Hey everyone, Chapter 2 is on offer. I feel like I rushed this one again, but hopefully it came out well. Please don't hesitate to provide feedback at DCfield90@protonmail.com, I try to answer all emails. Thanks!
Decent Progress, Chapter 2
For the rest of dinner Christian retreated into his own head, a million different scenarios and plans parading through his thoughts, all centering around how to escape this upcoming Larson attack. Afterwards as he washed the dishes, he stared out the bay window into their darkened backyard. The moon shone full and bright through the trees, and he wished to be walking one of its barren hills or valleys. Finishing up the washing, he bounded up the two-tiered staircase to his room. He leaped onto his bed and opened up his laptop, dragging a pillow under his chest and sinking his chin onto its edge. He hammered the name "Larson" into the Google search bar, and got sleuthing. It didn't take long. Brody's father was named Thomas and owned a series of gyms across town. The company had a rudimentary website featuring a short bio of Thomas, and there wasn't much indicative of evil. Grew up locally, went to a local college, hard-working go-getter pursuing his passion, blah blah blah. Christian figured his enterprise must be lucrative, judging by Brody's new truck, and the lack of information on the mother. He wondered if his own mother would approve of a housewife. Shifting a second pillow between his legs, he typed Brody's name into Instagram, surprised this never occurred to him before. But why would it? Sifting through the results, he spied a profile pic of an arrogant smile behind a sheet of shiny black hair.
"Yep, that's him."
He clicked on it, his heart beating a bit faster as his enemy's documented life was laid before him. Christian had an Instagram himself, but rarely uploaded. Brody did so frequently. Angled selfies between girls brandishing red solo cups, flashing meaningless gang signs with friends at wrestling practice, reverent photos of his freshly waxed truck... the usual douchebag fare. Scrolling down he clicked on a photo series unlike the others. These looked professional. Glancing down, Christian noticed the photographer's watermark. They depicted Brody in a recent meet where he'd come 1st place. They were captioned "And out of the dust of battle, the victor emerges." Christian rolled his eyes. All the wrestlers thought they were ancient warriors or something, it was so annoying. He swiped through the photos. It was almost like a stop-motion film, so many were taken in quick succession. Brody had pinned his opponent in a complicated fashion, pinioning his arms at the elbows and hooking his leg behind the boy's knees. It looked like a game of twister but more absurd. Christian watched in jerky stop-motion as Brody arose in triumph and immediately peeled his singlet down. The photographer apparently zoomed in more at this point, with good reason. Christian gulped unconsciously; even for a gymnast, who spent most days around shirtless ripped guys, Brody's body was something to behold. His pecs weren't huge, but superbly defined, the muscle striations making a hard line from throat to solar plexus. That line continued unimpeded down to his small naval, and separated three pairs of symmetrical abs. These were framed by his obliques which jutted into his slim waist, forming...
"What's the opposite of a love-handle?"
Below his navel they created twin canals of muscle arcing down to his-his-... Christian then realized that blood was thundering in his ears, and pulsing somewhere else as well. He slammed his laptop shut. He was hard as a rock, his cock flexing into his briefs.
"What the hell?"
No possible way he got aroused looking at Brody. He turned onto his back and shimmied his shorts down, letting his engorged member flop onto his own muscular stomach. To be honest, even if he had (and he hadn't), it wouldn't be too surprising. He got hard almost randomly lately, looking at guys and girls. It occurred to him he was a bit of a late bloomer, tons of other sophomores were dating and pursuing girls, but it just hadn't happened with Christian. The easy progression into teen romance, the flirting, exchange of DM's, conversations into the night, then first dates... it transpired all around him, but not with him. Not that girls were uninterested. Kelsey in Trig had made some demonstrations, but Christian was clueless on how to progress things further. Perhaps it was his failing with words, perhaps a bit of insecurity and fear of being rejected. Too bad, because she was cute! Blond hair, dimpled smile, perky tits and a long waist. There was a moment only yesterday when he glanced over as she sat by the window leaning into her desk, and he noted the graceful curve of her back, the just-visible bands of muscle gliding down her spine, ending in the voluptuous bulbs of her rear. It was a far better and far sexier thought than the pallid curves of Brody's groin. He turned out the light and settled in for a goodnight jerkoff session. Seizing his cock he imagined sliding Kelsey's jeans down her thighs, working her hips, raising up to offer a view of her soft buttock.
"Hmmm..."
The sounds thrummed in his throat as he increased the friction on his dick, flailing against the reddened cherry tip. In his mind Kelsey's top was easing up over her head, its passage causing no movement of her firm bosom.
"Uh...UH... Unnnn..."
Warmth enveloped him. In the morning Christian was unsure if sleep overtook him completely at this point, or if he was in a twilight between sleep and wakefulness, but nonetheless his image of Kelsey dissolved. It was replaced by blackness. He was floating in it, the last vestige of light lingering from Kelsey's sunlit hair. But he could see nothing and hear nothing through the void. Then something white emerged, cream white, a pillar of it gliding towards him. The eyes were obscured by the darkness of his hair, a languid smile spread over his pink lips. It seemed familiar but strange at once, just as it appeared threatening yet seductive. As it came nearer Christian felt himself falling, and suddenly the figure was over him, arms pillared on either side of his head. Christians legs were in the air and they were moving together. The expanse of muscle above him rippled and undulated, the rows of abs contracted then bowed out. A red mouth lowered down, and Christian suddenly started awake. He was twisted in the sheets which clung to him with sweat, and his crotch was caked in dried cum. He felt confused and bleary. Sliding a hand around his mattress he found the laptop and opened it. The light nearly blinded him, but he saw the time of 6:17 before closing it again.
"I must have come thinking about Kelsey last night."
That must be it. The dream was just some bizarre byproduct of looking at Brody's Instagram. Besides, the weird figure could have been anyone, or no one. Still...
"Was I being fucked?"
It wasn't a fantasy he'd ever had. The times he felt hot thinking about Jameson or Gage from gymnastics, the most he'd fantasized about was touching, mutual handjobs, that sort of thing. He knew about anal but the idea grossed him out. Wouldn't you get shit all over you? And no amount of lube could make it not hurt. He untangled himself from the sweaty sheets, feeling dirty and rather sick.
"I need a shower. Hopefully that'll get the stink off me."
He wished the hot water could rinse away dreams.
School was unremarkable until Biology, when Travis dropped his pig onto the floor with a loud splat. They'd all had a good laugh, especially when Ms. Macmillan made Travis retrieve the corpse from a trashcan, into which he'd flung it in disgust. Saying the ritual goodbyes to Alex and Peter, Christian made the trek to English once more. He'd successfully distracted all day from the thought of seeing Brody again, but now the dread crept upon him again, and redoubled with every step. By the time he reached the east wing, he felt practically panicked. Stopping at the top of the stairs and moving to the side to allow others to pass, he rested against the wall to catch his breath.
"Get it together man, what's wrong with you?"
Brody made him nervous, he'd readily admit, but now he was reluctantly coming to the realization that he was downright scared of him. The idea filled him with anger, and the worst kind of frustration. Inhaling deeply, he willed himself to be calm and reasonable.
"He's just a douchey classmate. You're tougher than this, don't let him in your head."
Feeling steeled, he pushed off from the wall with resolution and continued down the hall. Just then, a voice from behind:
"Yo, Chris!"
He turned. Jeff, a kid he hung out with Freshman year but had become distanced from, emerged from the stairwell.
"Hey man, what's up?"
"Nothin' much. Hey dude, I just got my hands on some good stuff, wanna join?"
Christian knew what he meant. Jeff had quickly become a pothead in high school, and often skipped class to get high behind the dumpsters. Now that he had a car, the habit had increased. This was the main reason for their quasi-estrangement, and normally Christian would reject the offer, but today was not a normal day.
"Sounds good man. Parking lot?"
Jeff grinned.
"You know it. Let's get outta here."
Jeff's car was an old 1992 Honda, and Christian reclined a bit into the gummy surface of the passenger seat. Jeff was preparing his vape, for which he was grateful. He couldn't risk his mother smelling the acrid stench of weed smoke.
"All ready, bro. You first."
Christian had only smoked a couple times in his life, but knew what to expect. The dissociative sensation of being high had never agreed with him, but he wanted an excuse to not see Brody more than necessary (the fucker would be occupying his home tonight). It also happened to fall on an exceedingly rare day when Christian didn't require coordination; no gymnastics. A pipe had burst in the gym and coach was slaving away with a wet-dry vac, poor man. He'd gotten the text earlier from his mother. So he hit the vape with all his might and main.
"Shit, nice hit!"
Christian exhaled an elegant cloud of vapor and passed the device over. They completed the ritual in 15 minutes, by which time the ineffable feeling stole over him that reality was not what it seemed, and his own thoughts might be of some otherworldly source. Everything was immaterial and infinitely malleable. But he focused on the green display of the car's digital clock, trying to make sense of the numbers.
"Damn, I gotta go. Don't want to skip my last class. Thanks for sharing this with me, I loved it." His words sounded strangely deliberate.
"No problem man, let's do it again soon."
They bumped fists and Jeff settled into his seat contentedly, intent on riding out his buzz without botheration from school. Christian smiled and exited. Jeff wasn't a bad student, but all the absences might screw him. He walked, or rather floated, back into the building and made for his final class, an easy elective course requiring no concentration. Through his befuddlement he realized it was five minutes early. He went to a nearby bathroom to wait it out, checking his phone frequently. Time just didn't behave properly when you were high, and his high was setting in properly now. He was gazing intently at his phone, when he heard footsteps, then their abrupt stop.
"Of all the places to play hooky. You disappoint me."
Christian looked up. His perception was distorted, but the shape swimming before him and the sounds it produced were of somebody familiar. Somebody who was disliked. But those ideas belonged to someone else. He, whoever he was, wasn't bothered.
"Hey, whoah-whoah. Hold on there, oh mute one."
The shape snatched an arm around him as he tried to pass, and was holding him at a distance, looking into his eyes. It chuckled.
"Have you been smoking the devil's lettuce? For shame!"
Christian twisted away without even feeling it. He had reached that stage where nothing made much of a sensory impression. Next thing he realized, he was in his dad's car heading home.
Safely ensconced in his bedroom, with his own memories and personality gathering themselves back in, Christian felt grateful it was his dad who picked him up. If he knew he was off his gourd, he wouldn't say anything unless it happened again. With his mom, he'd never hear the end of it. But with each fresh wave of normal thought washing onto the shore of his mind, his unease grew. That was Brody he'd encountered in the bathroom, and he knew he'd been smoking. He'd provided Brody with another weapon in his arsenal. Then he remembered.
"Oh fuck. TONIGHT! They're coming over tonight!"
Surely Brody wouldn't be cruel enough to tell his parents? Knowing him, he'd dangle the possibility over Christian's head for a while, THEN tell them. He punched his pillow. This was going to suck.
The Larson's arrived at 6:30 PM. Christian heard his father greet them at the front door, and laughing. Straining his ear at the top of the staircase, he tried to catch their conversation. He wanted introductions out of the way before he presented himself.
"Sorry it's just us, B*#($#^ couldn't make it."
"No problem, more food for the rest of us. Can I getcha a beer?"
"You speak my language. Absolutely."
Did he say `Brody couldn't make it'? Hope blooming in his chest, Christian cautiously stole downstairs.
"Hey, there he is! Since it's just us guys, beers all around I say."
Nope. There he was, leaning against the bar-style kitchen counter. Brody was immaculately dressed in a fitted white shirt and black slacks. His hair was freshly washed with all its natural luster. His father was an average-looking man with receding brown hair and very friendly eyes. Like Christian himself, Brody must take his appearance from his mother.
"Well Chris, looks like you're the sartorial odd man out," Brody laughed.
Christian looked down at his shorts and t-shirt, reddening as they all grinned at him. He noticed Brody wasn't calling him `Carter' as he usually did.
"Good vocab, Brody. Don't often hear a kid your age speak so well," his father said.
"Oh, he's always buried in a book. It's tough to get him into his actual schoolwork, he'd rather read... what is it now?"
"Flaubert."
His father shrugged, his kind eyes crinkling in a smile.
"I dunno what he's talking about half the time. Our common ground is wrestling, I competed in college."
"It was tennis for me, but only highschool," Christian's father answered, slugging the beer he'd opened. "I just do some weights these days."
He showed it too. Despite only casual exercise, his father retained an impressive physique for his age. His belly was still flat and hard, and the indentations of his delts were visible through his dress shirt. For a man who owned gymnasiums, Christian thought Brody's dad was curiously doughy.
Speaking of which, how bout a friendship discount for membership?"
"Y'know, I may have to take you up on that. Home workouts have their advantage, but since Covid happened, I miss..."
As they were speaking, Brody had sidled closer to Christian and held out the beer on offer from earlier.
"Just one, I think. Don't want to lead you into substance abuse."
His eyes glittered in amusement. Looked at so near, Christian noticed how long his lashes were. Most girls would be jealous.
"Don't you dare tell them." Christian took the bottle without looking at it, doing his best to bore his gaze right through Brody's head. `Looking daggers', he believed it was called.
"Relax, I'm no narc. Why'd you do it anyway? You're never absent."
"I dunno... just felt like it."
"Felt nervous, you mean. Understandable. My presence can intimidate the inferior."
"Dude, fucking lay off me. I don't get it, we never talk, we never hang out, why do you talk so much shit to me?"
Brody was drinking as he said this, his look became somewhat guarded. Swallowing, he wiped a dribble of beer from his chin.
"You invite it, I suppose. No one else takes it quite so personally."
"Bullshit. You don't treat anyone like this!"
"Sshhh," Brody soothed, bringing the bottle to his lips in the universal shushing motion.
"
Christian had been trying to keep his voice down, but the two adults glanced over.
"Hey boys let's take it outside. It's getting to be firepit weather after all. Get a load of this thing, Thomas, picked it up for sale last weekend."
His father really seemed to like Thomas, which was a rarity. He was a talented actor but this seemed genuine. Great. They'd be seeing more of the Larsons in the future. Passing through the French doors, they drew four chairs up to the firepit, igniting it with a bit of oil.
"So what's this book you're reading for English class?" Thomas asked.
"Anna Karenina." Christian answered, unenthusiastically.
"Tolstoy, right? What's it about again?"
Christian shifted and looked at Brody. Taking the cue, Brody launched in.
"It's the dual story of the titular Anna, and Levin, who's honestly a stand-in for the author. Both find love, Levin's love being more innocent and honest, Anna's borne of passion. It's set in late 19th century Russia and a lot of the social issues described in the book prefigure the Revolution. I think that's how it's maintained such significance. But more than that, the characters behave humanly. Their decisions change, their fortitude wavers, and they have difficulty balancing passion from rational judgement. In the end, I think their fates depend on being able to trust their judgment, and to trust the object of their love."
Christian's father's eyes were raised. Thomas laughed and gestured towards his son.
"Like I said, a scholar. Wants to major in Literature for college, right?"
"Exactly right," Brody responded without a hint of self-consciousness. Most guys with his sports background wouldn't admit such a thing.
"Very nice. Christian's planning on some kind of engineering, following his mother. Me, I could never get my head around equations more complex than 2+2=4. Thank God I married up."
They all chuckled at that. "He's got a mind for mathematics. I see him poring over physics stuff in English that would make my head spin," Brody said. This was so unexpected, Christian had to stare at him. Did he just complement him? As Christian gaped, Brody looked at him with an amused grin. "Oh, and he's modest. He'll turn red if you sing his praises, just watch!" With that he leaned forward and placed his fists under his chin with comic exaggeration. The adults laughed, and Christian indeed felt himself turning crimson from the attention.
"Cut it out," he giggled, giving Brody's firm shoulder a shove.
"Cassus Belli!" Brody shouted and dived forward. Tilting Christian's flimsy deck chair backward, he sent him to the patio floor with ease, softening his landing by placing his arm behind Christian's head. Lying perpendicular across his chest, Brody held him in place.
"No! Aaagh! Get off!" Christian cried out, giggling almost hysterically now. His arms were pinned underneath Brody's stomach. Even just with his forearms, he could feel the hard indentations of his abs through the dress shirt. The hem had risen enough to expose his blue briefs, and a sideways view of his Adonis Belt. Even through his laughter, Christian was momentarily transfixed. The way the muscle cut such a shapely ridge, dividing his torso from hip, and curving inwards so elegantly... it was like someone draped white velvet over sheer marble.
"Apologize, and I'll get off." Brody grinned down and back at him, through his thicket of shiny locks.
"No!" Christian wasn't sure he wanted him off, but he was suddenly conscious of a light pulsing in his groin. Shit. Not now.
"Well you've got a problem then huh?"
Both men were highly entertained by the puppy-like antics.
"Well, fun as this is, I need to check on dinner," Christian's father said, checking his watch. Brody placed a hand on Christian's pec and pushed himself up. Holding out his hand, he smiled down.
"C'mon." There was no detectable malice in that grin. Not this time. Christian gazed up at Brody, black hair blending perfectly into the starless night sky. He seized the outstretched hand and was hauled up, hoping against hope his inflated crotch wasn't noticeable. Brody thrust out an arm to steady him, snaring him around the torso like he had earlier in the bathroom. Christian looked down at the arm holding him fast, then up at his face. He'd never seen Brody this closely before. His wide, expressive mouth was slightly open as if he was about to speak. There was something going on in those dark eyes, something stirring in their murky depths that didn't know how to get out.
"What's up?" He asked with genuine innocence. Brody half-blinked and his lips twitched. His face reassumed its confident aura.
"Nothing. Let's eat before the old men devour everything."
Dinner was enjoyable, even fun. They continued in the vein of get-to-know-you discussion, and enjoyed a delicious fare of coq au vin over rice with wine. His father decided to go French for this meal, and it was graciously received by the Larsons. From the way they mmm'd' and yumm'd' over it, Christian supposed no one cooked much at their house. His guess about Mrs. Larson being a housewife was correct, but they didn't talk about her much. After dinner his father made the friendly offer of a movie, but given it was a school and work night, they politely refused.
"To be honest I'm glad," said his father later, as he scrubbed a pot with his sleeves rolled up, "I was falling asleep by then."
As they had shown them out, Brody wordlessly raised a fist and Christian bumped it.
"See you tomorrow, I guess."
Christian smiled, not insincerely.
"Yeah, see you."
As he watched their red taillights fade into the dark, Christian dared to feel a bud of hope blossom in his chest. Maybe this family time would improve things. Maybe it would convince Brody that he was more than a human dartboard made to be casually peppered with insults. He remembered that shadowy look Brody had after he hoisted him to his feet, the only time Christian had witnessed him even vaguely troubled or uncertain. And just before when he was on top of him...
"Don't think about it!"
He screwed up his eyes and rubbed his temples like the memory could be massaged away. Perhaps it could, willpower and physical exertion working in tandem, but there was no escaping the sensation Brody's weight had stirred in his loins. That certainly could be rubbed away but its return would be guaranteed. And the memory linked so easily with that dream, the recollection of which was dulled by the day's weed and beer, but which now resurfaced like a buoy pushed to the bottom of a pool.
"I can't be thinking like this. This will mess me up so unbelievably bad."
By any means he'd need to nip this attraction in the bud, especially if Brody continued being nasty. He couldn't allow himself to have the hots for a guy who pushed him around, the confusion it might cause would be unreal. But if they could ease into a toleration of one another's existence it'd be a huge relief. As Christian turned out his lights and curled a pillow between his legs, he clung to this possibility.
"Whatever happens tomorrow, I can deal with it."
Or so he thought.
End of Chapter 2.
P.S.
Hey everyone, friendly reminder to donate to Nifty at https://donate.nifty.org/ , it's something I myself have been remiss about, but is so essential to supporting this resource for creative expression.