Thread: By The Horns [DamonHuntington x Marinara]

When had this strange hobby of his started, exactly, and why was it that he found himself asking that question more and more, as of late? Was it the emergence of a conscience? A semblance of empathy for the men he exploited, perhaps? No, couldn't be. Every one of these shameless perverts had it coming. What right did they have to flaunt their degeneracy in a place he could so easily find it? Long gone were the days where he counted his little scam as mere hobby. It was a job, and it'd put him through an entire semester of classes so far. Most of his friends slaved away doing menial tasks, dealing with the obnoxious populace at large day in, day out. Him? All he had to do was hunt from the comfort of his bedroom. Some guys drank beer when they browsed the net -- he didn't. Everything had to be carefully managed, and you couldn't really do that when nursing a buzz. From the saccharine words that made his stomach churn to the pictures he chose.. he had more pictures on his desktop than any supposedly straight man had any right to, and he'd avoided inviting any girlfriends home -- as though he'd had a single one since graduation -- for just that kind of reason. Some people might say it was unhealthy, or that maybe what he was doing was immoral, or at the very least a risk to his person, or sexuality. To hell with that, Noah thought. Everything was going to plan, though 'Bulldozer' had proven a lot pushier than some of his other targets. He supposed that meant he was a proper 'dom,' set apart from the usual kind of men he met. Noah surmised, at the very least, he'd have something to hide from the world. That's why men like him always resorted to chatrooms and ridiculous handles. It's why all he'd had to do was drop a threat of exposing their chat logs or their online profiles to their bosses -- and there was always a boss, as though middle management was plagued by repressed perverts --and they'd never speak a word of what happened. The phone in his pocket vibrated, forcing Noah to turn his hazel eyes from the light he'd been waiting on. They'd talked off and on about his visiting but with Bulldozer so skittish over personal pictures, he'd not expected an address, much less an order to come over, so soon. His lips twisted into a smirk, thumb gliding from the steering wheel to switch on the turn signal just before the light went green. So that's how he wanted to play it? Oh, I'll show you who the real bitch is.. He scoffed, typing as he drove, noting the streets he'd have to go down to pick up the proper tools for this job. Rider minute after ok? wouldn't mind that bull-whipping Rider catch you 2nite - He'd put these sort of words down into his IM program countless times, and even now, this far down the road of crime and betrayal, it never got any easier. The words themselves were easy enough the keeping his breakfast down as he typed them out, less so. A few hours and everything was in place. A few hours more and he had made the drive out to Bulldozer's place, two cities over. He always targeted men within traveling distance, provided he could make it there and back within twenty-four hours. There was still school and alibis to contend with, after all -- even if not a one of his victims had gathered the courage to ever file a report. Out from his older Nissan Sentra he climbed, pausing briefly to survey the nearby houses. Bulldozer'd spelled his own doom in asking him to come out this late the few neighbors he had wouldn't be able to so much as make out his face. Indeed, there was no need for the usual pleasantries or the game where he cradled his face in his hands and sobbed about how desperately he wanted to be a sub, in spite of his body. The door would open and he'd simply force whoever opened it inside. Even if the name Bulldozer wasn't a bunch of chest-puffing bullshit, at 6 and 200 pounds of muscle, he didn't expect a whole lot of difficulty and even if there was, Noah carried both a knife and a taser to compensate. He'd used the former three times now, the latter only once -- and though it must have seemed horrible to confess at least, he thought so . there was a unique thrill in employing either. So he came to the door, duffelbag slung over a bulging, barren shoulder, his firm chest and defined abs wrapped in a black turtleneck tank top, short, dark hair pushed clumsily to the side of his forehead up above and across the handsome, youthful features of his face. Everything Noah wore was made of tinted fabric -- a warning sign if any, his many lies aside, that the built twenty-one year old was up to no good. He plunged his finger against the doorbell, opposite hand tightening around the strap of his bag, down near the zipper. It was only a matter of time.. And, as usual, he felt adrenaline rushing through his system, carried by a heart that beat so fervently he could feel it in his ears. As soon as he opened the door, Noah would push his way inside and subdue him. Then the home of this shameless pervert would be easy pickings.