The hotel bed sank, with springs squeaking, sheets dripping with sweat, cum and mayhem.
Gezza leaned back with aching ribs where Mike had hit him in the alley, his hair glued to his head.
His cock was sore, red and wet with the juices of Elena, his thighs red as the tracks of the nails of Mia.
Elena lay sprawled next to him, with her ponytail in a terrible mess, brown eyes blinking with the dark light of the Playbook, jasmine smell choking the air.
Mia huddled and her blonde hair was flattened to the pillow, her crop top was twisted, her perky breasts were purple and bruised, and the drool was drying on her cheek.
Her blue eyes flicked--guilt cutting the haze of the Playbook."Ahh." she hoarsely gasped, fingers touching the red-streaked wrists.
Gezza felt a buzzing in his chest which was some sick high. He had possessed them, his strength in the Playbook burning his veins.
His backpack was sinking on the nightstand, the leather of the Playbook throbbing, runes becoming a flushed blood-red, humming a low vicious moan. More its guttural voice whispering in his head. Claim the soldier.
It was not lust but fear that was stabbing his spine and making his balls tight. The edges of the room were swirling with black ink, the emptiness creeping, chilling and shapeless, filling with smoky runes. His stomach shot, his sweat smarting his eyes, the high souring.
"Move", he growled, pushing himself out of the bed, pushing with weak legs, sneaker-grimed on the dirty carpet.
His hoodie was tight and the tear at his shoulder was wet with blood and sweat.
Elena wakes up with her tank top lopsided, her hips swaying, the spell of the Playbook making her sultry purr. "Gezza..." she mumbled, following his arm, hungry.
Mia pulled her denim skirt, mascara smear vanished, queen-bee sneer still. "You are a fuck animal", she muttered.
"Get dressed", he ordered, throwing on his backpack.
The room in the hotel smelled-- of sweat, and sex, and of the cheap air-scent--of thin curtains letting in gray morning light.
Elena and Mia got dresed, They stampeded along, the passageway dark, the carpet damp, the clerk glaring sleepily after them.
The parking lot outside was blazed, asphalt sparkling, heat boiling off Mia's car, a black, smooth coupe, shiny and gleaming, her cash as an influencer displayed on the hood. Gezza got into the passenger seat, Mia in the driver, her fingers clasped on the steering, her earrings being studded.
Elena slid in the back and her fingers were resting on the neck of Gezza, still Playbook-drunk.
The motor was heading along, good as a smoothie, as opposed to the jerky nerves of Gezza. Mia rolled it and the tires squealed, the buzz of Playbook went through his bones, his voice hissing: The soldier waits.
then he noticed him.
Mike. on the other side of the street, before a dive bar, his brute of a body crowding the pave.
His eyes were fixed on Mike, and then flicked over to Mia, driving away, her blonde curls floating down, crop top stuck to her curves acovered with sweat, and Elena in the back, with her swollen lips. He twisted his face - anger, crude and hideous, veins straining, jaw clenched like a fist.
The heart of Gezza sunk, and the bruises that he had with him ached, as it recalled the fists of Mike that had hit him back.
The house of his mom was not that far away--when they had peeled onto it her mom was outside watering her awful roses and her eyes widened when she spotted Mia in her car, then at the girls. Fuck, she saw.
Mike had gotten up and was pounding down, but Mia shot it, the engine of the couple raving, and weaving through traffic. The rearview glare by Mike burned and the frame pagoda constricted him.
Fuck you, Gezza thought, his hands white on his pack, his sweat dripping down his forehead.
His neck was played with by Elena, her perfume of jasmine was sickening. The lips of Mia drew up, and the mischievous glitter of her eyes was lost.
"Who the hell was that?" she said, with a sharp voice, but Gezza had not paid her attention, and his heart was beating.
The fists of Mike, his sneer--Gezza felt the ribs aching to think of another beating.
---
Mia's black coupe, screeched to a halt with its smooth finish, which glinted in the midday sun, the tires grinding gravel in the driveway of the flaking split-level house of Gezza-mom.
Gezza climbed out. Elena slipped behind him, her ponytail undress, her brown eyes still glittering with the dark spell of the Playbook, jasmine scent in the air.
"Bye, Gezza," Mia leaned over the console, voice sharp, coy, waving with a flick of her wrist.
The coupe howled away with yelling tires and Gezza and Elena in their dust.
Gezza stood Elena still clinging to his arm. Argh what wrong with her.
He shoved Elena to her individual house down the street, her hips swiveling, unconscious. "Come-on Go", growled he.
After Elena went, He pushed open the front door, the air of the house smiting him--old carpet, burnt coffee, cheap lavender candles used by his mom.
The kitchen was fluorescently lit within. His mom stood in the kitchen.
"Gerald Thompson", she said in an enticing voice, a smile on her lips as she poured bowls of soup. "Elena then Mia? Never knew you were a player?" She chuckled.
"Shut it, ma", muttering it to himself, he scuffles into a chair, sneakers on the linoleum.
His ribs were sore, his back sore too, with the nails of Mia, and the Playbook made his shoulder sore. He took a piece of bread, tore it, crumbles flying. "Just friends."
She laughed, and set a bowl before him, and the steam curled, and her eyes twinkled with mischief.
"Friends, my ass. This house is less expensive than the car our blonde has. And the other one Elena--curves days away". You are out there busting hearts Gezza." She leant forwards, her sweater moving, a suggestion of lacy bra showing, her voice falling to a covert purr. "Spill it. You takin' 'em both out or what?"
The jaw of Gezza clamped, the bread was sunken in by his fingers, Fuck, she's too close." Ain't like that," he growled, as he spooned soup, and the broth burned his tongue.
His mom teasing him a sham.
"Whatever, player," she replied, winking, as her bun rippled down as she sat, sipping her own soup, her frecked face flushed by the fluorescent light in the kitchen.
"Just keep your drama out of the house." She became less vocal, however, the taunting continued, her eyes roving over his features, and picking up the bruises, the sweat.
Gezza pushed the bowl aside, sloshing soup and stood, sneaker squeaking. "I must go", he said, grabbing his bagpack, the heat of the Playbook burning his side.
Then he stormed down to the basement stairs, Mike face haunted him, those fists, that sneer, willing to beat him up once again.
Gezza ached all through with his ribs, his back bled through his hoodie, the claw marks on his Mia burning. He was in need of Riley, needed the strength of her arm to protect his ass.
He walked, feet tapping the floor, heart racing.
Unless Gezza had Riley first, another beating was imminent.
"Gerald! You eating that soup or what?" The teasing lilt of her voice was grating, but he still ignored it, banging the Playbook in his face.
The runes faded away, but their murmur remained, and shook in his bones. He needed to find Riley--now.