Bitching Knight - Chapter Two
Bitching Knight
© 2012
by
Jonathan Longhorn
Disclaimer: Copyright 2012 by Jonathan Longhorn. All rights reserved. If you are offended by teen gay sex, then what are you doing here? Leave now. Likewise, if you are under the age of 18 (or the legal age in your community), leave now. This story is for adults only and is a total fantasy. The author does NOT condone or promote any of the activities depicted in this story.
If you are expecting sex to happen immediately, this may be the wrong story for you. There will be a narrative to open the story, some history, and then sex will come later. If that's not for you, I understand fully. However, I hope you'll take the time to read the story and give it a chance. I think you won't be disappointed.
This is a work of fiction and is not based on any real person or place. Any similarity is entirely coincidental. This work is copyrighted by the author and may not be reproduced in any form without the specific written permission of the author. It is assigned to the Nifty Archives under the terms of their submission agreement but it may not be copied, posted or archived on any other site without the written permission of the author.
Condoms are not used in this story but remember it is fiction and in the real world having sex without one can be very dangerous. You can be exposed to not only AIDS, but other STDs that are starting to become more and more drug resistant. Don't ruin your life or your future. Slip it on before you slip it in.
All of the characters in this story are totally fictitious and are assumed to be at least 18 years of age.
My thanks to those who sent emails after Chapter 1 was posted. I really appreciate you taking the time to email me. It's the only `pay' I get for all the work that goes into writing and editing these stories and sharing them with you.
Chapter Two
Shhtunk.
Beep.
Beep.
Shhtunk.
Beep.
Beep.
Shhtunk.
Lawless Slaughter stood vigil beside the hospital bed. He occasionally reached out to run his fingers through a mop of red hair, or—to rub a moist cloth over forehead, cheeks, chin, throat ... chest.
Shhtunk.
Beep.
Beep.
Shhtunk.
Beep.
Shh. . . . Shh. . . . His head shot toward the machine. Back to the teenager lying in the bed. Not moving. Not seeing. Not ... anything.
Just ... there, but—not ... there.
Shhtunk.
The ever-present background of beeps and shhtunks was suddenly overpowered by a thundering drum roll of timpani. Timpani and cathedral bells. Timpani, cathedral bells, and—cannon. As he reached into his pocket for his cell phone, Lawless set the cloth back into the basin and stepped away from the bed. He couldn't help but grin, even under these circumstances. Cass had picked that ringtone; he claimed that it was the proper announcement that someone beseeched the honor of the company of the one, the only, the ever conquering . . . H. Lawless Slaughter. `Caesar' Lawless Slaughter, that is.
Yeah, Cass was a full-of-shit prankster and 1st class dork but he was his best friend anyway. They had met on the first day of Pre-K nearly a lifetime ago; and, the rest was history as the saying goes. There may possibly have never been a more perfect combination. A more perfect duo. On, or—off—the football field.
He paused to gaze back toward Cassidy Flaherty and then turned toward the windows as he glanced at his call screen.
"Geezus ... they're driving me insane," he grumbled softly to no one but himself. "Don't they ever stop? I haven't even begun junior year. . . ." How many calls? How many recruiters? How many schools? He had lost count long ago. He pushed the button to end the call. He had no intention of returning any of those messages. "Wake up, Cass. Wake up and help me kick these morons' asses, k?"
Shhtunk.
Beep.
Beep.
Shhtunk.
The 6'3" All-State 5-A quarterback who had led his team to the championship game two years running now, nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of a voice from behind him. He whirled around and found himself facing the next contingent of 6 members of the Regency Heights Warriors football team. That was how it had been since the accident. Six teammates at a time; a combination of teammates and coaches, athletes from other teams ... members of the general student body. . . . Non-Stop, 24/7. Even Hollings Slaughter had been taking his turn as often as possible. The entering-freshman was a good kid. Well ... usually. Lawless was deeply touched by his brother's concern for Cass.
"You gotta stop this, Slaughter," Tra'vis Evans said with a soft whisper of his otherwise deep, booming voice. "This isn't your fault, bro. This just happened. It was an accident." The co-captain of the team's receiver's squad stepped up to fist bump and then offer a longer than usual buddy hug; he stepped back to let the guys that came with him have their moment with their field general.
Bobby Lee Whitlock—punter and kicker, Jacob Rosas—Safety, David and Daniel Parkhurst—fullback and running back, and finally—Joaquin Brothers—defensive back—all stepped forward to greet their quarterback and then step over to the bed to hold a hand, rub a shoulder, or in a couple of cases—kiss the forehead of their fallen comrade and take a few silent moments to offer up a prayer.
Joaquin took up where Tra'vis Evans had started. "He's right man. He's right. We all know it. You know it. And Cass over there? He'd be kicking your butt all over the stadium if he saw you moping and stewing and talking about `retiring' from football." He bounced a fist off the quarterback's chest and pulled him close to his face. "You're just up to start junior year, bro. This ain't the time to start talking `retirement' shit. You need to get back out there to practice before Coach has to replace you."
Shhtunk.
Beep.
Beep.
Shhtunk.
Lawless looked down at Cass, lying there surrounded by tubes, machines, monitors—those noises filled the room—Cass pale and motionless and just there. Was he? There? Or...
He nodded absently. They meant well. They just didn't understand. It was a well-known assumption at Regency Heights that the universe revolved around Lawless Slaughter. What no one grasped, however—no one but Lawless—was that he, on the other hand, revolved around Cass Flaherty. Maybe Lawless was the core of the Heights universe, but—his `core' was lying in this hospital bed fighting for his legs ... his body ... his life? How in the hell was he supposed to roll to another state championship when his wheels had fallen off? Yes—he had four dozen guys backing him up, but without Cass? How could he even attempt it? Well—he couldn't. That was the answer. Without Cass, he couldn't do it this year.
All because of. . . .
It had been such a stupid, innocent thing.
They were raising money for the Cheer Squad to get to Nationals—hopefully—and had a car wash and a BBQ plate sale; this, followed by a scheduled scrimmage with some frat guys from one of the local universities.
It was hot. It was really hot. It was a Texas sizzler times ten. Everyone was melting under the relentless late-summer sun. But—you supported your brother and sister squads. No matter what. That's just what you did at RHHS. The Cheer Squad was there for them during football season so it was only right that they be there for the Cheer Squad and help with the fund raiser.
They were horsing around during the car wash. Squirting each other, and—retaliating. Sloshing buckets of soapy water. Throwing sponges. Shoving dripping chamois' where the sun rarely shone. . . . Just kids, being kids, doing what kids do.
Until.
A slip.
A slip, and—a foot got caught in the space between the bed of a pickup truck and the tailgate. A laughing, Cassidy Flaherty went over the edge of the truck bed and before Lawless could catch him ... before he could do anything ... his best friend hit a concrete parking divider down below.
CASS!!!!!
Lawless Slaughter moved toward the edge of the truck bed and looked downward. Cassidy was staring up at him. His eyes wide open. His mouth drooling through a half frozen grin. His body twitched several times. And, then—went still.
CASS!!!!!
Silence.
Unblinking.
Unmoving.
Silence.
Oh shit!
Cass!
Cass?
Silence.
Shhtunk.
Beep.
Beep.
Shhtunk.
So here they were, standing in the hospital room that had become home for Cassidy Flaherty. Truth be known, the home away from home for Lawless Slaughter. He had barely left this place in the last 3 weeks. He had gone to the first 3 workouts in preparation for the coming football season but he couldn't do it. He couldn't make it happen. Without his number one wide receiver down field, it just wasn't happening, and—it wasn't gonna happen.
The magic was gone.
Every time he stepped onto the football field, he saw Cass' face. Every pass. Off by a mile. Every run. Went nowhere. He couldn't do it. He just couldn't do it.
"I'm through, Coach," he had announced the following week. "I'm through. I can't do this. I just can't go out there, and. . . ."
The Warriors head coach understood. Everyone understood. The team. The faculty. The student body. Cass' family. The Slaughter family.
Everyone had been on egg shells these past weeks; waiting for what they were afraid was coming. What they were dreading. And, here it was. Everyone knew it was the wrong move. The wrong reason. Yeah—they understood, but . . . He should be out on that field working through the grief and the guilt and getting his teammates ready for another march to the state championship. This decision was wrong. It was wrong for the team. It was wrong for Cass Flaherty who was lying in that hospital bed and couldn't argue it out. And, above all else—it was wrong for Lawless Slaughter.
Before his coach or anyone could open their mouth to say anything, Lawless turned and marched toward his locker. He stuffed his personal items into his backpack, stroked the door a few times, looked at the 40-plus teammates who were gathered around—hoping and praying that their quarterback was ready to take on the world, and finding out that he was going to run from it instead—he shook his head and took the time to gaze into every one of those pair of eyes that were staring back at him.
"I'm sorry, guys," he said with a choked whisper. "I'm through. I'm done. I can't do this without . . ."
He hoped the team would understand.
He hoped the student body and the faculty would understand.
He hoped those recruiters would understand and would stop calling him; apparently—not.
He hoped Cass would understand.
He hoped his parents and family would understand. His little brothers worshiped him and called him Super Slaughter. They had actually made a graphic novel in crayon and felt marker when they were younger. The Adventures of Super Slaughter – King of the Warriors.
Shhtunk.
Beep.
Beep.
Shhtunk.
He pushed his locker door shut for the last time. He pressed his forehead against it for several seconds as he fought tears. He turned to look at his silent teammates; well—former teammates, and then he tossed a football to Bailey James—his backup quarterback.
"It's all yours, Bails. Make me proud."
He headed for the exit doors from the locker area, and—paused. He inhaled deeply and looked to his left. To Cassidy's locker. He studied the metal door for several moments before he reached over and popped it open. Gazing inside, his eyes rested on the handmade poster. Cassidy was a magician with his image manipulation software.
A football stadium was shrouded in fog, or—was it smoke? A lone warrior stood on the field ... battered, bruised, nearly shredded, but—victorious. But, out of the shrouds, a clear message:
No prisoners.
No regrets.
No mercy.
Conquer.
Control.
Command.
Show compassion, but—
Rule with an iron fist.
A tear streamed down Lawless Slaughter's cheek as he carefully peeled the poster from the interior. He rolled it up and tucked it under his arm. Nobody would get their hands on this poster. Nobody. He closed the locker door and wondered—would it ever be opened again? By Cassidy? He sucked in enough air to blow up an elephant, turned, and headed for the exit doors one last time.
The Warriors ex-Quarterback burst through the metal doors of the Athletic Complex and out into the sweltering Texas afternoon.
There—he had done it. It was finished. He was finished. Lawless Slaughter never planned to play football again.
Shhtunk.
Beep.
Beep.
Shhtunk.
Shhtunk.
Shht. . . .
END of Chapter Two
To be continued ...?
Author's Note: We would not have access to stories like this and others, without the efforts of the Nifty Erotic Story Archive website. Server hosting and bandwidth is pretty expensive. Please show your support and help it continue by sending a donation at http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html. I've made several donations and I hope you will as well. Even a few dollars helps. Please give what you can.
This is just the start of a story which may or may not be continued. Whether it continues or not partly depends on the comments and responses I get, to gauge the level of interest in taking the story further. It also depends in part on work I'm doing for an erotic gay murder mystery series. Time spent on that novel takes precedence over my short story fiction. If there is enough positive responses, there MAY be additional chapters but they will be at irregular intervals because of other time commitments and work on the novel. I would love to write full time but I have to work for a living. Life happens.
In the future, I may also be posting starting chapter(s) for other stories, to see if there is any interest in them. Most Nifty posts will be to the High School and College sections. Maybe also in the Authoritarian section, and a possible K-9 story. Please let me know if you're interested in those areas.
Please send your comments, thoughts and ideas to Jonathan Longhorn at Yahoo email using jonathan (underscore) longhorn. That should be easy for you to figure out and helps cut down on spam. Valid objective criticism accepted but flames will be ignored. Since I don't get paid for doing these stories, your thanks, thoughts, comments and ideas are always appreciated.
The volume of positive responses will be a determining factor in continuing the story.
When emailing me, please start the "Subject" line with the name of the story (Bitching Knight in this case) so I don't toss your email as spam.
My other stories on Nifty:
The Boiler Room (boiler-room.pdf in the College section) /nifty/gay/college/boiler-room.pdf
Revelations (A story of two brothers in the Incest section) /nifty/gay/incest/revelations