Date: Wed, 29 Jun 2016 07:53:39 -0600
From: MG <xx20.i1.xiii13@gmail.com>
Subject: I'm In Control Part 3

Disclaimer!!

I talk about some pretty heavy stuff. If this's a trigger for you, please
be warned.

Names, dates and locations have been changed to respect anonymity. Any
resemblance is purely coincidental.

I enjoy feedback and comments. Feel free to shoot me an email. I can be
reached at XX20.I1.XIII3@gmail.com or inmeliesdivinity@Yahoo.com

Flames ignored.

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-----

He smells like liquor, cigarette smoke and teenage boy - a smell I'm so
familiar with. I allowed myself the laziness of just laying there against
his chest and smelling him. There was so much I knew about this body. Two
ribs, lumped from failing to see a doctor when they fractured. Stitches
along the bottom left side of his jaw. He was smashed into a table. A pink,
raw-looking scar along the left side of his neck; we both had that scar in
the same place. A thin, fading scar on his right pec, I don't know where
that's from. The biggest one curved from his side just below his ribs and
travelled down about an inch below his "v". A surgery scar.

If his hair was short enough, you could see the stitching scar from the bat
that smashed into him. And you could feel it if you ran fingers along
it. That scar makes me shudder every time I see it. And it also puts what
he did for me into perspective.

What he had done for me for three years. The abuse he took for me; the
reason Jack grabbed the bat that day.

Those scars should've scared me. They should've brought back memories that
made me nauseous. But it reminded me of the most vivid memory I have of him
outside of the incident.

He'd turned twelve just a month prior to recovery, and I was seven weeks
away from my tenth birthday. We were in that shed.

There was a pack of cigarettes on the large, metal toolbox above me. One
had fallen down and rolled into a crack. Water was leaking through a single
spot to the back, left of the room just beside me, melting from the snow
caked on the roof from the blizzard outside. The freezing water was pooling
under my rear. Jack was standing right beside me, looking at me with such
despair, it made me feel hopeless. Tears were dripping off of his
chin. That man's hand was covering Jack's ear, pressing his head against
the metal shelving beside me along with his body. He was in so much pain,
gnashing his teeth, face red as a tomato, his knuckles so white you'd think
they were gonna break through the skin. He couldn't make so much as a
fucking squeak or it would just get worse and he'd have the same, dark red
mark and the same blood trickling down my cheek from my skin on the
cheekbone splitting as me. The same dazed dizziness and throbbing pain –
which was nothing in comparison to what I'd endured moments prior. What
Jack was enduring at that moment.

That despair terrified me, numbed me in a dangerous way. At that moment, I
wanted to die. I wanted Paul to just get it over with and beat me to
death. Anything...

Anything was better than this.

He was enduring that pain and suffering for me. To spare me the same
treatment, even if for at least that one day.

I couldn't even cry. My face was just blank, numb as if at that moment, I
had just come to terms with it. That was my life. Until I died, that was
it.

And then, he reached his hand out to me, and that despair turned into a
look of desperation; a look of a fear I'd see only three more times in my
life.

I took it.

With a loud grunt and a harsh pulling on Jack's face, it was coming to an
end.

Paul let go of Jack's head, and zipped himself up. And just like every
time; "Did ya like it, boy?" With a pat on Jack's head.

Jack struggled with his words. He was struggling to stay standing. But he
had to. "Yes."

Paul chuckled. And he did so fondly! As if he'd found us something more
than what we were to him! Patronizing us, degrading us.

"See Jack? I told you you would." He leaned in and fucking kissed Jack's
head. And then he turned and shoved open the shed door, allowing a surge of
frozen air to hit us both. "You two be good. I'm gonna go get dinner, so
clean up."

I could tell it made Jack angry. And that was an understatement.

With the sound of the door clicking closed, it was over.

For a moment, he stayed standing until a hiccup of a sob sounded from his
mouth. Jack allowed himself to slide slowly to his knees, pulling his hand
from me and grasping the edge of one of the shelves with his head bowed
down and his back and shoulders heaving.

I couldn't feel it. Maybe I was in shock, or some sort of daze, but I just
couldn't feel it.

With a yell so loud and so terrifying in just how much it carried with it;
rage and a hatred so pure, Satan would be jealous. He sprung back up and
stomped to the door and screamed at it. Pounded his fists into it,
declaring how much he hated Paul and how he was going to kill him. Red
faced, spit flying out of his mouth and tears from absolute rage.

I got a look at Jack's back side, and just how bad it was this time.

He raged for a good two minutes until his forehead fell onto the door, and
all that was left was despair. Hopelessness in a sob that would send chills
down a grown man's back. He forced down his sobs and walked back over to
me, collapsing on his knees and wrapping me in a hug as if I'd float away
if he didn't. He understood that look better than anyone.

He'd caught me with the tools necessary for suicide more than once –
he'd just get mad at me, though.

This was different than those times. I wasn't feeling sorry for
myself... I'd just given up.

He grabbed the sides of my head and pressed his forehead firmly against
mine, and that fear was back. "Don't leave me." He whispered shakily. "You
better not leave me." His face slowly twisted in anger again. "Luca!!" His
fist pounded into the toolbox, and the rest of the cigarettes dumped to the
floor. "I'm older, shit head!! I'm in charge!! So you have to listen to
me!!!"

There were several moments of silence, just him heaving. I could see his
face getting paler, and his burst of energy fading alongside his anger. He
sat back and pulled me into a hug, again tight. A desperate hug. "Please
don't..." His whisper was unsteady, so sincerely desperate. "Do what I say,
Luca. You have to do what I say. I don't wanna be here alone." His arms
tightened. "My life is shit... you're the only thing that's not. You're my
kid brother, I love you, stupid!" He declared in a broken, throaty voice.

My world stopped.

Love. I know he's my brother, but he'd never said that to me before, in a
kinship sort of way or any other, that I can remember. I knew he loved me,
but to hear it...

That was all I wanted. I just wanted to have meaning, to be loved by
something!

Brothers are obligated to love each other as family, but this... this
wasn't obligated or forced. It was real and it brought back feeling to me.

I broke. We sobbed together.

The next day, Jack took a baseball bat to his head.

I don't know if I found the memory fond or sobering. All I knew was I was
grateful for him; the man - now - with arms wrapped around me.

My arms tightened a bit as if I was going to lose him. Such a childish
thought for a fifteen year old. You'd think I'd be a bit more masculine in
the presence of my brother, especially with our fucked up complex.

I've seen Jack that worked up a handful of times, it's normally when I do
something to push him away to the point where he's scared of losing me in
some way.

The worst was when I was fifteen just after my mom died of an amphetamine
overdose. The day of the funeral, I was conflicted. I didn't know if I was
happy or if I was devastated. I did know that I was so mad, I'd locked
myself in her room for two days sobbing, breaking things, and then sobbing
again. I didn't let anyone in, not my aunt or uncle - her brother and
sister, not Jack, not Ryan. Nobody.

The second day, I'd basically become catatonic. I was out of energy, and
out of fucks to give about anything. After not responding to them for a few
minutes, Ryan broke through the door, obviously scared for my safety.

I told them I wasn't going to the funeral.

Jack stomped toward me and held me by my shirt. He shouted at me, he told
me she was my mom, I owed her at least an hour to mourn.

I'm pretty sure I made everyone in the room mad, but I just said; "What's
there to mourn? Good riddance."

There was a shocked moment of silence. Jaws had dropped at my coldness.

I saw it in his face before it even happened.

Jack cocked back his fist and punched me square in the cheek. Someone
reached in to grab him and pull him back, but I went ballistic and tackled
him and my uncle - who had pulled him back - to the ground. Chaos and
screaming erupted. Jack had overpowered me and pushed me off, standing
quickly and lunging with his arm coiled.

The two men in the room weren't having it. My uncle grabbed Jack and pulled
him back, hitting the wall in the process while he was still gripping my
shirt.

Ryan grabbed me before I could go back in. We were screaming a slew of
"fuck you"'s, faces red and blood vessels popping I'm sure.

He yelled something about her being my mom again, and I said fuck her.

Jack tried to yank out of his hold.

Ryan, again wasn't having any of it. He literally grabbed my collar and
tossed me backwards against the wall, grabbed Jack's arm, and tried to push
him out the door, and when Jack swung, we both got a glimpse of what the
terrifying older brother who'd killed a man could be. He slammed Jack
against the wall so hard, it shocked him. It only took a look for Jack to
calm down, and Ryan calmly told him to get out. That calm wasn't good. Ryan
was livid.

Jack gave me one more glare, and I sneered back at him, lip bloody and
shirt stretched out.

Ryan turned toward me. "Get up."

It carried so much command behind it that I couldn't help but listen. So I
stood up, reluctantly and still giving him the defiant look.

One thing I knew with absolute certainty was that Ryan would never hurt
me. He could punch and beat Jack up all he wanted, but never me. I wasn't
afraid of Ryan's fists. Only his disappointment.

Behind him, my aunt and uncle left the room. The lecture was coming, I knew
it. He moved toward me so fast, I flinched and jabbed his finger into my
chest (which somehow he could make hurt). "You entitled little prick. I
don't give a fuck what you think or what you have to say about mom, you
keep it to yourself! She's dead, Luca! Gone forever! And you're gonna spit
on her grave!?"

I was shaking now because I was so mad.

"Get your shit together, get dressed and get to that fucking church!"

My teeth ground. "No."

"Are you serious?" He glared hard. "She's you're mom Luca!! She's our mom!
We're a fucking family!"

"She is not my family!!" I screamed back. "She hated me!! She didn't even
fucking hide that!!"

"Luke, what are you talking about?" He gave me an incredulous look. "What
the fuck is wrong with you?! Did you take your pills?"

My heartbeat sped up. Now it was my pills... I lunged at him, fist cocked
back, and he saw it coming like I threw a chair at him. His arm came up and
absorbed my blow, and he just shoved me back hard, I dented the wall,
dazed. He was glaring down at me with a look of disapproval and pity. "It's
mom's funeral. I'm not dealing with your bullshit today." He shook his
head, reaffirming himself. "You don't wanna be a part of this family, then
fine. Sulk here all fucking day."

A feeling sliced through my chest.

A part of me had always had doubts. The only connection I had with my
brothers was our mom who wasn't even our mom, really. They loved me, I
loved them. But I didn't get them. They knew something different than I
did. They had seen mom before she went berserk, or at least before she had
hit rock bottom. I had only seen it one time. Just once. I drove her to
madness because she was irresponsible when she was pregnant. I was
incredibly frail, being premature, incredibly temperamental with Sensory
Processing Disorder, and all around fucked up mentally because of a stupid
meth addiction I had coming out of the fucking womb.

I always felt like I drove her away. The mom they once knew, I broke
her. Just like she broke me down so systematically, made me feel like shit
for even being alive. When she'd found out about Caleb and I, she got so
angry that we physically fought each other, it ended with one of her
boyfriends, and by boyfriend I mean a guy she was fucking for free shit -
choked me and burned my side with a cigarette while she watched, too scared
to protest. Too fucking scared to stand up for her own child! Meanwhile,
Jack's was willing to rip his asshole open just to spare me the pain! She
couldn't even tell him to stop!! It was only after it felt like I was going
to die from lack of oxygen that she said something.

And then she cleaned the wound, put me on the bed, and left.

Fucking left me!

They didn't know what it felt like to be completely and totally abandoned
by someone who was supposed to love me. The same person I saw everywhere!
Moms were doing anything for their children, even dying for them, and my
mom didn't even have the courage to stay with me after being burned and
choked out by a methed out psychopath who probably beat her too.

But that was my mom.

The very last thing she ever said to me was; "I can't be here with
you. Congratulations, you pushed me out of my own house again." LIKE IT WAS
MY FAULT SHE PICKED A FIGHT WITH ME!! What the fuck was I supposed to
do!?!? Lay down and take the abuse?? Like I did with Paul?! Should I have
just willingly given up the little power I felt I had left? Destroyed any
positive self image I had?!

How can I pay respect to someone who saw me as nothing but a hindrance! I
wasn't her son! I was her fucking mistake, the baggage attached to her that
she just dropped. I was nothing to her! And if I wasn't, I NEVER felt like
anything more.

Fuck her. To this day, fuck her.

"You can sit here and mope like the world revolves around you. I don't give
a fuck." Ryan said with a rather exhausted sneer. "You're severing any
connection you have. You don't get it now, but you will once everyone is
fed up with your constant pity parade, like the fucking world revolves-"

"Shut the fuck up..." I growled lowly.

"What?" He asked in that dangerous, warning tone. "Care to repeat that?"

"I said shut the fuck up!"

He was shocked.

Hell, I was shocked. I'd never talked like that to Ryan. Ever.

He nodded, coming to terms how unruly I was being with him. "Okay." He was
sneering in rage. "Okay. Brothers help each other. And you don't wanna be
helped. I'm done." He threw his hands up in exasperation. "I can't fucking
do it..." He spun, running his hand through his hair with a deep sigh. "I'm
gonna talk with Uncle Jerry. See if you can live with him." He gave me one
last disapproving look and left the room.

I was left with the black hole of negative thoughts. Inadequacy and
worthlessness just surged through. And everything is so amplified when
you're sick and haven't taken meds in a few days.

If anyone's ever had any experience with someone who's bipolar, then you
know that there's a stage in their life where shit just goes sideways. A
mania so strong, it ruins any progress in healing in most cases.

That was my moment.

Two days off my meds after my mom dies and being so confused with my own
emotions were enough to send me off the deep end. And with both of my
brothers hating me (that's the shit you tell yourself, everything is the
end of the world), I felt like...

Actually, I didn't feel anything but solitude in a perpetually dark hole
that never seemed to light back up. Ever.

I felt... like dying. The craziness in me, the severity of my manic episode
convinced me that I was better off dead. Part of me had always entertained
the idea of suicide. I was caught with a gun a long time ago. But back
then, I don't think I would've done it.

But at that moment, I'd made my decision. The stupidest decision of my
entire life.

I left that room only to rummage through the kitchen cupboard and raid my
medicine cabinet.

Liquor reacts with antidepressants and antipsychotics in very volatile
ways. Add half a script of adderall to the mix, and I had enough drugs to
kill me five times over.

One orange bottle at a time, I dumped them in my mouth, chugging the
horrible vodka, determined not to choke or throw up. Funny how strength
manifests.

I was sweating by the time I was done, now just chugging down the rest of
the clear liquid.

And then I waited, staring at myself in mom's mirror, hatred dancing across
my own features. I hated myself.

It's so strange feeling death kick in. It only took maybe ten minutes for
my head to spin from the alcohol and then for it to suddenly feel so heavy
and so large while my entire back and neck were tensed so tight, I felt
like they were stone.

It hit me... exactly what I'd just done to myself.

I killed myself. I had just ended my life, my existence!

Terror gripped me and panic shot through me like I'd never experienced
before and everything started getting blurry and muddled and at the same
fucking time, I was so aware of every feeling. I couldn't pass out because
of the adderall. I was forced to stay awake and feel myself die.

But I didn't. I fucking survived...

I'm a cynical person. I don't entertain the idea of "God" or miracles. I
don't "believe" anything. I don't put faith in anything.

But since that day, I've told myself that if there was a higher power and
it revealed itself to me in some way, I wouldn't doubt it. Not one bit.

My uncle, Jerry, has a son. Hayden was two years younger than me. Jerry was
well to do and generally kept his boy away from us because of the drama, so
whenever we did have any family functions, be it holidays or something
else, he was attached to me and Jack by the hip. We were his "cool and
rebellious" older cousins.

Hayden heard about the fight and uncle Jerry encouraged him to check on me,
maybe keep me company or whatnot.

Hayden saved my life. He walked in the room, saw me convulsing on the
floor, saw the pill bottles and saw the bottle of vodka and pieced it all
together, quickly coming up with some sort of solution. He stuck his
fingers down my throat (I have no gag reflex) and when that didn't work, he
just punted me in the stomach several times until the contents spilled all
over the carpet.

Had he been even two minutes later, I would've had so many chemicals in my
system that I would've died in traffic.

He was on his phone, screaming and sobbing, my family drove back to me so
fast, the mailbox was leveled. Blanking out, I was staring up at Jack's
chin, lying across the back seat of a car. He was yelling, possibly to my
uncle or my brother to speed up. I don't know.

I don't remember much but the smell of an air freshener, and then the
lemon, rank smell of an Emergency Room.

I remember a strange pain in my arm and seeing the I.V.

And nothing else.

I woke up in a psychiatric hospital on lockdown a week later, in pain from
surgery, confused as hell. They kept me on pain meds until I wasn't in
danger of ripping any stitches. I don't remember much.

Ryan warned the place that I was known to be violent when scared. Of
course, he was right. When I was functioning, I had to be sedated and
eventually just strapped to the bed, force fed a cocktail of meds that I
responded to negatively due to the dose being way too high, partially
because Ryan got the dose of the meds I was on at the time wrong. I felt
like utter shit and the nurses didn't believe a word I said. Being strapped
to a table for being violent makes your words very thin. They finally
realized that it was sick when the doctor took a fucking blood test and
said "oh, we're giving you too much lithium".

I wasn't too cooperative after that. In fact, I was livid that, A, I was
still alive and, B, I was in the most unfamiliar place with little to no
comfort from anyone. I was terrified at night, had frequent freak outs that
generally went unnoticed, and my solitude produced a sense of psychosis
that lead to a few flashbacks - which were horrible. One panic attack
literally made me feel like I was sitting in my brother's blood, thinking
he was dead. And since he was nowhere near me to calm me down, I didn't
feel safe around anyone. I wasn't violent anymore. I remember being so
fucking terrified every single time someone walked in the room that I would
cry silently, expecting something god awful to happen to me.

I literally thought my brother was dead and I'd been in a psych ward ever
since then.

Extreme manic bipolar episodes are some of the worst experiences anybody
can go through. It wasn't until the psychiatrist started realizing that I
wasn't just faking it to get attention that I was afraid of him. He assured
me that he was alive and okay, I couldn't believe him. I needed to see him,
I begged him to let me see my brother.

My world shattered when he told me that Jack didn't want to see or talk to
me at that moment.

I was grounded instantly. That manic episode died and I was stuck in a
world of utter devastation. I went around in circles wondering what my life
would be without him, how I would survive, how I could live without him
around to protect me and tell me everything was alright when I freaked
out. Even when he moved out, he would still drop everything and come see me
if I was afraid.

He didn't even want to talk to me.

I felt numb again after a few days, I was finally moved to a normal room,
taking my pills and simply existing. I hardly ate, I didn't speak to
anyone, not even my psychiatrist, not in group sessions, hardly responding
to anybody that talked to me... I didn't want to die, I felt like I was
already dead. I didn't care where I was, what I did, what happened to
me. To me, my life was over.

You might think I overreacted, and I probably did, but for my entire life,
my brothers have been the reason I was alive. Jack was my everything, my
entire world. I didn't even realize that Caleb wasn't even in my thoughts
until later. It was just Jack and Ryan.

Over the course, I was malnourished, sleep deprived and had not showered. I
was put on an IV just so I wouldn't die. Put on sleep medication. An upped
dose of mood stabilizers until I finally started responding to things.

I was crying again.

Eventually, my entire life just poured out to the doctor in a two hour long
sob fest.

We began talking about coming to terms with Jack not being in my life. I
was also told that my uncle was taking me in. I wouldn't be living with
Ryan like we planned.

Coming to terms - which never really fully happened, took two months inside
that place. My uncle and cousin visited me several times, bringing clothes
and staying to talk with me, it was nice. I'd never had a man believe in me
for anything, and his pep talks helped me more than I ever realized.

He apologized for staying away because he refused to help mom until she
sobered up or asked for genuine help.

I realized I wasn't so reluctant to live with him.

Caleb visited me, those were highlights, sometimes Kyle would. He told me
not to ask about Jack and left whenever I did.

Highlights, sure, but just that. They didn't make me feel any better.

When I was released, I was very depressed, but was honest to god, not
suicidal.

My uncle was well off, he lived in a nice home in the hills, a big home. It
was just him and Hayden, his mom had passed away several years
ago. Adjusting was the hardest thing I've ever had to do; forcing myself to
resist calling my brother, only reaching out to Caleb who started to annoy
me to no ends by coddling me. "Are you alright? How are you feeling? Do you
need to talk?"

No, I wasn't okay. I was feeling worthless and weak. I didn't want to
fucking talk about it, I'd never even told him how bad my early years were.

His visits got less frequent, our relationship degraded into that of just
fuck buddies. He texted me when he was horny, and same with me. It got kind
of impersonal for a while. And eventually, it stopped.

Tried my hardest to occupy myself, even got a job at a fast food joint -
actually, several. I found out quickly that working with my severe bipolar
and PTSD was just not possible for me.

Every single night, I was up in the middle of the night, sobbing outside
and wishing with everything I had that someone would call me.

I got legal and added weed to my meds which helped me a lot. My thoughts
were easier to sort and my mood was very mellowed out and my crying
stopped. I pushed it out of my mind. I forced myself to try and find my
inner strength and stop relying on them because they were done with me.

I didn't blame them. I didn't think they didn't care. I understood.

My brothers did everything for me. Literally everything they could to make
my life something better. So much was sacrificed. They'd put up with a few
minor suicide attempts, put up with my attitude and Ryan had even struggled
to pay for my medications before he graduated and got a good job.

And what did I do?

I lied to them. I told them I would never kill myself when I constantly
thought about it. I promised Jack I would never leave him just like he
promised me.

My uncle put it into perspective.

With my mom, he did everything he could to help her after Ryan's and Jack's
dad died. He payed for rehabs, for pills, he endured her ungratefulness and
blatant disregard for how much he loved her and how much he did for her. He
knew she loved him, but she was so ungrateful, so spiteful and dishonest
that he finally gave up. He told me; "at what point do you say 'enough is
enough'? You bend over backwards for someone who won't even help
themselves. You were selfish, Luca. You expected them to be at your beck
and call. Did you ever think about how they felt? Jack is in just as much
pain as you are. Constantly. We've had talks, he feels worthless, he feels
powerless and hopeless because he failed to protect you and fails to make
you feel better. Luca, you had so much help, so many people willing to give
their lives for you and you spit on it all. You threw their efforts
aside. You guys had a fight, yeah. Siblings fight all the time, it should
be nothing new, and you were in even more pain because of... your mom. You
could've told them what was going through your mind, just like you told me,
but you didn't. You wanted attention instead. You wanted to be
spiteful. They're fed up. They don't want to make themselves miserable
trying to help someone who doesn't want to be helped. You only wanted them
to be yours on your terms."

He wasn't spiteful, but he didn't pull punches.

That's exactly what I was; a selfish, little boy.

It left me emotionally drained and sobered.

Five months with zero contact from my brothers. I was no better. I tried, I
tried so hard but that loss was just left a huge hole in me. When I had
panic attacks, my uncle was there to calm me, when I had flashbacks, he had
to hold me tight because I was so afraid of him. Had it been Jack, I
would've fell into him and just close my eyes, focus on his scent, his
voice... and it would be okay.

I learned to work myself through panic attacks and flashbacks, always
afraid that one day, it would get so bad that I would kill myself during a
flashback just to escape it.

It was this constant fear, like a child afraid of the dark. Around every
corner, I could slip into madness and believe that Paul was sitting in the
living room, contented with himself, leaving me in such pain that I could
barely think. And Jack wasn't there.

The worst ones were reliving my brother being smashed in the head. I
thought him dead every time, I had to dig so far into myself to be strong
enough just to last through them. Every thought rested on finding an escape
from that horrible feeling of reliving the worst day of my life over and
over. I could kill myself in psychosis.

My fear was controlling my life, and my psychiatrist had no real advice for
me. At that point, I missed Jack to the point where it stabbed my heart
just thinking about him, but I didn't realize that he was the cure to my
fear.

I realized my psychiatrists advice was more valuable than anything at that
time. I was told that I should've forced myself to control that fear. I
should've been strong enough to do it myself because nobody was gonna make
it all better for me! I needed to man up and stop relying on Jack to remind
me I had the strength in me to control my fear and live a normal life! I
needed to be the person to tell myself that it's not okay to act like a
little boy! I am not fucking weak! And I loathe myself for having to be
told. Jack had to tell me "Luca, you're not a bitch. You're a fucking man,
you're my brother. Get a hold of yourself." I should be able to tell myself
that!

My words meant so little to me because I've always viewed myself as
weak. As the victim of some horrible movie; the damsel in distress. It
makes me feel useless. Worthless.

But I'm not. I'm not weak, not useless and I'm not fucking worthless.

I'm me. I'm a survivor. I am able to push past the lowest points in my
life, and I admit that I can't do it alone. I need the help, I just can't
use that help as a crutch! They give me strength, they help me dig it up,
give me a jump start.

I gave myself that speech often. And it helped. It didn't help as much as
it would've if it came from Jack. My own voice was still weak, but not
useless anymore. I was beginning to find my own strength, to be my own
person because Jack defined me. I never knew who I was.

And I found that out.

I'm Luca. I survived years of torture, I had no childhood, I watched my mom
destroy herself and destroy me. I swallowed a bottle of vodka and three
months worth of pills at my lowest point.

And I'm still here. I live a life with more quality than most other people
because I can understand now how precious people are to me, how grateful I
am to just be here, to have anybody love me as much as those around me do.

I may have a slew of problems. I may live in fear, but I refuse to let it
define me. I had the strength, it wasn't god, it wasn't a pill, it was
me. I am fucking strong. I stood the fuck up and looked at who I was. And
there will always be aspects of myself that I find disgusting and ugly, but
I accept that.

I am me.

The moment I realized this, a serious, terrifying epiphany.

I was lying to myself about something I found repulsive because of society.

I needed Jack... I needed him to be one of the people that I drew strength
from, that I looked up to and strived to be as strong as he was. I needed
to feel him, I needed to be near him and see his face, to be able to look
in his eyes and understand he had the same feelings for me.

I was in love with my brother.

It made my heart race. My breathing hasten.

What the fuck was I doing with my life!?

It was three-thirty in the morning, and I called him. I wasn't expecting
him to answer, and he didn't.

I refused to let him go without a fight.

He would hear me. I knew him. He would want to hear what I had to say.

I willed the operator voice to finish telling me that he didn't answer the
call.

The phone beeped in my ear.

I had so much to say, I didn't know what to say.

"Jack... I-I need... fuck, I need to talk to you. I fucked up - I fucked up
so bad! Fucking, god, I need you. The biggest mistake I made was being so
fucking willing to give you up. Fuck that! Fuck it! I'll fucking fight for
your trust... I need you... I - I can't think. There's so much I have to
say. And I'm not gonna say it over the fucking phone. Please... I need to
talk to-"

The fucking voicemail cut me off.

That was probably a good thing.

My hands were shaking, my whole body was shaking from
adrenaline. Anticipation. Hope.

I didn't sleep that night. I stared at my phone. Even a text, even if it
said 'fuck you'. Anything.

Maybe he was asleep.

I did the same thing the next day. Watched, waited. Restarted my phone a
million times, turned airplane mode on and off, called myself with other's
phones just to make sure it was working. Maybe his phone was broken. Maybe
he left it at Kyle's. Maybe it was dead.

But the next day...

And the next day...

...And the day after that... nothing.

By the end of the second week, I'd given up.

I made a stupid phone call, asking Caleb to come over. I needed to feel
wanted, even if it was just for a fuck.

Not one to say no to sex, Caleb came over. I knew he could tell I wasn't in
good shape, but had learned the hard way not to coddle me.

It was awkward, exchanging "Hey"'s and travelling to my bedroom.

He began taking off his clothes and I then realized how fucked up I'd been
to him. He just wanted to help me, and I pushed him away.

Far away.

He glanced at me with an eyebrow rose? "Thought you wanted to fuck you
horny bastard." He impishly smirked at me.

I huffed in ironic amusement. "Fuck that. Let's get high and sit in the hot
tub."

He laughed at me.

"And then maybe we'll fuck." I winked.

"Fuckin' tease." He shot back. "Alright. But you're not wearing any clothes
in there." He practically ordered me.

"Oh no... I'm way to embarrassed. You've eaten your cum out of my asshole,
but you can't see me naked!" I joked sarcastically.

"When did I do that?"

"Dude..." I said. "At Mikael's house?"

He still didn't remember.

"I fucked him at his house..." He still was lost. I sighed with a roll of
my eyes. "Bro, Mikael was so drunk he let you suck his dick at Riley
Fenton's birthday party." I laughed, pulling off my clothes.

"I remember that." He said as we began walking to the back yard, quiet
through the house until we closed the back door. "He let you fuck him back
then?"

"Pipe's in there." I pointed offhandedly to a wicker, all weather side
drawer that came with the all weather, wicker furniture. It actually looked
quite nice... "Yeah. I fucked him in his parent's shower."

I got the hot tub ready as he stood behind me, lighting up after he'd
packed the bowl.

"Didn't the cops shut down that party?" Caleb asked with smoke filled
lungs.

I nodded, starting the bubbles and turning the light on. "Yep. You and
Mikael dipped with no clothes on."

He laughed. "That was fuckin' funny." He exhaled the smoke with that.

"Yeah, man."

I jogged to the mini fridge and pulled a few beers and water out, setting
them on the deck. "Dude, Shana's sister stormed in the house and caught us
fucking on Mikael's parent's bed, remember?" I asked. He nodded. "You
passed out on the couch and he got all pissed."

"'You said you'd suck my dick, dog! What the fuck.''" Caleb impersonated
our friend with a laugh, sinking himself in the hot tub.

I followed, sitting across from him and taking the pipe and lighter.

"I couldn't have fucked you that night." He added in, popping his beer
bottle open. "I slept on the couch with Mik."

I ripped the pipe, shaking my head. "You fucked me right next to him on his
parent's bed." I strained out.

His eyes narrowed in thought. "Dude, that was a different night."

I shook my head, puffing smoke out of my mouth. "No. It wasn't."

"Yes it was!" Caleb smiled. "Jack picked you up from Mikael's because
someone told him you were doing coke." He said victoriously. "That's why
you ran from the cops when they shut it down!"

I searched my memory. The memory played back in my head. "Oh, fuck. You're
right."

"Yeah! Mikael's parents flipped out because we slept together on the couch
and they saw us." Caleb laughed, taking a long pull of his beer.

"Oh, shit." I chuckled.

"They gave us `the talk'." Caleb air quoted. "Mikael was so embarrassed."

"So what night did you fuck me next to him?" I asked. "We were on his
parents bed... I fucked Shana."

I passed the pipe to him and took a drink of my beer.

"That was the night we played King's Cup at Mik's. Chels and Kyle were with
us for a while."

"Ohhh. That's why we were naked."

Caleb nodded while hitting the pipe.

"But yeah, you fucked me. Remember? You came in like ten seconds and I got
mad."

He shook his head.

"Dude, I know you ate your cum out of my ass." I said firmly. "I remember
because Mik woke up and saw us and I told him about it in Gym."

He exhaled. "I don't-" His eyes lit up. "Ohhhh!" He nodded then laughed. "I
did it because I didn't want to get cum on his parent's sheets!"

I shrugged. "I dunno. I just remembered you did it."

"Okay. Yeah, I remember." He nodded, passing to me. "Dude, do you remember
when Coach Wess caught Mik sticking his hand in your shorts?" He laughed.

I took a hit and nodded, blowing the smoke quickly. "Principal Harjiss
thought he was `molesting' me." I rolled my eyes with a smirk. "He almost
got expelled. I had to tell her we were boyfriends." I chuckled.

He laughed with a clap of his hands. "Fucking shit, she was a bitch."

"Fuck yeah."

He shook his head with a nostalgic smile. "Dude, that was such a good
year."

I nodded.

But my smile was more forlorn. I felt like he knew those days were gone.

I didn't want things to get awkward though...

"Fuck it." I smirked, wading over to him and kissed him, straddling his
lap.

Not five minutes later, he had me kneeling, knees and elbows on the deck
with my ass in the air, hands gripping my hips and fucking me frantically
from inside the hot tub, standing on the seat before moving to the wicker
furniture and bending me over the couch, hips slapping into my ass
rapidly. We were in my room eventually, his phone in my hand recording my
cock sliding in and out of his ass while he jerked off and came all over
his stomach before I pulled out and came all over his pubes and stomach.

I tossed the phone aside and collapsed on the bed next to him.

"Fuck, your dick is huge." Caleb panted.

"You mad, bro?"

"Not even." He pulled himself up and stretched. "It's fun to play with. "

He wiped the cum off with his boxer briefs and threw them at me.

I clicked my teeth and threw them back. "Fucker." I smirked.

He winked. "I'm taking your underwear." He announced, already pulling them
on.

I just shrugged.

He started putting his clothes on which kinda weirded me out. "You can
stay. It's late, my bed's pretty big."

"Uh, nah.. I gotta pick up anyways." Obviously he was avoiding me. "Red's
got some dank he wants me to try."

I smiled weakly. "Nice."

"Alright, man. I'm outtie." Held out a hand for a dap. "Text me?"

"Yeah, sure man. Have a good one."

Not that I was devastated, because my mind was on Jack the entire time,
wishing it was him and not Caleb, but I did feel bad for pushing him away,
and I felt used.

It didn't matter. I was back in my depressive state doing nothing the next
day. Didn't help me anyways.

But my uncle came into my room one night, sat on my bed. He gave me the
most sympathetic look if ever received when he saw the mess I was. "You
doin' alright?"

I lied, smiled and nodded.

"Luke, were passed that." He said a bit firmly. "Be honest."

My gaze left his, and the frog in my throat began to grow. "No..."

"He didn't call?"

My head shook.

I heard a sigh. "I'm sorry, Luca." He was so genuine, it hurt.

I sniffed, nodding after a moment.

He gave a thoughtful look, staring at me for a moment and then turning his
gaze somewhere else. "You love your brother..."

I nodded. "He's my brother..."

He smiled sadly. "It's more than that... am I right?" He looked at me.

My face got hot. There it was. He knew. He'd disown me now, call me
disgusting, throw me out... I couldn't infect Hayden...

My eyes watered and shame swam through my body. "I'm sorry- I don't... I
don't..." My voice broke, I held the chokes back. "I c-can't help it..."

He grabbed my shoulder lightly and pulled me into a hug. "I'm so sorry,
Luke." He whispered. "For everything. Nobody deserves what you went
through, and I wasn't there for you.. I'm so sorry."

A relief flooded me. "What- what's wrong with me?" I asked through sobs. "I
shouldn't... I shouldn't love him/ I shoul- I should want to be away from
him! Live my-my own life! I'm a f- I'm a freak!"

"Luca, you're not a freak." He assured in a soft voice. "You're just a boy
in love. You were hurt. He healed you. I understand."

My arms wrapped around him and my head buried itself in his shirt. "I can't
live without him! I - I just can't!"

My uncle sighed lightly. "Luke... you might have to."

My heart dropped. I squeezed him tighter and sobbed harder.

He pat my back, cooing me, rocking gently as if I were a child. And I don't
even care that I felt comforted by it.

After a good minute and a half of sobbing, I pulled away, wiping my tears
with my arm. He reached over to my night stand and pulled some
tissues. "Here."

"Th-thanks..."

"Look, Luca..." He began. "I know you can't choose who you love. You're
strong, I know you are. You know you are. This is another obstacle we have
to get over, and it sucks. I had to let someone I loved with all my heart
go too. And I'm here to help you."

I nodded sadly.

What was no help to be given... I was in love.

I had to sleep. I had to. I took one of the sleeping pills and passed out,
terrified of having to get over my brother.

I'm sure I was dead for like ten hours, because when I woke up, it was
already gonna be evening. Blinds were closed and but the orange of the
sunset still crept through them.

As usual, the first thing I did was look at my phone.

Which was dead.

I leaned over to grab the cord at the side of the bed, aaand, there was a
serial killer in my room.

I cursed, lost my balance and fell off of my bed, right in front of said
killer, rubbing my head.

"Dumbass."

A feeling as warm as a sunny day shot through me.

"Jack..."

He was sitting at the side of my bed on the floor, back on against the
wall, feet on the bed's ledge.

I exhaled a breath of total relief. "Jack." I nearly threw myself at him
for a hug.

"No, no - uh uhh." He stopped me and pried me off of him.

That hurt.

I obliged, righting myself and sitting next to him, leaning against the bed
frame, him against the wall.

He wasn't doing good. I could tell immediately. His skin was a bit pale, he
was thin, a lot thinner than before, and he looked like he hadn't slept in
days. His eyes were puffy and red, and he just looked... defeated.

"How... long have you been here?" For some reason, I was intimidated. I did
this to him... it was highly unlikely Kyle did this.

He sniffed, sighing softly, but shakily. "A few hours."

If it wasn't obvious to me he'd been crying before, his voice was sure fire
sign.

"Oh." This wasn't how I imagined it would go. This was just awkward. "You
should've woken me up."

The most intense silence lingered between us. I could feel his anger at
just being near me. It hurt so much.

"What do you want, Luke?" He asked impatiently. "Why am I here?"

It felt like the wind had been knocked out of me. He was so... so angry. He
didn't want to be here.

I was confused. "Why are you here?" My voice was still small.

"Does it fuckin' matter?" He asked with a sigh, letting his head hit the
wall. "I'm here." He gestured sarcastically. "So get on with it."

My chest hurt.

My everything hurt.

"Would it... even matter?"

There was a long silence, all I could hear was my own pulse beat loudly in
my ear. He didn't want to be here, and he didn't want to hear what I had to
say.

Why even bother?

"Probably not." He finally answered in a low, grim tone.

My chest collapsed in on itself. I couldn't even cry, all I had were silent
tears.

This was hell. I was putting both of us through hell.

Maybe... this was some sort of fucked up closure.

I found myself nodding weakly.

I couldn't stay in here. I couldn't see him like this.

I couldn't even see him. This was a horrible idea.

"I'm sorry..." I pushed myself to my feet, threw on a shirt and some sweats
I headed for the door. "It... was good to see you." I couldn't hide the
pain even remotely. I stood in the doorway for a moment, waiting to hear a
response.

And then I left my room.

I held my cool, controlled my breathing, counted backward from ten - every
trick in the book to keep from melting down. Pushing open the back door, I
pulled open one of the wicker drawers in the outside patio where my weed
resided and walked through the grass to the very back of the yard in a
corner not visible from the back door.

I heard a car start from the front yard, pull out and drive off. I felt
like my entire chest was being pulled out of me. I was shaking,
uncontrollably, doing my absolute best to focus on packing a bowl. My
wrists felt brittle, my fingers felt like twigs.

I don't know what the fuck I expected...

The pipe dropped from my grip into the grass, spilling the contents with it
when that thought crossed my mind.

Like a small breeze pushing me off of a cliff, I broke down. It was like I
was dying inside. My head was in my hands and I asked myself "why" over and
over.

Why did I call him?

Why did he come?

Why was I so stupid?!

Why!?

Why why!!

A surge of absolute pain shot through me. My hands gripped my hair.

There I was. Weak. I let him take my strength away.

I felt useless. And that made me so mad.

So fucking angry.

I yelled. As if I were in physical pain, I yelled. I lost control.

I yanked my pipe and a handful of grass, stood up, spun and launched it at
the wall. It wasn't enough. I didn't know what to do, there was nothing for
me to break, nothing for me to hit!

I hit my head against the brick wall, my hands bracing me, spread wide
beside my head. I hit the wall. Over and over, I hit the wall. Until my
fist was bloody. Until my arm felt like jello. Until I just couldn't hit it
anymore.

I hated myself.

I fucking hated myself. And I'd have to live with that hatred; the
knowledge that my brother - no - the man I fucking loved, who gave his
fucking soul to me, never wanted anything to do with me again.

I was still defined by him to some extent.

That part of me was withering. My hope, my idol, my comfort and
protection. They all withered like a paper in a flame.

I was nothing but me.

And I didn't think much of me.

I was the selfish boy who put his family through hell. Was I justified? Was
my life so fucking bad that suicide was my only option?!

What was it?! What had gotten me to the point where I just didn't care
anymore? I didn't give a flying motherfuck what my death would've done to
them! Not after a fight like that.

There was an emptiness in me before that fight. An emptiness I never cared
to notice. I let the wound made by the knowledge that I'd never - ever make
peace with my mother. And I hated her for that. I fucking hated her.

But I wanted her so bad. I wanted her to hug me, to tell me she understood,
that everything would be okay.

That was all I ever wanted!

I took the pain and the rage from that wound and shoved it in both my
brothers faces. Jealous of them. She loved them. She tried hugging them,
she tried to convince them she was still their mother, even through their
hatred for her.

Me?

I was nothing! I was the face of the pain she was in when my dad fucked
her! On some level, I resented both Ryan and Jack for that. And I threw it
in their face.

Fuck my cunt of a mom, fuck the bitch that they loved, that they felt they
had to respect and honor. Fuck her, I hope she's rotting in hell! They
didn't have the same mother I did! But they wanted me there with them at
the funeral. If only for support. If only to be there for a hand to hold
when they wished they gave her another chance... when they blamed
themselves for not trying harder...

I spit in their faces.

And then downed pills, feeling sorry for myself, to spite them for not
giving me the attention I wanted.

Yes, I wanted to legitimately die, but it was such a selfish and childish
decision.

Why would anybody want to put up with me? Why would anybody...

Want me?

I slid down to my knees, the anger draining from my body leaving me with a
headache from hell, a hand throbbing with fire and an emptiness that
resided in me, becoming a black hole with the absence of my brothers.

And the love of my life.

The thought of death crossed my mind.

Fuck no.

I pushed that out with all the rage left inside of me. I'd never entertain
that idea consciously. Never again.

I resigned myself to a life of emptiness, hoping that one day...

One day, I may be able to fill it.

I don't know how else to put it.

I was done. Just done.

I was so lost in my mind, I didn't hear my name being called, nor the
frantic running across the yard. But when I felt someone tug on my
shoulders, I just spun and collapsed into them, the floodgate of misgivings
and pain opening.

I sobbed for all I was worth, asking why, why do I have to love him, why
can't I let him go? He hates me. It hurts, it hurts so bad, make it go
away, please. Make the pain stop.

Eventually, I was out of words. I was out of energy. I passed out with my
head buried in someone's shirt.

A dreamless sleep, and maybe the only peace I'd felt in seven months. It
was refreshing to cry like that. To let everything just go. Release it to
the world not giving a fuck what anybody thought.

When I woke up, it was dark. I was drowsy, confused. My hand was wrapped
tightly, my head was throbbing and my entire body felt like I'd been rolled
over by a steam roller. There was skin behind my neck, beneath it,
muscle. I was laying on someone's arm.

"What the fu..."

Of course Jack had to go and confuse me again, dangle himself in front of
me toward a fucking cliff. "What..?"

I was done with this.

"No... no!" My teeth ground and with every ounce of strength I could
muster, I sat up and tossed his arm away from me, trying to shove him off
of my bed, only to have a sharp pain shoot through my arm.

I hissed and cradled it.

"It's fractured."

His voice was raspy. He cleared his throat.

"Here are some oxy's, should help with the pain."

"Why are you here?" My voice was gone, cracking in an out like a phone with
bad reception. "Just go... please."

I couldn't do it again.

I couldn't fucking do it!!

He ignored me.

I already felt the tears on my cheek. I was already so drained... "I can't
do this again..."

"You remember the day you hid in the closet?" His voice was very low. "The
first time I... hurt you..."

I didn't have to answer. I knew he knew I did.

"I got mad at you... I wanted you to leave... so you wouldn't have to watch
me kill myself."

My gaze went sharply to him.

"I was fighting myself... I had a razor blade on the night stand. I
was... I was in so much pain." His voice broke. "I was so fucking mad at
you... because you stopped me. We... we live in hell. You are the only
thing that kept me alive."

I gulped down the lump.

He inhaled sharply. "I gave you everything! Everything I could give!" He
huffed as his tears released themselves. "I took his punishment for you, I
held you, I cried for you - every time you felt hopeless, I felt like I was
dying! You stopped me from killing myself because I couldn't do that to
you!!" He sobbed angrily. "I couldn't leave you alone!"

I was sniffing, holding back from performing an encore.

He allowed himself a moment to gather his wits. "Do you know what you put
us through?" He was quieter now. "How it felt watching you die in my arms!?
To see that fear in your face!? We waited for six hours!! Six fucking hours
thinking that doctor was gonna come out and tell us you died!"

"I'm sorry...." I broke. I didn't know what else to say.

"I can't! - I can't fucking do it again, Luca! I can't watch you die!!" He
shook his head, trying to convince himself. "I can't relive what you put me
through."

"I already know what I did!" I snapped with the same angry sob. "You don't
have to remind me how fucked up it was! I've had people who don't even know
me tell me how selfish I was!! So don't fucking lecture me!!"

"This isn't about you! The world doesn't revolve around Luca and his
fucking problems!" He sneered. "This is about-"

"Shut up!" I snapped. "Shut the fuck up! You have no idea what I've been
through these past few months!! How many times I've had this argument with
myself!! You don't have to tell me how much pain I put you through - I
already know how it fucking feels!!"

He stared at me in offended incredulity. "How the fuck would you know how
that feels?"

My mind blanked.

Was he serious?

I flipped, rolling up and punching him right in his face with my good hand
- not very hard, I was on painkillers and punching with my non-dominant
hand.

Even still, I caught him off guard and he stumbled to his side, catching
himself as he fell off the bed. I jumped off and straddled him, punching
him one more time. "Fuck. You." My voice was shaking with anger. "I sat in
a pool of your fucking blood!!" I screamed. "I spent days thinking you were
already fucking dead!! Fuck you!!!"

His eyes went wide when he finally realized that he wasn't the one to be
offended. That question seared my chest.

"I fucking know!" I strained out.

My bottom lip quivered. This was too much for me.

My forehead came down and rested on his. "Don't." I whispered. "This is
hell, Jack..." My hands reached up and ran through his hair, running my
finger along his scar, tugging on his hair in frustration... I just wanted
him. Not all this bullshit. "And I'm putting us through it!" I growled,
smacking my hand on the floor beside his head. "I... I didn't mean to fall
in love with you, but I did, and it hurts so bad. Don't torture me,
please."

"What?"

I didn't notice at first, but he was staring up at me with a wonder filled
longing in his eyes, a gaze I knew all too well because I gave it to him
all the time.

It meant he'd just made me the happiest boy on earth.

"Don't torture me!" I growled back. "You... you need to leave... just,
leave me-"

My heart skipped a beat when his hand cupped my cheek lightly.

My head lifted and I stared at him, stunned. His eyes were swimming with
such intense conflict, I couldn't even keep up. "What... are you talking
about?" He asked. "Fall in love with me...?" His voice was so
confused... so hopeful. "You're in... love with me?"

I initially thought he was disgusted. That left quickly. "You... didn't
know?"

He shook his head slowly. "No..."

"Well... I am. So please... don't-"

His arms wrapped around me and he lifted me up with my legs around his
waist. I collapsed down on the bed. He got on the bed, looking at me with a
confusion I didn't even understand.

His hand hovered shakily over me before it wiggled under my shirt. He
stared at his hand and sighed lightly in relief... it running up my body
and pulling the fabric up.

I groaned, grabbing his wrist and pushing his hand against my body firmly,
but also wanting him to stop.

He leaned down.

His lips hovered above my stomach, lightly touching me. Shaky, trying his
best not to give in to his temptation.

His other hand squeezed the waistband of my sweats.

We both panted, unsure of our feelings. Unsure what this would mean. I was
staring down at him. I was scared. I was at his mercy. I didn't want to
be... but I begged him in my mind.

He seemed to hear it without even looking.

He pulled my sweats down, slowly... his uncertainty showed in that. He was
sitting up long enough to pull them completely off and drop them to the
floor, pausing to stare at my body and my leaking cock. The conflict in his
eyes hiked. He was asking himself the same questions I was.

Was this just giving in to temptation? Would this only cause us pain in the
long run?

Was forgiving me something he could do? Trusting me?

Fuck.

His hand grazed my shaft incredibly lightly.

I almost cried out, begging him to touch me.

He wanted to forgive me. He wanted to trust me. He wanted this to be a new
start.

But was it just a lie?

His other hand slid up my body and he removed my shirt, falling to his
hands, our eyes connected just above me.

"You're so beautiful." He whispered to himself.

He looked away briefly with a strained "fuck" coming breathily from his
mouth.

I bit my lower lip.

"Why did... why did you say that?"

I didn't even hesitate. "You're my life. I can't live without you." I
nearly pleaded. "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry... I love you. Please- don't
leave me..."

His eyes watered. He looked away for a moment, questioning himself,
restraining himself...

But his eyes found mine again. And his resistance was straining.

His lips eased closer and closer. "I want to trust you." Our lips were
grazing, my hips were lightly bucking, but like him, I resisted. This was a
bad idea if he didn't trust me. If he didn't forgive me.

"Stop..." I breathed into his mouth.

"... I can't."

My body shook. My strength nearly caved. He couldn't stop? "Then... trust
me."

He was on top of me, tongue in my mouth with an urgency that I instantly
fell in sync with.

His hands were all over my body, mine were pulling him into me as tight as
possible as the passion grew to unrestrained levels and our kiss deepened
to the point of us both blinded by each other.

He pulled his shirt off and pulled his pants off, throwing them as if they
were deadly.

Our naked bodies were mashed together. I could feel how much he missed
me. How much he wanted me. His relief, and his fear of me.

It didn't stop him.

Nothing could stop him.

His teeth bit my neck. Bit my ear. His tongue left a trail down my neck.

His lips kissed my stomach.

His head lowered between my legs, his hand eased my foreskin back. The
warmth of his mouth covered me and the pressure of it sliding down his
throat followed.

My head rolled back and my hand grabbed his hair.

His head bobbed up and down as if he needed me in his mouth. As if that was
where my dick belonged.

He was a mess of slurps and hot breaths, his saliva dripping down my
balls. I was shaking so violently, you'd think I was having a seizure.

I didn't last. My hips thrust upward and my hands grabbed his hair
tighter. My entire body shook, the first orgasm I'd had from an outside
source since Caleb stopped visiting.

He hadn't even fully swallowed my cum when his lips were on mine again, my
own fluids dripping from his mouth onto my chin and into my mouth. The
urgency and the speed at what was taking place left me in a daze.

He forced his hip between my legs, he reached down, rubbing a finger across
my hole before I felt the head of his massive, hard cock press firmly
against it, leaking with so much pre cum that it felt like his dick was
lubed.

I groaned loudly when his head popped in, and he grunted at that.

He didn't go further. Instead, his eyes squinted and the rigid muscles in
his chest and shoulders tightened and his head hovered just beside me,
mouth open and heaving on my cheek. His dick head spasmed in side me and I
felt the warmth of his cum leak out of me.

His hand left his dick, traveling back up my body, smearing the bit of cum
that had leaked out onto his fingers. His hands grabbed mine and pined them
to the bed above my head. He stared into my eyes, content with just looking
at me.

I sighed shakily from both my tears and the look in his eyes.

"Do you trust me?" he whispered with a horny lust only a teenage boy could
produce.

I gulped, knowing what was coming next, but nodded with a surge of
excitement shooting through me.

He began to push his dick further in me.

"Ohh- fuck..." I heaved grunts and grated my teeth, unable to control my
own volume as my throat made animals sounds. My body tried to contract, but
his hands pinning mine down prevented me from doing so. "Do you want me to
stop?"

I was so uncomfortable.

But I needed this.

"No..."

His lips covered mine in a vain attempt to distract me, but I managed to
hold my noises. He was so deep inside me.

I'd forgotten just how big he was.

His hips touched my cheeks. He was all the way in.

I was full of his dick. The thought made me horny, but the pain kept my
cock down.

He kissed me lightly and allowed me to explore the inside of his mouth, his
chest and stomach writhing on top of mine.

He saw my strain, lifting his head and staring into my eyes. His eyes were
clouded.

His hand cupped my cheek again, thumb lightly stroking. "I won't lose you."
He whispered. "I won't..."

He kissed me. Those emotions shot through him into me, and mine into
his. The most intimate he'd ever been with me.

We sat in that position for nearly thirty minutes with him just kissing me
and licking on my skin silently. Loving each other.

That pain began to recede and I was starting to feel as good as I always
did.

"Jack... fuck me" I lustfully ordered in a whisper in his ear.

His hand ran back up my arm.

He fucked me.

Not angrily. He fucked me but because he needed to. I needed him to.

His hands were still pinning mine, our bodies gliding against each other,
slick with sweat. I loved smelling his neck, listening to him grunt in
whispers in my ear. His hand snaked beneath him and grabbed me, pulling
back my skin and tugging to get me hard.

Ten minutes of him thrusting inside me, my dick was finally starting to
feel good as I got used to being filled by him again.

Throbbing with his dick buried all the way in me and his hand wrapped
around my dick, I couldn't hold it. "I-I'm cumming..."

My body jerked several times, ass clamping down on his cock.

Our chests and stomachs were slick with my cum after what seemed like a
hundred blasts. Only seconds later, he groaned, pushing himself as deep as
he could, sticking his tongue back in my mouth and squeezing the one hand
he still had pinned.

We were a mess of sweat, cum and hot breaths. My free hand was feeling the
ridges of his back as he collapsed on top of me.

That unspoken tension was gone. Our anger, gone. Our pain, gone.

We were like that for several minutes, catching breaths and rolling in a
swirl of emotions at what we'd just done. I don't even know what spurred
him on...

Maybe because I was honest with him. My anger wasn't an act. It was the
real me, just like he gave me the real him every time.

We both shook at the sudden coldness of the air on our skin alongside the
incredible surges of hormones pumping through us.

He stayed inside of me, neither of us going completely soft.

"You have to listen to me." He whispered desperately, softly. "I'm older,
so you have to. Don't leave me."

"I can't leave you." I answered.

Our lips were pushed against each other again.

He fucked me like that, slowly and lovingly all night, several times, and
in the morning, he bent me over the bed and fucked me again with his sore
dick in my throbbing asshole.

And then we layed together, lost in each other, pressed together. His hand
was cradling my neck, my head on his shoulder, the blankets covering our
bodies.

He smiled at me.

"You're so cute." He grumbled out.

And I smiled back. "I'm not cute." My voice was completely gone now. "Boys
aren't cute."

"Well, this boy is." He countered. "You're the cutest boy in the world."

I blushed, just thinking to myself; `god, I'm so in love.'

He just chuckled. "Right there." He pointed at my red cheeks. "That's why."
Jack's smirk was infectious.

I chuckled back, embarrassed. "Shut up." I smacked his chest.

"Hey, if you can take my dick, you can take a compliment."

I snorted. "You're stupid." I laughed.

It wasn't perfect. Not by a long shot. We had our issues - namely control
and limitations. Jack and I fought, and sometimes he'd even leave. We even
fist fought. Just like brothers.

The thought of suicide was merely a passing thought; something everyone
thinks of but doesn't really linger on it at all.

As usual, we had amazing sex. And that was just a perk of being with him.

To think that's how it started... Sex and beating the crap out of each
other.

Shit, Jack has had his dick inside me since I was six and he was
eight. Jack had been beating me up since I could remember (not
sexually). Not in the bully older brother way, more in the older brother
teaching the younger brother how to be a man sort of way. Ryan had done the
same with Jack. Jack would tease me and challenge me to various
competitions. He'd wrestle me to the floor and piss me off something
fierce. He'd show my why he was the older brother once I attacked him.

There was a game us boys played that the adults absolutely loathed. We
called it "bodies." All it was was fighting without shots to the face. Jack
and I played "bodies" frequently. I knew how to defend myself by the time I
was five - to the extent of self defense a five year old can have.

Jack and I had normal sibling fights, I'd get on his nerves and he'd fly
off the handle, we'd fight and he'd end up saying sorry. In the three years
Paul had us as his slaves, we didn't fight nearly at all outside of him
getting mad at me for stupid shit. Normal brothers got sick of each other,
especially when they shared the same room. And even more when they shared
the same bed. If I had a little brother, I would not want him attached to
me. But, fuck. I was attached to Jack at the fucking hip. And he was the
one who kept me there. He wouldn't let me go. He became my boss
basically. I'd have to tell him where I was and what I was doing if I
wasn't near him. Not that I minded...

He was trying his best to protect me from anything he could. That's what
older brothers did, right?

He didn't get sick of me because we both felt like we were ghosts to people
not getting fucked by a grown man. Nobody understood and we couldn't
explain in fear.

He was eleven when he was smashed over the head. I had to live three weeks
without him in a sterile environment where I had to be sedated for the
doctor to check my balls and asshole - where the most damage was done,
which led to a minor surgery and frequent, annoying checkups to make sure I
was healing.

The ordeal sucked. Especially because my fucking mom was the one to stay at
the hospital more than anybody else. Though, when Jack woke up she was with
him more than me.

Even though I hate her and I resent her, my mom was actually a gift in that
time. She let me hold her hand when the doctor had to touch me after I'd
stopped the week of thrashing in terror at the mere thought of showing a
grown man my privates. It still terrified me and made me sick.

When Jack woke up, he was kept away from everyone for a couple weeks and
when we finally got to see him, I'd never felt so much relief in my entire
life. I was bawling, squeezing him and telling him how mad I was at him and
how scared I was without him.

He didn't even have to say anything. He held me so tight it was like he
wanted to pull me in him. We were left alone for several minutes and
eventually fell asleep on his hospital bed.

They couldn't pry us apart. We wouldn't let them. Not again.

We slept holding each other as tight as possible. Our fucked up minds
eventually saw us touching each other at night. Stroking each other under
the blankets to orgasms. That opened up a whole new emotional door that
came with a slew of problems.

Jack felt guilty and disgusting, I felt like I was forcing him. We got in
more fights and they got more violent. But he'd only hit me if I hit him
first.

After his big freak out, complications just got more... complicated. It
wasn't just sex - which was complicated enough - it was a way to cope with
what we we'd become; damaged. We were dumb kids who saw the psychiatrist
and took whatever pill they gave us without really coping properly with
what happened to us.

Jack had his masculinity not only challenged, but taken from him in a
violent, degrading and forceful way. He struggled a lot trying to regain
the perception of the man he wanted to be when he was a boy and it
frustrated him to no end when he failed to grasp at it. When Paul nearly
killed him, it didn't make anything better. It drove him into a revolving
mess of self doubt and a sense of failure at losing the chance to regain
what power he thought he lost by finally standing up to the man that robbed
it from him. It devastated him that he needed to be saved, that someone
else had to stand up and protect him. For that, Jack looked at Ryan
differently. Instead of his annoying older brother, Ryan became a) a
nemesis, b) a protector and c) an absolute authority figure. Point being;
he didn't feel like his own man.

I had nothing stolen from me, however. I had this massive hole from little
to no parental attention or love. Before Jack had even goten involved, in
the early days of my sixth year, Paul was already touching me. He would say
I was a good boy and other encouraging, endearing things that a six year
old deprived of a paternal love just burst at hearing. I hated when he
touched me but I put up with it for that attention.

It was like my entire life had shattered when Paul just stopped giving me
attention and used me. I couldn't speak, or I'd be punished. I couldn't
make a noise even though the physical pain I experienced was a pain I can't
put in words. Degraded, worthless, hopeless, unwanted, weak - these were
things that came to mind when I thought of myself. My only saving grace was
Jack. Somewhere along the line, I've been told that I convinced myself that
what Paul was doing - some of it - was actually pleasurable, especially
with Jack. An inferiority complex in the sense of self awareness. Due to
that, I developed (by copying, most likely) the same sort of power complex
Jack had. I didn't want to be used, I wanted to prove to myself that I
could take it, and I could dish it back, that I was still right fucking
there and I was worth something! That I could also be in control be strong
like my brothers, I wasn't going to be known as the weak one.

Jack became a rival of sorts in that regard.

That rivalry snapped when Jack pushed me and fucked me aggressively for the
first time. He wanted to pin me and force me to let him use me. I made damn
sure he knew I wasn't weak and useless. I was his way of getting his power
back. He was my way of regaining a sense of worth.

It was complicated. Instead of fighting, he would rush me, pin me and rip
through my clothes - but he would kiss me while doing this.

I would shove and push and try to pin him - not to get him off of me, just
to try and overpower him. Even if he was fucking me, I had to pin him. It
was raw passion and a darkness in both of us that needed to be sated. We
could destroy rooms when we went all out, crack walls and doors. We left
bruises and scratches, broke skin with our teeth, grabbed sensitive places
roughly, pulled hair, all while he fucked me with all the intensity of his
rage. That look in his eyes was everything to me. That pain and fear I knew
he felt showed themselves, his guilt and shame - nothing was off
limits. There would be times when he realized that he lost control of
himself or just remember that it was me beneath him. He would hold me, even
if I was struggling, he'd pin me again and the look in his eyes would shift
from anger and fear to this intense... I don't know how else to describe
it, but intense love. Or longing maybe? He would stop and just look at
me. Touch me like I was going to break. Sometimes he'd call me
beautiful. I'd resent that normally, but when it came out of his mouth, it
meant something different. The rest of that sex would be something else
entirely and somehow the same. This gentle boy sex, so fucking sloppy and
awkward.

>From then on until I was nine, like months after he recovered, Jack moved
out and stayed with our aunt. Started selling drugs, fell in love with Kyle
and eventually came back home three/four years later.

Everything was suddenly complicated again, but at the same time so
clear. We refused to acknowledge what we were to each other until my
suicide attempt. When we were alone, you'd never think we were
fucking. Most of the time we were just normal brothers. But it got more and
more obvious that we were more the longer we hung out. He showed affection
to me in ways that made me feel warm, like touching my cheek and smiling at
me for no reason. Sometimes we could just be laying on the couch and
watching tv and he'd say I was beautiful. He could make me blush so easy. I
just clung to him like a wet towel.

But he shut me out.

He never wanted to talk about any of his fears, especially when he had his
breakdowns or bad flashbacks. He'd want me to leave so I didn't see him
like that and got very mad at me for asking him to talk about it. We
started getting rough with each other again.

Rough wasn't enough for either of us and he knew it. Sex was great, him
fucking me like he meant it was awesome. But the rough sex we had just left
us both wanting more. I wanted him to use me, to really fuck me like he was
mad. One night, he just did. We didn't have to talk about it, he didn't
have to ask he knew I craved it, the tension was there for a while.

He started having his way with me. I discovered so much about him I never
knew, like his fixation with cum and his fetish for having sex in
public. He loved to suck dick more than anyone I knew.

Like that, we were insatiable. We fucked when he wanted, where he wanted. I
could protest, but I'd always give in.

The first time we got brave was a rainy day a few months after we'd made
up, one that ruined an end of summer vacation swimming party. I was
graduating to high school the very next day.

That's beside the point.

It was pouring by the time we'd managed to run back to my house - and as
you can imagine, I wasn't in the best of moods with the strong winds that
still managed to carry summer heat blew through the shirt I'd stolen from
Jack and soaking me to the core. Despite the heat, I was shivering when we
made it to the porch, fiddling with the keys and jamming them into the
lock, further frustrated because all my fucking keys looked alike. It
didn't help that Jack suddenly got randy and pressed himself against my
back with his arms around my waist.

Oh jeeze...

"Seriously?" I snapped sarcastically, jamming another key only to fail once
more.

He shrugged lightly. "Why not?" It was so distracting. Instead of getting
inside, I was forced to diverge my attention to the lips on my neck and the
hands rubbing my body.

"Jack... stop."

It sounded so stupid I'm surprised he didn't laugh. How could he take me
seriously when my dick was pressing painfully against the fabric of my swim
trunks.

"Mm. I want you right here." His whisper tickled my ear. "I wanna be inside
you."

"Jack... we're outside. What if someone sees?"

He responded by reaching around and pulling the strings of my trunks and
his hand slid right into my shorts. "That's hot." He breathed into my
neck. "I hope they watch you beg for my cock." Internally, I moaned. "I
hope they watch me make you scream my name and I hope they go home and
touch themselves to the thought of two boys fucking like animals." His hips
ground into my ass.

Not like anybody could really see us. There was a large hedge that curved
around the porch and an unruly bush that blocked view of the front door
from the neighbors. One would have to walk to the side of the bush to see
us, and our lower section would be covered anyways.

But we were still outside... Part of me wanted him to stop, and the other
was excited at the prospect of taking Jack's cock in public where we could
potentially be caught. "Jack... I want you to fuck me, but inside."

"Fuck you. I want you right here right now." His teeth bit my lips

"What if... mom comes home or something?"

I could feel his eyes roll. No psychic powers needed. "Luke, shut the fuck
up and bend over."

"...asshole." It was very difficult to protest when his fingers rubbed the
tip of my cock, working their way beneath my foreskin. "Shit..." I could
only shudder and brace myself on the wall as my dick convulsed and sprayed
my load into his hand. "God dammit Jack... fuck you." My entire dick was
now slick with my cum with his hand stroking it.

"No, no Luca." He chuckled in my ear. "I'm gonna fuck you. I'm gonna fuck
you hard." His chest was against mine and his hands grabbed my wrists,
pulling them above my head. "I'm gonna make you my fuck boy. And I'm gonna
use you when I want, where I want".

Fuck boy? That was out of left field.

But my breath sped up. "I'm not your fuck boy, Jack." I protested between
huffs.

"Not yet you're not. You already beg me for cock, and you beg me to treat
you like a fuck boy. It's about time I do just that." My cock pressed hard
against the door under my shorts. "Beg for it, fuck boy."

"Stop fucking calling me that." I demanded angrily.

His hand pressed my cheek against the door. And my god, I was instantly
lost in primal lust. I nearly wasted my second load of cum. My breath sped
up.

"Beg me to fuck you." He demanded in a low growl.

Shit.

I didn't want to beg him for anything...

But I wanted this... so bad.

I mentally cursed myself out. "Fuck!" I wanted it so goddamn bad. I didn't
want to be called his fuck boy though.

"You wanna fuck me?" I breathed out, gritting my teeth as I tried my best
not to cum again. He nodded. "Then fuck me. But I better not be able to
walk when you're done." I grunted defiantly. "Or I'll never be your fuck
boy."

He leaned in to whisper in my ear. "I said, beg me for my cock." His voice
was deliberately slow.

I snarled. "Fuck. You."

His hand released my head and he licked his index and middle finger,
shoving his hand down my trunks and ramming them both inside me
forcefully. It hurt like no other. And my cock got harder.

"Beg me for my cock, fuck boy." He sneered.

His fingers curled inside me and I grunted at the pressure and pain. This
is what I wanted. The I've been craving for years. And he was gonna make me
beg for it after I'd been begging for years.

I couldn't help myself.

"...please..." I relented lowly.

"Please what, Luca?"

"Please fuck me." I answered in the same low tone. "Please... god dammit,
fuck me."

"Atta boy." His hand slid out of my hole and trunks and slid across my
stomach and chest with my cum all over it. Pain shot through my skin when
he pinched my nipple. "Who's the boss Luke?" He yanked my shirt up and off.

I turned, pressing my slick chest into his and locking lips with him. Our
hips ground together with a primal sex drive overcoming us. The thrill of
what we were actually doing was incredible. My hands roamed down his front
while his were wrapped around me. I peeled the Velcro from his swim trunks
apart and let them drop to the ground. All he had was his backpack and
shoes on, his monster dick leaking precum and pointing right at me. I
grabbed it and he grunted lightly in my mouth. "I'm the boss." I was on my
knees, hand gripping his throbbing dick before he could respond. I'd never
seen it so worked up. It was pulsating in my hand. Jack was really getting
into this. A stream of precum dropped from his cockhead down to the ground
like the faucet had been left on just barely. His chest moved up and down
rapidly and his eyes were covered in a thick fog. I couldn't lie, I was
just as far gone as he was.

He growled. "Prove it." His hand grabbed a fistful of hair.

Oh, I was so ready to hear him grunt my name and feel his cock throb, a
warm splash of thick cum shooting across my cheek. I was going to make that
happen.

He didn't even have to force me. The taste of him and his drops of horny
fluids was in my mouth. I skipped the blowjob foreplay and slid my lips
down and up his shaft urgently, taking breaths when needed. Spit and precum
dripped off of my chin as well as down his shaft onto his balls.

"Fuck yeah. Suck that cock." He whispered, hand tightening on my hair.

I slid my lips all the way down until they touched his hair.

"Ohhh...."

The groan meant it was working. He'd start moving my head now.

That, he did. Pulling me back and shoving me back down.

Thank god I had no gag reflex.

"Uhh, shit. Fuck yeah. You like that dick, don't you?"

I nodded best I could.

He shoved it back down my throat.

"Suck that fuckin cock."

He was close and he began to let go of my hair and pull back.

Yeah... fuck no.

I pulled his thighs and sucked down his whole cock.

"Fuck, Luca- I'm gonna cum. I wanna save it." His hand pressed against my
forehead.

I leaned it back against the door and pulled cock with me.

"Shit- Luke let go!" His hands tried pulling my wrist back, but I locked my
hands, securing his cock down my throat and swallowing to massage it. "Oh!
Fuck-" he leaned forward and braced himself against the wall. His dick
pumped. "Uhhh, Luca!"

I quickly pushed him back.

He shot right on my face in a powerful spray. My dick was out of my shorts
immediately. I won. And I was so fucking hot. "Oh yeah- fuck yeah!" His
warm cum streaked across my face in thick, white globs. My hand flew up and
down my cock as it pumped out shot after shot in the air.

His dick throbbed only dribbles after four heavy shots. My mouth was back
on it, sucking the rest of his cum out of his shaft, and arms locking
around him again. I sucked hard, my tongue pushing against his sensitive
head. "Uuh- fuck. Stop." I ignored him and kept going. "Luca fucking stop."
He trying to push way from me. I held him with all I had, making him
convulse and shake. "Luca, let me go!" He growled in a very real, very
lustful anger.

I let his dick go.

He pulled away then grabbed my wrists again, yanking me up and pushing me
against the door roughly.

I kissed him, and I kissed him hard, biting his lip and shoving my tongue
as far in as I could before we broke away. I smirked impishly. "I'm the
fuckin' boss." I triumphantly breathed into his face.

He smiled at me with his eyes filled with such horniness I could feel it
radiating off of him. His dick had half softened and was rising again, mine
was still going limp. "Fuck, you're so fucking hot when you act tough." He
pinned my head against the wall with his lips jammed into mine. I groaned
in his mouth earnestly.

The look in his eye changed quickly when we separated. "But fuck if I let
you be the boss, fuck boy."

He yanked me by my shoulders and spun me around, slamming me into the
door. "Oh- fuck!" I heard him spit and his fingers were jammed up my ass
again as his other hand pulled my shorts to my thighs. "Uhh!" I winced. His
cock head was pressed against my hole the moment his fingers left, still a
bit wet from my mouth. He found the right angle and his head was inside
me. "Ahhh! Fuck!" Then he bucked his hips. "Ngh!! Ahh, oh fuck!" Shit I was
on fire. My body contorted in pain and my entire upper shoulders, neck and
face red as tomatoes.

"It's not even fully hard yet." He arrogantly growled in my ear. Oh that
was so hot. I wanted him to fuck me like never before. "Tell me how bad you
want it."

Oh fuck. I felt my dick pulsing precum at how horny he was getting me. God
damn, the pain was so good. I refused to give in and say it. I was the boss
still.

With a rough growl, he fucked his cock out then in, hard, giving me a taste
of what I could have. "Ahhh! Shit-" Chest heaving and dick half hard.

"I said tell me."

I huffed, my eyes squinting hard. My fist smacked against the door.

He bucked even harder than before.

"God! Fuck!! Jack!" I relented in an angry groan. "I want it! I want your
dick!"

"That's right."

"Fuck you." I grunted out.

"Beg me to fuck you." He ordered next. "I liked hearing you beg."

"God dammit Jack! Fuck you!"

"Want me to stop?" He asked in a low growl. "Tell me who's in fucking
charge here."

"Ughn- you are. Fuck, you're in fucking charge." I shouted out angrily.

His hand firmly pressed against my back. "Don't fucking forget it."

His hump smashed my groin against the door. He fucked me hard. Not fast,
just hard, forceful thrusts, stopping once and a while to spit on his shaft
only to continue.

I was instantly lost in a primal lust, grunting wildly with each pump of
his dick. "Ngh - Ngh - uhh - fuck. Fuck me." I was growling through
clenched teeth. Fuck moaning like a bitch, I never gave him that
satisfaction.

There was cum streaming out of my half hard dick and I wasn't even at an
orgasm yet. I knew this one was gonna be powerful. The pain felt better and
better each time his hips rammed mine into the door.

"Fuckin' take that dick - yeah - you're so fuckin hot."

His fist was pulling my hair, yanking it back in the next second. "Uhhh,
fuck! - ohh fuck yeah! Harder!" And he did. And it was intense. "Uhh!

"You gonna cum for me?"

"Uh - uh - fuck yeah!"

His hips jammed harder with my primal order.

"You like it, fuck boy?"

"Uhh! Yeah, fuck me!" I was grunting hard, my head against the door and my
face distorted in pain.

He was drilling me like he was looking for oil. "Are you my fuck boy yet?"

I didn't give a shit who I was. He could've called me Richard Simmons and I
would've agreed. "Yeah Jack - I'm your fuck boy! - Ngh - uhh! - yeah! -
fuck me like your fuck boy!" I breathed out forcefully.

He pulled out quickly and took a seat on the porch bench.

I backed up, ass in his face for a moment before I grabbed the top of the
bench's backrest and crouched down with my feet on the bench as far apart
from each other as possible. My ass hovered above his lap.

He spit on his hand and re lubed his cock, holding his hand in front of
me. I gave my spit contribution.

He rammed his dick right back inside me.

"Hohhh yeahh- fucking fuck!"

He pulled my chest back and I was leaning against his shoulder. My still
semi hard dick flopped up against my stomach.

His hips slammed up with a grunt.

"Fuck-"

"Yeah..." He fucked up again and began to speed up.

"Oh god - Jack, fuck!"

His hands were roaming across my body, fingers pinching my nipples roughly,
his other hand grabbing my hair and yanking my head back. His teeth were
clamped onto my skin.

His hips sped up faster and faster till his dick was a jackhammer pounding
into my asshole.

It was incredible how he could make me feel so good and so much pain at the
same time.

His hand reached over my hip and grabbed my still floppy dick. "Fuck
yeah. Little brother's got a big dick. Can't wait to suck the cum out of
it." He stoked it for a moment before letting down on my stomach.

He fucked me at rapid speed, holding my hips and bucking wildly.

His fingers dug into the skin on my stomach, leaving light red marks, his
hand wrapped around my neck and tugged me tighter into him.

"Ah - ah ah ah!" It was like a tidal wave of intense sensations each time
his dick drilled into me. A sensory overload, I couldn't keep up. "Imma cum
- fuck - imma cum!" That build up was something fierce. My dick was still
only partially hard but my hand latched on anyways, stroking it
fiercely. My dick head tingled like never before. "Huhh huhh- I'm cumming -
Jack I'm fucking cumming!" I was yelling like I was in pain. My hand let go
of my dick. He stopped and pulled me down on his cock and for a moment,
everything was still in my body, like a bomb had been frozen just as it
went off. It was like I was waiting for it to detonate, tense in
anticipation - every tingle and every shake felt like I was savoring this
moment.

And then time resumed. "Uhhhh!! Ahhh - agh!" My dick pumped for all it was
worth, each time it got harder and harder until it was rigid and shooting
up my chest. Shooting what cum I had left on my chest, until my dick was
just jerking up and down. "Oh shit... - oh fuck - uhhh!" My dick kept
bouncing with nothing coming out. A back to back to back orgasm. It wasn't
the first time this happened. It was a sign that I was incredibly horny and
was receiving intense stimulation. "Huhh - fuck- Jack stroke me! Oh fuck -
stroke me!" His hand latched onto my dick and he started pumping with a
tight grip. "Ughhh... shit!" The craziness in my body amped up to ten once
he'd touched me. Now that his fist was flying, the orgasm responded in
suit. The last one was the most intense and my dick even throbbed out two
more shots of thin, watery cum that sprayed my face.

My body tensed a few more times and my dick deflated rapidly.

Jack pulled his diamond hard cock out of me and pumped his fist over it. He
shot a few drops onto my pubes and balls before he let it go. I felt his
cum ooze out of my hole and heard it drip onto his lap. There was quite a
lot of it. I grabbed his dick and pushed it back inside me and let myself
sit down on Jack so I didn't have to hold myself up anymore, gently rocking
my hips to get that post orgasm feeling to last longer, breathing like I'd
been deprived of oxygen.

Jack huffed heavily. His chest was wet with sweat and my own sweat dripped
off of my nose. I even had a dripping coat of sweat on my chest. .

"Fuck, Luca... that was the best sex we've had in a while..." He huffed in
a whisper. "I came twice inside you... I think"

My head layed back on his shoulder, gaze pointed at the porch's roof above,
gasping for breath as my body fell into Jack's like a puddle. "Fuck... Now
you'll listen to me when I want you to fuck me like that."

His arms wrapped me up. "Yeah..." I loved the feeling of his body on mine,
and his still hard dick in my ass.

"I wanna kiss you. But I don't wanna turn to do it." I mumbled. I was so
exhausted.

"Think we can make it inside?"

I was too tired to even shrug. "Dunno." I moved to stand up and I found my
legs to be so weak and shaky that I just collapsed to my side, managing to
break the fall and block my head with my hands. "Fuuuuck." I groaned.

Jack laughed rather loudly through his exhaustion.

I smirked and shook my head. "Fuck you. I think your dick paralyzed me."

"You can't walk. That mean you're my fuck boy?"

Ignoring that...

"Jaaaack..." I whined, rolling to my back. "This is your fault... the door
isn't even unlocked yet."

He sighed and pushed himself up with a strained grunt. Obviously he wasn't
as dead as I was.

Finding the key and opening the door, I pushed myself up onto wobbly legs
and he helped me to our room where we both collapsed on the bed and went
into hibernation.

I got it. I finally got what I wanted. The only thing missing was the
emotional dumping. I swore I'd get there.

I would get him to trust me enough to confide in me...

One of these days.