Author's Note:#

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Preacher's Son V: Dagwood

-Alistair Hamish Gospelpipe IV.

How bad can humiliation be if no-one is there to witness it? It still smarts. I felt so fucking foolish standing in that stupid supply room. First, I was stoic and then I was seething. For a second, I did question if maybe the real foolishness lay in the assumption that he would just follow me from class. But no, we've done this dance before. The first time I gorged on his cock, it happened exactly like this. Bastard.

When that class period ended, I could finally leave that horrible, airless room and blend into the crowd. Did I even have another class? Probably. Definitely. I didn't care. The 40 minutes I spent in that suffocating supply room was ample time for my rage to simmer and reduce into a potent brew of, well, irrationality. And sure enough, there he was: backpack slung over powerful shoulders, smirking at something the idiot walking with him had said (Rudolph Plemmons is very much an idiot; I am not being mean), innocent as the day he was born.

I did what anyone in my position would, I strode towards him and shoulder-checked him. Hard. He stumbled a bit and my backpack slipped from my shoulder—I may have shrugged it off slightly—and hit the ground.

"Watch where you're going!" I snarled "Fucking hayseed."

Eli's jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed. He had my forearm in a painfully tight grip.

"The fuck you just say?"

"WATCH WHERE YOU'RE GOING, YOU FUCKING HAYSEED!"

A few gasps around us. Some laughter.

What's one more in a series of bad decisions, amirite?

For a moment, it seemed like time had frozen. His steely gaze had mine in a grip as tight as the one he had on my arm. I felt the ghost of a tug on said arm, and he was either going to push me to the ground or pull me towards him. I am not dumb enough to pretend that option 2 was likely. The spell shattered, he freed my arm and his gaze no longer had me in arrest.

"Get out of here, Dag." He mumbled turning away from me.

Before I could contemplate everything that had just happened, I felt a tap on my shoulder.

"Hi! What the fuck was that?" Violet's faux brightness resembled that of a QVC host.

"Ask again, but in a less dystopian way. No dystopia, actually."

"Hi: what the fuck was that?"

"I don't know. I overreacted."

"I just think it's rich that you, who has barely left this town, are calling him a hayseed."

Yeah, Violet. That's the part of all this that makes no fucking sense.

"Let it go, Violet."

"I'm jussayin'! The Remingtons have lived in more places than most people in this town while we had to campaign for weeks to get daddy to let us go to Boston and New York that summer."

"I'll apologize to him. At some point."

"You should. He's a big one. But handsome. I am digging the Bruce Wayne vibe. Don't fuck this up for me, Dag!"

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

The Remington family lived in a modest cottage-style house which folks used to call The Vicarage, but that name makes no sense today. We don't have vicars. But I suppose it tells you something about the history of our town. Speaking of which, a rarity in the history of our town is someone showing up to your place unannounced. The preacher, I could tell, was not pleased to see me. He wasn't annoyed, but he wasn't thrilled either.

"Dagwood, what a surprise."

Oh, so he knew.

"Sir, begging your pardon for just turning up like this, but my heart is heavy and this cannot wait."

"Dear child," his face softened. "A fool uttereth all his mind: a wise man keepeth it in till afterwards."

Ouch.

"For I acknowledge my transgressions, and my sin is ever before me," I tried to look contrite. "Besides, he has to forgive me even if I am mean to him seven times as long as I repent it!"

This drew a rare laugh from the preacher. For a second, he didn't look like the rabid man who wouldn't think twice about making pretzels out of Scripture to foment hatred. For a moment, he looked like Eli.

"And my sin is ever before me," The preacher seemed far away. "It is a terrible, beautiful thing, Dagwood, to keep your sin ever before you. It is easy to tuck sin away and never think about it again, but penitence...such a terrible beauty in penitence...my sin is ever before me. That is the difference between guilt and remorse."

`Why can't you be like this at church!' I wanted to rage at him. `Why can't you make sense, be...warm like this at church?'

"But, Dagwood," the preacher said, startling me from my thoughts, "Yours is not a sin. A venial one, perhaps. And you are very good to come humble yourself. I am sure you will find forgiveness from your brother. Go! Eli is in the shed in the back."

I practically flinched myself into a parallel universe at "brother."

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

The shed in the back was...exactly that. A ramshackle little thing. You have to wonder if the phrase "Honey, let's make an addition to the outhouse" was ever uttered before the shed in the back assumed its final form.

Eli was carefully cutting a board of wood with a bladed handheld sewing machine-like thing. Don't start with me with me, okay. Go yell at whoever removed shop class from our schools.

"What're you working on?"

"A rocking chair. For daddy."

"What is that thing?"

"This?" he held up the cutting contraption.

"Yeah."

"A jig saw."

"I feel like we've unlocked a whole other layer to the `Saw' movies."

He set the jig saw down and turned. I about melted: an open flannel shirt, a white tanktop underneath. He was a bit sweaty.

"You mind if I?" he asked gesturing to his flannel, and then pulling it off anyway. The striations in his shoulders rippled as the shirt came off. He knew exactly what he was doing.

"Pretty hot in here." I observed dumbly.

"Yeah."

"Eli, I came to say sorry."

"Then say it."

Justified as it was, I hated how distant he was being. Fact being, I hated that this was a thing now. All of it: the apology, the acceptance of it...we didn't need any of it! All he had to do was sweep me up in his arms and...

"Dagwood, I have a lot of work to do on this chair..."

"Sure! Um, I am sorry. About this morning. If anything, I am the hayseed: we've barely ever left this town. So I am sorry."

"Awesome," he said and began turning towards his workstation. "We're good."

"Eli, I miss you!" A sentiment that took root in my chest and burst forth.

"Naw, you don't," he did not turn around. "You miss how I fucked you."

"That's not true."

"Did you know I made things with wood?" He was facing me now, holding my gaze. I would have lowered mine, but I am always in it to win it.

"You don't know shit about me, Dag," the bitterness in his voice was a venom which paralyzed as it pained. "I know you want to go to Auburn for school. You don't know what you'll study yet, but it will be somethin' to do with writin.' I know you like that Earl Grey donut at DoDo's. I know you and Violet are twins, but not the identical kind."

He paid attention. I was gobsmacked, but I also didn't know what to do with this. Big buff Eli Remington was sentimental...just when I thought he couldn't get any hotter.

"Green Bay Packers." I blurted.

He looked at me quizzically.

"You like the Green Bay Packers. For reasons beyond my comprehension. You wore those pajamas...sweats with their logo...that night when we messed around at the school?"

"Yeah," a crooked smile. "Stole `em from a friend. Harry Hard-on. Good guy."

"I am sorry, Hard-on?"

Eli laughed his gravely laugh.

"Yup. Kid was always pitchin' a tent."

"That can be a dangerous medical condition."

"Naw, it went down sometimes."

"Oh, good."

The silence was a fog obscuring the bridge that stood between us.

"If there's nothing else..." Eli started with uncharacteristic formality.

"I miss you," I mumbled lamely. "But I am afraid." I couldn't say what I was afraid of. But he understood.

"I was, too," he said. "Of gettin', uh, involved. But, Dag...I can't stop thinkin' about you."

His words were the light needed to pierce that pesky fog and illumine my path towards him, and I stepped into his arms. Our kiss was a testament how much we had ached for each other. I felt him harden against me as his hands cupped my ass before snaking into my pants.

"You're not wearing underwear?" he murmured.

"Gross."

"Slut."

He shook his head in mock exasperation, but his fingers weren't fucking around. Or, well, maybe they were because they were prying me open.

"Oh, Eli, I swear to God..." I gasped.

"So hot..."

I started slowly jacking him off through his jeans.

"You don't know what you're doin', little boy."

"Stop calling me that, perv."

"Fuckin' smart mouth..."

And then he roughly turned me around, shoved me against the wall of that shed and violently pulled my pants down. I felt the heat of his cock between my crack and I writhed with hunger.

"You okay with this?" He asked. "My daddy's right outside, I can stop."

"Eli Remington, please don't be a fucking gentleman right now..."

"Sir, yessir."

He got on his knees behind me and started to pull my cheeks apart.

You know how those guys in dirty stories talk about their puckers, their rosebuds? Well, my rosebud blossomed as Eli's tongue slid against it. However, he didn't eat me out for too long before he spat on my hole. I moaned cheaply. I could hear the wet sound of him slicking up his cock with more spit. Oh, God, the anticipation was killing me and the relief I felt when his hot, turgid cockhead poked against my hole was like reaching home after a long day and longer commute. He placed his right hand against my mouth just as he entered. Good thing, too, because I screamed. Taking him on spit alone was painful, but him in me? That felt right. Puzzle pieces fitting together.

"I'm sorry, baby." He whispered against my neck. "You okay?"

"I will be."

And I was. His thrusts hurt, but it was a delectable pain. I had craved it. I had craved him.

"No, no, no..." I said when he removed his hand from my mouth. "Keep it. It's kinda hot."

And so he did. We played at me being restrained as he had his fill of me.

"Can't...ugh...get...enough," he grunted hard at work. "Your...hole...Dag...the grip...my cock...fuck, oh fuck..."

Eli groaned through clenched teeth as he marked me his with his hot seed. The minutes that followed, his hard chest pressed against me as he caught his breath, were bliss. The thudding of his heart was music to my ears.

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

"So will you do it?" I asked while we were gathering ourselves.

"What?"

"My plan."

"Dag..."

Okay, we had literally just made up. What was I doing?

"Just think about it, okay? Please?"

"Yeah. Okay."

I kissed him once again.

"I promise not to stare at you again when you recite poetry in class."

"Yeah, man, that was pretty embarrasin' for you."

"Stop wearing those tight fuckin' t-shirts, then!"

"They ain't tight," he grinned. "I am just yolked."

"Be fuller of yourself, please. You can do it! I believe in you!"

"Let me kiss you `fore you go."

Like I'd ever turn that down.

My departure from the Remington home was not without its own intrigue because the preacher called me back as I turned around to around to leave and offered me an old hoodie to tie around my waist.

"It appears that you may have sat on a drop of Eli's varnish or whatever that boy has in that shed of his."

"Oh, how embarrassing!" I was debating if "Eli's varnish" could work as a fun euphemism for his cum because that's what had seeped out of my slut hole onto my god-fearing pants. Fucking brilliant.

"I'll return this as soon as I can," I said gesturing at the hoodie that had me in 1990s period costume, voice slightly aquiver as more of Eli's seed slipped down the back of my right leg.

"No rush."

I am reconsidering underwear.

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

I had compartmentalized Violet's words, but the walk home is when I face up to the fact that my sister desired my...Eli. Violet had never been one to act giddy around or about a boy. Her only boyfriend was a boy named Thomas Fore, and she dated him because "he's a cool guy. Chill. Easy to be around." Even their vibe felt more platonic than anything else, at least on the surface: marathoning The Office, making brownies which I strongly suspect were Special, if you get my meaning...Settlers of Catan: that sort of thing. I remember them laughing a lot, only parting ways because, as Violet put it, "it was time." A very evil part of me began to wonder if maybe it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world if Eli and Violet did start dating. That would give him an excuse to come `round. As far as daddy was concerned, Eli and I were finished. If he forbade Violet from dating Eli without providing a good reason, my sister would double down. Daddy knew this, too. It could work. It could absolutely work. Eli was right, of course, that we'd be scarring whoever we recruited unconsented into our scheme. Well, my scheme. I'd said that I could live with that. But, my sister? Could I live with that?