Breaking-In, CH 03 (Patreon)

You ever had this dream? You spend your life wishing for something, then suddenly it all comes true. The perfect man for you, sex every morning, noon and night? No? Too bad, it’s pretty good.

Well, I expect it will be, now that I’m no longer recovering.

So, groaning first thing in the morning’s not new for me. Especially after a strenuous weekend of dealing with other people. It’s like I attend one barbecue, and they all think I’m some social butterfly or something. Especially that old woman from across the street. Like, why did she have to knock on the door at fucking ten in the morning to tell me that the Springborn were going to have a kid? What about me led her to think I gave a fuck?

Anyway, I’m up. I really am. I mean, it’s not like I have a choice after Tristan woke me, saying something my brain is still processing as I make my way to the one place that will cure my problem.

I’m groping around the counter, still trying to process why my hands aren’t closing around the travel mug that should be there in the coffee machine, when a hand pulls me away. I protest. Explain to them with precise words how it’s torture for them to pull me away from my life’s blood.

Well, I think them, anyway, as I try to bat the hand away and get back to my coffee machine. I kind of make out the angry mumbling that escapes my mouth through the fog filling my brain. Then the air’s hotter and the light dimmer, and I look around, trying to figure out how I made it to the backyard.

When I turn to head back inside, I’m pulled away from the steps. I turn and back hand empty air hard. Then I’m on my side, my shoulder screaming in pain from the impact.

“What the fuck?” I demand, head clearing.

“Time to wake up,” Tristan answers.

“That’s what I’m trying to do,” I snap, motioning toward the house.

“Not with coffee. Now that you can function, you need to establish a proper life rhythm, get your body to react to the time of day, not the drugs you put into it.”

“You’re one to fucking talk. I don’t take hard military grade drugs.”

“No, you have yourself addicted to something that doesn’t actually help you.”

“Dad? What drug is he talking about?”

Emil’s there, wearing only sweatpants, which is one piece of clothing more than I or Tristan do.

“Oh? Didn’t you father tell you?” I smirk as I get to my feet. “He takes this drug that lets him stay awake for days, but that’s going to kill him if he takes it more than once. And he has the gall to comment on me drinking coffee—”

I’m on my back, having trouble breathing from the punch in the chest.

“My supply has been destroyed, so it isn’t something you need to worry about, Emil. I took it before I rescued you. I was over most of the withdrawals then. The rest has passed. Before I procure anymore, I will build a safe that will ensure I can’t abuse it.”

“So you’re okay?” Emil still sounds worried.

“That is one item you don’t have to worry about causing me problems, Emil. Get up Alex.”

“Not without coffee, you asshole.”

“Have it your way.”

I roll out of the way from the kick. “Okay, this is fucking enough.” I’m up and punching him hard. I barely block a strike, then remember that with Tristan, I have to be strategic. He’s made of concrete, so I have to strike the parts not quite as well armored.

No, I’m not hitting the obvious one. I want him to use that on me afterward. Anyway, it’s just pisses him off. I’m pretty sure that it’s got an off switch somewhere and he isn’t afraid of using it.

Pain erupts in my back, and I step to the side. “What the Fuck Emil?”

He smirks at me, then comes again, only to throw himself away to avoid a punch from Tristan.

“What is this?” I demand.

“Training.”

I block as many of the punches as I can and remain on my feet from those that connect hard. Emil uses the fact Tristan is focused on me to land a few hits, but he’s nowhere near as strong as I am, and definitely not aware of how hard his father is, since when he backs away he’s opening and closing his fist slowly and Tristan never reacted to the hits.

I dodge, elbow Tristan in the side and launch myself at Emil. I owe him at least one solid hit. I crash in the grass. Fuck, is that kid nimble. I’m out of the way of the foot before it lands where my kidneys were. Even without as much strength as Tristan hits with, that would have hurt. I spin, kick Emil’s legs out from under him, and I’m on my feet, heading for Tristan.

We exchange hits.

Well, I receive a whole lot more than I give.

Emil comes at us again. I can’t tell if I’m the target of Tristan, but it doesn’t matter. I redirect Tristan’s next punch to the side and down so that Emil takes it in the shoulder instead of me, and he’s down, groaning in pain. Tristan doesn’t react to what he’s done to his son, so I don’t get to capitalize on his surprise. I do kick his leg out from under him, which gives me the chance to land a few kicks as he gets up, but they have as much effect as me kicking a street lamppost.

Actually, those hurt less, because they don’t hit back once they are on their feet.

When I’m on my back again, I hit my head on the ground hard enough I see stars from a few seconds. Before I can move, there’s a weight on top of me. And my vision clears to a savagely grinning black man holding my shoulders down and maneuvering his legs between mine.

You have no idea how hard it is to try to get out of that position. How hard wanting to get out of it is. But I have to try if I was to fail and get fucked. Of course, I have no leverage. Even trying to headbutt him only results in my head hurting.

Then my legs are raised over his hips, and his cock is sliding down under my balls.

“I’m heading inside,” Emil says, sounding pained.

“Ice your shoulder before you shower,” Tristan replies, and I attempt to twist him off me. All that accomplishes is to move my hips up slightly and his cock’s now between my cheeks and pressing against my hole.

Okay, let’s say I planned it that way. I push down, and, of course, the bastard shifts so his cock doesn’t go in.

“Look,” I say, “you—”

He thrusts and stretches my hole.

I swallow and wait. He relaxes.

“Are you really—” He thrusts again and stretches me a little more. I glare at him when he relaxes. I open my mouth, and my complaint is swallowed by his mouth covering mine. I’m surprise, unsure what he’s planning, then I’m kissing him back, ready to take anything that’s—

I scream in his mouth as he slams in to me. He doesn’t give me time to catch his breath. He pulls out and slams back in, over and over. It hurts, but fuck does it hurt good. I bit into his shoulder when he breaks the kiss to keep from waking the neighborhood.

“Mine,” he whispers in my ear. “Mine, mine, mine.”

I cum hard, holding him tight. My body wanting to straighten, but he’s still fucking me, keeping me curled and still hurting me. When he slams into me for the last time, I can feel the burn as we slide over the grass. He let out a growl that has the dog next door respond to with a howl.

Well, at least we aren’t the ones who’ll have woken the neighborhood.

* * * * *

The shower is gentle, and after what he just put me through, the sting of the antiseptic soap feels like a slow descent into comfort. When I kiss him, he responds. I kiss him harder, grinding against him, and he pushes me against the wall. We’re both soft, but we’re basically fucking again.

I get tired before he does, of course. The next time he lets me touch his ass, I’m checking to see if he has a series of energizer batteries stashed in there.

* * * * *

The smell of bacon and eggs and sausages gets eclipsed by that of the cup of black nectar Tristan places next to the stove. When I reach for it. He places his hand over it.

“It’s the only one you get. Do you want it now, or while you are eating.”

“What is that? A stupid question?” I take it and take a long swallow, sigh in contentment, then frown as the cup is already half empty. This isn’t one of my travel mugs, it is an ordinary, much too small, coffee cup. I look at where the coffee machine used to be. It’s been in his workshop since the moment I was able to get out of bed. Where he can ensure I won’t cheat. If I had more time, I could sneak away to the cellar and make myself another cup.

“I hate you,” I say, putting the cup down and returning to preparing breakfast for the three of us.

When it’s done, we’re at the table, me with my plate, Emil with his plate, along with a Pemmican bar, and Tristan, already eating his second bar, ignoring the plate I placed in front of him.

Emil’s splitting his time between eating what I prepared and taking small bites of his bar. As far as I can tell, Pemmican is losing. Soon Emil will only eat what I make. Take that Tristan.

Once I’m done with my plate, I clean off Tristan’s, since he isn’t going to eat it. Fighting and fucking certainly work up an appetite.

“Emil, I’ll be leaving in twenty minutes,” I say as I put my plate in the dishwasher.

“Okay,” he replies, looking at his phone.

“You should go get ready,” Tristan says. “This is your first day of school. You don’t want to be there late.”

“Or have to walk there,” I add. “I still have to be at work on time. My boss isn’t going to cut me any slack on your account.”

He sighs and put his phone down. “Why do I have to go? I can stay here and take online courses.”

“You need to be in a social environment,” Tristan states.

“Why? Being loners works well enough for you two, I can do it too.”

I snort. “No, it really doesn’t.” I’m aware enough to know of my problems being around people.

“Alex’s social skills are passable at best,” Tristan says. “he barely thinks before acting, or saying something. He believes he can buy his way out of any trouble he gets himself into, and—”

“There’s no belief involved. Money can make any trouble go away. I learned that one from Dear Old Dad.”

“He lacks respect from anyone with the power to make his life difficult.”

I snort.

“My social interactions are almost entirely fabrications,” He adds. “You have demonstrated that in spite of what you’ve been through, you can still have an instinct to socialize, and I want you to develop it so you won’t have to worry about emotionally injuring someone.”

“I never worry about that one,” I say.

“I’m well aware. Or misjudging a cue and breaking their neck when all they intended was to shake your hand.”

“You’d never do that,” Emil says.

“No anymore.”

Okay, there has got to be a story there. And I wish I had more time so I could get him to tell it, but I have to get dressed before heading out.

“Ten minutes, Emil,” I say as I head to the bedroom. Dressed, I stop by the workshop. “Are you going to be okay? Without me to take care of, you’re going to get bored.”

“There is still ample work needed around the house I couldn’t get too before. Don’t worry about me.”

I’m more worried about what he’s going to do to our house, but so long as me and Emil aren’t in it when he places that phone call, I guess everything will be fine.

Emil’s waiting by the door to the garage when I reach it. He looks like the proper student, with a satchel filled with books and a laptop, jeans and shirt and running shoes. He could do with a haircut.

He grumbles again as we get in the car.

“It’s just school,” I say. “Believe it or not, I went, and I survived.”

“Were you nineteen in Senior year?” he asks bitterly.

I sigh. “Emil, it’s just a number. You shouldn’t get hung up on it.”

“Oh, right. I’m the one hung up on what age I should tell people I am. You and Dad are the ones who can’t seem to just accept my age.”

“Perception is everything these days,” I say as I drive away.

“And you ever cared about it?”

That I don’t have a snappy comeback to. I’m the prime example of living live the way I want and telling to world to go fuck itself if it doesn’t like it.

And I have the scars to prove it.

“Tristan has a point that it’s best to play into what people expect. I never did, and I came out of it okay, but it wasn’t always great. We’re only trying to give you a base so you don’t have to go through what we did.”

“I was hunted down as a kid, nearly died more than once, watched Dad kill I don’t know how many people. I think it’s kind of late for anyone to hope I’m okay.”

“You’re more okay than me or him, and in my case, after going through worse. So yes, I think you have a chance at a more normal life than we have.”

He looks outside. “What if I don’t want normal?”

“Then it should be a choice you can make, instead of having it forced on you.”

“I have made it.”

“No. You did what you had to survive. Emil, please try to give this your full attention. Don’t just skate through and hope it’ll be enough. For one thing, Tristan will know and…” I can’t think of what Tristan will do if Emil disappoints him. My relationship with him is nothing like his with his son, so I have no frame of reference.

He sighs. “I will, but don’t expect me to be happy about it.”

I smile. “You’re a teenager. I’m not sure happiness is a state you’re able to reach.”

He gives me the finger without looking in my direction.

“Now that’s resolved. Can you do me a favor? Don’t tell your father about this next stop.” I turn into the Starbuck’s drive through.

He smirks at me. “What’s that worth to you?”

“It’s not getting you out of school.”

He rolls his eyes. “I already said I was going. How about you get me a large coffee, two cream, three sugar?”

I stare at him. “Does your father know you drink coffee?”

“No. Are you planning on telling him?”

“And lose my new drinking partner? Never.”