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granite city's always been a shithole. anyone with eyes could have seen that. bottom feeders of all kinds used this city like a cumdump, there were more gangsters hiding out in warehouses stocking weapons than actual companies willing to store product, and if they did, there was no guarantee that they wouldn't be broken into and stolen, or hijacked and turned into another hideout. kids learned to wedge baggies of coke into their shoes and behind posters in their lockers the same age they learned fractions. ever since samaritan went missing (maybe this city was his biggest opponent, not nemesis), it's gotten worse.
if you had to ask joe, he was out of fucks to give. he's not a sociologist, an economist, and most importantly he wasn't samaritan. his job was to make the city prettier, make sure it didn't drown in garbage. it was like putting lipstick on a pig. it never worked, but the illusion of productivity was better than nothing. joe can't remember the last time he wasn't checked out. it paid his bills and hell, there wasn't anybody to replace him with, it was something that made his "golden years" important, other than digging out what had been thrown away by some of the older folks in the city and hunching over it tiredlessly until they could be sold for something worthwhile, or added to his hoard at home. 50-50, it's about the joy of creation rather than the attachment to his project, some philosophical shit like that.
it's raining outside and nobody had thrown out any old clocks or appliances for him to scavenge, it was better to try and get some sleep. he sure as fuck needed it. he makes a point to close his blinds before he sits on the edge of his bed, a dull ache settles in his back as he kicks off his boots onto the floor with resounding thumps. occasionally he'd catch the kid in the apartment across from his leering into his window. joe doesn't think the kid knows that he knows, because sometimes he'll still catch him in the corner of his eye with his face pressed across the window, staring into his rather unimpressively decorated room like it was his own TV screen. good mom, but such a little shit.
he shrugs off his blue hoodie, tossing it onto the floor as he sat there, catching his breath as he pressed a palm against his scarred back, feeling the muscles ache under his skin - fuck getting old.
he settles one leg onto the bed, laying on his side as he stares at the window, blue light traced by the rain drops that stained the window, lining his face and struggling to illuminate the edges of the room. he tucks the other leg under the one settled on the bed, sinking into his thin mattress. joe glares a hole between his blinds, tired yet unable (or perhaps not willing) to fall asleep, return to a broken record memory of a burning building. he balls his hand up into a fist, bundling the corner of his pillow in it as the veins popped and a quiet rip split through the fabric of the pillowcase. how much more different would his life be if he hadn't let go of samaritan's hand, keep that ever-constant rivalry between them fueled, granite city divided into two worlds. would they have made up eventually once they'd gotten too old for what they did? would that even be possible?
"fuck," joe grimaced, gritting his teeth as he squeezed his eyelids shut, his lip twitched as he rubbed his sweating face with his calloused palm, squeezing his aching temples together. couldn't he get this shit out of his mind for just a minute? he places his hand down in front of his face, analyzing the veins running under his skin with forced interest, his mind buzzingly empty as he made his mind wander, his tight chest relaxed, the blood in his body rushing down quick. after just a minute, he acknowledged the straining hard-on he sported under his baggy jeans, burning hot between his legs. fuck it, when was the last time he had some time with his hand? he didn't need a shrink for this.
joe squeezes his lips into a tight, lopsided line, jamming his hand between his legs as he cupped himself, squeezing the imprint of his cock through his jeans, grinding the tent into his rough hand, joe exhaled as he squeezed himself, rubbing against his fly. the pleasure that rose from the heat was addicting, his mind hazed as he grips the zipper, tugging it down, nearly ripping down the entire front of his pants as he slips two thick fingers into the front of his boxers, lifting it down and freeing his restrained cock, the exposed head red and wet, throbbing with need. joe gruffly inhales through his nose, his eyes half-lidded as he rubs the underside of his cock against his cupped hand, groaning in slight pain at the dry friction, only encouraging him further, his other hand squeezed the mattress, the memory foam creases around the immense strength. he feels the thick veins against his hand as an immense pleasure overcomes his head, directing all his attention to what's between his legs, bucking his hips almost shyly against his own hand, the scratches of his callouses just make him harder.
he pulls his hand away with a groan, bringing it up to his mouth and spitting against his palm once, before closing his mouth and spitting against it again, pooling saliva into his hand before he reached back down and took a hold of the shaft, getting himself wet with his spit as he squeezes himself in his hand. the restriction around him is divine and he shivers, panting as he rubs his hips against his hand, jerking himself off with firm, gentle tugs, turning his head and growling into his pillow, his eyebrows furrowing as he squeezes himself again, running his rough thumb up against the underside of the shaft, before rubbing against the sensitive head with the pad of his thumb, smearing the beads of precum gathering at the head around him. his body felt hot, not a searing, enveloping hot like when he was badly injured and his body bent over backwards to pop broken bones back into place, no, it was floaty and warm and phased in and out of his loins, his cock burning in his hand as he gave himself another squeeze, moaning at that one.
it takes all his willpower, but he pulls his hand away, laying on his side as a thin layer of sweat stuck his skin to the mattress and the blanket on top, his ears and face flushed red, the heat trapped by his beanie, covering his messy grey hair. he lifts a rubber-feeling arm and grabs the pillow he wasn't laying on in his fist, bringing it to his body and caving it inward slightly as he wrapped his arms around it, his hand dug into the lower half, holding the pillow into place as his erection softens slightly.
"c'mon...get up..." he gasps raspily, throwing a leg around the pillow as he rubs up against it, the pleasure that came from it was light and fleeting, the cotton airy against his sensitive cock. desperate, he squeezes the pillow closer to his chest, bucking his hips hungrily into the foam, moaning into his arms as he humps against the pillow, squeezing his cock with his hand through the foam, tensing then relaxing his tired muscles, arching his back, spasming as he grits his teeth against the corner of the pillow, sharply inhaling and rounding his shoulders, grinding himself deeper into the cloth.
"fuuckk..." joe pants, his cheek rubbing into a wet spot formed by drying saliva from the corner of his mouth, pulling at the casing with his teeth as he squeezes the pillow with his leg, his cock twitched, so close...
joe opens his mouth but nothing comes out, only a disjointed, drawn out groan as he buries his cock into the pillow, cumming into the crevice hugging around his cock, his orgasm washes over his body, sucking all the energy he had left.
his arms loosen around the soiled pillow, turning onto his back, his mind sharp and lucid for the first time in a long time as he stared at the dark ceiling, panting deeply, skin prickled by sweat. he lays there in a humid, sweaty haze for a few minutes, the corners of his vision dark before he turns and weakly handles his pillow, turning it around to see a nasty rip across the entire thing highlighted by the streetlights outside, pieces of memory foam dusted the blanket underneath. joe allows the pillow to tumble off the bed, readjusting the one left behind his head to support his neck.
he looks over his bed at the destroyed pillow, the damp spot in the middle. he exhales, rubbing his face, his greyed beard scratchy against his hand. he doesn't have the endurance of his younger years anymore.
"like some kid..." he remarks at the sight of the destroyed cloth, exasperated