The Little Deaths
A gift to my friend J
"Fuck," Joseph Dredd barked as his thighs and calves tightened and locked, and he lifted his heels up off the ground a little, his toes biting down into his boot soles. His slick come splashed against the wall and ran down in thick, milky drips.
His body relaxed and his feet settled flat as the last of it slavered out of him. He rolled the top of his helmet along the wall, a moment, his frown pulling toward his chin as he discreetly caught his breath.
"Good," the creep behind him said, "good. Now clean up that wall."
The judge tucked his abused cock back into his pants, maneuvering it around the protective cup and zipped his leathers back up. He looked around and saw a rag in the corner of the filthy apartment. He went for it but the gun trained on him jerked at the end of the arm holding it.
"No, not with a rag," the foul man said, his lips curling over his ugly teeth, "use your fucking mouth."
Dredd was silently sentencing this man to death. A nice slow death. A nice slow, painful, agonizing death.
He looked at his scum in puddles at the base of the wall, mingling with the gravel and dirt on the floor. Where the fuck was his backup? He'd sent a drokking distress call ages ago.
"Hurry up judge," the lunatic snapped.
Joe made a mental note to request bigger clips for his weapon, as he sunk to his knees in front of the cooling mess.
He wasn't a man to get so easily compromised, but the bomb on the mad man's chest was large enough to level the whole block above them. Every man, woman, and child would be buried in concrete and metal.
He bent low and put his tongue on the wall, lapping indignantly at his salty discharge.
He felt a boot on the back of his neck, shoving him down closer to the globs on the floor.
Then there was the unmistakable popping noise of a neck twisting, of a spinal cord snapping out of place. The boot fell away and Dredd sat up, watching Anderson struggle to hold up the weight of the foul, dangerous man. She maneuvered him gently to the ground and called control to send in the bomb team to neutralize the threat.
Joe regarded her, still not wearing her fucking helmet, and rose back to his feet.
"You okay?" She asked.
He jutted out his chin in a curt nod, and left the building, sweat on the back of his neck. Reaching Lawmaster, he slid a new clip into his gun and replaced the empties in his belt, mounted the bike and took off in the direction of home.
Back in his sterile apartment, Dredd shed his thick armor and shucked his leather pants. Jim Kirk was reading on the bed but he put his book aside when he saw Joe's unusual urgency to pull out of his uniform. His flak jacket lay on the floor, his pants were puddled in a heap. Usually these items were hung with painstaking precision in their rightful places. He was ignoring the deeply ingrained rituals of his day and that always meant something was wrong.
"What happened," Jim asked, getting to his feet and smoothing his hands down Dredd's clammy chest, stopping at the hem and lifting the soaking, thin black tank top up over the judge's head, down, and off his arms.
Joe offered no reply or explanation for the look in his eyes or his unusually grimey appearance.
Jim balled up the wet tank and held it against his clean face, breathing deep Joe's spicy scent mixed with the leather and the exhaust of the city. Watching the Kid inhale him felt oddly good.
"Creep with a bomb," Joe said, as a reward.
Jim tossed the shirt to the hamper and placed his palms on both sides of Joe's face. He could tell there was more to this story. "What'd'e do to you?" Jim asked, slipping his fingertips down, tugging at Joe's briefs and putting his hands on the round globes of taut flesh behind him. Joe wondered when his little pest had grown so bold.
"Ordered me to jack off," Dredd said, unclear why he was telling Jim this. He could easily push the kid aside and get to his shower.
The blue eyes that snapped to his face were comically large. "Did you?"
Joe nodded, his face flushing red despite his mental resistance.
The blond boy in front of him took on a dark look, a look that didn't suit him. "Is he dead, now?"
Joe nodded again, knuckling his fingers into Jim's shirt at his belly, afraid the kid was gonna pull away from him over this.
"Good," Jim said, in an unusual lapse of compassion. His lips were pouty as his pulled on Joe's ass, yanking the bigger man forward so he bumped against Jim's body.
If Joe didn't know any better, and truly he didn't, he'd suspect that Jim was wrestling with jealousy. Joe didn't like the look on Jim, he wanted his sweet pest back. He kicked himself for coming home in such a foul mood and revealing the details of his bad day.
Alone in the safety of his apartment, in the small but efficient bedroom, Joe Dredd unwound Jim from his frame and stepped out of his underwear, kicking them to the side.
Jim sat on the edge of the bed, still chewing on the abuse Joe suffered and the way his gentle mind had turned to a seething, sharp blade of fury so quickly and effortlessly.
Watching Jim curl inward made Joe feel strange. He wanted to make Jim stop. So he knelt on the floor in front of the blond man. He felt like he ought to say something but everything that came to mind was rejected before it reached his lips.
Jim looked up, Joe's greenish eyes darted over him, scanning him, his lips were moving in jerks and tugs, wrestling with words as per usual. The younger man stuck his hand in the short dark hair of the judge and pushed past the furious mouth with his own soft lips.
When he broke away, he pushed Joe backwards onto the cool metal floor, his body too dirty for the bed, quite frankly. Joe puffed his breath out at the unexpected manhandling, and when Jim slammed his thighs apart and dropped his velvet mouth over Joe's weighty cock, the judge grunted in surprise. Joe's dick tasted like the leather of his gloves and the metallic, salty tang of human exertion.
Writhing against the pleasure, Joe clenched in his teeth around his trademark grimace. Jim pulled his mouth sloppily off the older man's organ and placed two fingers against Joe's lips. "Suck," he said.
Joe's mouth twitched a moment before he opened it and sank his lips around Jim's slender fingers. They tasted sweet and clean and he slid his tongue along their length. While Joe slavered around Jim's hand, he felt himself relax, his shoulders unwound and his wrought muscles tremored in preparation for release.
Jim leaned down and reapplied his mouth to Joe's pulsing member. The judge moaned in his throat before spilling into Jim's mouth. Jim swallowed the first surge then let the rest seep around his lips and drip down the stem, pooling in the dip of Joe's soft sack.
Pulling his fingers out of Joe's mouth, Jim leaned down to press kisses along the inside of the judge's muscular thighs. The last kiss was bite that made Joe jerk in surprise and sit up to look at the punk with a growl.
Jim grinned and Joe was happy his pest was back. The thought of the sweetness and innocence being lost from the blonde brat over one sick creep was too much for Joe to bear.
"We need a shower," Jim said, smearing the back of his wrist over his lips. He helped pull Joe to his feet and took him to the shower to further prove that the gruff lawman belonged to him and no one else.
Joe followed like a puppy, the unpleasant incident with the crazed creep a distant memory. For a moment he thought he ought to run out and properly hang up his uniform but then he let Jim press him into the shower wall and he decided it could wait till later.