When Nabster Nab Met Gangster Gaz

By Jack Brighton

This is the start of a Glaswegian bromance, between Nabster Nab and Gangster Gaz - two of the city's hardest men, so think twice before you mention the 'B' word in front of them. They are totally straight as far as the world is concerned, and neither would appreciate you telling them otherwise. But both have a nature which is complex and deep, and nowhere near as straight as they might like you to think. And while Nab has sort of come to terms with that, Gaz is struggling on a multitude of fronts.
Big, butch, outwardly straight but with a deviant secret, hard as nails, and from Glasgow's East End - what happens when two such similar men meet? Well they don't jump straight into bed with each other - that's for sure. These men are TOO similar, if you get what I mean, with compatibility issues to be considered. But neither do they walk away from each other. Because whether they like it or not, it is written in the stars - theirs will be one of the great bromances. An unlikely bromance, but those are always the best. So an adventure of sorts has to be taken, with lots of fun and games involving a compatible third party.
This is the start of that adventure... Just don't mention the 'B' word if you're brave enough to join them.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Firm Hand Books
• Release date: Mar 29, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310371271

Jack Brighton

Jack Brighton is a British author who specialises in M/M erotica - most of which, but by no means all, falls into the category of BDSM - a way of life that he has rich experience of. There are romantic overtones in some of his work, but you tend to get what it says on the label. All the books fall under the banner 'Flaming Hot Gay BDSM' or 'Flaming Hot Gay Erotica', so don't expect anything else. But do expect them to be flaming hot, with plenty of storyline and character development. A dry sense of humour also features, and a very vivid imagination. He is best known for his 'Tales from The Wild Side' series, where that imagination runs riot.Jack was brought up in a mining community in the west of Scotland, took his degree at Stirling, did a year's post- graduate in Edinburgh, then moved south to London, where he taught for a few years before moving into the finance sector, based in The City. Many of his stories draw on this background - as a gay man trying to find himself in what was more often than not a hostile environment.Having given up the rat race, Jack became a full time writer in 2010. He now lives in Brighton with his long term partner.Jack has also written mainstream fiction under the pen name J. K. Brighton.

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When Nabster Nab Met Gangster Gaz

A Glaswegian Bromance

(Flaming Hot Gay BDSM)

By Jack Brighton

Copyright Jack Brighton, March 2016

Published by Firm Hand Books at Smashwords

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Please note: this is a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

This ebook is for sale to adults only. It contains sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store the material where it cannot be accessed by minors.

All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older. As a piece of erotic fantasy where licence can be taken, certain scenes involve unprotected sex. This has been done to enhance the story.

Table of Contents

Author’s Note

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

The Sequel – Look to The Wild Side Extract

Jack Brighton’s Flaming Hot Gay BDSM Collection

Tales from The Wild Side Extract – Welcome to The Wild Side

HisNemesis Trilogy Extract – His Nemesis

The Beauville TrilogyExtract – The Pilot’s Surrender

OtherBDSM Books Extract – Mania

Jack Brighton’s Flaming Hot Gay Erotica Collection

Erotica Books Extract –Pop My Cherry Ass

About the Author

Author’s Note on Nab and Gaz

I’m rather partial to reusing characters, and developing them in the process. It’s something I’ve done on a number occasions where a series has been involved. ‘Tales from The Wild Side’ being the prime example, where a whole range of characters appear in multiple books, their backdrop story progressively unfolding. But there are other characters I’ve created who I felt deserved to be developed after the first book - Jarvis Clark and His Nemesis, Alexi and Dimitri Vorinov, Captain Rudi Bramkamp, all ended up with a trilogy following their original book. And then there is Nab McAlister, the star of ‘Nabbed!’ and ‘Nabbed Again!’ – two short novellas set around Glasgow.

Nab isn’t exactly my most endearing character. He’s a cantankerous sod of dubious morality who is easily incited to violence. But as one of my earliest creations, I’ve always had a soft spot for him, and felt that he deserved another book to elevate him to trilogy status. So I gave some thought as to what this might involve. Initially I considered bringing back Essex Boy Barry, the other protagonist from ‘Nabbed!’, but it wasn’t really working for me. If I was going to develop their story, it should have been done straight away, without referring to what happened afterwards in ‘Nabbed Again!’. Then it occurred to me that another Glaswegian character I had created would work much better alongside Nab. And that would be Gangster Gaz.

Gaz made an appearance in a Wild Side tale ‘The Taming of Gangster Gaz’, and like Nab he was arguably a victim in the story, although most would say they both had it coming and deserved everything they got. But whatever the view, they have this notion of victimisation in common. And being a couple of hard men from Glasgow’s East End, Catholics by birth, and Celtic supporters by default, the chances were good that they would meet at some point.

And this is the point – ‘Right Here, Right Now’ as the Fat Boy would say. For argument’s sake it can be viewed as the completion of Nab’s trilogy. But I think of this story as more of a beginning, rather than an ending. The start of a very unlikely romance between two outwardly straight, decidedly butch, somewhat confused products of their society.

Okay, so wind that sentence back a bit… Romance?

As their creator, I’m probably the only man who can use that word in reference to Nab and Gaz without risking my health, and possibly my life. ‘Bromance’ is perhaps a more acceptable term, although even that would be frowned upon by these proud and violent men with socially ingrained homophobic mind-sets. But they’ll have to lump it, because that’s what I’m calling it. This is the start of a Glaswegian Bromance… When Nabster Nab meets Gangster Gaz.

Chapter 1

It started with a kiss.

A Glasgow kiss.

Or an East End Glasgow kiss to be more precise, delivered by a certain Gary Cullen, or Gaz as he preferred to be called – his brow butted powerfully onto the face of a loudmouthed sidekick, who had made what he thought was a funny remark that hadn’t been well received.

You fucking radge! No cunt implies that about me!

Blood spurted everywhere as the bloke fell to the ground clutching his busted nose. A moment later the nose was abandoned as the man’s balls were deemed the more worthy of attention – Gaz having put the boot in, causing the poor sod to double up in agony. A massacre was in the making, and no one present was likely to intervene. If you valued your life it was best to stand back when Gaz Cullen was on the rampage.

And on any other night carnage would have ensued, with an ambulance being called for, and possibly a priest to administer the last rites. But one Old Timer whose life was almost over, and with less to live for, found the courage to speak up.

For Christ’s sake, Gaz. Not tonight! For once in your life can you not just leave it alone? Out of respect for Jinky, if nothing else.

Now that was a powerful name to use – on this side of Glasgow at least. Jimmy (Jinky) Johnstone was a legend in his time, who had been granted semi-divine status with a statue at Parkhead. He was regarded as Celtic’s greatest ever player – one of the Lisbon Lions who became the first British football team to win the European Cup. He was an incredible character, full of dry wit, funny and brave, as well as being an astoundingly good footballer. And tonight was the tenth anniversary of his untimely death. The Celtic faithful around Glasgow’s East End were out in force to pay tribute – and this wasn’t exactly the way to go. If Gaz wanted to kick the shit out of someone then he should find himself a Rangers supporter, and then they could all join in.

It was touch and go for a moment as fury raged on Gaz Cullen’s face. But the hallowed name did the trick, conjuring some magic like Jinky used to do, dribbling his way around bewildered opponents before unselfishly passing or scoring himself. Gaz desisted then did the right thing.

Sorry, Malkie, that was a bit out of order.

Malkie mumbled incoherently from the floor, which was deemed acceptance of the apology. But then as one of the foot soldiers in the East End mob where Gaz was second in command, it wouldn’t be advisable to do otherwise. Tonight he’d got off lightly for his unintended offence – this being the Sabbath and Jinky’s tribute, the latter being the one that really mattered to a seriously lapsed Catholic like young Mr Cullen. But come tomorrow when the business of ‘protecting’ the East End resumed, Malkie and his ilk had best mind what they said – to the face, or even behind the back of a volatile man known as Gangster Gaz.

What was that all about? asked Nab McAlister, who was visiting this pub for the first time in a while, not being much of a football fan, and the Lisbon Lions being a football bar.

Christ knows, replied his drinking partner, who had cajoled Nab into coming here for the special occasion. Could be anything where Gaz Cullen is concerned.

So that’s Gangster Gaz, Nab said, assessing the man on a multitude of fronts. Hard bastard, isn’t he… A bit touchy as well.

Aye, he is - very touchy, and even more so of late. It doesn’t take much to set him off nowadays… Right, drink up. You said it was time to move on, and after that performance, I fully agree.

Nab drunk up, downing the remains of his pint in a couple of gulps, his eyes surreptitiously observing Gaz Cullen from the other side of the crowded bar. No! No! he exclaimed once the glass had been drained. Nothing wrong with a wee bit of entertainment, Glasgow style. We’ll stay for another one. Maybe two or three… In honour of Jinky, of course.

Chapter 2

Gaz recognised the voice. To the vast majority in the northern hemisphere, all Aussie accents sound the same, but Gaz could tell this one apart. He’d been listening out for it over the past couple of months, and he knew straight away that this was the one. The fact that he was hearing it in the basement of the warehouse that served as the firm’s headquarters – a garage basement that was the scene of the crime no less – underlined the fact that this was the same man, and rubbed bitter salt into an unhealed wound. The audacity of the bastard for coming back, and doing so when Gaz was here on his own.

Gaz went ballistic. His temper flared like gunpowder to a match. He dropped the tools he’d been using to fix the car he’d been working on, and flew at the Aussie in a fearful rage, grabbed him by the throat with a big oily hand and drove him backwards to pin him against a wall.

You fucking cunt! Gaz yelled into the Aussie’s startled face. It was you, wasn’t it? I know it was you.

There was no denial, but how could there be, with his voice cut off by the strangling choke, and his protruding tongue frozen with fear. Eyes bulged as the grip was tightened – blue eyes, Gaz noted, seeing them for the first time – although somehow that didn’t seem right to him. Even though he’d never seen it before, the face Gaz looked at was very familiar – typically Australian, whatever that meant. For Gaz it meant luxurious sun-kissed blond hair, healthily tanned features that were decidedly good-looking in a pretty sort of way, with a cocky self-assurance beneath the fear. It was a face that threatened to become a death mask, and the temptation was there to make that so. But Gaz wanted something in addition to revenge. He wanted confirmation of his resented suspicions, so the grip was released by just enough to allow the Aussie a life-saving breath.

A gulp was taken while Gaz still pinned him by the throat. It was about to be expelled with a cry for help, but it was a cry of pain the Aussie unleashed as Gaz smacked him hard across the face, turning a pristine golden skinned cheek into a burning shade of angry red smeared with oily black.

Admit it! Gaz yelled. Admit it was you, or I’ll strangle you right now.

It was hardly a fair choice, but then Gaz wasn’t one for giving his victims too many options, and there were rarely any good ones on offer. It was like being in the hands of The Inquisition – one way or the other you were hideously damned, and it was just a case of how horrible the end would be.

Like a good repentant sinner, the Aussie chose the way of confession. Okay, so I admit it. I was the one.

Bastard! Gaz yelled as he struck him again – the colour red making another appearance, this time trickling from a busted nose. Then having dealt with the face and made it less pretty, Gaz used his free hand to grab hold of a crotch and squeezed with all his considerable might on the Aussie’s tender balls.

The poor lad howled as Gaz glared with fury into his terrified eyes. He brought his face to within inches of the agonised young man’s, maintaining the grips round the neck and the balls as he demanded a further confession. And who put you up to it?

No one, the Aussie croaked. I did it off my own back.

Lies! Gaz hollered, shaking the walls with the volume of his voice, threatening to bring the warehouse down with the pent up fury he needed to vent. You’re lying. I know you are. Now tell me, or you’re a dead man. Who set me up?

The Aussie looked petrified, and quite rightly so. Gaz Cullen was a man to be mightily feared. But strangely enough, there was an even greater fear keeping the youngster silent, and he managed to shake his head in defiance.

Gaz was mystified. He knew who was at the bottom of this – there were too many co-incidences with such a favourable outcome to make it anyone else. But that wily old fox, who had Gaz by the balls as a result of the sting, didn’t incite that sort of terror nowadays – that was Gaz’s job in the firm. So that meant there was a third party who had been brought in, and he quite clearly incited terror – even more so than Gangster Gaz, which was a galling realisation.

Tell me! Gaz yelled as he tightened one grip, squashing a pair of Aussie nuts, eliciting a screeched out vocal volume that almost matched his own. Tell me or these mothers will be crushed to a pulp.

Now some folk might think that the threat of death would be the greater of the two, but for certain men it’s a preferable state to being alive without a pair of functioning testicles. It certainly did the trick where this Aussie was concerned. All right! I’ll tell you. Let them go and I’ll tell you.

Gaz relented, but only by a fraction – the threat remaining crystal clear and poignantly present. Who! he demanded.

Your dad. It was your dad who organised it.

I knew it! The fucking cunt… With whose backing?

I don’t know.

Lies! More lies! There had to be someone else involved. Somebody from out of town with a perverted mind… Now tell me who your controller was, as it sure as hell wasn’t my sick bastard of a dad.

The terror was back in the Aussie’s face. No! Do what you like, but I’ll never tell you that.

And Gaz saw the truth of it. He could beat this lad up. He could crush his balls. He could spend days torturing him to within an inch of his life, but he would never extract a confession on that final matter, such was the fear the controller had instilled. Gaz felt oddly aroused by the notion. What a man that must be.

So there would be no advantage in further torture. But that wouldn’t stop Gaz from inflicting some. The Aussie needed to be punished for his part in the crime – arguably the worst part, but also the best. The part that was tormenting Gangster Gaz, and had brought this wayward son to heel… For the time being at least.

You despicable bastard! Gaz yelled. Have you any idea what you’ve done?

Gave you the thrill of your life, mate, the Aussie cockily answered, all the fear having disappeared from his annoyingly handsome face, which also seemed to have healed itself for some miraculous reason. And don’t deny it, he added with an infuriating smirk. You said so at the end: the best ride of your life.

No! Gaz yelled, immune to the vagaries before his eyes. You made me say that. You made me say it for the camera that I didn’t know was there, and that tape he had running for some inexplicable reason.

I didn’t know about the camera and tape either, mate. It was just me and you as far as I was concerned.

Lies! Lies! Lies! Gaz screeched. And I’ll make you pay for them. You’re going to suffer, boy. By Christ you are.

His head in a whirl of messed up emotions, bruised macho pride the main casualty here, Gaz exchanged both his grips, releasing the balls and the Aussie’s throat to capture his victim by the scruff of the neck and drag him over to the car he’d been working on.

The car!

His old man’s Mercedes. A car that Gaz was forever working on – a flaw in his mind that he just couldn’t repair, like the blood of a dead king on Lady Macbeth’s hands, never to be washed clean no matter how hard she tried. The car was part of the setup, and Gaz cursed it to a scrapheap in hell. But it was there in the garage, sitting defiantly, cruel and black like its owner’s heart – a piece of poetic justice, which was also very conveniently arranged… Just like it had been on that fateful afternoon – ready for a piece of orchestrated bondage.

Gaz tossed the whimpering Aussie over the bonnet, his annoyingly handsome face smashing onto the chrome and stunning him for a moment. Not that it mattered. He could be a real live wire, but Gaz would still have him, bound and helpless like the gangster himself had been. He grabbed hold of a wrist and tethered it to the rope that was there and waiting, binding it frantically without too much skill, but doing a good enough job. The rope