Author's Note:
My absence is inexcusable, but, dear readers, my health had been suffering enough to the point where I could only manage the most basic of things. However, I couldn't abandon you or my boys, and so here is the sixth installment of Preacher's Son. Not a very sex-heavy chapter, but the next few are going to focus a bit more on character development and some drama. Bear with me. I think the sex can come across as a lot more explosive when the characters involved feel more realized. As always, I am at agospelpipe@yahoo.com. Your constructive criticism (and mean stuff too) and lovely compliments are ever welcome.

And if you can, please consider donating here for the upkeep of this marvelous archive.

 

Preacher's Son VI: Dagwood.

-By Alistair H. Gospelpipe IV.

By the time I got home, I was resolute: the thing to do was to ask Violet if she'd be a beard. My beard. The only beard I will ever be able to grow and keep. Everything I came up with to say was trite and dumb. That coming out spiel, for example, would have killed in 2008 and the whole "We're twins! I could have eaten you in the womb and I didn't. That has to count for something!" is hilarious (I think), but this may not be the time. I also considered the "girl talk" approach by way of "Omg, I love how the both of us have such refined taste! In clothes, in books, in alcohol-that-we-shouldn't-be-drinking, in (giggle) BOYS!"
Humor, as a coping mechanism, can be a double-edged blade.

"May I help you?" Violet queried.

Oh, sister, you have no idea.

"What?"

"Dagwood, you've been standing in front of that open fridge for far longer than it takes to grab one of those gross Oranginas you love."

"Oh. Yeah." I shut the fridge door. "SO! Violet! Watcha makin'?"

"Coconut macaroons. Mama threatened to emerge from her chambers to make them, so I am just getting a head start."

"Good idea."

Mama is only spoken of in hushed tones around here. I know it sounds sinister when I say it like that, but we'll talk about all that one day.

"Once again, Dagwood Pontius, may I help you?"

"Do you wanna go to DoDo's?"

"Yeah," she said slowly, I think she may have seen something in my face, or maybe it was that twin intuition that Cousin Clarence didn't think could exist between the fraternal variety.
"Just, let me finish up here."

"Heading to my room," I said backing away. "Text me."

"...sure."

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

DoDo's is a bit of an unfortunate name for the closest we have to a, as Daddy would say, "foofie" café in our town. Legend has it that one Dominic Dorchester sold the premises to his nephew Colin but under the stipulation that whatever establishment Colin inaugurated there had to be named after him. Colin wasn't a fan of his uncle, and well...

The café was a usual hang-out for us high-school kids and the community college students. It was a nice place to study: comfortable chairs, good coffee, and fast WiFi. What's not to love? Violet often came her with her friends, a group of girls I thought were entirely too frivolous, and thus beneath Violet. But I think she enjoyed the company, the gossip, the laughs, the benign scandals of this sleepy place. Oh, there would be no laughter today, though, and the scandal was going to be far from benign.

"What do you wanna talk about?"

We settled in the chairs furthest from the barista and the two kids typing away furiously on their laptops.

"Eli Remington." I gripped the handle of my mug tightly. This was it.

"Are we strategizing about how you're going to introduce me or whatever? Because, it's fine. I can just...like, go talk to him. Like a normal person."

"I need you to pretend to be his girlfriend."

"You're making zero sense right now," Violet muttered into her mug and took a small sip of her drink. "Why can't I be his actual girlfriend?"

"Because," Oh Jesus. "Because, he's...Violet...okay, hang on..."

"Are you shaking? Why are you shaking?"

"Because Eli is...mine." I shut my eyes and I felt hot tears roll down my cheeks. Seriously, I cry too easily and too often these days.

Violet seemed to look past me, through the picture windows, focused on some point in the sky. The silence between us settled like a heavy smog.

"Do you...have thoughts?"

Violet seemed to have snapped out of a reverie. She took a sip of her drink and grimaced.

"Jesus, my fucking hot chocolate isn't hot anymore, gross!"

"Violet."

"I have so many thoughts, Dagwood! Oh, boy, do I have thoughts! What does "mine" mean? I need to be absolutely sure."

"Like...he's mine?"

"Spell it out for me, Dagwood. I know you can."

I looked down into my lap.

"I can't stop thinking about him," I started. "I know so little about him, but the way I am drawn to him is magnetic. Even talking to you about him feels wrong. It feels like I'm sharing him. I don't want to share him. He's a secret I have held so close that I feel robbed, having shared it. Him. That's what I mean when I say he's mine."

"I need you to stop crying, first of all. This place may be pretty dead, but that bitch up there at the counter has a mouth on her."

Oh, I guess I was crying again. Great. Now it's happening without me even knowing.

"So, you're...gay?" The last word was whispered.

"I don't know."

"Is he gay? Eli?"

"I don't know."

"But, y'all have to be, right? If y'all are, you know..."

"People are bi, Violet."

"Fair point."

"Besides, I think he's been with girls before, so..." I was saying this solely based on the insistence on "pussy" and the one time he talked about putting a baby in me. Can you imagine that, though? Me getting Teen Mom'd? It'd be the national news to reality show pipeline.

"Anyway, you're going to have to share him if I am going to be his beard."

"Won't you be my beard?"

"No, idiot, the beard is the pretend-girlfriend or wife."

"Wait, so you're saying you're gonna do it?"

"I am saying nothing of the sort," Violet's voice was steely. "I just need to understand where you're coming from. Walk me through this."

This was a good question, and one I should have expected that Violet would ask. It's not that I didn't have an answer: the answer was just horribly selfish.

"My thought was that dating you would give him an excuse to come over and the three of us to hang out and then he and I could spend time together and no-one would suspect a thing." I was talking a mile a minute; you'd think that I'd taken an emetic for words. But, like vomit, I had to get this out before it choked me.

Violet regarded me the way one would an unexpected stain on their dress.

"You know I am interested in him, yeah?"

"Yeah." Oh, shit.

"I need you to understand exactly what you're asking of me, Dagwood," Violet's voice was quiet, but her rage unmistakable. "You're asking me to fade into the background so that my brother and a guy I am interested in can go at it. Do I have it right?"

 

I couldn't speak.

"Did I get it right, Dagwood? Say it."

"Yeah." I couldn't meet her gaze.

"Do you realize how cruel you're being?"

"Violet, I am begging you. Please. Please give him to me."

"Dear Jesus, if you cry again..." Violet began and turned away. "You always fucking do this."

"What?" I was confused.

"You're the one with the grades, the one Daddy has decided to talk to in complete sentences, Mama's favorite—don't deny it—you're the one for whom Auburn is a done deal. Meanwhile, I get to watch. I get to make sure that Mama doesn't...that she, you know, stays calm. I don't think either you or Daddy even notice how hard...goddammit!"

"Violet, I had no idea..."

"Exactly!" I wish she was yelling. All this sounded so much more cutting delivered in a low voice powered by simmering anger. "Y'all don't have any idea. Now, you want the hunky boyfriend too. And, once again, I get to watch. Bonus: I also get the privilege of guarding your secret."

"He's not my boyfriend."

Violet scoffed. "Honestly, if him being your boyfriend depends on me, I don't know if I want to play this role you've assigned. For once, maybe you should watch as I get with him. Maybe some other girl will. Boy like that? He'll need cover eventually. Besides, people are bi, Dagwood."

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

Am I the evil twin? I wonder if one of every pair of twins, fraternal or otherwise, ever ponders upon this question. Violet and I didn't speak on our way home, and she quickly retreated to her room. I am being fully honest when I tell you that I had no idea that Violet had felt like she existed in the foreground of our lives. I don't know Daddy's opinion on this because he seemingly only talks to you if you do gay shit. I wish I could have found my voice in that moment to tell her how bright she glowed, too bright to fade into the background. I wish I'd had the courage to tell her how much I admired her for how she rejected conformity but managed to fit in so well with everyone in town. I wish I could have just taken a second to tell her how much I hated asking her to do this.

I refused to cry again. Not out of some alpha male crap, but because I don't know if I'd be able to stop. Violet and I had never fought before. Not like this, not for keeps. My skull was a beehive buzzing with self-hate, questions, premonitions of a devastating future, Violet's words, Eli telling me that I was the bad guy...I had to go for a run. But first, I texted Eli.

 

Hey, I'm going for a run.

Cool.

Up Wormwood to Fenrir's Cavern and back.

You leaving now?

Yeah.

Stay dry.

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

So, Wormwood Lane was not a running path, per se. Some track and field alumni from our school used to do some speed training here from time to time. No-one from our current batch does, though; no-one but me. Wormwood Lane had character. It started off innocently enough: smooth terrain, pleasing greenery around you...But then it bled into the woods where the ground became less smooth and the innocent shrubbery gave way to wilder, sinister flora. If you continued to run, an air of decay would supersede the dark verdigris of the plants. There was still green, but yellowed trees lay on the forest floor and toadstools flourished. And there was Fenrir's Cavern. Except, it wasn't really a cavern. It was a cave. Caves have entrances on the Earth's surface, caverns are a more underground deal. It was rumored that wolves lived in that cave, but no-one had ever seen these creatures. I was not afraid of it, I'd even gone inside once to just...be for a bit.

With how overcast the day was, Eli's "stay dry" was good advice since it did begin to rain. I welcomed it because I'd been sprinting for a while. The rain was a salve to my burning skin. I was feeling good, though. That runner's high is very real, trust me. But then I had to stop because a muscular figure in a white button-down with rolled up sleeves appeared from the trees.

Eli Remington's hair was messy, and he had a warm smile on his face.

"Hi." He approached me.

"Hi." My breath caught in my throat.

Eli's large hand touched the small of my back and he roughly pulled me towards him. The raw desire in his eyes was overwhelming. But his kiss was soft, slow, and made me feel complete, somehow. I had gotten so used to living as a book whose deteriorating binding had it barely clinging to the spine. And here was Eli, his strong arms a new, fortified cover: being pulled to him was being pulled back together. It was definitely not a "fuck me" kiss.

"I can't stop thinking about you," I said breathlessly once the kiss broke.

"You finally said it," he grinned. "Good thing you did, too, because I can't stop thinkin' about you either. Don't think I ever stopped thinkin' about you since that first day."

"Okay...settle down...that's impossible. We barely talked."

"Didn't say nothin' about it bein' logical."

Our equation as it stood was confusing to me. I thought I'd fallen in his eyes because of my plan but he still cared about me. It's strange how you know that there are no absolutes in any kind of relationship, but it never really sinks in until you experience it. You could love people all the way to the end of time, but you may not like them all the time. Huh.

"You ever explore the cave?" Eli asked.

"Yeah. Once. They say there's a wolf pack in there or something."

"That right?"

"I have never seen wolves around here, Eli. It's probably just a rumor."

And then it hit me.

"You want to fuck in the cave, don't you?"

An appropriately lupine grin bloomed across his face.

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

I don't recommend fucking in a cave. I, bent over, held onto jagged protruding rock, my running shorts around my legs and my shirt pulled up. Eli, on his knees, was eating me out rapaciously.

"Missed this..." he mumbled right into me,

I could only moan in response. I don't know what to tell you, being eaten out makes me delirious. In the best of ways.

"Pull your cheeks open, baby."

I quivered as his index finger slowly circled my hole, and then I moaned his name as plunged it into me. I could feel my hole slacken as Eli patiently pried me open finger after finger.

I cried out as that pleasing stretch became painful. He'd added another finger. At what point does an innocent fingerbang become fisting?

"Just hold on, baby," He said as if soothing a recalcitrant horse. "You're so fucking tight, we ain't got lube, I want to make it good for you."

As his fingers moved in and out, I began to feel very good indeed.

"Eli..." I panted. "Please..."

A gob of warm spit smacked against my hole and then another.

I heard the clink of his belt buckle as his pants fell to the ground. His maleness, hot and hard to the touch, started pressing up against my hole.

I felt the heat of his muscled chest against my back as he leaned over me, wrapped his muscular arm around my torso and kissed my neck just as his cock breached my ring. He moaned languorously; I yelped.

"You feel so good, Dagwood..." He said it like an incantation. "You feel so good...so fucking good...damn, boy..."

"IHaveWantedThisFor...oh...SoLong!" My words were colliding into each other as he rocked my world.

"Fuckin' hell, Dagwood..." He was doing a kind of circular motion which was driving me insane. I was also discovering that my name was not the kind you called out during sex. Except, it sounded right when he said it.

The thrusting became more urgent and I held onto that jagged piece of rock for dear life.

"Love...that...fuckin'...hole." My man was hard at work, until he suddenly pulled out.

"Get on your knees." He commanded.

I looked up at him: cock, tumescent and dripping pre-cum, his white shirt unbuttoned and that glorious chest. He was mine. All of him.

He spat into his hand and started jerking off.

"Close your eyes!" He gasped, and just in time as rope after rope of his seed spattered across my face. I loved it. It felt like he'd marked me.

"You look so hot with my cum all over your face, baby." Eli chuckled.

"Oh, if only mama could see me now, how proud she'd be."

Eli shook his head as he handed me his handkerchief. There was something charming about that gesture: how many people do you know who still carry a hanky?

"How do you wanna do this?"

"Do what?"

"Should I get goin' first or you? We can't leave together, so..."

"Eli. Don't go."

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

We sat silently at the mouth of the cave. Even though we sat side by side, I felt like he was far away. No, that's not right. He felt walled off.

"Did you...um...have somewhere to be?" I finally broke the silence.

"No," His tone was clipped. "Why?"

"Why did you want to leave so soon?"

"Because I don't know where your head is at, Dag!"

"Why are you mad at me?"

"Because. I. Don't. Know. Where. Your. Head. Is. At."

"Use your words..."

The glare that followed suggested that this attempt at levity was a misfire.

"I mean, like, use your...other words. Say more. About my head."

"Jesus Christ, Dagwood."

"But you—"

"Shut up, don't make no jokes or smart aleck comments, just tell me what you want. From me."

"I don't understand." Of course I did.

"We aren't supposed to be hangin' out after your daddy laid down the law, but we're hangin' out, Dag. You're makin' some fucked up plans so we keep hangin' out. Why?"

"First of all, I think "hangin' out" is underselling it..."

"Dagwood, so help me, stop beatin' `round the bush or I'll never fuck you again. My dick's in the balance."

"Okay," I took a second to compose myself. "What I feel for you scares the shit out of me, Eli. I ache for you. Are you The Devil, Eli Remington? Because there are times when I want to submit my whole being to you. Like when you recited those Let us away lines in class, I would have followed you to the ends of the Earth. When you were out in that shed making a chair for that man who, for reasons I don't understand, seems to hate you...I just...I wanted to hold you and never let go. It's hard for me to say these things because a) they are very dramatic and b) they're irrational. We haven't even known each other that long."

Eli wrapped a strong arm around me and pulled me into him. I laid my head on his shoulder, and I am very proud to say that it didn't even occur to me to cry.

"It don't have to be dramatic," he finally said. "You could just say "Eli, I like you." The Devil don't need to get involved."

"I'm a detail-oriented guy."

"The irrational thing, I get," his grip around me tightened. "But, again, baby, it don't gotta make sense."

"Do you think we'll ever...?"

"Dagwood, don't."

The silence that followed, blissful as it was, was broken when Eli in that deep, wistful voice of his said:

"Why are we weigh'd upon with heaviness,
And utterly consumed with sharp distress,
While all things else have rest from weariness.
All things have rest: why should we toil alone?"