Kate Sherwood - Dark Horse 1.2 - Rough Broke (2 page)
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Authors: Kate Sherwood
Rough Broke | Kate Sherwood
nobody home for him to talk to, he acts like he's going to sit around and wait for them. You tell him your stepfather took your mother out of town for the weekend and your sister is staying at a friend's. For all you know, that could all be true. You tell him you're just going to go to sleep, and you're sorry, and thanks for everything.
The next day at school some asshole football player calls you a fag. He's been doing it for weeks, pushing you around a little, and you've honestly barely noticed, but this time it's too much. It feels good when your fist hits his jaw, and you know better than to let someone get to you, so you deserve the three broken bones in your hand, and you welcome the pain.
When the farm father calls the house and asks your mother if you'll be coming back out to the farm, she asks you if you've lost interest in the place and you say yes. Your stepfather says that's good, because it's pathetic for a boy your age to be mooning around after horses like a little girl. Like some sort of fag.
Without the farm, you have a lot of free time, especially since you got kicked out of your old school for the fight and you don't like your new school enough to show up very often. You smoke a lot, dealing a little in order to have money for more weed. You start hanging out with some guys that are into some heavier shit, meth and coke and pills of all kinds, but you're happy with your pot. They don't mind that because it keeps you a little less messed up than they are, so they assign you to be the lookout when they start robbing places. It's mostly houses, and they don't get much that's worth anything, but then one of them gets a gun and starts talking about robbing a convenience store, or maybe going for the big payoff and hitting a pharmacy.
When your court date comes up for hitting the football player, you're
smart enough to know that it's maybe time for a change, and you don't fight it too hard when your court appointed lawyer suggests a deal. You end up pleading guilty in exchange for some time in juvie and community service when you get out.
Juvie isn't all that bad. There's regular meals and a regular routine, and you've always liked routine; it lets you shut your brain off. The place is pretty rough, but you have a roommate, a big guy who watches your back in exchange for you doing his chores. When the heat picks up a little, guys targeting your too-pretty face like they always seem to, the roommate renegotiates. He decides that if he's gonna put so much work into keeping all your teeth in your pretty mouth, it's only fair that he gets a bit more benefit from that mouth. You can't argue with the logic.
You've never given a blowjob before, and you know you're not that good at it, at least at first, but your roommate's happy to give you pointers. It's not that bad, really. It's kinda hot to have that kind of power over somebody, to be able to wind him up and keep him there, have him swearing and begging for you to let him come. By the end of your time in the facility, you're jerking yourself off while you're sucking him, and if you're still not done by the time he's come down from the afterglow, he'll sometimes lend you a hand.
His name is Wilson, and you guess he's your first boyfriend. Not that either of you would ever call it that out loud. He's got a longer sentence than you, and on the night before you leave, you kiss him, and he lets you for a while, but then he pushes you away. When you suggest that he gives you a call when he gets out, he asks you what for, and you don't really have an answer.
Rough Broke | Kate Sherwood
family only has one car and your stepfather says you can't use it to practice, or to take the test. You think about saving up and buying your own car, but you've got better uses for what money you can find.
You're hanging out downtown one day, just killing time, and there's a demonstration or something, really peaceful, but there's cops there anyways, just to keep an eye on things. You don't like cops; it's nothing personal, but they're the enemy, and it never pays to forget that. But there's a couple of them on horseback, and the demonstration is calm so they're just standing there, and they look bored and the horses look bored, and you find yourself drifting over towards them. When you're a couple feet away, the closest horse looks at you and then lifts his nose in your direction, and you lean forward and exchange breaths with him, and he shifts his weight and leans towards you a little.
The cop notices, but he doesn't seem to object, so you take a step closer. The cop's keeping an eye on you, and you appreciate that. There's all sorts of crazies out there who like to hurt animals, and it's the cop's job to keep his horse safe. You wonder what it would be like, to do the cop's job—being responsible for an animal and at the same time being required to bring that animal into situations where it could get hurt. You think about asking the guy about it, but it seems like a weird question, so you keep your mouth shut.
After a couple minutes, you hear the cop asking if you're okay, and you look up. You realize that you've worked yourself around so that you're almost hanging off the horse, his head over your shoulder and bent to nuzzle your hair, your shoulder under his throat and your hand up high on the other side. It must look like the two of you are making out or something. You back away and apologize, and say you're fine. The cop smiles and doesn’t seem upset, but you're turning away and hurrying off, and you're careful not to trip or do anything that would make you look stoned or drunk. You're still on probation, and even though you're
not
stoned, for a change, cops have been known to make things up and there's
no point looking for trouble.
You get kicked out of another school, for non-attendance and being stoned in class. Your stepfather has a field day with that one, wants to know why you would go to school when you're high, when you don't go any other damn time. He wants you to get a job, says that you're obviously not going to get anywhere with your brains so you might as well start trying to get somewhere with hard work. He's in sales, plumbing supplies, and your mom suggests that he might be able to get the guys at the warehouse to find a job for you. He laughs in her face. He says he doesn't want to be seen in public with you, much less introduce you to the guys at work.
You've never really been sure what he objects to about you. He seems to know you're gay, although you're not sure how. You don't really hide it, but you don't flaunt it, either, don't act swishy or bring guys home, or talk about guys. You don't talk about anything, really, not with him, not if you can help it. But he calls you 'fag' a lot, and he seems to mean it to be a specific insult rather than a general one. But maybe he doesn't like you for some whole other reason; you sure haven't limited yourself to just one reason for not liking him.
It's probably not a good idea, but you go down to the warehouse one day and ask if they're hiring. You've hit a growth spurt, finally, so you're a good size, and you're not in great shape but you're okay, and you can
act
respectful, when you try. You never took your stepfather’s last name, so there's no connection between the two of you, and you get the job, parttime after school. It's weird to have an after-school job and not go to school, so you start going, this time to some Alternative Education program set up in a storefront. It's got flexible hours and lets you work at your own speed, so you don't hate it, but it's still pretty damn dull. You get your first paycheck and it's not huge, but it's nice to have
some legitimate money for a change. When you tell your mom you've got a job and offer to contribute to the household expenses, she cries a little, and tells you to save it for yourself, because maybe you'll need it for something someday. You're pretty sure you know where the money will go if it stays with you, so you ask her if she'll hold on to it for you, and she cries a little more and says yes.
Your stepfather doesn't work in the warehouse, but he picks up samples there sometimes, and stops by to visit, so it's not exactly shocking when you see him walk in one day. Well, it's not shocking for you, but it's obviously a pretty unpleasant surprise for him. He doesn't say anything, not there in the warehouse, but you've seen too much of his temper to think that there won't be repercussions.
When you get home that night the house is quiet, but there's a light burning in the front room, and when you unlock the door and go inside he's waiting there for you. He's drunk, and angry. You're not sure where your mother and sister are, but you're glad they're not at home.
He tells you that he won't have you destroying the family, says that his income is important and he won't let you fuck it up. You say you got hired with your own name and the company has no idea you're connected to him, and you're not going to fuck up anyway. He laughs at that, and you lose your temper, say that from what you've heard around the warehouse, he's doing a pretty good job of fucking up all on his own, with his long lunches and swearing in front of clients. That's when he
really
loses it, and he calls you a worthless fag and punches you in the side of your face, and it would have hurt a lot more except that he's drunk and slow so you were able to mostly dodge it, but it still hurts a lot and he's coming at you with more. It’s far from the first time he's hit you, but you think maybe it'll be the last.
You've hardly been smoking at all lately, and all the lifting at work has given you the start of a nice set of muscles, and you're young and quick and sober. You side step the next swing easily and send your fist sailing towards his face. You remember the pain of your hand breaking on
the football player's jaw, so you aim for somewhere softer, and it's satisfying as hell to feel your stepfather's nose squish and flatten beneath your knuckles. He falls back, in pain and surprise, and you follow him, just because you can. You give him a hard slap, your hand cupped and rigid, the way he hits you and Krista most of the time, and damn, you can see why he does it, because it feels good. It feels good to be the one in charge, the one giving the hits instead of taking them, and you hit him once more and he falls backwards, sprawling on the floor.
You move to stand over him, and your feet itch to kick him, to turn this from a fight into a beating, but then there's a sound in the hallway and you turn and realize that your Mom and Krista weren't out at all, they were just in bed. Your mom gives you a furious, disappointed glare, and she rushes over to where her husband is lying on the ground. You remember all the times that he hit you and she was there and she
didn't
rush over to give you comfort, and all the triumph flows out of you, and you realize that you can never win. Not this, and probably not anything else.
While your mother cradles her husband’s in her arms and makes soothing sounds, Krista stares at you in shock. You need to get out of there, need to get as far away as possible, and you head for the door. On the way there, you see the car keys lying on the hall table and without even thinking you reach out and pick them up. As far as you can tell, there isn't a moment of thought between the time you take the keys and the time you pull up to Dylan Scott's house. You and he used to be friends, before you jerked him off, and lately you've been hanging out a bit again. You're not sure whether you're being friends or trying to be something else, but after last time you've been pretty damn careful to not make anything that could be seen as a first move. Not that'd you'd made the first move last time, but still.
He sees you pull up and comes to the door, and maybe your
stepfather connected harder than you thought, because Dylan seems to be able to tell that you've been in a fight. He opens the door wider, and you stumble inside, feeling stupid and clumsy as the adrenaline wears off. Your stagger brings you up closer to him than you would normally get, and you hear him inhale a little in surprise, but he doesn't move away, and you are done with being careful and trying to walk the straight and narrow.
You grab him by the collar and shove him backwards, and when he hits the wall you're on him, your body pressed up against his, pinning him to the wall, your mouth biting, searching, devouring. He lets it happen and then he's kissing back, and it's the best thing you've ever felt, him wanting you, even though he doesn't want to. You're rutting against each other, but that's not enough, and you lean back enough to give your hand room to get to his pants. You undo the fly and shove your hand inside, and he bucks at the contact, his whole body arching to get more pressure, more friction on his cock, and you undo your own pants and grab one of his hands and push it in the right direction. He catches on and you stand there in the front hallway of his family home, jacking each other off, kissing wildly at first but just gasping into each other's necks toward the end.
He comes first, and his hand goes loose on your cock, so you reach down and wrap your own hand around his and keep the motion going until he's able to take control again, and it's not much longer after that you're coming so hard it hurts. Now it's your turn to slump, and you rest your head on his shoulder until he shrugs it a little, and so you lift it up and find his mouth again. You're a little afraid, because he's already come, and maybe he just wants you to leave, and go back to ignoring this, not talking about it, but instead he welcomes you, wrapping his tongue around yours almost lazily, as if it's the most natural thing in the world.
Eventually, you pull away. "Please tell me your parents aren't home." He laughs and says they aren't, and then you both pull up your pants and clean up a little, and he takes you by the wrist and leads you into the kitchen. You sit at the table and he looks at you inquisitively, but you just shrug and he asks if you want a drink. You say yes, not so much because