slashsmut serial jen schillinger ross

Meltdown

by Jen


Vern couldn't get out of the truck fast enough. All that *yo yo yo rippin' off white guys who ain't gettin' a dime for our nigger gibberish* blaring in the jacked-up Jag behind them. If it weren't for the kids he'd be real close to knocking a few empty heads. Andrew almost seemed to enjoy the shit, tapping half a foot before he got the glare.

"I wanna beer." Hank this time.

"No beer. Why didn't you get an ice cream?"

"HE got ice cream! You have beer! I'm almost 11 for Chrissakes!"

"Watch the language."

"You mean like fuck? Shit? God damn?"

Something was off at the front door. That took his mind away from punching the brat right in the face.

"Stay put."

Gun found under a few bills in the glove compartment, Hank scared for once, Andrew gnawing away on a cone. Pistol drawn, door already open, he crept in, checking every shadow. Then he felt the click against his neck. Almost every shadow. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck....on his ear now.

"Drop the gun. And your pants."

Hand instinctively pressed harder on the ridged trigger. Familiar voice. Of course. He swerved on his heels, gun pressed into a flat belly.

"Scott Ross."

The gun went around his shoulders, attached to skinny arms. Vern flinched a bit at the embrace, but he hugged him back. Didn't mean dick anyway, not like some butt buddy reunion.

"I missed ya Schillinger."

"Uh-uh. Any other reasons for stopping by after about a year?"

"A few, but they can wait. Right now I gotta see the Aryan progeny!"

Must be up to some deep shit. Even wanted to meet the kin now, next thing he'd be rifling photo albums. Still had to keep an eye, just in case.

Stood a few feet away, not crouching to their level, that's good, look *down* on the kids. Great way to work your way in. Course it worked for him and Vern.

"I'm Scott Ross. What's your name?"

Andrew stuck out his hand, some leftover memory of what Carolyn pounded in his head. "Andrew Schillinger. Uh...pleased to meet you."

"Polite kid. Sure he's yours Vern?"

Ross extended a hand to Hank. Hank frowned, his normal expression for an eternity.

"Hey, that's cool kid, I hate this shit anyway."

Eye-roll. "Screw you."

"That's illegal in this state. And I ALWAYS abide by the law."

Ross did another 180 and went back into the house, dirt clumps stirred up by his heavy boots. Vern waved for the kids to go in, not even trying to lecture about manners when he knew it was a losing battle.

The guest was settled in Vern's recliner now, feet on the table.

"How 'bout some dinner?"

Sure. Drop in, no notice, take over the place, time to go get out the apron and be Betty scum fuckin' Crocker. Vern threw him a can opener and a can of beans, smirking.

"Heartiest meal you're gettin' tonight. We already ate."

"I only wanted a..."

"Wanna bust your ass in the kitchen? Be my guest."

Lazy enough to practically eat the can whole, now there's a surprise. Andrew sat by the tv, flipping from unfunny yukfests to cheesy dramas, Hank just sat on the floor, watching Ross dig into uncooked limas with a lunging fork. Vern had a little trouble keeping his eyes off too, sort of a weird fencing match.

Hank inched closer to him, staring in his eyes.

"Scott, when you were a kid, I bet you drank beer all the time."

"Fuck ye.."

Vern clamped a hand over his bony shoulder, squeezing at just the right pain level.

"N..O.! Liquor is bad until the age of 13. At least. Makes you go crazy, shoot up towns, vote, help old ladies cross the street, fucked up shit."

"Dad says I can't have any. But I'm getting some tomorrow, he can't stop me. He doesn't even love us."

The anger bubbled in him, close to boiling. "If I didn't love you, why would I give free room and board? D'you think I need a goddamn pain in my ASS?"

He spit words back, not even a hint of remorse on his face.

"Mom would let me do what I wanted. I wish you were dead instead of her."

Fuckin' ungrateful monster, coulda dumped these kids off on the nearest relative, maybe he should have. And now he got his attempts thrown back in his face, cut down by an 11 year old.

"Still want that beer?"

Hank nodded, hint of a smile on his sullen face.

Ripping off the lid, Vern flung the now-stale beer at his son's body. Brew dripped from head to shorts, covering him in the stench.

"Happy now? Go drink your shirt. Goddamn piece 'a shit...think you're better than me, than the rest of your family. Go to your room."

An insult curled on the boy's lips, until he saw Vern's shaking hand. Shaking cause he was fighting every instinct, every voice screaming in his head, to teach with his fists. Be a *real* man. If he started now he wouldn't stop 'til blood spurted out. Turning around without a hint of apology, Hank did as he was told.

"G'night Dad."

Vern could hear the pain in Andrew's voice. Then he left, scared all over again. Vern didn't let his shoulders sag until both boys were out of the room. And he thought prison was the worst. Every bit of spirit in him had drained away, his flesh and blood looked him in the eyes and wished him dead. Just wanted to forget this whole fucking day. Stretched out on the couch, eyes shut, embarrassed by what Ross had seen. Nothin' he did would change it now.

"Vern."

Extra lump on the couch. WHERE was his hand? "What?"

"Can I stay here a few days?"

"Just stay outta the fridge unless you have cash to burn."

Hand squeezed this time, somewhere on his thigh. Didn't feel too bad, but the last thing he needed. Vern tossed the hand away, not objecting at the switch to his foot.

"Why not Cathy's?"

Vern turned a little when Ross pulled off his shoes. Fingers ran down the back of his feet.

"I don't have the money to keep her happy this time 'round."

"Left your wallet in some whore's bordello?"

"Something like that."

Socks were gone, Scott rubbing even harder.

"Stuff with the kids must be shit."

"Same old same old. I'm sending Hank to his grandfather's tomorrow, teach him what *real* terror is. Andrew can stay here."

Thumbs pushing the bottom of his feet, now toward the sole, resting oh-so-comfortably in Ross' happy-dick lap...

"He's a real hero that Heinrick. Day Hank was born, best day of *my* life, Dad answered the phone. I told him about the birth, asked him what he wanted to be called. Know what he said? 'Don't call me at all.' Then I called him a motherfucker and just about broke the damn receiver. Why am I saying this?"

The usual dirty digits had jumped from feet to ankles.

"Cause we got a connection." More whispered than spoken.

Vern bit back a slightly content growl as two fingers spread inside the bottom of his jeans, running up and down, brushing against hairs. Mmmm...

"Hey Vern, ever have a homosexual experience?"

Eyes flew open, left foot kicking Ross off the couch. Son of a bitch, laughing his puny little ass off even as he laid on the floor. More games, button-pushing. Guys like that lived to get under your skin and start breakin' it.

"Go sleep in the driveway."

"No fucking way."

"I hope some genius thinks he sees a skunk and backs over your worthless hide."

"Vern, I'm sorry."

Can't keep the smirk off his face, if he doesn't believe it why should Vern?

"Really, I'm sorry."

Catlike moves take him over to the other side of the floor. A hand grabbed Vern's stomach as Ross pulls himself up. True friendship, to have somebody you barely know using you as a support beam.

"C'mon. Can't oogie boogie Vern give us a smile?"

Pushing under his chin now, three fingers racing back and forth. Some weird-ass version of tickling.

"If I don't see a smile I'm gonna start my darkie version of 'God Bless America'."

Stupid, stupid, but it got a snort.

"I knew you could make some facial movement. Good boy!"

Slowly, Vern pulled himself to his feet. Hated what he had to do next. But it was better than other alternatives. In the kitchen now, he dialed, fingers plodding along keys.

"Who the fuck is this?"

"Dad, it's Vern."

"Yeah? Need bail or something? I'm dead broke, all that money spent on you and your mo...."

"I'm not in jail. Christ. Hank's been acting up, wanted to know if he could stay there a few days."

"Can't raise your damn kids without my help?"

"C'mon Dad..." not gonna BEG him "..Hank needs a change of scenery."

"I got better things to do with my time than babysit brats."

"Please."

"Alright, alright, now that you've asked properly." *click*

Properly, old geezer uses that word when he never even tried puttin' a paper bag over his booze. Tempted to smash the receiver into the nearest wall again. Bad idea though, just cost money to replace, and he never had enough money.

"Goin' to bed. Take the couch."

Dragged himself down the hall, deciding not to check on his sons, pushed himself into the sheets. So exhausted he left his clothes on. His last thought was a slight worry over whether or not Ross and the couch would be gone by morning.

******************

Next day, showered, clean clothes, Ross and furniture intact, Vern fixed a big breakfast for the kids and himself. Ross too, much as that pissed him off. This ain't some beloved, eccentric uncle, it's a nutjob who'd sodomize his own mother for her social security check. Still, he was a breath of fresh air, fun if he didn't leave his leash. Vern walked over to the couch, taking in the guy who had a leg and an arm falling off the side.

"Wake up." Normal voice.

"G'way...snrtst..."

"WAKE UP ROSS!!!" Loud voice.

Nothing.

Vern tried. Two times was a limit. He grabbed a handful of scrambled eggs, shoving them into Ross' half-open mouth. He sputtered and spit them out.

"Fuck you!"

"I've seen worse alarm clocks."

"Why are you always shoving whatever's handy down my throat? Next time, at least let me chew on something I *want* to have in my mouth."

Not even gonna touch that little suggestion. Ross got up, unsurprisingly buck naked, pulling his pants on. No point in mentioning the stench. Ross clasped his hands together when he saw the table.

"You made all that? For me?"

"No. For me and my boys. You can have some if you keep on good behavior."

Their eyes met, both in disbelief.

"Legal behavior."

Kicked out a chair to sit in, across from Ross. A minute later the kids flew in, grabbing bacon and toast before their asses even hit the seats. Ross couldn't keep his eyes off Andrew.

"I've seen you somewhere before. You been in the movies?"

Andrew shook his head, smiling.

"That's it. You look just like that little punk on Kate & Allie!"

"What's Kate & Allie?"

Vern finished swallowing the lump of toast in his mouth. "Just some shitcom about two haggard wannabe dykes shackin' up with their spawn."

Silence and munching again, until Vern heard the car pulling up outside.

"Hank, guess what?"

No answer.

"You're right. You deserve better. I'm gonna let you stay at Grandpa Schillinger's for a few days."

Boy had an answer after that. Whole face turned sheet white.

"No! No fucking way! I'm sorry Dad! I...I didn't..."

"Sure you did. Nothin' to do about it now. Watch the language with Heinrick, one foul word and he'll break your jaw."

At least Vern managed to keep the big grin off his face. Maybe when his pride and joy got back from Hell he'd be a little more grateful.

"What about me Dad?"

"Andrew, you're staying with me."

"I can't go see Gramps and Gran?"

Carolyn's parents. Never had much use for Vern, a foot and a half in the grave, but they loved their grandkids. Andrew deserved a break.

"Sure, go call 'em."

"Thanks Dad!" Ran off to the phone.

While he finished up his chat with the grandparents, Dad walked in, ragged cuffs of his 30 year old pants brushing against the floor.

"Where is he?"

In his chair, not moving, not even looking behind him.

"Ready to go, aren't you son?"

Vern grabbed Hank's collar, dragging him along until he landed at the front door.

"Thanks Dad."

"Always cleaned up your mistakes, no different now."

Fuck you. "I know."

"Who's your pal?"

Ross swaggered by Vern's side, Vern amused at the defiant tone in his movement.

"The name's Scott Ross."

"That German? My son may not have much, but he has a bathroom, last time I checked."

Moved a few more feet, probably so Dad could get a bigger whiff of him.

"Next time I need tips from some goat who reeks of Metamucil, I'll go to the old folks home."

Inhaled on his unfiltered cigarette, holding in the smoke with a familiar ease.

"How the hell does a trashy looking twig have the balls to be such an asswipe?"

Ross got closer, opening his mouth. Streams of smoke poured out of that dark area, right into the craggy face in front of him. Too bad Ross couldn't be around every time Dad stopped by.

"Vern...*cough*...*hack*....you gonna let him treat me *hack* way?"

No need to hide the dimples this time. "Yeah, I am."

"Typical."

Father and son (or grandfather and grandson) filed out the front door, watched by four eyes. Last thing Vern heard was Heinrick barking out orders to leave the radio off.

"Was that Grandpa Schillinger?"

"No one else out there like him son."

Ross smiled, scratching at a spot on his scrawny chest. "I sure as shit hope not."

While Andrew packed a bag, Vern finished his aging breakfast. Never hurt to have an appetite.

"You gonna eat this?"

Shook his head no. Ross practically inhaled what the boys left behind, wiping his hands on his jeans.

"Ready Dad!"

"Go on out to the truck."

Put a few plates and cups in the sink, ignoring some fucked up sense of anxiousness churning inside his gut. Heading for the door, he looked back at Ross. Scott didn't flinch, giving him that gaze which told absolutely nothing but still entertained.

"Good luck. Cross my heart I won't steal any goodies before you get back. After you get back is another story, but..."

Didn't really believe him, but he didn't have much of a choice. Nothing worth keeping that popped to mind. Shut the door, walking to the truck, hoping the trip might clear his head for the meeting to come.

"Gramps! Gramps!"

Leonard (liked to be called Lenny) Stafford ambled out his kitchen door as fast as any man with a cane and a pacemaker had the strength to. Tough guy. Nice guy when he wanted to be.

"Andy! You're not my grandson! My grandson's a little shrimp!"

He held onto his grandfather's middle for dear life, seemed to be looking for what he lost a long time ago. Janet stood by the door, bony hand clutching the wooden frame. Looked even worse than she did on the last visit.

"Grandma!!!"

While she and Andrew caught up, Vern shoved a wad of bills in Lenny's hand. Almost shaking at the touch.

"Pays for food, presents, gas, the works. Don't argue."

"W-We can't...he's our blood."

"Sure, and he'll drain you dry, even for a few days. I'm taking care of it."

His pocket took the money, rest of him humiliated. Old rules, long gone era, Lenny never made an attempt to change. They walked toward the house, avoiding dog and assorted animal shit hidden by grass.

"You break the bank recently?"

"No. I got a new job. Post office."

Janet's hacking echoed through the kitchen entrance.

"Andy, go check out Grandpa's truck. Got a new coat of paint an' everything."

Throwing his eyes to Janet for approval, Andy left with the old man, happy and hopefully oblivious. Kid that young, too much tragedy already, didn't need to hear his grandma coughing up a lung. Beautiful lady, so the photos told. Quick look at her face, white hair flowing over her suffering shoulders, he saw why Lenny treasured her.

Pulling Kleenex from the box, he crouched beside her chair, knees digging into the hard floor as he held white tissues to her face.

"H..H.."

"Shh. Don't talk yet."

Finished with her...discharge, her words flowed slowly.

"Hank."

"Fine. A few rough patches, we're working on 'em."

"Glad..not here. Maybe he should be. I...be the perfect poster granny for..*hack*..pitfalls of nicotine."

Hated this. A strong, loyal woman rotting away, only getting worse. Just waiting to die.

"I'm sorry Carolyn isn't here."

Hated apologizing too, but this time was worth it.

"Miss her. Sorry for...I said..*cough*..after funeral. She drove the car, made..decision."

He squeezed her hand as the other reached for her oxygen tank.

"I miss her too. That woman did more for me than any people who claimed to give a shit, and look where it got her."

"Don't..blame you."

That makes one of us.

***********************

His head was ready to burst by the time he left. Death and memories hung in the air, unavailable futures. On his way back he saw a coupla spics sitting on the side of the road, looked like migrant workers. Flipped 'em off, mouthbreathers gettin' ornery under their skin-tight jeans and ruddy bare chests. Spics were always looking to fight a man or fuck a woman. Quick draw of his gun and they went running off for borders unknown. Supposed to make his day better, but it didn't.

Back home, nobody to greet him. Ross left a note. "Gone Fishin', be back eventually." Surprised the snake didn't write it in blood. Laid on his bed with another beer, remembering that empty space beside him where his wife used to be. Chug, long brown hair that highlighted her green eyes, chug, her teasing laugh, chug, her nice rack, chug, look on her face the last time they spoke, hate in her eyes when she learned Hank beat up a nigger boy because his father told him to teach a lesson. Tried to ignore or accept his "evil beliefs" for years, but she'd reached her limit. Went after her in his truck, apology on his lips, too stunned to do anything when she accidentally swerved into that tree. Broke her neck.

Vern ran his index finger along the denim outline of his dick, missing that part of her too. Never a cock-tease, always up for more, sometimes pushing even his limits. Didn't cry when she died, bad example for his sons, no time to grieve. Years later, he had no tears to shed. Dried and stored away for good, days like this he wished he had them. Instead, he rolled onto his stomach, putting a pillow between his legs and draining the last of the bottle before he dozed off.

************

"PANAMA!!!! PA-NA-MA!!!"

Face buried in the pillow, shrieking woke Vern up with a jolt. Recognized that voice again. Ross. Always out of control. Trudged into the living room, eyes half open.

"VERN!! Guns-N-Roses kick ass, but I gotta stick with what I listened to in my bygone days. And that's PANAMA!!!!!"

This wasn't a simple outburst. Vern never forgot what all those Lardner junkies were like once they got a snort. He was fucking high. Ross weaved toward him, hands flying.

"C'mon, take off some troubles."

"I don't take drugs."

"Maybe if you did you and your little Nazi's in training wouldn't be so hangdog all the time. Repression is a shitty thing Vern."

"Ain't about repression, it's about keeping a few brain cells instead of shoving 'em into a syringe."

"Is up the nose OK? Or duzzat fall short of Fourth Reich leader's expectations?"

Deserved to be tossed out, but he'd get in an accident or some horse-addled rampage.

Ross fell onto the couch, trying and failing to take off his boots.

"Not like I'm greedy, I pass my stash around."

A user and a dealer. Probably got all the extra cash he needed now. And he used Vern's place as a hideaway. At least he didn't sell from here, better not have.

"Did you sell your poison from MY home?"

Rapid headshakes, mumbling to himself.

"No. No. No. Nonononononoo...didn't want Daddy to come home and ruin the fun. Y'know, the kids hate Vern, Vern doesn't even realize it yet. Thought I'd be nice and take everybody's mind off the coming bloodshed, but he doesn't care. He's too busy wallowing, it's a shame, cause he's fuckable fun the rest of the time. Just give him a little snort and he'll be as happy as me."

Beat the shit out of him. Make him stop flapping his lips. Ideas ran through Vern's head, finally grabbing Ross by the ratty shirt sleeve, into the bathroom. Water put on coldest setting possible, Vern pushed him in, fully clothed. Ignored the hands beating on his chest and grabbing at his shirt, waiting to see the spark leave his face. Eventually, it did, replaced with shivers and numbness. Gave him a towel, leaving the room when he tried pulling off his clothes with trembling hands.

Ross made it back into the living room a while later, towel on his head, nothing on his body. Sat half-dazed on the couch, not speaking. Vern munched on a too late dinner sandwich, burning off energy. Heard bare feet crossing in from the other room, Ross searched through the fridge. Finally found an apple, biting in with obvious anger.

"If you ever do that shit to me again, I'll kill you." He was serious.

"Good, cause if you ever show up at my house fucked up again, I'll kill you." Also serious.

Concentrating on their food, Ross was the first to speak once he reached the core.

"I don't feel sorry for how I act. Never have, never will. I'm immune to goodness. Feelings bore the shit out of me. I feel pain, pleasure, but never love, or remorse, or much beyond being an evil and all-around bastard. I took care of the people who made me shut down, but I don't miss what they took away."

"What's your point?"

"We had a good time because you *do* feel shit, much as you try to pretend otherwise. That kind of head case is fun to be with. But I'll leave tomorrow if I've offended your Biblical sensibilities. Made my money, had a warm bed for two nights, only other thing I could ask for is a good fuck."

Vern had a slight urge to explain his positions, views on the shitty world they lived in, but he shut it down. Lunatic lied every time he opened his mouth, didn't need to hear some life story. His words were quick, simple.

"You can clear out first thing in the morning."

Once he finished the last bits of his snack, Vern went back to the bedroom. Thought about locking the door, but he could take care of himself. Stripped out of his shoes, socks, jeans and shirt, boxers too. Worthless fucking day today, and the only control he had was to get rid of as many constraints as possible.

***********

Clock chimed 3 AM. Almost asleep, 'til he felt that other presence walking in. Joined him under the covers.

"Get the..."

Sharp intake of breath when he felt a tongue on his tip. Guess Ross got to his cock after a..FUCK..gobbled up the head...fingers circling and squeezing nuts. Leaving family jewels to a lunatic, not his best idea. Too good to pull off now. Warmth inside his piss slit just about put tear marks in the sheets. Threw a hand down there, grabbing wet hair. Held him in place. Last few inches vanished into a deep throat, heat and hands running over his body fucking up all his senses. Hadn't felt this in so long, only thing in the world now was him, pleasure, little psychoslutbitch using him for his next meal..

..crashed to Earth again when his cock lost suction. Always more head games. Joke in there somewhere. Vern threw the sheet into the hall, joy gone, pissed off here to stay. Pulled Ross off his lap by the arm, not giving a shit about pain. About to ask what the fuck he snorted to make him this crazy, then the mad eyes met his, silencing him.

"I want you to fuck me. I mean FUCK me, like the purebred stallion you are."

Why would another guy *want* a log up his ass? Course this was Scott Ross. Teasing, Ross slid a few licks along the underside of Vern's cock, even more once the moan flew from Vern's throat. Like those cats Mom used to take in, twirl, dangle, hump your leg 'til they got what they wanted. The tongue finished. Expectant stare. Some fucking nerve. Night at Cathy's, Vern had more than a few indecent thoughts about plugging that wily ass, but he tried to fight them. No reason to now. Wasn't love, or anything emotional. Just fucking, with Ross on the receiving end.

"How?"

"Well, you put your pee-pee in my..."

"Real clever dumbass. Doggy-style or on your back?"

"Um...mmmmm....don't care. Just fill the hole."

"Lay face-down on the pillows."

Ross jumped to the left side of the bed, mouth and nose buried in white cotton. Vern planted himself at Ross' backside, darkness of the room blocking sight. Didn't need sight, he felt the heat pulsing. Caught in his throat. Ran a hand down an ass cheek, smooth skin brushing against his palm. He was gonna enjoy this. Just needed to stick a few fingers in his mouth.

"No."

Musta heard the sucking.

"No lube. Make me feel this."

"You fucking insane?"

"Mmmm-hmmm."

Pumping himself up a little more, Vern guided cock to ass by touch, leaning back. Smiled at the guttural scream when he shoved all the way in. Not too tight, probably had a shitload of prior use. Still a snug fit, felt nice to have walls between his dick again. Balls scratched and bumped against the back of that ass, drooping toward a smaller nut sac. Bottom sheet made sparks up and down his legs.

He controlled the motions. Skin slapped skin. Began to pull out, Ross went back. Pushed in, Ross went forward. Made him complete power, thrusting violently over and over, able to channel all the rage and helplessness and shit simmering in his head for so long. Sweatin' like a pig, hands clutching headboard until a smaller hand grabbed his left, putting it on his flat belly. Going lower....lower....met his cock. Too in the moment, he started stroking, taking a minute to click in that he didn't have to make the fuckee feel happy. Wasn't his job. Jerked his hand away, only to have it shoved back on. Thrown off again.

"Not my OH SWEET LORD to ple-UGGH my.." clamping on his cock, so good so bad ready to...cheated again. Sonuvabitch pulled away.

"Bitch? Don't please your bitches?"

Ross took his now empty ass to another part of the bed, Vern ready to burst all over. Sick to Christ of these constant tricks.

"If you're gonna give the 'I'm too butch to be a bitch' speech, flap your lips and then get the hell out."

Vern laid back on his pillows, not the material Ross chewed all over. Started slapping palm against meat, only a few minutes and decent satisfaction. Close to cumming when a hand smacked his away.

"I don't mind being a bitch, as long as you don't trade me for an AK-47 tomorrow."

"Not worth an AK-47."

"I love you too."

Extra weight on Vern's middle, hands fiddling with his cock. Stuffed back into that warm space, heaven. Ross began rocking back and forth, making all the pressure himself. Hands all over Vern's chest, never in the same place for long. Finally settled around his nipples.

"Gotta suck on these puppies. These nubs were born for chewing."

Still talked too much. Dropped his upper body to Vern's level, chewing on a shoulder. Down, felt circular tongue patterns on his bicep. Licked around each tattoo, probably hoping his mouth might rub the ink off. Saliva tickling his chest, in some acrobatic feat Ross managed to get ahold of a nipple. Sucked harder and harder, hints of teeth. Hurt like a roomful of kikes at a fur sale, but good pain. That damned hand reached for Vern's again, pulling it on Scott's expanding dick. Gave in this time, pressing over the tube with rough fingers.

Finally moved from his nipple, mouth pressing along the rest of his chest. Put the brakes in around his pit, sniffing. Sick fuck.

"I see you've learned the sexual importance of smelly pits."

Side effect of fucking all over a bed with king of the nutjobs. Ain't gonna smell like roses. Almost gasped when Ross buried his head under an arm, nibbling hairy areas. Jolt he needed to set him off. Opened up for a loud groan, spraying inside hot asscheeks. Hand still on Ross' dick, squeeze made him come, going up for air. Tightening from his hole took care of Vern's last drops, Vern now ready to pull out.

Too tired to move. Weight still stuck to him. Head lifted up, eyes locked onto his, face dangerously close. Even an air kiss on the lips and Vern knew he'd break his neck. Wisely, Ross bussed his forehead.

"For a good ol' boy, you made primo progress tonight. Do it again?"

"Fuck you."

Head went to lay on his chest again. Barely awake, Ross managed to mumble a few words.

"......already di'that."

Soft snoring. First hints of daylight pouring in from the window. Vern gazed down at the freak show clinging to his body. Scott Ross carried strangeness around as a badge of honor, pushing people, making 'em do what they never expected to. Hard to believe how young he still looked when the early dawn hit his face.

*****************

Light hit Vern's eyes. Not early morning. More around noon. Just woke up a second ago, hated sleeping in late. Didn't get to call the kids, wasted hours of time. Had to talk to Andrew, see if he needed to come home yet. Hank too, after he sweated it out a little longer. Sun bounced against Vern's nude body, warming him and making him lazy. Took a few minutes to get out of this cozy trap.

Stood up, bare feet against the carpet. Shower first, get this smell off him. Ross nowhere to be found. Vern padded into the kitchen for an orange before washing. Note pinned to the fridge, didn't recognize it.

'Vernon, They say two out of three ain't bad. three out of three's a fucking miracle. Next time we'll see whostays on top. Hugs and kisses Scott Ross'

Wonder how that psycho's gonna ride all the way to wherever he goes after the overnight delivery shoved up his ass last night. Didn't really care too much, Ross had his ways.

Pulling at his crotch, Vern went into the living room. Nothing obvious taken. He'd check later, but the place seemed the same as it was. Crumpling the note as he went to bathe, Vern was genuinely surprised. Scott Ross was a man of his word after all.

To Be Continued


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