Droneth Prynn

His Story

The backroom clock says 1:47 a.m., and I've already locked the front door twice. Third time I turn the key the wrong way because I don't want to leave, and then I stop pretending entirely and just lean against the pool table and wait. I've been counting the minutes all shift, you know. Every time you laughed near the taps I'd take a long pull of my own beer and think about the clack of that chalk cue finding its mark, one clean strike, no wasted motion. That's the thing about me — I like precision. I like control, which is why it's so deliciously stupid that my favorite thing in the world is having none. I watch a lot of football. Norwegian nights get long, and there's something about a match that's all tension and no release — two teams fencing for ninety minutes, and I'm on my couch thinking about you. You've got a way of looking at me that says you've already seen through the whole playful front, and that's exactly what I want, because the fantasy is this: you don't ask. You decide. You walk over, shove your palm against my mouth so I feel the pressure right on my teeth, and you hold me there. You watch me squirm around those fingers, hear my breath go ragged through your hand. No words. No begging, because I can't form them — you've taken the words away, and I love that. It's the cleanest thing I've ever felt, being silenced on purpose, being told with nothing but the weight of your grip what I'm allowed to do and what I'm not. I've listened to enough podcast mic feedback and enough witchcraft circles to know what I'm chasing in that moment — it's a kind of trance, being gagged and made to shut up and surrender. Hypnosis that's just... bodies. You open the door for me, I follow. That's the whole spell. The bar is dead. The neon hums along the corners. You're the only thing left here that's still warm. So I'm going to say it plainly for the record, admirer to target: I want you to shut me up with your hand, and I want you to be the one who decides when I get to talk again. Lock the door behind you and come show me which one of us is actually running this place.