Running on Empty

by SE Jakes

  He stripped Linc. Linc’s head felt heavy and his body light from the climax. Mercy seemed to instinctively know that. Babied him. Tucked him in. But Linc held tight to him, not letting him leave.

  Mercy took his cut off and placed it reverently on the chair. Havoc men treated their rockers with the upmost respect. But Mercy’s clothes were another matter, at least once he stripped himself of weapons—Linc would remember this later—the guns, knives, knuckles. But now, he was just impatient. And hard again.

  Finally, Mercy was naked, his abs cut and chiseled. Tanned and tattooed. Mercy was a beautiful man—all-American beauty gone rough. His face held the scruff from several days and his hair was longer and blond. He was tangled with intricate ink running up and down both arms, chest, back, and a thigh. Linc had once spent time licking the patterns while Mercy watched.

  But that was then. This?

  Like their first time.

  No. Like Linc’s first time. He was needy, nervous, intense. “C’mon, Mercy, don’t make me beg.”

  Toward the end of his captivity, he’d stopped begging for anything in that basement of Heathens’ Clubhouse, not for Mercy or mercy—at least not out loud. Maybe it’d made things worse, pissed them off more since they seemed to like his pleading, but that’s what he’d done. It’s what he’d used to do at home too, when he was younger: he could only take so much before he’d lose himself and Bram would attract the attention away and take the beatings.

  Mercy moved closer now, his hands on either side of Linc’s shoulders, and Linc leaned up and wrapped his arms around Mercy’s back, pulling them chest-to-chest. Put his lips to Mercy’s and kissed him, and after a few seconds, Mercy was kissing him back. Taking over the kisses, and they became demanding, punishing, and so damned good.

  “Touch me. All over,” Linc murmured against his mouth.

  “Demanding, aren’t we?”

  “You used to—” Suddenly, the words caught on Linc’s tongue, because he didn’t know what the truth was anymore. “Forget it.”

  Mercy backed off slowly, his eyes on Linc. “What just happened?”

  “I don’t know anything anymore. Where I stand with you. Where I ever did. Was it all a lie?”

  “You can’t . . . you doubt . . .” Mercy stopped. “Fuck. Of course you do.”

  “You think ordering me around is going to keep me from running?”

  “No,” Mercy told him quietly. “It’s going to show you that you’re wanted.”

  Linc’s breath quickened, because he’d never thought about it that way. “I thought . . . I’m an obligation.”

  “I don’t fuck my obligations, baby.” Mercy surged forward and pressed him back against the mattress, covering Linc’s body with his. He held Linc’s arms over his head, catching Linc’s wrists in one hand and alternately punishing his nipples with his teeth and tongue, laving and tweaking until they were hard and sensitive. Until Linc fought for breath between his groans.

  Mercy was watching him carefully, no doubt to make sure that holding him down didn’t freak him out. And no, this was different. So different, because Mercy would let him up if he asked.

  But he didn’t, instead telling Mercy, “More. I need more.”

  “We’re getting there,” Mercy assured him. “Trust me.” Linc nodded, because he did, and Mercy sat back on his heels. “I’m going to spread you . . . lick you. And you’ll want me to stop, but I won’t.”

  He got up then, went to his discarded jeans and freed his belt . . . and walked back to the bed. Linc’s cock twitched when he realized what Mercy was going to do, and Mercy chuckled softly. Then he knelt between Linc’s legs and, as Linc watched, he leaned forward and wrapped the leather band around Linc’s wrists, tying them together and ultimately to the headboard.

  The fact that it was leather and not chains, and that it was tight enough to restrain him but he could escape if he needed to, made it that much easier to bear . . . and that much harder. It was a different feeling, a totally new sensation.

  He couldn’t help but stare up at his bound wrists and then again at Mercy. “I’m not going to want you to stop. It’s been too long.”

  “Been a while for me too,” Mercy told him as he pressed their bodies together, and Linc felt Mercy’s bare cock throbbing against his. He bucked his hips up, enjoying the friction.

  His skin was tight. Hot. His earlier orgasm had taken the edge off but barely. The relief was more about finally having real contact with Mercy—that he hadn’t pulled away from him under the guise of “For Linc’s own good.”

  Linc swallowed, hard, as Mercy began to trace Linc’s skin with his tongue, working his way down Linc’s neck and chest, nipping, biting, worshipping. He looked at Linc like he was brand fucking new.

  He sucked on a nipple and fingered the other, rolling it, putting enough delicious pressure on both so that they stung, and then he soothed with his mouth. “We need to pierce these. So fucking sensitive already and then they’ll be even more so.”

  “God . . . Mercy.” It come out somewhere between a prayer and a plea as Mercy continued to play his body expertly.

  Mercy grinned up at him. “Love how much you need the dirty talk.”

  “So do you,” Linc shot back and was rewarded with fingers brushing his balls and rubbing the sensitive strip of flesh behind them.

  “Baby likes that,” Mercy murmured before moving down to put his face between Linc’s legs and replace his fingers with his tongue. Linc gasped and bucked and then Mercy’s hands went to his hips, centering him. Grounding him. He wanted Mercy to hold him hard enough to leave bruises, marking him. Erasing everyone else from his mind.

  Mercy palmed his cock and the slow squeeze and slide, coupled with Mercy’s rimming, was making Linc incoherent.

  And then Mercy was reaching up to unhook Linc from the headboard, turning him onto his elbows and knees and rubbing his cock against Linc’s ass. He felt the cold lube being worked inside of him, along with two of Mercy’s fingers, and he pushed back against them, hissing at the sudden fullness . . . knowing it was nothing compared to Mercy’s cock but wanting it all just the same.

  Finally, Mercy was behind him. “Going to fuck you now, baby. Fuck you incoherent.”

  Linc’s body fought to accept the intrusion as Mercy pushed his cock forward inside of him. The pain gave way to a long, slow burn that raced up his spine and spread, flooding his entire body like an uncontrolled fire. His dick was throbbing, hanging heavy between his legs as Mercy pulsed inside of him. He slid all the way in, his balls touching Linc’s ass, and then he reared forward so he hit Linc’s prostate.

  Linc saw stars. Cries fell from his mouth, begging Mercy to “do that again, now.” And Mercy pulled back and did what he asked, but in a maddeningly slow way that had Linc on edge, desperately trying to fuck himself on Mercy’s dick.

  Mercy wouldn’t let him though, was completely controlling the fuck. “Baby, if it’s too much for you . . .”

  “It’s not. Don’t stop.”

  “Oh, I wasn’t planning on it,” Mercy assured him. And he made good on his word, began to hammer inside of Linc, taking him to the brink of his orgasm and then pulling back with shallow strokes that had Linc sweating, whimpering. “Jesus, Linc . . . so fucking gorgeous like this. Taking me all in.”

  Mercy made it so the only thing Linc could focus on was him, his cock, the thrum of his pulse . . . the raw, molten need that took him over completely. Mercy was leaning over him, biting his back and shoulders as he tortured Linc with a slow, steady grind. He tugged Linc’s hair, twisted his neck so he could kiss him, long and deep. And only then did he release Linc’s hair and go to work, pounding inside of him with the strokes that Linc needed, letting Linc meet him at the upstroke so Mercy nailed his gland each and every time he drove inside of him.

  “Mercy, I’m . . .” The words barely dropped out of his mouth before he was coming, all over his chest, the bed, without any contact on his cock but air. The climax hung there, trapping
him in its waves of pleasure, tightening his body with an intensity he couldn’t recall feeling before.

  Mercy held him tight, making sure not to let him go as his orgasm made him feel like he was falling out of the sky.

  Linc woke in Mercy’s arms. He blinked and tried to process what was happening, but it was like his brain was trying to slog through thick syrup.

  “’S’okay, babe,” Mercy murmured. “Just a bad dream. You’re safe. Try to drift back to sleep.”

  He wanted to ask if Mercy would keep holding him because the contact was the only good thing to come out of it. But instead he nuzzled against Mercy’s bare chest like he wasn’t ever planning on leaving. Because he wasn’t. “Sorry I woke you.”

  “Nothing to be sorry about.”

  “Kissing Jethro . . . wanted it to be you but you won’t come near me . . . unless I’m screaming in my sleep.” Linc knew he was babbling now, but he didn’t care, because he’d finally had the courage to say it. “Need you to kiss me, Mercy.”

  Mercy stroked his hair and rocked him. Linc wanted to protest, but it was nice. Safe.

  And then Mercy leaned in and kissed him and it was fucking perfect. Linc got hard but he was too damned sleepy to act on it. No, the kiss was enough.

  “Sleep, baby. I’ll be here when you wake.” Mercy’s voice rumbled in his chest as he drifted off, and he wasn’t sure if Mercy really spoke those words or if Linc just wanted to hear them so badly that he convinced himself Mercy had.

  Mercy let Linc sleep in the next morning. He’d gotten up and showered, more nervous than anything that Linc would wake with regrets.

  Mercy? Had none. Except there was still so much between them. Secrets they both knew about the other but that they hadn’t spoken out loud . . . and they needed to spill them out on the table between them, hash through them. Linc especially. Mercy wasn’t fooled that Linc was healed—not on the inside. PTSD was a royal bitch, and it was going to come roaring back and bite them in the ass no matter how good things were at the moment.

  Finally, sometime after eleven in the morning, Linc woke and rolled over. He looked between Mercy, who was sitting in the chair by the window and the clock. “Shit—the shop . . .”

  “It’ll keep. Take your time—Tug’s there now, and I’ll drop you off when you’re ready. After you have breakfast.”

  He watched as Linc nodded, stretched, looking content. “Thanks.”

  “And then, after work, we’ll head over to the bar.”

  Linc was halfway out of bed, stopped, and frowned. “We’re going to Bertha’s . . . together?” he asked hesitantly.

  “Worried it won’t be fun with me there?”

  “Just the opposite,” Linc said quietly, so seriously that Mercy wanted to take him home instead and refuse to share him with the world. But no, tonight was important, for both of them.

  He also had to kill Jethro as well, so it would be killing two birds with one very bloody stone.

  “Why are you smiling?” Linc asked suspiciously.

  “I’m not allowed to smile?”

  “I’m beginning to realize Havoc men only smile like that when they’re imagining mayhem.”

  Later, after Tug brought Linc back home, sometime after eight in the evening, Linc changed and ate dinner.

  “Still up for going out?” Mercy asked.

  “Um, if you are?” Linc said hesitantly. “I mean, are you?”

  “You’re very suspicious.”

  “I’m just . . .”

  “Used to sneaking out?” Mercy finished.

  Linc smirked. “Little bit, yeah.”

  Mercy slung an arm around him. “I’d love to take the bikes, but I think the truck’s our best bet, yes?”

  As he spoke, Tug pulled his truck up outside the house. Vann, Boomer, and Shaman were behind him with their bikes.

  “Sweet and Bram are meeting us there,” Mercy told him, once they were in the truck and driving toward Bertha’s. “Rush and Ryker too.”

  “A regular party,” Linc murmured. “Any Hangmen going to be there?”

  Mercy shrugged and tried to look innocent, but he had as much chance of that as the devil did.

  Linc just rolled his eyes.

  They got to Bertha’s relatively quickly, especially because Tug drove like a maniac on a good day, and was blasting the music, which kept the conversation down. Mercy kept a hand on Linc’s thigh the entire ride, which had Linc feeling revved up by the time they arrived at Bertha’s.

  It was still early, so the volume wasn’t at ear-splitting levels when they walked inside, but the crowds were already swelling around the bar and the dance floor. Linc caught sight of Rush and Ryker, swore he caught a glance of Jethro as well.

  “I’m going to get drinks. Grab a table,” Mercy told him.

  Linc bit his lip to stop a snide comment about being allowed to go get a table alone and headed to the back to snag one.

  Vann followed, sat next to him, and leaned in. “I think Mercy should beat the shit out of Jethro for touching you.”

  “You didn’t tell him that, did you? Tell me you didn’t.” Linc groaned and pressed his fingers to his temples.

  “So you want me to lie to you?”

  “Fuck me.”

  “That’s what I told Mercy to do,” Vann said triumphantly.

  “You were raised by fucking wolves,” Linc muttered. “Deranged.”

  “I didn’t think that would be a problem for you.”

  Linc snorted. “It’s not.” Then he heard shouts from over by the dance floor. Mercy’s voice—then Jethro’s, although he couldn’t make out actual words. “Shit, they’re going to fight.”

  “Nothing you can do to stop it,” Vann reasoned.

  Mercy clocked Jethro the second he’d walked into Bertha’s, which was why he’d sent Linc to get a table. Because he had no doubt Linc would try to break up any fight, and Mercy needed to punch Jethro without interference.

  Jethro met him halfway, and they stopped, inches from each other.

  “Heard you’re looking for me, Mercy.”

  “I’m going to wipe that fucking smile off your face,” Mercy told him.

  “You can try.”

  “Linc’s mine. I claimed him.”

  “I’m not Havoc so I don’t follow your fucking rules.” Jethro sneered.

  Mercy was aware that a small crowd had formed around them. The bouncers wouldn’t stop their fight, but would make sure that no innocents got hurt in the melee. “He’s mine.”

  “Really doesn’t seem like you’re interested” was Jethro’s response.

  “He doesn’t seem too interested in you either, if all you got was a kiss.” Jethro seemed completely unconcerned that Mercy knew about the kiss, and Mercy wasn’t sure which of those pissed him off more.

  “He needed you. You weren’t there,” Jethro told him with brutal honesty.

  “And you were going to step in and save him?”

  “If you didn’t man up, yeah.”

  Mercy nodded calmly, then caught Jethro on the jaw with a left hook. Jethro stumbled back and then reared forward, and the two men locked together, fueled by the yells of the crowd. Mercy threw several punches, including a direct hit to Jethro’s solar plexus, which had the man sucking wind for several minutes.

  “You fucker,” Jethro growled and grabbed him. “You weren’t fucking him. I hope to hell you are now.”

  Mercy pushed back and swung, hitting Jethro’s jaw and splitting his lip . . . fully aware that he was far more angry at himself than he was at Jethro. Maybe that’s why he let Jethro get a few punches in before Sweet and Casey were separating them.

  “Not good for business,” Sweet admonished him.

  “Fuck you for enjoying that so much,” Mercy shot back. “You smug bastard.”

  Sweet didn’t bother denying it. “Come on, I’ll buy you a drink.”

  “You own the place. Asshole.”

  Still, Mercy, came away from the fight satisfied that he’d gotten
his message across, and he figured that Jethro felt the same.

  But it was easy for Jethro and Vann to tell him to take care of Linc, to fuck him, to touch him, when they didn’t know.

  Mercy knew. He understood what Linc was dealing with . . . because even though it hadn’t happened to him, he’d been a Heathen and he knew their operations firsthand. All of them.

  It wasn’t beneath him to admit that he’d fucked up in the beginning. He should’ve moved Linc back to Havoc immediately, shouldn’t have been so invested in his own mourning that he left Linc in pain.

  Linc had been with Bram, and Mercy knew that the brothers needed each other.

  But Linc had also needed you. And that was painfully apparent.

  Mercy cut through the quickly dispersing crowd to find Linc, who was waiting for him, standing by himself. When Linc saw him, his countenance changed—nervous and yet somehow still seemingly eager, and when Mercy got close, he slid his hand around the back of Linc’s neck. “You good, baby?”

  “Did you kill Jethro?”

  “We came to a mutual understanding. Nothing for you to worry about.” Mercy felt calm. His knuckles were scraped and he’d have a hell of a bruise on his cheek, but Jethro would have more.

  Linc looked around him. “Well, Jethro’s still here . . . and he’s smiling . . . so I’m guessing no bad blood?”

  “Not unless you’re going to kiss him anytime I’m not around to watch you?”

  “No. And it didn’t mean anything. And it’s not about being watched.” Linc attempted to shrug it off.

  Mercy stared into Linc’s worried eyes and took control of the situation. “We’re not doing this.”

  “We’re not . . . arguing?”

  “Not in front of other people.”

  Linc frowned and he looked fucking adorable. Probably because he’d already had tequila. And then a light dawned behind his eyes. “Because I’m yours.”

  “That’s exactly right. You need to get used to the idea.”

  “Which entails doing exactly what you say and fuck whatever I might need.” But there was no fire behind Linc’s words.