Date: Sat, 29 Oct 2022 21:52:45 +0000
From: DCfield90 <DCfield90@protonmail.com>
Subject: Decent Progress Chapter 3

Hello Everyone,

Thank you all for your words of encouragement, they mean so much to me! Any
comments, suggestions or criticisms are always welcome at
DCfield90@protonmail.com. Hope you enjoy this chapter, it came out faster
than I anticipated. Cheers!

Decent Progress, Chapter 3


Brody's phone activated at 5:30 AM. It streamed a fountain of light into
the black expanse of his room's lofty ceiling, and as he squinted through
his long lashes, he could see its blue rectangle reflected in the skylight
above his bed. He bent his knees to his chest and kicked them forward,
lurching out of bed towards his closet for workout clothes. It wouldn't be
the only occasion today, either. Sometimes the grueling exercise was too
much for contemplation this early, better to focus on the task at
hand. Just like at once putting on workout clothes meant less likelihood of
getting back in bed and falling asleep. He hiked a pair of running shorts
over his bare crotch and lowered a threadbare tee over his flattened
hair. Turning back with suppressed longing towards his bed for just a
moment, he slid shoes on (so worn they were practically slippers) and
padded out the front door of his home.

The cool pre-dawn morning was breezy, and fall leaves rustled and clattered
over the sidewalk and streets. The trees whispered in the wind, stirring in
their own slumbers. Brody loved Fall. It had a mystery and vitality of its
own and very different from summer. He'd read somewhere that his own
Brythonic ancestors considered it a liminal time, where the realm of the
dead and spirits pierced the veil into our own. The climate certainly
evoked those ethereal feelings. He jogged down the lane and turned right
towards the neighborhood's primary road. If he continued on this for a
mile, crossed the four-lane main drag, and made a few more twists and
turns, he'd arrive back at the Carter's house. He wondered if Christian
knew the proximity of their homes.

"It would raise his discomfort. Wouldn't that be a shame."

He pondered how this fact could be communicated? Hopefully in a casual way
that hinted at future (numerous!) visits. Brody grinned as he jogged
along. He could see the boy's reaction now: the furtive gaze, slight frown,
then downcast eyes as he searched the ground (lord knows what he hoped to
find there) for a reply. His cheeks, normally so lively with color, would
grow even more red. A response which lent itself to a word Brody didn't use
often and wouldn't verbalize to himself even now. It didn't occur to him;
not yet. Before long Brody was at his chosen destination. He stopped, now
breathing harder, his shirt dappled with sweat. The sun was heralding the
dawn by throwing a rosy glow over everything, and Christian's ordinary two
story was illuminated in the pink. Brody guessed the top room on the left
must be his. It was odd how exhilarating it was that Christian was sleeping
so close to where he was standing. Part of him was tempted to flick some
pebbles at the window to wake him up. Picture the look on his face to see
Brody Larson in his yard! But he merely gazed at the house, and gazed at it
for a good long while, before running home.





Since it was a cooler day, Christian chose his favorite hoody to go over
his t-shirt. His father laughed at the contradiction of his above-the-knee
khaki shorts, but Christian defended his choice. He liked a bit of breeze
around his legs. Feeling unusually chipper, he piled himself energetically
into his mom's car for the morning commute. Rolling the window down he
leaned into the wind a bit.

"Oohh, sorry honey please roll it up, I did my hair this morning." The wind
was licking at her dark blonde locks, painstakingly curled.

"Ok Ms. Barbie", he smirked.

"You've got spunk this morning. Something good happen lately?"

"Good things happen a lot, my life doesn't SUCK."

"You know what I mean."

Christian fiddled with his hoody.

"Well the dinner went good last night."

"Well".

"It went WELL last night."

"Your father said so this morning, I think he really likes the Larsons."

"Yeah, news at 11" Christian thought to himself.

"And he said the son seems to like you a lot. Do you hang out with him at
school?" Christian's fiddling became more focused.

"Not really. I..." He weighed how much to say. Mom might think he was being
bullied, and she didn't need that stress.

"...didn't think he liked me much. Until lately. I guess." She chewed on
his words thoughtfully.

"So you're still feeling each other out?" Christian's mind snapped back to
being underneath Brody on the patio and feeling his stomach against his
arms, the strength and hardness of it. He began to feel hot again.

"Yeah, pretty much," he answered as casually as he could.

"Good I hope you make a friend of him. More buddies at school would be
nice, and someone to hang out with outside of gym. Don't get mad, but I
think you need to socialize more."

"I know, I know..."

He wasn't sure he knew. He occasionally met with Peter and Alex to go to a
movie, and he was tight with his teammates like brothers. Did he really
need anything else? Parties, beach trips, adventures... no, he didn't need
it, but a guilty little voice admitted that he wanted it. He thought of
Brody's Instagram page and all the glamorous fun he seemed to have.

"How does the fucker find the time?" Brody's school and gym schedule must
resemble his own. Ah well.



At the appointed hour, Christian once again made the trek to the east
wing. In stark contrast to yesterday he was feeling optimistic, though he
could not articulate the reason. Truthfully he didn't want to. If he said
to himself that Brody might slacken off because he showed a modicum of
politeness in mixed company, it would sound too ridiculous. Yet still the
playfulness Brody had, and that moment when he helped Christian up... that
meant something, right? He crossed into the long alley between the
buildings that served as bus drop off, delivery truck receiving area, and
hang out spot. If one ascended up the hill (which the old busses
occasionally struggled with as they filed in, causing not a few collisions)
the east wing was accessible by a back door. Christian had neared it when
he heard a loud catcall. Looking around, he saw Thompson with his lips
pursed through a smile. He was accompanied by several other wrestling team
members, the center of whom was Brody.

"Need a fork for that cake!"

"Huh?"

"The hoodie doesn't hide what the shorts reveal," Brody clarified.

"Bro's thick as fuck!" Christian smiled and looked down, half embarrassed
and flattered. His teammates had tease-complimented him on his ass
before. His wasn't exactly a stocky build, but he packed on muscle
well. Despite his undoubtedly appealing shape though, he never achieved the
sculpted definition of someone like Brody.

"T-thanks" he stammered out.

"Bet he'd love me to give it a workout."

"What? N-no..."

"Judging by his reaction to my takedown last night, I think you're correct
T." Brody's teeth were on full display, eyes flashing behind his hair.

"That's not...you're full of shit!" Christian shouted. No, please god. He
couldn't be using THIS against him. Not even he could be that cruel.

"Careful, ballerina," said Brody with warning in his voice, though his
light-hearted demeanor hadn't changed,

"You don't want to be punished. But of course, maybe you do? Damn I'm
confused!"

 His friends laughed. Christian felt his throat closing, preempting any
chance of a retort even if he had one. The only thought he had was to get
out of there. He turned, made his way up the stairs and wrenched the east
wing door open. Blundering past some freshmen he made it to the
bathroom. Checking he was alone through his rapidly blurring vision, he
made it into a stall before the dam broke. A series of wracking sobs poured
through him and tears dropped like rain onto the teal floor tiles. It had
been a while since he cried like this. Maybe a few years ago when he fell
on vault. This hurt worse. Being ganged up on was bad, being so helpless to
do or say anything hurt worse, but the fact it was Brody hurt worst of all.

"Why does he hate me so much?" he asked aloud, in a voice thick with mucus
and grief. Suddenly he was aware of the stall door being swung noiselessly
open. Christian straightened and rubbed his hands on his thighs. It was
Brody.

"I don't hate you," he said softly. He had that same opaque expression as
last night on the patio, a look that described some depth of feeling. But
it was all a lie, all a trick. Another weapon to torture him with.

"Fuck off," Christian choked out and tried to shove past Brody, but he
grounded himself in the stall entrance.

"Wait a moment, Christian. Let me talk." Christian shoved him forcefully
into the partition, but Brody grabbed onto his wrists and tried to reel him
in.

"Let me go you FUCKING ASSHOLE!"

 "Chris, wait!" But Christian braced his foot against Brody's midriff and
kicked with all his might. His wrists parted from Brody's grasp and that
boy went reeling backwards. He tumbled over the toilet seat and bent
practically in two, was wedged between the porcelain and the stall.

"Christian!" He cried out fruitlessly, but he had gone.

"Unfh!" He grunted as he extricated himself. Dusting off his jeans and
hoping the damp patch he landed in wasn't piss, he blew out his cheeks in a
sigh.

"That couldn't have gone worse. But then I suppose he could've hit me."



English was a subdued affair. For once Brody was just as quiet as
Christian. When the bell rang the latter practically ran out the door. At
practice Christian believed he got through with poise, but Jameson's
watchful eye picked up on his turbulent emotions. He cornered him finally
by the foam pit.

"Hey man, what's up?" The question wasn't salutary, it said `I know there's
something wrong, and you eventually need to tell me'. Christian traced a
pattern on the floor with his toe.

"Nothing, just... there's this guy at school. He's kinda mean."

"What's his name?"

"Brody Larson."

"Isn't he the state wrestler? I've heard he's a shithead."

"He is!" said Christian with a sudden fierceness, which Jameson noted.

"I know a guy in history who went to state with him last spring. Says he
never shuts up and talks like some old book. Only his teammates like
him. Anyway what's his deal with you?

"I have no idea. He just picks on me a lot, and now his teammates join
in. I never did anything to him, I swear."

"I believe you bro," Jameson said, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Have you told anyone?"

"No. What can anyone do?"

"Well not a teacher, they'll just draw attention to the problem and make it
worse..." Christian nodded in agreement,

"But maybe your parents?" Christian grimaced at this.

"I dunno... they'll just talk to the school, and then the school will drag
me and Brody together and make him apologize and then it'll just get worse
again." Jameson sighed.

"Maybe, but they might let you transfer over." Jameson went to a private
school. Since the problems with Brody started, Christian had fervently
researched the institution. They had a good reputation and the tuition was
well within his parent's means. But first he'd have to convince them the
issue merited switching schools. That meant an excruciatingly honest talk
(a heart-to-heart as his mother called it, what a fucking horrible
expression) wherein he'd relate events like today's in detail. He'd have to
admit to crying in a bathroom stall like a little kid, and the prospect was
nearly as painful as putting up with Brody's cruelty.

"I'll think about it." He clasped Jameson's hand in sincere gratitude. What
would he have, if not for this place and the boys in it? Jameson pulled him
roughly into a hug.

"Anytime. You know I'm here." Christian practically dissolved into his
arms. God, he needed this.





"Ugh!"

"Damn Brody, it's just practice!"

"He's right Brody, save it for Supers."

Brody raised his hand in apology to the onlookers, and helped up his winded
partner.

"Sorry brother. I'm taking 5."

He went to the gym's bathroom to wash his face. His wrestling club was
called The Compound, a hut built of cinderblock covered in tacky white
paint. It had resistance bands, free weights, squat racks and mats, all the
requisites for a bunch of young studs hungry for titles. Brody felt right
at home here, but as he splashed himself in the sink and watched the water
drip from his long hair in the metal-framed mirror, his own bedroom was
what he yearned for. Until he could abscond to back home, pounding his
partners into mashed potato would have to suffice.

"Ahh, don't take it out on them. Your list of friends is winnowing enough."

Any possibility of that list increasing by 1 was destroyed today. He was
supposed to be tough, he was meant to be hardy, a warrior, but the sight of
Christian's face screwed up in distress and his tears shining on the floor
of the bathroom...it gave his heart a wrenching sensation usually reserved
for other matters. Brody fully rejected stoicism and didn't deny strong
feelings. He welcomed it, reveled in it, basked in it. When he flattened an
opponent on the mat and his teammates roared in response, he wasn't a
competitor. He was Achilles annihilating Hector, he was Siegfried slaying
Odin, he was Beowulf tearing Grendel limb from limb. What was life, if it
didn't fling itself to the stars in joy and pound the earth in grief? He
had wept passionately when he read the epitaph of a Greek warrior whose
friend implored him not to forget their bond, as he crossed the river of
souls. `Sabinus, I will look for you forever...'

But a kid at school crying because he was too weak to handle some joshing?
Since when did that register on the heart's Richter Scale? Brody had the
unaccountable urge, when he saw Christian sitting on the toilet, to wipe
the tears away from those rosy cheeks, embrace him, even run his fingers
through his dark blond hair. Such an impulse towards tenderness had never
come over him, and it was a frightening sign of a crack in his otherwise
seamless emotional fortress. If he didn't make things right, the guilt
would gnaw away at his guts like a tapeworm. More than guilt though, it
stabbed his heart like a hot needle to think of Christian so upset because
of him.

"So do something, damn it." He strode back into the gym.



Christian didn't have the fortitude to broach the subject of school
transfers that night. After a satisfying dinner of lamb chops and mashed
potatoes ("I feel like eating hearty tonight," his father had said) he
slaved over some particularly difficult physics and trig homework before
realizing he had barely begun an essay for English.

"I'll start it tomorrow."

 If he could excise that class and everyone in it from his life, things
would be perfect. He thought back to the encounter in the bathroom,
imagining Brody falling INTO the toilet this time, and being flushed away
for good. The thought made him grin to himself, which just as soon curdled
when the leering faces of the wrestling boys billowed up in his memory like
a noxious gas, Brody's cruelly handsome visage in the center of their
throng. Christian felt the tears burn hot again and clenched his eyes as
tight as possible, almost to wring them dry at last. He had really shown
his true colors. He'd used a private moment as leverage to further
embarrass him, Christian, who'd never done him any wrong. But a kernel of
doubt lingered.

"He said he wanted to talk. Was I wrong to push him away?"

No, it was just another trick. Another way to make him vulnerable, soften
him up for another blow. Until he got a definitive answer on school
transfer from his parents, he decided to completely ignore Brody. No
response whatsoever to his insults, threats, taunts or manipulation. If he
escalated to something physical, Christian would do his best to get the
asshole expelled.

"Finally, a plan."

It felt wonderfully encouraging, a blueprint of which avenues he might
take. He was 16 now and it was time to start taking control of things,
becoming the master of his destiny as cliched as it sounded. And he
couldn't have done it without Jameson.

"Funny how that is. You can't rely on yourself until you rely on others."

He tried not to pat himself on the back for that profound thought. Rising
from his chair he arched his back contentedly and looked over to the
window, and on a whim raised it slightly. His bathroom was en suite, and
once Fall arrived it was delicious to step out of the steamy shower and
into a cool and breezy bedroom. After bathing he tumbled into the now cold
sheets, curled into a ball and fell asleep.

He dreamt he was on high bar, spinning for a dismount. The world was a blur
and upon release he didn't come down, but flew through the night sky. The
dream changed and he was in class, though the room was impossibly long and
arched to the heavens like a cathedral. His was the only occupied desk in
the void, and he was feverishly finishing a test while everyone else had
finished. A faceless teacher tapped a ruler impatiently. He scribbled like
a madman but the tapping only increased its pace, like a remorseless
metronome. Sweat oozed from every pore and his legs jittered crazily.

Tap, tap, tap.

He wrenched the pages of the test book ahead, to see how much more was
left, but they never ended! Raising his hand for more time, he found he
couldn't speak and the tapping got louder.

Tap, tap, tap.

Suddenly the teacher's face was unobscured and appeared right in front of
him. It grinned with teeth long as walrus tusks.

"TIME'S UP!"

Christian jerked awake and sat up. Instinctively grabbing his phone he
checked the time. 3:30. What a relief. Plenty of night ahead and plenty of
sleep, barring any more weird dreams. He sank back down, only to bolt
upright with more alarm than ever.

Tap, tap, tap.

It was no dream. Something was knocking against his window. Christian went
perfectly still and willed his eyes to accustom to the gloom. His curtains
shone semi-translucently with moonlight, but not enough to illuminate the
presence outside his window. With more curiosity than courage, Christian
carefully removed his sheets without a rustle, and padded along the carpet,
trying to make his feet sink into it to muffle his progress. Nearing the
window, he wrenched the curtains open. Whatever fear he should have felt
came rushing forward all at once. A dark-clad figure was perched on a
ladder, crouched towards his window like a panther waiting to pounce.

"HUAAAGGH!"

A strangled yelp escaped from him as he stumbled back.

"Relax! It's me!" The shadow hissed.

Christian's heart was pounding far too loudly to understand the words, but
as the initial shock subsided, he realized he was in no immediate
danger. The figure hadn't dived at him or produced a gun, so he edged
closer and said,

"Wuh-What?"

"It's me. It's Brody. We need to talk."

Brody?! What the actual fuck? Talk about WHAT?

"Has he come to apologize? Maybe I should..." No. NO NO. Not again. He was
just fishing for information to manufacture into more weapons. With this
somewhat mixed metaphor in his head, Christian answered firmly,

"No way. I don't wanna talk to you again Brody, ever. I dunno why you're
attacking me, but I'm not giving you more chances."

The figure exhaled through its nostrils and let its head flop, before
saying,

"What happened today... that was totally inexcusable. I'm sorry. I'm
really, to the bottom of my heart sorry for hurting you like that, and-
hold on, I can't speak to you like this."

And with that, he hooked his hands under the cracked window and heaved.

"No, you cant-"

Christian began, but it was too late. The figure swung its legs through,
and in a moment, Brody Larson was standing in his room.

"You... you have to leave." But his voice betrayed his diminishing
will. Brody's actual presence in his private space made him wither like a
flower. He tried to summon anger, but there was only an absurd
self-consciousness about his anime poster and the underwear on his
floor. He even made an involuntary motion to kick the briefs under the bed,
but restrained himself.

"No way. Not until we've spoken."

"It's 3:30 in the morning!"

"Ssshhh," he soothed in the same manner as last night at dinner, "So we'll
be a bit tired tomorrow, big deal. Or rather today, whatever. Have your
mother make coffee. But now..."

Brody removed the beanie he was wearing and shook out his hair. He was
dressed in black sweat pants and a black sweater for maximum stealth. He'd
even chosen black shoes and socks. It occurred to Christian that Brody
always fully dressed for an occasion, which even through his confusion was
slightly funny.

"Like I said, what happened today was horrible. I understand if you don't
forgive me and the other guys, but PLEASE understand we don't hate you, and
we don't want to hurt you. I knew you were a little more sensitive to our
brand of humor, and that presented a kind of... fascination to me. Normally
you're so quiet, the only way to get a response is to poke a little fun,
and I let myself get carried away."

Christian listened with folded arms. It all sounded good, but wasn't
letting his guard down.

"For us in wrestling, we're about as familiar with each other's bodies as
it's possible to be. Jokes about dicks and asses are common, accidental
boners happen and it's no big-"

"I did not have a boner!" Christian almost screamed. Brody crossed the
space between them in a heartbeat and clapped a hand over his mouth, while
his other arm snared about his waist.

"Quiet! Do you want your parents to wake up?"

Christian gazed at him fiercely. Brody's hand was rough and smelled like
paint from the ladder.

"We're not going to be hysterical here, okay? We're 16, this isn't the age
for histrionics. Stay calm now."

Brody removed his hand. His patronizing tone made Christian want to shout
more than ever, but he nodded.

"Good. Now it doesn't matter if you were chubbed a bit or not. It's
happened to me a ton in practice, that's not relevant. I was wrong to use
that against you, and I want to make it up to you. A group of us are going
to the beach for fall break, Thompson's uncle is a landlord and he's
letting us stay at his condo. I want you to come."

This was unexpected, but exactly the kind of trap to avoid. Alone with
Brody's friends far from home? What better chance to play some unimaginably
awful prank? Christian had mistaken Brody's sincerity before.

"I know you're thinking this is just some ploy, but it ISN'T, Christian."
He gave him a slight shake for emphasis. Christian realized Brody hadn't
removed the arm around his waist, and was conscious of Brody's hip jutting
into his own.

"I think your friend Alex is going to be there too, you know him and trust
him. Nothing's gonna happen, I promise. I want us to get along, maybe
even... be friends."

Friends? This was coming on a bit strong for Christian, but he considered
that Alex going to this beach trip was a plus. He would be a good barrier
to the rest, and wouldn't allow anything bad to happen.

"I'll...I'll think about it."

"Good." Brody smiled slightly. He kept looking into Christian's eyes
searchingly, his own dark eyes flitting from one to the other. Christian
bashfully looked down hoping he wasn't going red.

"You can let me go now. I can't run anywhere in my own house."

Brody grinned. "I wouldn't put it past you to try." He slid his arm away,
and Christian suppressed the desire for him to put it back. Where did such
thoughts come from?

"So where'd you get the ladder?"

"My parent's garage, obviously. Loaded it up in the afternoon, set my alarm
for 3:15 and sneaked out."

He looked proud of his ingenuity.

"Not before dressing up like a bank robber? You hitting the Bellagio at 4?"

A wry smile spread over Brody's face. "Well look who's got sass. Y'know I
wasn't kidding about the punishment earlier."

He crouched menacingly into a wrestler's stance, and Christian
automatically turned sideways and cringed.

"Don't!"

"In fact," Brody said as he prowled forwards, "I need to pay you back for
kicking me down the toilet."

"No!" Christian was giggling like he had last night in spite of himself. He
was unused to Brody's style of horseplay, he had no siblings and his
friends weren't very physical. As he retreated backwards he tripped into
his own bed and fell back. Brody followed him down.

"Y'know you're the easiest pin I've ever had," he laughed as he wrapped his
arms around Christian's middle and heaved them both further onto the bed.

"That's not fair! I don't know wrestling." He tried to use his hips to
lever Brody off, but in a flash Brody raised his own legs and scooped them
around Christian's, sandwiching the other boys thighs behind his own
knees. He sat back and upright, enjoying his position of dominance.

"Maybe you should learn. All that strength from gymnastics, and no way to
use it."

"I could totally beat you. You've surprised me both times and didn't gimme
a chance." Arguing was an excellent way of distracting from Brody's firm
butt resting on his crotch.

"Nyah, nyah, nyah. He who shows clemency to an opponent invites defeat."

"Did you read that in Plato or whatever?"

"No, that comes from yours truly." Brody leaned down, still keeping
Christian's legs firmly bound between his own, and pillared his arms by
Christian's ears so their faces were directly opposed. He allowed the
silence to gather for a moment before saying,

"Say you'll come to the beach with us. I really want you to come." His
voice was soft and gentle. Christian reflexively looked down, but it was
awkward given his position. And his only view was the few inches of V-Line
exposed by Brody's sweat pants, his skin almost luminous compared to his
clothing. Oh my god.

"Fine. I'll come but only if Alex is there."

Brody beamed. "I'll make sure he's coming, don't worry. You can stick with
him the whole time if you want, but I'd like you to branch out and
socialize a bit. If you're absolutely hating it, just let me know and I'll
take you home."

Christian cringed internally. Why did Brody have to dominate in every
conceivable way? He felt like a small child being reassured about his first
day of preschool. But it still felt good.

"Okay."

"So we're set then?"

Christian couldn't help it, he smiled up at him. He felt warm, not just
from the body heat.

"Yep."

"Sweet. Now I need to get going."

He pushed off and unwrapped Christian's legs. Christian rose slightly,
leaning back on his arms, trying to take in the strangeness of what just
happened. The moon was lower now, visible through the window and it lit up
Brody's form as he turned back to Christian.  In his immaculately black
outfit and with his pale skin, he appeared almost as a vision who had
ridden the moonbeams in. This was the very fleeting impression on
Christian's mind before the vision said,

"See you in a few hours."

"Definitely. Sleep tight."

"You too."

Brody receded back through the window, the ladder was soundlessly taken
away, and just like that the quiet of the night was restored as if nothing
had ever disturbed it. Christian sank back and stared at the ceiling.

"Wow."



End of Chapter 3.



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