Date: Wed, 31 Oct 2007 19:35:33 -0500
From: Extreme Writer <extremewriter9@gmail.com>
Subject: Lifeline: Chapter 5.

Lifeline: Chapter 5.

Well, thanks to a slow week at school, the fifth chapter which is even
slightly longer than the previous chapter is completed and ready for your
enjoyment!

***Disclaimer***

This story contains writings in which things of a sexually explicit nature
performed between males are portrayed. If this material offends you, then
read no further. Also, the characters in this story have no resemblance to
anyone. Not your friend John, your cousin Harry, or that guy across the
street who always keeps his blinds shut. For those of you who have decided
to stick around, you may E-mail comments, questions, suggestions, or
anything else your hearts desire to: extremewriter9@gmail.com. Now, with
all that out of the way, I present to you readers...

Lifeline: CHAPTER 5.

Brett's Perspective.

Our kiss continued for a long time.  I'm not even sure for how long it went
on, but when we finally broke apart, Mark had this look on his face like he
was about to either pass out or fly to the moon.  I thought I could
understand exactly how he felt.  He hadn't been shown any amount of love,
especially physically for a very long time.  I tried with everything I had
to put into that kiss how I felt toward him, and I think he got the
message.  Mark tightened his arms around me, put his head on my chest which
is still his favorite spot and started to cry.  I just let him cry.  If I
hadn't been so dazed by the overwhelming feelings of love toward him, I
think I would have cried too.  It was definitely one of those tender
moments that can only be shared between two madly in love human beings.

"I seriously love you!" Mark said.  "I wonder how I ever survived now.  The
streets weren't for me.  Yeah, I survived and even made a few friends (if
you can call them friends,) but it wasn't the same.  Even the various drugs
I did at different times in my street life are nothing compared to this! If
anyone ever comes to me and asks me how to get off drugs, I'll simply tell
them to find some one they truly love physically, emotionally, and
mentally."

I didn't say anything, but kissed him gently again, exploring every bit of
his mouth with my tongue, then backing off to allow him to do the same.
Then he did something that totally surprised me.  Without making it
obvious, he began to unbutton my shirt.  He actually made it seem more like
he was just fiddling with the buttons just for something to do.  I don't
know if it's because of his lack of sight or what, but Mark is the most
fidgety person I have ever met.  It wasn't until he got to about the third
button that I even realized what he was doing.

"You sure you want to do that?" I asked.  "You might start something you
can't finish.  Although, if you don't want to finish it right now, and only
want to go so far, I will understand."

He completely ignored me and continued slowly unbuttoning my shirt,
stopping every so often to take his thumbs and run them agonizingly slowly
over my nipples.  When he got my shirt unbuttoned about halfway, he moved
his hands ever so gently to my hips and ever-so-slowly pulled my shirt from
my jeans.  Pulling my shirt up slightly, he ran his hands slowly and gently
over my stomach, stopping every so often to run his thumb over my
bellybutton.  I was so hard by this time that my eyes were beginning to
water from the amount of blood that my cock was trying to hold.  I didn't
make this known to Mark, though.  I was loving every slow second of this.
I knew Mark well enough to know that he would stretch this out for hours if
he could.  If he's doing something he likes, he never wants it to end, and
will do everything in his power to keep it from doing so, even though more
often than not it's just putting off the inevitable.  I know he knows this,
but he does it all the same.

Finally, Mark unbuttoned my shirt the rest of the way and slowly pulled it
off my shoulders, gently nibbling on each one as he removed the fabric from
it.  Once my upper body was bare, he spent an extremely long time just
running his hands over my chest and stomach, licking each of my nipples
slowly, and playing with my ample chest hair.  He also took a lot of time
to kiss me.  They were slow, gentle kisses that were so loving yet erotic
at the same time.

Finally, at long last, he unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans.  Not even
pulling them down at all, he reached through and slowly ran his hand down
the entire length of the nine-inch long, three-inch thick column of flesh
he found trapped within.

"You going to remove those?" I asked, clearing my throat in the process
because my mouth was so dry.

"Good things come to those who wait," He said quietly.

He did eventually remove my jeans and briefs in one smooth fluid motion and
slowly pulled them off my ankles while lightly nibbling on my ball sack.
Once my pants were removed, Mark asked me to do the same for him as he had
done for me.  Again, this surprised me.  He seemed to flip back and forth
between being aggressive and submissive as easily as the wind changing
direction.  I did as he asked.  This was my first time getting to see him
totally nude, and I realized I had been missing out big time! Even though
he was just barely sixteen, his body had a lot of muscle tone to it, and he
had the build of some one who worked out quite regularly, even though he
didn't.  He was just blessed that way.  I kissed him again, then I asked
him how far he wanted things to go.  As is his habit, he didn't answer, not
in words anyway.  His answer was to lay between my legs with his legs
draped over the arm of the couch and lick all the way from the head of my
cock to just above the crack of my ass.  He did this several times, then
took the entire head along with about three inches into his mouth.  I had
to pull my brain into its most relaxed state to keep from cumming right
then! He did this for a while until my precum started to flow quickly.
Then he did as before, licking all the way from the head to just above my
ass.  I didn't notice until about his fourth or fifth trip that he was
going a little farther each time.  I didn't say anything, just let him
continue.  Finally, he got to the place between my ass cheeks, and he must
have really liked the taste because he stayed there for a while.  Jesus, he
can sure rim! I have never asked him if he's done that before or not.  Even
now Mark doesn't like to talk about his time on his own, as he calls it,
and I never push him.  There are things in my past that I have not talked
to him about either, but those are very few.

After spending so much time on my ass, he made the now familiar trip back
up to the head of my cock and began to suck in earnest.  It took about
three minutes until I shot, and I wondered vaguely if I was going to pass
out or not.  I have never felt so good in my life, and believe me, I've had
some extremely great sex! I guess that none of those encounters had the
love element in them, though.  Love definitely changes lots of things!

After I came, Mark spread himself over me, trying to get every part of his
body to touch mine that he could.  He put his head on my chest and just
laid there.  Then, with this strange half-smile on his face, he asked me if
I would return the favor.  I did just that.  I did to him just as he did to
me, and I found out I shared the love of rimming just as he did.  After
that was all over, we decided that we had better go to bed before we wound
up sleeping on the couch which would not have been a good idea.  It really
wasn't big enough for the two of us no matter how close together we were.

The next morning I awoke to find Mark already awake but lying still as a
stone.

"You could have gotten up if you wanted to," I said.

"Not while you were still here.  Every minute I can spend near you is a
minute I won't waste."

I rolled toward Mark, kissed him gently, and hugged him hard.  I wish on
days like these (cold, rainy ones) that I could just stay home in bed, but
I couldn't.  Mark had school and I had patrol duty.  I liked patrolling in
Louisville because it was a well-populated city, so things were never
boring.  The downside to it was that because it was such a populated city,
everybody just had to disturb the peace at some point.  Those were mostly
the kinds of calls I got, Domestic assault type things and the occasional
traffic stop.  I tried to avoid traffic stops because I hate going through
people's personal belongings.  I somehow always feel like my own privacy is
being invaded or that my conscience is asking me how would I feel if it
were me? Very rarely did I have to shoot some one, but I have always been
grateful to be able to carry a loaded weapon, even if it is only a 22.

Police work is not the only work I did, though.  I also had a business that
I ran on the side and that was what brought in the majority of my money.  I
kept the job on the police force because the extra money did help and plus
I liked the job.  The business I ran was a marketing business of sorts.  I
was responsible for putting together massive orders for any types of
weapons.  Most of the orders came from large warehouses, but some also came
from military groups all over the United States and Canada.  It paid pretty
well because I was guaranteed ten percent off of each successful sale I
made, and I got some good insurance benefits from it, too.  It wasn't
exactly my own business.  I was working for some one else, but my boss had
enough people to run things day-to-day, so I could basically work whenever
I needed or wanted to.  I could do everything from home, so that made it
easier.  It also helped because I sometimes had to pull strange patrol
hours, although since I had started Mark's adoption process the chief had
tried his best not to let me get stuck with any graveyard hours and so far
I was getting lucky.

I mostly worked in Louisville but every once in a while I would get called
to out-of-the-way places to deal with some kind of domestic violence shit
(which was mostly what I handled.) That is how I ended up in Covington the
night I nearly ran over the little skinny kid in the street that was Mark
his own self.  He had filled out some since he had been with me but he
stayed basically his same skinny size like so many kids his age.  Also,
probably because he was used to eating sparsely at best, he didn't eat
much, well not as much as I thought he should.  I didn't get on his case
about it.  He was alive, healthy, and making decent grades, so I figured
all was well.  I loved him as a lover but also as a father.  It was
strange, but I got use to it pretty quickly.

Mark left me for his short walk to his bus stop that morning with one of
his gentle kisses that communicated so much and left me feeling satisfied
with myself, like I truly meant the world to him.  I was glad for that
morning because the next few months might have been so much worse without
that.

Mark's perspective the same day at school.

Sometimes I think it would be extremely useful if I could just shut certain
parts of my brain down, like the one that constantly thought about Brett.
All through first period while I was trying to concentrate on Algebra, my
worst subject, pieces of my brain were elsewhere, thinking about the man I
loved so much and that had done so much to change my life in such a short
period of time.  I managed to get through that period having grasped most
of what I would need for that night's homework assignment.  Mr.  Alan was a
nice enough guy.  He was a very matter-of-fact teacher.  Many of us had
given him the name "slave driver," but he really just wanted us to do well
in the class.  I knew this because on the first day of class, he gave us a
speech about how he knew that algebra was a useless subject to most of us
because we would never use it in our day-to-day life after high school.  He
went on to say that because it was required, he wanted us to do well so
that we could continue along the path to graduation.  Most students bitched
constantly about the work load, but I saw the point of it, especially for
people like myself who sucked at the subject.  The amount of work he gave
us was so much that if we made errors, they were easily compensated for
because we could get help on things we didn't understand yet still have
plenty of decent grades from other assignments so that he could pass us
from grading quarter to grading quarter pretty easily.

After first period, the rest of the day was a snap.  I zoomed through
second, third, and fourth periods as always and then went to lunch.  Lunch
was, more often than not, the most interesting part of my day-to-day life
at school.  My table consisted of most of my fellow classmates save for a
few because we didn't quite have enough space at the one table.  I sat with
my friends Rick Salt (yes, we did give him the nickname "Salty Ricky,)" and
he didn't mind it in the slightest.  There was also Dennis Ross, Justin
Lance, Tim Shields, and Nathan Pain.  Then, last but not least, was the
worst girl in our class out of the three girls we had in the class.  Her
name was Carla Dickinson.  No one knew how we got stuck with her! We could
have gotten Sheila Brady or even Carroll Lynch, but no! We had to get stuck
with Carla! She was selfish, rude, inconsiderate, a religious freak, and
pretty much a loser.  We can't forget hypocrite, either.  Religious people
are suppose to be considerate, kind, polite, etc.  Carla was none of these.
She had a tremendous problem with any "bad language," which wasn't really
in her favor because we just used more of it to get under her skin because
it was so easy to do.  Yeah, I participated just as much as the rest of
them.  Brett said I was mature.  Well yeah, I was mature for my age, but I
was still a barely sixteen-year-old kid in a small school full of blind
people.  I liked getting a rise out of her just as much as anyone else.  We
talked about totally random things, most of them having to do with either
technology, school, or sex.  Yeah, a lot of sex.  We all knew there was way
too much testosterone at that table.

"Hey Mark," Justin asked, "How ya been? We ain't heard much from you lately
since you returned from the streets and back to civilized civilization.
Whatchya been doin'?"

I sat there, trying to decide what to say.  With anyone else, I would have
been pissed at this topic being brought up out of nowhere, but that's how
Justin always had been ever since I had met him all the way back in second
grade.  If he wanted to know something, he didn't fuck around.  He just
came out and asked.  I can't count how many times I wish I had his guts.
I'm more the type of person who will, if it is a sensitive subject, either
keep my mouth shut altogether or kind of hem and haw around it until I can
come up with some "nice" way of asking.  Not Justin, though.  He was always
one of those in-your-face, let's have it type people.

"Not much," I finally answered.  "I've been living with the guy that
rescued me, Brett, and he's in the process right now of adopting me."

"I ain't seen you online much lately," Justin said.  "I mean, you're there
but you're always set to "away."

"Yeah," I said.  "I do lots of stuff with Brett and I just let the computer
run.  He has a solid cable connection so it's pretty much always there.
Most of the day I don't feel like typing on MSN or any of that.  I usually
just text on my phone, or rather, would if I could remember to get you
guys' numbers.  I know Justin has Talks, and Rick can see well enough to
use his phone with his eyeballs.  Sometime I'll have to ask around and see
who else I can bother with text messaging."

"You have a phone again?" Rick asked through a mouthful of food, some of
which flew across the table to hit the edge of my tray.

"Rick!" I said forcefully.  "Say it, don't fucking spray it! That's
disgusting! I don't give a shit if you talk with your mouth full, but I
don't want your freshly half-masticated food anywhere outside of your big
mouth."

"Jeeze Mark," Rick said with exaggerated hurt etched in every word.  "Why
you gotta say such mean things to me? You're suppose to be my friend!"

"Hey," Nathan said.  "How do you text?"

"Jee, Nathan," I said sarcastically.  "Let's think about this for a second.
What is the only way I could ever hope to text from a cell phone? Yeah, it
talks, duh! I don't like asking people to do costly shit for me, but I did
finally break down after about two weeks of living with him, and asked
Brett to order Mobile Speak and a PPC-6700 for me.  I have sprint now
instead of Kentucky Cellular, so I don't have the same number."

Nathan always went nuts over anything to do with speech software especially
if some one he knew had it and he didn't.

"Cool!" Nathan squealed.  "Can I see your phone? I wanna check it out! What
all can it do? Can I see it? Please please pleeeeeeeeese!"

"Nathan, chill." I sighed in exasperation.  "No, you may not see my phone.
I'm not getting it taken up first of all, and second of all, I know how you
are.  You'll try to do everything and you'll get so excited that you'll get
careless, and don't you dare deny it.  I know you too well.  I'll ask Brett
if you can come over sometime and I will show it to you then, and I will
supervise you every step of the way.  Once you get familiar with it and
your excitement level has gone down to a dull ache in your chest, then you
can have all the fun in the world begging your mom to let you get one.  No,
before you ask, I'm not talking to her for you.  The art of parent
persuasion is something you must embrace on your own."

Nathan was one of those kids who really had it kind of bad in a way.  He
had a lot of potential, was very smart, and very technically minded.  The
problem was that his single mother worked two jobs, wasn't home much, and
didn't have hardly any money.  Every piece of technology Nathan owned which
basically consisted of a computer with some one else's copy of JAWS (a
screen reading program) on it and an old Epson scanner, had either been
given to him by people at the school who didn't need it anymore or bought
for him by his old but fairly wealthy grandparents.

His dad was a gay guy that fucked anything that moved and was just
generally an uncaring ass hole.  His dad had partial custody, and his mom
practically had to force him to go over to his house about once every two
or three months.  All he did there was sit and watch TV and sleep.  That's
pretty much what he did at his mom's too, except he divided his time
between the computer, TV, and torturing his little sister, Abigail (Abby
for short.) If Nathan's mother had the time and strength to dish out
discipline, Nathan would have been grounded all the time for his meanness
toward his little sister who was seven then, but she didn't.  She was
always tired when she came home and would fix Nathan and Abby one frozen
dinner each, then go to sleep.

I kind of felt sorry for him because his shitty home life wasn't his fault
and he counted on me to be his sounding board whenever something went wrong
or he had to vent out frustration.  He didn't like counting on me too much,
though, because lately ever since I had gotten back to school I had gotten
on his case really heavily about leaving his sister alone.  Not that I
didn't before, but I started with a renewed vigor once I returned to
school.  Abby really didn't deserve it.  She was a little skinny girl that
seemed really frail and hardly ever said a word to anyone.

"Man," Nathan wined.  "You're suppose to be my friend."

I just sighed and shrugged, not that Nathan could see it.

After lunch, I was standing leaning my right side against my locker, doing
my usual mental checklist routine before I went to my fifth period class.
I had started doing that when I got back to school because before I was
forced to quit, I was constantly getting bitched at for coming to class
unprepared.  I still got bitched at by most of the teachers, but that was
because I carried my backpack everywhere I went, and the school was trying
to discourage such things because of all the back problems that come from
lugging a backpack around all day.  I told them that I was always prepared
for class this way because I didn't have to worry about having too much to
carry or inadvertently forgetting something and having to go back to my
locker.

I was almost done with my checklist when I was roughly grabbed from behind,
spun around, and slammed hard against the bank of lockers just behind me.
My cane which I had been holding in my left hand had disappeared probably
on top of the lockers.

"Hey faggot," a low menacing voice said right in front of me.  I knew it
was Eric even before I smelled his trademark fish breath.  God, did he ever
brush his teeth? "You wanna have some fun?" Eric continued still in his
most menacing voice.

I just stood there.  I felt like I did the one time I took Oxy Cottons
instead of selling them like I had been asked to because I was still fairly
new to the streets then. I hadn't yet learned that you won't get caught if
you keep to alleys and pay attention to your surroundings.  I felt slow and
dumb, but full of adrenaline at the same time, but I couldn't even raise my
hands to fend off Eric.  The last few things I remembered were Eric
screaming insults at me, being kicked in the stomach, throwing up
everywhere, and then screaming as I fell to the ground in agonized pain.

>From Brett's Perspective still on the same day.

I was getting back in my patrol car when I felt a vibration from my
pocket. I flipped open the phone and, glancing at the caller ID, saw that
it was Mark's school's main office. With some trepidation, I answered the
phone.

"Hello," I said.

"Hi," the voice at the other end said. It was female and sounded
professionally calm, cool, and collected. "You are Brett Chancellor,
correct?"

"Yes Ma'am, I am."

"your, uh, adopted son is at east medical center in the Intensive Care
Unit, which means he's in critical condition."

Trying to keep my voice from shaking and failing horribly, I asked, "ma'am,
what happened?"

"There was a fight. He was attacked from behind. He was kicked in the
abdomen several times, received a skull fracture from having his head
slammed into his own locker numerous times, and various other lacerations
and bruises. We know very little. I wish I could tell you more. The student
that was responsible for the surprise attack on Mark, Eric Olsen, has
officially been expelled from this school. We understand this is not the
first time these two boys have had a physical encounter."

"Thank you, ma'am," I said, starting to cry. "I appreciate you telling me,
and I will get over to the hospital right away. I would also like you to
know that just because you have expelled Eric, it does not mean that this
incident is behind you. I will have investigators interview the
administrators, teachers, and students of the school about him and also to
see if there have been incidents with other students for the same reasons
that the incidents with Eric and Mark have happened. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir," she said brightly. "We would like to help anyway we can."

I hung up the phone and went as fast as I could to East Medical Center, my
sirens screaming all the way. When I got there, I rode the elevator to the
ICU floor trying not to lose what little I had eaten that day. I was so
nervous about what I would learn when I got there.

The nurse I found after pumping me for information about my connection to
Mark, told me quite a lot.

"He has a skull fracture, some internal bleeding mostly in the abdomen, and
some torn muscles because of a massive seizure he had sometime during the
course of the fight, probably after his head was beaten into the lockers
enough times. He has lost a lot of blood and is comatose right now. You may
see him if you wish, but don't expect to be able to stay for long. The
doctors are very serious about helping him."

I thanked her for all her information and walked along various halls until
I found the ICU room where Mark was. I walked into the room, looked to my
left, and fell to my knees with my head in my hands, trying my damndest not
to throw up. The sight of Mark lying there with tubes, wires, bandages, and
a look of utmost pain on his face made me sick. After recovering somewhat,
I stood up and took Mark's hand. His hand, usually so warm, dry, and
slightly rough, was now cold, sweaty, and shaking constantly.

"Get better, sweetheart," I said through my tears. "I'll make this ok. I
will find out all I can and I'll make Eric pay for hurting my dearest
one. I have to leave now. I love you."

I walked out of that hospital feeling as if my world was ending. I tried to
remind myself over and over again that Mark would get better, that he would
eventually wake up. It was little comfort, however. I went home and spent a
sleepless night wondering if I would get any calls. Finally, at about 3:30
AM, my cell rang.

"Hello," I answered.

"Hey, Brett, it's me." It was Mark.

"It's you, Mark?" I asked in disbelief.

"No, sweetie, it's those voices in your head trying to convince you. Of
course it is me. I'm not doing all that well. I had to beg them to let me
use my phone to call you. I was going to just text you because it's a bit
difficult to talk because Eric attempted to slit my throat and came pretty
close to succeeding. Anyway, I was going to text you, but I'm having some
trouble remembering which letters correspond to which numbers and my hands
won't quit shaking. I get bouts of dizziness and cold chills, but I guess I
am ok."

"Would you like me to come and see you?"

"Sure, I would like that a lot. I love you."

"I love you too, baby. I'll see you as soon as I can. I'll bring the
cruiser so I can get there faster."

"Be careful. The last thing we need is for you to end up beside me. We
can't take care of each other if we're both battered."

"I will, dear. I'll make sure I don't run over anything or anyone."

"Thanks. Love you. Se ya soon."

"Love you too," I said, and hung up.

>From Mark's perspective.

Pain is a bitch. I was in a whole lot of it when Brett came breezing
through the door, seeming for all the world like he went to see battered
and bruised lovers every day.

"You look like shit," he commented.

"Thanks," I said. "I love you too. I feel like shit too, so that's okay. I
am in so much pain.  My entire body hurts, and I can't get warm."

"It'll get better," I promise," Brett said.

"Yeah, if you say so," I said.  "From this vantage point though, I strongly
disagree with you."

"Don't I get any reward for my trouble, even just a little agreement?"
Brett wined.  "Here I am, trying to help you look on the bright side of
things and you're getting all pessimistic on me!"

"Come here," I said.

He walked over to me.  I let him stand there for a second, letting the
anticipation build.  Then, I took his hand as best I could, and pulled him
a little more forward.  Then I took his face in my hands and gently kissed
him.  I tried to hug him, but when I tried to extend my arms, my whole
upper body screamed in protest.  I started to cry.  I felt like such a
loser! I had been beaten by a hateful ass hole and couldn't even fight back
for some stupid reason (probably fear.) As if that wasn't enough to damage
my personal pride, I was so injured that I couldn't even hug the one I
loved most.  I turned my face into the starched pillows and sobbed like a
little kid.

It was a while before I realized that Brett was gone and there was a very
doctor-smelling type person standing with his hand on the back of my head.
I could tell it was a guy by the feel and weight of the hand on my head.
He was moving his fingers lightly over my hair.  I tried to turn my head,
and almost screamed.

"Be still," A low voice said next to my ear.  "You cried yourself to sleep
earlier, and had another seizure.  Some of the muscles in your neck will
need to be operated on because they were severely twisted by the seizure.
Just lie still."

I didn't want to lie still! I wanted to hit something until I couldn't hit
anymore.  I felt so angry because I was helpless.

"I hate this!" I said just above a whisper.  "I can't stand this, this
being helpless, this powerlessness! I hate it! Why does it have to happen
to me? I'm in so much fucking pain I can hardly move my little finger! God,
what's the point of anything anymore? I'm here, helpless, can't even move!
Some one tell me something! Anything! Help me get passed this! I hate it!"

I was screaming by this time and crying harder than I ever had before.  My
whole body was protesting right along with my emotions, but I didn't care.
Well, I didn't until everything started to get really weird.  It started
with me being unable to talk.  Then, I had this overwhelming sense of
anxiety, like something evil was coming to get me or something terrible was
going to happen.  Then came the pain.  It started in my ankles and rapidly
crawled up my body.  I didn't realize at first in the heat of everything
that not only was I in pain, I was also shaking violently.  My eyes were
stretched wide open and I could hear people saying things in panicked
voices, but I couldn't really understand what they were saying.  This
episode lasted all of three minutes.  It ended as suddenly as it had
started.  I was exhausted.  I felt as if I had ran a marathon of twenty-six
miles in twenty-six seconds.

When I could finally speak again, I asked what had happened.  I explained
to them exactly what I had felt.  When I did, I immediately detected a bolt
of fear that went between every medical person in the room.  They told me
that I had a traditional seizure as a result of my skull fractures, and
probably would for the next couple of weeks. That seizure was scary to them
because I should have been unconscious both during the spasms and for about
ten to fifteen minutes afterward.  I shouldn't have been able to feel
anything at all.

After this was explained to me, I felt more tired than ever.  Before I fell
asleep, though, I found out that it would be another three weeks before I
would be released to go home.  I would only be able to if the seizures
stopped.