      "Could do…" Nim nodded slowly. He lifted his head and grinned at the blonde. "Thanks, Brodie. You've expenses need seeing to?"
       "One or two." Brodie reached into the pocket of his leather jacket and pulled out a small notebook. He tossed it over to his cousin who caught it before it landed on the filthy table. Nim ran his eyes over the list, quickly toting up the costs of restaurants, clubs, food and alcohol.
       "Don't spare any expense do you?" he smirked.
       "He's used to the best, can hardly take him down the chippie, eh?" Brodie smirked back.
       "This is fine." Nim flipped open the wallet-sized electronic card-reader he'd brought along, inserted a blank cash card and tapped a few keys, transferring a substantial amount of credit – fifty-percent more than Brodie had quoted – into its memory. He handed the slip of plastic over as he stood up.
       "Thanks again, cuz."
       "Same time in ten days?" Brodie tucked the cash-card into his own wallet.
       "Aye. See you then…"

Several hours later the 'sweet little fuck' was balls deep in another three-way with his nemesis and some slag they'd picked up at the club. The woman this time was Eurasian, petite and delicate, beautiful of course, neither of them would accept anything less, with thick, glossy black hair that fell to her waist. She was tight too, yelping when he'd shoved into her arse without preparation, tensing and gritting her teeth as he thrust. Joel enjoyed that. As always Brodie had claimed the woman's cunt, leaving her rear to Joel. The Irishman slid into her now and Joel closed his eyes, relishing the feel of Brodie's thick cock rubbing against his through the partition of flesh.
      Something changed, the woman quivered between them and the strangle grip around his penis loosened a fraction. Joel opened his eyes, glancing over her fine-boned shoulder at Brodie. The younger man's jaw clenched: Brodie was kissing the bitch! Kissing her! And the slut was loving it, moaning with pleasure, her body relaxing, becoming loose and malleable. Joel snarled silently and slammed roughly into the woman, looking to hurt her. Brodie never kissed him… The woman gasped, whimpering as Joel slammed into her again and again. And then Brodie's hand was there on his buttock, strong fingers pinching sharply into his flesh. Joel's defiant glare at the Irishman faltered; the look in those gleaming dark-green eyes very clearly said 'you're next'.
      The woman had left, hobbling out of the bedroom with instructions to the waiting member of Joel's brute squad to get her home. Brodie sat on the edge of the bed, solid thighs relaxed apart, elbows on knees, smirking as he watched Canly twitch like a cat. His smirk broadened at the sound of the apartment's front door slamming shut.
      "Come here."
      Joel did, standing a little away from the Irishman with his shoulders hunched and his arms folded across his chest.
      "Oh, stop pissing about." Brodie grabbed the younger man by the penis and none too gently tugged him closer. He looked up into a petulant pout and scowled. "What's the matter now?"
      "Nothing."
      "Bullshit." Brodie squeezed the lax column of flesh caught in his hand, lips quirking as Joel responded, even though he very obviously didn't want to. He jerked the cock downwards, indicating for Joel to kneel, then again, harder, when his 'request' was resisted.
      "On your knees, boy."
      The junior crime boss glared for a moment longer then heaving a sigh like he was being asked to do something tedious, he sank to the floor between the Irishman's knees.
      "That's the way." the blonde purred, tangling his fingers in thick, black hair the easier to guide the younger's face to his groin. "You should be proud, Joely, you're very good at this…" Brodie smirked to himself; despite Canly's apparent distaste for the whole thing he hadn't missed the flush of pleasure at his compliment, or the eagerness with which Joel approached the task.

The big bastard was asleep, snoring softly into Joel's neck. The brunette tried to ignore the hot, moist breath blowing rhythmically on his skin and the heavy limbs draped over his body making it impossible to move. Jesus, why did the prick have to smother him like this every time? Did he think he was going to try and leave? Joel scowled into the dark: and where, exactly would he go if he did? To his uncle? Sorry to bother you, uncle Ray, at this time of night, but I was wondering if I could crash here? Y'see I can't sleep with the man I'm fucking, it's too uncomfortable…
      Oh yes, Uncle Ray was certain to be sympathetic.
      Joel wriggled, squeezing his buttocks in an attempt to ease the dull ache in his arse. Brodie had been… enthusiastic tonight. He'd fucked him twice, in the bedroom after the woman had left then again in the shower, shoving him hard up against the tiles. Some small part of Joel had to marvel at the Irishman's stamina though, he'd come four times over the course of the evening. Bloody hell, was he drinking bull semen or something?
      The younger man closed his eyes and not for the first time wondered how he'd got himself into a situation like this. Brodie used him like he used his women, and Joel let him. What the fuck was the matter with him? If anyone else had tried a hundredth of what the Irishman did they'd be dead in a canal by now but… Joel's eyes snapped open again as something he should've noticed from the start made itself clear. Brodie did not treat him like his women, no. The bastard didn't seem to care if they enjoyed themselves, he made no particular effort for their pleasure but he always, always saw to Joel's. The brunette swallowed a peculiar mixture of elation and unease – did that mean he meant something to the Irishman? Then why did he never kiss him?
      Joel immediately quashed that betraying thought, disgusted with himself. What was he, a faggot? He wasn't liking what Brodie did to him, he hated it, and he only let the man get away with so much because, at the moment, he was stronger. Letting him kiss him would be the final straw, the final capitulation. Joel shuddered; at least his shame remained a secret. In public he and Brodie were two powerful men, two equals, not one man and his bitch. A small, satisfied smile pulled at his lips: one day though, Brodie Neale was going to pay for all the indignities Joel'd suffered at his hands.

"Boss? Boss, wake up."
      Mitch Hale snapped awake, automatically reaching for the pistol he kept under his pillow.
      "No, don't worry 'bout that, there's no problem."
      His lieutenant sounded far too chirpy for – Mitch peered at the clock – 3 a.m. Flinty, rather bleary blue eyes narrowed against the too bright light of the bedside lamp.
      "What the fuck are you on, O'Donnell?" he blinked at the smirking red-head, who was incidentally shrugging out of his clothes. "What the fuck are you doing?"
      Nim knelt on the mattress, steadying himself with a hand on the bed head. He thrust his groin towards the Englishman's face.
      "I deserve a blow-job."
      "Do you now? Why?"
      Nim grinned, rolling his hips smoothly from side to side, Mitch's eyes reflexively following the movement.
      "I've just got off the phone to some friends on the Continent, and…" he paused for effect, "We've got something on Fiona Canly. Something big."
      Mitch dragged his gaze away from the hypnotic sway of sizeable genitals inches from his nose.
      "We have?"
      "We have." The sharp-toothed leer above his pointed chin gave the lieutenant a feral look. "Fiona Canly hasn't just got a finger in the European pet-trade, she's up to her shoulder."
      Mitch stared. The London underworld had been buzzing with rumours and speculation since the raids on the pet clinics had brought the trade to light. If one of the Canlys was involved… Oh, this would be too sweet.
      He scrambled to his knees, facing Nim, gripping the Irishman's thin shoulders.
      "Are you sure? Are you sure?"
      "Yes, I'm sure, boss." Nim laughed, grey eyes glittering as he caught his employer's excitement. "So far she's managed to escape any attention over there, but a quiet word in the right ear will soon put paid to that."
      "Do it." Mitch growled, then pulled the slender, ivory-pale body close, nuzzling the corner of Nim's jaw as he ground his groin against a rapidly growing hardness. He slipped a broad hand between his lieutenant's buttocks, rubbing a fingertip over the puckered entrance. "You deserve more than just a blow-job."
      "Ah, no," Nim peeled the questing hand away from his arse, dragging it around between their bodies, pressing the palm over his rigid cock. "This first," he kissed the corner of his boss' mouth, "and then you can do whatever you like…"

Joel was edgy, he'd never seen his uncle so agitated.
      "We have a problem." the elder Canly spat. Joel waited, doing his best to appear intelligent and interested when all he was was apprehensive.
      "Fiona's been arrested."
      "What for?" the younger blurted, shocked yet basely pleased. Fabulous Fiona - who never puts a foot wrong - got caught? Hah!
      "For her involvement in the pet industry." The crime lord slammed his fist down on the antique desk, causing his nephew to jump. "Dammit, I told the stupid cow not to get involved, but no, she wouldn't listen to me."
      Joel kept silent. His uncle might well have advised Fiona not to, at first, but that hadn't stopped him reaping the benefits. How many pets had she given him over the past few of years? How much of her profits had found their way to the Canly coffers?
      The brunette cleared his throat.
      "What do we do now, Uncle Ray?"
      "We do nothing." The older man fixed him with a gimlet stare. "We sit tight. There's nothing can connect us with her."
      "Other than that we're related." Joel quailed under the ferocious scowl.
      "Oh, we'll be investigated, I don't doubt that at all. They'll use Fiona's arrest as an excuse to probe for something concrete on us." He flung himself into the expensive, lushly upholstered leather chair that was the focal point of his office, a not-so-subtle symbol of the crime boss' power and influence. "They won't find anything."
      Joel stood there awkwardly as his Uncle slid into a scowling silence.
      "Uh, sir, is there anything you want me to… do?"
      Ray Canly's gaze slid over to his nephew but his expression didn't change.
      "No. Just… stay out of sight. Stay out of trouble."
      "Uh, right." Joel sidled towards the door. "I'll be off then…"
      Canly senior grunted. Canly junior took that as an affirmative and bolted…