After the sleeper success of my story `The Best They Can' and whines of MOAR from the people who talked about it, I tried to make more, but ended up with an abomination that I decided to blow up and re-construct. That was bust too, so I put a bullet to that zombie, took the bloody body-parts from those two stories and the rotted remains of other ideas I had for stories and patched them together to make something Doc Frank would be proud of.

So all I can say about this story is:

IT'S ALIIIIIVVEEE!!!

Don't read this if you aren't supposed to (you know who you are). This story will (eventually) contain sexual activity of consenting minors, who do not use protection as this story is complete fiction as much as I wish it wasn't.

This story is mine. Y'hear me? Mine, mine, mine! I don't care if you put it in other places, but ask first, give me credit, but more importantly, don't change a damned thing.

Uh, if I'm forgetting something else just put that on the list too.

Special Effects

By Eric Wythe

Chapter 3 – What is the Buoyancy of Hope?

I stood at the foot of the door to Patrick's apartment. After the party episode the other day, I took the Light-rail back home, opting to distance myself from the brothers. But to my yet-to-be-determined type of surprise, I found the headset still in my bag. And attached to it; was a note.

I groaned internally.

The note read:

Sam,

No you didn't forget to give this back. I just snuck it inside your bag so you'd have an excuse to come back around and return it.

Can't wait to see you again. ;)

~Pat.

A smiley-winky-face? Really?

... So, instead of hawking it off at the local pawn-shop like a normal person would do, I returned to their apartment in hopes of Craig answering so I could just shove the stupid thing in his hands and leave. But no one was opening the door, and I was feeling like a moron for standing under a doorway, at night, in a non-descript, very urban apartment building plopped somewhere amidst downtown San Jose.

Behind me I heard the roar of an engine sputtering to a slow, I stuck my hands out to my sides, expecting it to be a cop. A light was creating a silhouette of myself onto the door.

Well, at least I know what I'd look like if I actually had my growth-spurt.

The engine behind me went dead; I heard the soft crunch of rocks being ground into the cement as the heavy footsteps slowly drew closer to me.

A gloved hand lightly patted my hip, as it led the arm it was attached to around my waist. Another arm wrapped around my neck and drew me closer to the body behind me. I felt breath on my neck, and eventually a pair of lips lightly sucking at the nape.

As much as I didn't want to be, I was turned on.

"Trying to break in?" `The cop' whispered into my ear.

"No Patrick," I responded with heavy breath.

He moaned softly into my neck, "Say my name again like that." He ordered.

"Patrick..." I trailed as I felt him lightly chewing on my neck, when I said his name he bit down harder and I moaned loudly.

"I... I just..." I stammered, but he wasn't listening, he was too busy making his leather-gloved hand slip under my shirt to feel up my body. His arm around my neck flexed a little, making it slightly harder to breath, as the soft prodding of his tongue and gentle bites made the nerve endings in my neck jump at the slightest sensation.

Patrick's hand slid out from under my shirt, I heard the familiar jingle of keys, and the sounds of a lock being undone. He pushed open the door, walked us inside, and then kicked to door shut with his foot.

We were welcomed by darkness as Patrick held me tightly against his body, his breath in my ear, his searing hot body warming me like nothing else ever had, unable to breath.

"Say it." He growled into my ear.

My mind let go.

I let go.

"Fuck me. Please." I begged in labored breath.

And he was definitely going to take me.

His grip got impossibly tighter around me.

"You're mine now bucko." He growled lowly into my ear.

He led us down the small hallway and into his room where he released me, only to roughly shove me onto the bed. He began stripping off his biker's suit, slowly pulling down all the zippers while bit-by-bit his tantalizing form appeared in full force. This would be the first time I'd see him naked. Though his suit didn't leave a whole lot to the imagination, my imagination could never conjure up what was snaking down his leg.

He flipped open the button on the waist of his pants, and pushed down on his zipper fly with his thumb. By the time it reached the bottom, he was standing at the edge of the bed. With the hand he unzipped himself with; he reached out and cupped the back of my head with his huge paw. He gently stroked the back of my head with his thumb, then, abruptly shoved my face into his crotch.

His pubes scratched against my skin as I breathed in his scent, reveling in his pure power and masculinity. The sheer amount of heat emitting from the base of his dick was making me flush.

He let my head go as he started shoving down his pants with difficulty getting it around his monster. When he finally got them off the thing nearly smacked me in the face. It was huge... just like the rest of him. I knew what he wanted to do with it, I just didn't know if it'd fit.

But even if it didn't I doubt that'd stop him from trying.

He flipped me over onto my stomach and dragged my legs over the edge of the bed, and before I could even understand what he did I felt him shove his hand into my ass. It felt like his fist, but in reality it was a few fingers. I let out a small cry of pain at the thick fingers that together were already thicker and about as long as an average cock. He roughly thrust his inexplicably lubed fingers in and out me, eliciting small cries of pain when he shoved in too hard.

"C'mon babe," he taunted, "if you think that hurts, wait until I actually start fucking you," he added a fourth finger to his rough preparation, making me whimper louder, "it's a whole other ball-game babe, this is just so I won't kill you."

It's already killing me.

After a few minutes of him teasing my hole, he removed his fingers. My hole twitched and felt gaped open, but only for a split second as I felt the head of his huge cock immediately replace his hand.

I suddenly missed the fingers.

He clutched onto both sides of my hips, drew back and gave a hard thrust into me. I shoved my face into the bed and screamed into the mattress, Patrick moaned louder than my muffled scream as he slowly pulled out, my ass giving him much resistance in withdrawal.

He drew back slightly again and shoved harder into me. He drove in so far; it felt like my organs had rearranged themselves to fit him. I didn't know how much farther he could go, or how much he had left to shove inside me. He withdrew slightly to give him leverage, and drilled it home. I felt his pubes push up against me as he ground his pelvis into my screaming ass.

He caressed my back and bent forward, his face reaching my ear, his cock barely shifted inside me but I felt it all.

"Still alive?" He hissed into my ear.

"B-barely." I sputtered out.

He chuckled as he sat back up.

"If it makes you feel better, you're doing better than most guys I drag back here. Most of them pass out by now."

I couldn't see it, but I knew he had a smug and conceited smirk smeared across his face.

But from the sheer pain coursing through me though, I could actually see some truth in his claim.

"Unfortunately for you though," he said grasping firmly onto my hips, "this is where I stop caring about so much about your comfort level."

`Caring' he says.

He put a tighter hold on me.

"I'd bite down on something." He warned.

I didn't need to be told twice; I grabbed the nearest bundle of comforter and clenched down hard with my teeth. Although still substantial, the pain was beginning to ease as he began to build up his thrusts by slowly pumping into me, building up speed bit-by-bit.

... Until he completely disregarded any build-up he began with and started to slam into me, driving into me hard and fast like a piston. I could feel my stomach bruising from the wooden frame being shoved into me. The sheer strength behind his thrusts was making the room shake. I felt this strange pressure in my stomach from every inward thrust. The pain was turning into a dull burning sensation that fenced on excruciatingly painful to an ecstasy rivaled only by Nirvana. My screams and cries were becoming moans as he forced his gargantuan dick in and out of me.

I came twice before he did. And when he did, that pressure in my stomach started to hurt, I was filled beyond my max. He stayed inside me for a while after he unloaded. He held my waist gently, but firmly, until he pulled his still-hard cock out of me and fell over. I couldn't move. He threw an arm over me and started lightly snoring. His face was peaceful, and as much as I hate admitting it, cute. My eyes felt heavy, and I realized how tired I was. I scooted a little closer to Patrick and the arm he had over me encircled around and pulled me into him. I fell asleep against his chest.

This means the sex was good, right?

"So what classes do you have?" Patrick asked as he shoved a huge plate of eggs in my direction.

I pulled a folded up piece of paper out of my back pocket and tossed it onto the table.

"I don't think I can even eat half this Patrick."

He waved a dismissive hand in my direction as he skimmed over my schedule.

"Samuel Ignacio Olivares" He read aloud, and then continued reading to himself. Without looking up to me, he said, "Most of these are College Honors classes, how the hell are you taking these?"

"Oh, right. I forgot to mention, I'm sort of a genius." I deadpanned. He looked up to me with a perplexed look. "Would you like to see the certificate that says I am? I keep it in my wallet." I offered seriously. He kept staring at me with the same look, it was making me uncomfortable. I looked away and mumbled, "What? Wetbacks can be smart too..."

He looked to the ground. "No... it's not that. I-I just... Uh... I'm not... you know, smart. Unlike a lot of jocks I know, I actually am a stereotype."

I looked over to him, and craned my head to the side. "The fact you're able to recognize that implies to me that it's an act."

He gave me a goofy grin and scratched the back of his head.

"Maybe a little." He said.

I smirked slightly, "A little, huh?"

He shook his head, "I'm really not smart, but I know when I can use my... charms to help me through some nasty predicaments."

I rolled my eyes, "Not exactly everyone is going to be in awe of your physique a hundred percent of the time."

He gave me a defiant stare. "Says who?"

I chuckled, "Says probability."

He squinted. "You know, just throwing around big words doesn't make you smart."

I sighed, "The cultural health phenomenon that's currently in trend for our generation finds that being thin equates to being healthy more than actually being physically fit, meaning that most people of our age group would view you more as monstrous over-developed steroid junkie, or fat, than someone of the current health image."

Patrick just stared at me with a blank gaze. He then grabbed my hand, placed it on his bicep and flexed the arm to its peak, somewhat smaller than a grapefruit. My hand looked insignificant compared to his muscle.

"That's not fat." He said evenly.

My breath hitched in my throat, so I didn't retort right away.

I met my eyes to his, "That doesn't matter, if you're big, they equate that to being fat. Muscle or not. The reason you can get away with what you can now is mainly generational. In the mid-seventies through the eighties the `it' thing for health was to be well, like you. Most of the people you `charm' are middle-aged correct?"

He hesitated, "... yeah."

I let go of his arm, trying to will away the goose-bumps on my own.

"Then once our generation takes over the place of the `Baby Boomer' generation then you'll be out of luck I'm afraid, unless you decide to become like the Jonas Brothers."

"God forbid." He muttered.

"Amen to that..."

"Okay, so you got me. I can't rely on my body forever. But hey, by that time-"He grabbed me by the hips at this point and lifted me up as if I weighed nothing and sat me down onto the counter. "I'll be middle-aged myself. I'm not going to need to get by on my looks by that time."

I craned my head, "Why is that?"

He looked down slightly, "I'm going to be out doing what I want to do."

"... And that is..?"

"It's going to sound silly."

I was sincerely interested now, "I don't care. I want to hear it."

Patrick looked away, and talked a little softer than what I was used to.

"My dad... before he died, used own this boat, I don't remember a whole lot of him, but I remember this one time he took Craig and I out to the bay... I never felt anything like being on the water that day. It felt like the whole world was ours to explore, I never wanted to get off."

He closed his eyes, concentrating on retrieving everything he could about that day. "A storm hit, I watched my dad man the whole fucking ship by himself, and he knew everything that needed to be done. It was kind of... heroic, seeing my dad so in control. Since that day, I've wanted to be like him. I'm a wrestler like he was. And I've always wanted my own boat so I could just go. Anywhere."

He opened his eyes and stared at me. His look was serene, and sincere.

I got the feeling he didn't exactly tell that to everybody.

"And maybe..." He paused, and looked away again, trying to find the right words. "Someday, I'll find someone to go with me."

Something in my chest sunk, while my head was beginning to wonder if that part was actually something he practiced in the mirror.

"... Right." I said, clearing my throat. "I uh, well, I don't really have a dream. So I envy you... and stuff."

"Yeah right, everyone has a dream." He scoffed.

I shrugged, "Being smart has its drawbacks. I lost my imagination a long time ago. If you paid closer attention, you'd notice all my AP courses have no real relation to each other. I have no real interest in any of them to be honest, nor do I have an actual goal in life. I just take them because it's expected of me."

"Expected of you?"

"I don't know... people expect me to become something great, like a heart-surgeon or a rocket-scientist or the president or something."

"You're too smart to be the president." Patrick said dryly.

"Sadly." I quipped.

"But you don't really want to be any of those things, huh?" He asked seriously.

"I don't want to be anything. I just... don't have drive for anything." I said solemnly.

"I guess when everything comes easy to you, you lose interest, huh?"

"I suppose." I looked up to Patrick, "Can we maybe... go back to bed? You're really comfortable, and I think I could use a few more days of sleep before summer ends."

He gave me a lopsided grin, "Of course! I'm not sure if I'll let you actually sleep though." He narrowed his eyes and growled out, "You're all mine once we're in my bed." He lifted me up by my waist again and just held me up mid-air. "I'd like to claim you from the other end now. And maybe in the back a couple more times too."

Well doesn't his mind sound made up? I suppose I'll never get a say in anything when it comes to sex.

I'm okay with that I think.

But his lustful look from the thought of breeding me turned into a concerned look as he sat me down again. He picked up my food and handed it to me again.

"But you should eat something first, you're really light!"

I rolled my eyes as I shoved a forkful in my mouth.

Well, can't say he doesn't care, I guess.

I shut the front door of my house firmly behind me.

I sighed, closed my eyes and leaned against the door. I slowly slid down the door until I (very) gently hit the floor.

My ass was sore.

So was my throat.

It felt like if I feel asleep I'd be mistaken for the recently deceased.

But this warm feeling in my chest won't die down.

Why did I open up to him like that? It's so unlike me.

I laughed softly; I guess it always happens this way.

A heroic stallion comes and whisks me away from all my problems...

Fuck.

I banged my head lightly against the door, the hollow thud echoed through the living room.

I can't do this crap.

I want to though.

Usually, my heart has no problem to giving in to what my head wants.

But this... I've never felt so fucking conflicted.

What the fuck do I want?!

I banged my head against the door again.

The sound of glass sliding against tile screeched into my ear.

I flinched and opened one of my eyes.

The woman I've known as my `Guardian' for most of my recent life.

Debbie.

Social worker and socialist.

She took me in after a string of bad fosters.

Their problems, not mine.

She smiled and raised an eyebrow. "Wow, two head bangs against the door. This guy must've really got to you."

In truth, he opened up to me more than I did to him.

"He didn't give me a choice in a lot of it." I replied.

Her look became concerned. "You don't mean..."

"Nah, though he could've if he wanted too." I opened my other eye and gave a tired shrug in her direction. "I wanted him to do it; he was just really... aggressive and did it without really asking, I was thinking it though."

"You always did have a thing for alpha-males."

"I'm beginning to think it's a bad habit..." I muttered.

"I don't." She said sharply. "You're too smart for your own good. You could use someone who's assertive. A little co-dependency won't kill you."

"Rico was assertive..." I muttered.

"Yes, but Rico is a thug and a criminal."

"Good point, I guess. This new guy just has an over-developed pituitary gland."

"Exactly. You need someone like that."

"Not someone who can keep up with me intellectually?" I asked dryly.

She let out a dismissive grunt, "You need someone who can physically keep up to your mentality. You're one side of the coin kid; you need the other if you ever want to be happy."

"Speaking from experience?"

She laughed, "I wish kid! Most people are more or less mixtures of both sides of the coin. You're one of the lucky who got stuck on only one side. It's a lot harder to find that correct mix of alloys and metals to match your own. But you, you're just one type. You need the other type."

I let out a breath, "He's definitely a different type."

She shrugged, "I suggest you see where it goes." She downed her drink and left her glass on the counter, "You're much easier to talk too when you're getting laid regularly. That was the one reason I was okay with Rico."

"You and me both." I scoffed.

We both laughed.

I felt better.

I guess this is what parents are supposed to be for.

I got up and crashed on the couch.

It was more comfortable than my bed.

But not as comfortable as Patrick.

Sorry for the wait!

Tell me what you think at eric.wythe@gmail.com.