Page 4 of Baiting Kong

“Can get myself hurt trusting the right people too, if shit goes sideways.” Scout blurted.

“True enough,” Kong said before dragging him up for the last thing Scout ever expected to receive. A kiss.

Briefly soft before morphing to rough and possessive. Scout gave into the sensation to feel the long curls that were held in place by Kong’s bandana. There were no words to describe the color. Not honey, not gold, just waves and waves of loose, spiral hues cascading to the middle of his back. The smooth sound of glass on wood preceded the sudden jerk of being pulled upright, swung around, and crushed against Kong’s barrel chest. Scout’s immediate reaction was to wrap his legs around Kong’s waist. When he couldn’t hook his ankles together, he pressed tighter with his knees, like when he rode his motorcycle, and with his fingers still tangled in Kong’s hair, he rocked against the man like a desperate spider monkey, ‘cause holy shit, what was bulging behind that zipper was something he ached to feel.

“Please,” Scout whined, canting his hips, seeking friction through the thin fabric of his underwear.

“Please what?” Kong growled before jerking his head back and sucking at a spot of tequila and lime juice still dripping down his neck.

“Please, sir, can I have some more?” Scout shot back before he could check himself, tensing when Kong paused, then threw his head back and laughed.

“Oh, so you got jokes.”

“M-maybe,” Scout hedged.

“You got a place with a soft bed to go with those jokes?” Kong asked, still letting out the occasional chuckle as he pressed Scout against one of the wide wooden posts that stretched from floor to ceiling. “Or do I have to take you right here?”

“I’ve got a mattress just across the parking lot in room 107, and a roommate who won’t be back until his shift ends at six.”

“I need to bring my own supplies?”

“No sir, I’m fully stocked in every flavor, texture, and size you can think of.”

“We’ll see.”

A hand kneaded his backside, fingers slipping beneath the edge of his thong to tickle his balls, and Scout groaned and rocked against the man slowly tormenting him.

“You said room 107?” Kong growled.

“Y-yes sir,” he gasped as he was hoisted higher, body shifted by the press of a steely hand against his hip as Kong flung him over his shoulder.

An image popped into his head, of one of the old movies he’d loved watching with his old man, and he giggled as he was carried across the courtyard.

“Something funny?” Kong asked.

“Only if you’re a fan of old black and white Hollywood movies,” Scout replied.

There was a pause broken by Scout’s yelp when Kong chuckled and pinched his backside. “I am and it just dawned on me exactly why you’re giggling up there.”

“’Cause you’re about to carry me off to your lair and ravish me,” Scout replied, giggling more at his poor attempt to mimic the movie damsels. “I’d pretend to faint, but it wouldn’t be as dramatic in this position.”

Kong bounced him a little, when Scout started laughing, moonlight reflecting off the sparkly bits in the gravel Kong carried him past. His hair narrowed his tunnel of vision, not that he minded with the way Kong slid a hand between his cheeks, occasionally running his thumb along Scout’s crack until he quivered.

“Keys,” he growled.

The steady movement of his hand made it difficult to process the question but once he had, he started giggling again.

“Back pocket of the jean shorts I left folded behind the bar,” he replied, helping when a heavy hand swatted his backside.

Those fingers pinched Scout several times as they crossed the parking lot again, and back through the door they’d left open. Scout swore he did it so he could hear Scout groan and feel him writhing around on his shoulder. Kong never set him down, just carried him behind the bar until he reached his clothes. This time they remembered to shut the door behind them when they left the bar, once Scout had fished his key from his pocket and passed it over. Scout heard the click of the lock and the sound of Kong fumbling for the light as he carried him into the room, but it was hard to remember where it was supposed to be when he was dangling that way. It seemed like it took forever before Kong found it.

“Which bedroom is yours?” Kong asked. “The one off the bedroom or the one off the kitchen?”

“The one off the kitchen,” he said. “How’d you know the layout of the place?”

“I’m the one who designed the cabins and the rest of the compound.”

“Sweet.”

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