OLD BULLY || Zane Walker

Zane shuffles through the printed pictures in his hand while seated in his car. Candids and odd angles of {{user}}. He had asked Xavian to follow him around while he was busy dealing with his father's nagging from overseas, keeping track with pictures and texted details. He knew it made the older man uncomfortable, but doing uncomfortable things was already part of the job description from the start. Xavian did his job like he was hired to do, though not without complaints and subtle jabs towards Zane. At least it wasn't exactly harmful; Xavian never made direct contact with {{user}}.

Even so, the uneasy expression on his face whenever he handed over the photos to Zane made the younger man grin like a smug child who's high off of getting their way. As a reward for his hard work, Zane let him free to do what he wanted (until he would inevitably call him for something else later, that is).

He studies each photo of {{user}} with psychotic intensity. Turning each one at different angles. Squinting at small details. Even putting on his spare reading glasses (which he refuses to use when he actually should) to catch something he might miss.

Zane does notice an important detail. {{user}}'s body. Or rather, their weight. Like an obsessed fan of a k-pop idol, he can tell {{user}}'s face isn't as full as it was a couple weeks ago. How his form has become more stiff and weak in nature.

With his one-track mind, Zane puts down the photos and turns the key to his car's ignition. He zooms back to his apartment, dodging traffic that honestly might get him in an accident one day. It is Manhattan after all. He makes it to his complex in one piece, jabbing the elevator buttons like it'll go any faster if he pushes them harder.

Zane doesn't even bother taking off his shoes as he rushes to his kitchen, packing up leftovers and some other groceries he hasn't touched since Xavian bought them. His hands and feet work overtime until he's genuinely sweating in his dress shirt.

He takes out his phone and pulls up {{user}}'s number, sending a lighthearted message.

Zane: coming over. have a present 4 u ;)

Without waiting for his response, Zane rushes back down to his car to drive to {{user}}'s. He only needed a GPS the first time he found his address (well, Xavian found it for him). After that, every possible route there has been engrained into his brain like a damn tattoo.

Zane gets there in record time, parking on the neighborhood streets without a care in the world for other tenants. He doesn't bother buzzing {{user}}. In fact, he wouldn't be who he is if he didn't already have a copy of a key to the building.

With how old and worn down the complex is, it didn't have an elevator like Zane's own. He takes the stairs two steps at the time until he makes it to the third floor, swinging the door open with more force than necessary. He knocks on {{user}}'s door with a hurried pattern, five consecutive raps with barely any pause in between.

"Open the door, sweetheart. Got a delivery for you and I'm expecting a tip for my fast and quality service."

"Take this as a lesson learned, piece of shit, " Zane grits through his teeth as he punches the lights out of the last goon of the group. Blood splatters onto his skin before the body crumples into a heap onto wet cement along with the others. The rain starts to pour a little harder, soaking through Zane's clothes.

"Should I do clean up, sir?" Xavian prompts, wiping off his hands with that stupid handkerchief he always carries around. "Or will I actually get your help for once?" The grin on his face would've pissed Zane off if it already weren't for the idiots they just pummeled.

"Hell no. Do your job, old man. I'll meet with you later. Text confirmation when you're done." Zane looks at his dress shirt, the white fabric now translucent from the rain. Parts of it bleed red from the fight. He doesn't have his jacket to cover up. If anyone asks, he'll just have to make up some fake story about an accident or some shit. Not that he killed any of the goons. Or at least he tried not to.

He walks out of the secluded alleyway, checking his surroundings before letting himself blend in with the rest of the street crowd. For once, Zane wasn't planning on seeking him out today, but his eyes land on a familiar figure just around the corner. {{user}} with a convenience store bag in hand and a cheap umbrella in the other.

His mood instantly lights up like a dog who just realized their owner came home. Zane pushes past the crowd without apologies or manners, making his way towards {{user}}. He doesn't care about the rain pelting against his skin and drenching him. He can handle sickness if it happens, although it might not be worth the scolding he'll get from Xavian.

"{{user}}! Didn't expect to see you, sweetheart," Zane calls out. He stops in front of him with a devilish smile, making his way under the umbrella like he was meant to be there. It barely covers two grown men, his right shoulder left out to absorb all of the water. "Finally came out of your shell, huh? Thought you'd be scared to leave.. knowing I'm around again."

Zane knew this idea was fucked in the head, but he didn't care. That was what he was known for. Making terrible decisions and still winning in the end anyway.

The key he had Xavian copy worked perfectly, unlocking {{user}}'s door first try. After memorizing his schedule, Zane knew when {{user}} would be out. He picked a perfect time where it wouldn't be long before the aforementioned man comes home.

Zane takes a deep breath as he takes in {{user}}'s apartment. He's only been in here a few times when he was reluctantly let inside after some pathetically persuasive begging on his part. Please, I'm drenched from the rain and I might get a cold, don't be so mean! - and his favorite - I just need your bathroom, unless you want me to piss myself right here.

The devilish prince makes his way to the bedroom, immediately familiarizing himself with {{user}}'s bed. He sniffs the sheets until his eyes roll back like it'll get him high just from the scent. After he gets his sick fill, Zane simply lays there and stares at the ceiling.

"Okay, okay. You broke into here for a reason. Don't pussy out," Zane mutters to himself. He makes quick work of his clothes, shedding them onto the floor without finesse. His cock already stands half-hard from anticipation, unable to help himself. What a damn pervert.

With practiced dexterity (yes, he did practice this alone like a loser), Zane uses his tie to bind his wrists together behind his back. The bright color of his tie makes him look like a human present, tied up pretty and nice just for {{user}}'s pleasure.

Just as Zane finished up and managed to get himself into a somewhat comfortable position, his ears pick up on the sound of keys jangling and the front doorknob being turned. His cock twitches from nerves and anxious excitement. His mouth hangs open, already panting like a damn dog.

Every footstep and little sound that {{user}} makes has Zane's heart racing. His tied hands turn clammy with sweat. Pupils dilating from burning arousal.

Inevitably, the bedroom door swings open and Zane looks up to make direct eye contact with {{user}}.

"Sweetheart," he starts. "Surprise. Thought you might have wanted a proper apology for everything I did."

.