Mercy

With his unflattering hospital gown carelessly crumpled in a heap on the bathroom floor, Billie Joe stood with his tattooed arms crossed indolently over his chest and scowled. It was instantly apparent, despite his confident proposition mere minutes before, that being coerced into exposure by a virtual stranger wasn’t exactly his cup of tea. He was uncomfortable, and by the way his eyes continued to burn holes into his disregarded mass of clothing on the floor, the old man wished he could crawl right back into them and curl up under the thin, scratchy blankets that clung to his hospital bed. Even worse was my inability to stumble on the awkwardness of the situation, considering I’d seen my fair share of dreadfully horny old men during my brief brush with prostitution. I quickly became desensitized to their appearances, anomalies, and often unpleasant odors, but there was one inconceivable difference between the scenario with Billie and the countless other scenarios.

The old man wasn’t actually expecting a sexual favor.

After months of being everyone’s plaything, and nearly a year of being the target of Elliot’s twisted form of cruelty, I wasn’t sure how to handle the old bastard’s drastic change in character. It seemed as if, with the loose fabric no longer hanging on his skeletal frame, the barrier he built between himself and the rest of the world with his generally obnoxious behavior had been destroyed. The asshole had been diminished to nothing more than a bare, frail man who wanted nothing more than for this revealing moment to be over.

I had Billie Joe stand in the pathetic excuse for a shower, which had nothing more than a showerhead protruding from the wall and a drain on the floor. There weren’t any dividing walls to separate the shower from the rest of the bathroom, and there certainly weren’t any curtains to give the patients who are unfortunate enough to reside in our hospital rooms the privacy an average person so desperately craves while grooming themselves. It was overwhelming to dwell upon, for our patients already feel helpless enough in being locked inside the hospital. By not having the typical showering setup one would expect from a bathroom, the hospital may as well have been giving the patients their final declaration of total dependence. Such a deplorable facility turned everyone into a fucking falling hazard.

With the sink directly next to the shower filled with tepid, soapy water, I soaked a washcloth and approached the old bastard, who diligently averted his eyes and tensed as the cloth came in contact with his shoulder.

“That ain’t a fucking sponge,” he muttered, crossing his arms more tightly across his chest.

“Way to be a smartass. This’ll get the job done just as well as a sponge,” I shot back, reluctantly noticing that viewing the inked artwork scrawled about on his arms and shoulders so intimately made the tattoos appear anything but ridiculous. In fact, they were stunning. The moment I came to such a realization, I felt my cheeks burning scarlet with guilt in knowing that my initial opinion of the intricate patterns made the old man appear absurd. Fortunately, I was at an angle which hid my embarrassment from Billie Joe and easily allowed ample time for the blush to retreat from my face.

“Well, I’m just sayin’. That ain’t a sponge, this ain’t a bath. Are you even a fucking nurse?” he continued. If I didn’t know any better, I could detect slight undertones of derision still laced within his voice despite his obvious discomfort.

“No, I just have a fetish for washing naked old men. Now can you shut your mouth, please? This will go so much quicker if you don’t talk,” I snapped, rinsing the washcloth in the soapy water once more before returning it to Billie’s fragile body. He shuddered yet again at the contact, causing goose bumps to form along his worn skin as he uncrossed his arms, allowing them to hang loosely at his sides. His hands curled into fists, and his breathing was altered slightly from shallow and relaxed to quickened and anxious.

“That’s what she said,” Billie shot back, and though I couldn’t see his face, I knew that old bastard was smirking. If it wasn’t for his persistent, revolted shuddering and firmly clenched fists, I would have sworn on my life that he was enjoying this.

“Ooo, clever,” I sneered, dragging the cloth leisurely across the small of his back to taunt him for ceaselessly sassing me. His body tensed more violently than before, and his fists abruptly flew open. I was in the process of bringing the cloth around to the front when he began senselessly, self-consciously babbling, automatically prompting me to remove my hands from his body and gawk in wonder as to what caused such an outburst.

It didn’t exactly take a fucking genius to figure out what had happened.

“FUCK! I swear to fucking God this was entirely involuntary! You had nothing to do with it, Fairy!” he rambled, turning away from me as I attempted to face him. He was unable to turn fast enough.

“Ohhhh shit, look who cured Limpdick! World’s greatest nurse? I fucking think so,” I snorted, gazing down at what was, most likely, Billie’s first hard-on in weeks.

“Look who’s the smartass now,” he growled, his turn in being the one whose face flushed with mortification arriving mercilessly. “Seriously, though. Don’t flatter yourself…it just…happened.”

“So you’d rather claim erectile dysfunction than admit you were turned on by my magic washcloth? Lame, Limpdick. Pathetically lame. Weren’t you the one who wanted this to happen?” I demanded, wringing the washcloth out once more in the sink.

“Yes. Well…fuck. I was dickin’ around before, but now…this is awkward.”

“No shit!” I exclaimed, but I had a plan. All I had to do was carry on with convincing myself I was doing him a favor. I had to believe he was just another customer from so long ago and hope to all that was holy no one happened to walk in on my filthy scheme. Sure, it was an unwarranted deed, especially considering what I’d been through mere hours prior to being paged into work, but something inside of me begged for this. It was as if I needed to offer such an unspeakable act on my own terms to prove I was not a feeble man who was relentlessly taken advantage of.

No, with Billie Joe, I was calling the shots.

I brought the washcloth down upon him a third time, resting it casually on his lower stomach. My hands were flirting dangerously close to the allegedly unwanted erection, and Billie’s eyes grew wide the instant he realized just how close I intended to get, though he showed no signs of protest until the washcloth began to travel even lower.

“Fairy, you don’t have to do this,” he whimpered.

“Do what? I’m just doing my job, Old Man. I’m cleaning you.”

“But…Jesus fuck!” he moaned as the washcloth and my hand enclosed around his member. His body shook as pleasure radiated through from my touch, and as I skillfully pulled the cloth up and down, Billie was incapable of producing anything more than muffled moans or stifled ramblings that weren’t quite coherent enough to decipher legitimate words. He was all but writhing under my touch, going mad with satisfaction he’d been denied for what I assumed had been quite a long time. As his mind finally grasped what was happening, he panted, “W-which job would that be? Ah fuck…you’re n-n-not this friendly with…fuck…all your patients, are you?”

“Nope. Just you.”

“W-why? I r-really fucked the dog by getting you in-involved with…with Jakob’s problems…and…Fairy, I’m gonna c-cum!”

Realizing he was about to soil the washcloth I was supposed to be cleaning him with, I removed both it and my hand from his throbbing erection. Billie whimpered for a moment at the maliciously hasty lack of contact only to cry out in ecstasy once he felt my mouth enclosing around his tip. With one simple flick of my tongue and an eager buck of his hips, the product of his orgasm was sent coursing into my mouth. Partially as a reflex and partially to avoid leaving the evidence of what I’d done anywhere in that bathroom, I swallowed every last ounce of him.

“That’s cute,” Billie noted, his face glowing with pleasure. For a brief, fleeting instant, his visage was much younger in appearance. Much stronger. Somehow I found myself actually judging that despite his usually pallor, deathlike features…the old man was attractive.

Or maybe I was left temporarily insane to believe such a thing considering I’d just sucked him off.

“What?” I asked, rising up from off my knees so I could proceed with completing the bath.

“You swallow.”

“Shut the fuck up,” I chuckled, wringing the washcloth out one last time prior to scrubbing down the rest of the old bastard’s body. “So have I managed to turn you into a fairy, or…?”

Much to my disappointment, Billie Joe simply smirked and left my question unanswered. I couldn’t understand why I was so interested in knowing, seeing as my little stunt was indefinitely a one-time deal, and he was dying for fuck’s sake. Getting sensually attached to a dead-man-walking was emotional suicide.

“Hey Fairy, can you promise me something?” the old man asked, tearing me from my fierce internal debate.

“Sure,” I stated, handing him a towel.

“Don’t go home to that prick tonight.”