Date: Sun, 13 Dec 2020 11:01:11 -0500
From: Ulf Raynor <ulfr57@gmail.com>
Subject: Devil Dawg Donnelly's Part 25

Devil Dawg Donnelly's

Standard disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to people
or actual events is purely coincidental.

You may contact the author at ulfr57@gmail.com All comments, suggestions
and/or observations are welcome if presented respectfully.

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Part Twenty Five:

What was he thinking, this was just fucking nuts Brock Gryzinski kept
repeating to himself as he now ran down the stone paved path heading away
from the Ceremonial grounds of the Devil Dawg Compound and back to the
Lodge.

Mere minutes had passed since Danal Cornelius flipped that hour glass
signaling the start of what he referred to as the" great hunt" and Brock
had wasted no time in darting off the dais after giving Atticus one last
quick glance.

He had half an hour head start, not much time, but still doable by Brock's
calculations, but he didn't have a second to spare if he was going to
accomplish what he had planned on doing to equalize his chances against an
opponent that clearly had the biological advantage.

Atticus was clearly stronger, faster and his senses were far superior to
the average man, but as Brock had come to realize, after the initial boost
to his own senses and metabolism from their earlier ceremony, in what Danal
had called a blood liturgy (which in fact was just an exchange of blood
passed between him and Atticus through a wound Danal had made with that
ceremonial dagger in the palm of their hands) he too had a boost that
helped, at least in part, to negate some of those advantages.

Brock couldn't help but wonder if Danal had done that on purpose with that
thought in mind or whether it was actually part of the ceremony, either
way, he was thankful for the boost and was even now finding it useful as he
rapidly traversed the distance back to the Lodge at a breakneck speed,
something prior to the liturgy, would have been far more treacherous a
course without the increased but waning boost to his vision and other
senses.

As he finally made his way to the parking lot in front of the Lodge, he
stopped only long enough to catch his bearings before making a dash for the
lake. Brock looked out over the serene looking water as be knelt down and
began unlacing his boots and discarding them on the shoreline, he reached
into the top pocket of his camo blouse and removed a small plastic bag,
setting it aside as he removed his blouse and dropped it to the ground
beside his boots, he did this purposefully knowing Atticus would find them
and know he had entered the water.

Brock smiled to himself as he then knelt once again to carefully remove his
socks and placed them in the plastic bag and sealed it until he was sure it
was watertight and shoved it into the pocket of his BDU trousers before
diving into the lake and swam as fast as he could, heading directly for the
shore on the other side.

Even though it was a small lake, the distance between opposing shorelines
had to be at least equal to the distance of two football fields, maybe a
little more; stopping only once at the halfway mark to get his bearings
again and to catch his breath, he gave a silent thanks that the lake water
was still rather warm and that the breeze coming across the water was
blowing from the direction he had just come from, he knew that it would be
easier for Atticus to be able to pick up his scent that way and Brock's
plan was contingent on Atticus knowing he had indeed swam across the lake
to the other side.

By the time Brock took foothold on the opposite side of the lake, he
estimated that the time it took was roughly five minutes, hesitating only
momentarily, Brock proceeded to climb the rocky, grass covered banks upward
and into the wooded hillside approximately 30 to 40 feet where he quickly
shucked his tan T-shirt and deliberately tossed it as far as he could up
the hill, he then reached into his trouser pocket and removed the plastic
bag holding his socks and carefully removed one while searching around him
for a fist sized rock that he then shoved into the sock clear to the toe
before tying it off.

Brock began swinging the sock around, twirling it faster and faster before
releasing it, letting it fly up the hillside further into the forest
directly to his right, he then repeated the entire procedure with the other
sock except for letting it go in the opposite direction, to the far left,
smiling to himself in satisfaction, thinking: "That should chew away at
your time Atticus."

Having accomplished his goal on the opposite side of the lake, Brock
carefully backtracked his footsteps, being as careful as he could in the
placement of his footing while walking backwards, he retraced his steps
clear to the banks of the shoreline, shucking his trousers and leaving them
where he had initially made footing.

Now clad only in his jockstrap, Brock dove back into the warm waters of the
lake, tangentially veering to the left of his starting point, estimating he
would come out somewhere near the small wooden dock on the shore near the
Donnelly cabin.

Without pausing, knowing his timing was now very crucially close to
Atticus' start time, Brock put everything he had in covering the distance
and making landfall before that happened.

Brock's entire line of deduction forced him to factor in the knowledge that
he had no real estimation or comparison to the limits of those within the
Heritages senses, he had no real idea how developed their sense of smell
was or how keen their eyesight was, and questions like whether they could
just see further and more clearly or could they actually perceive, as he
suspected, radiant heat, were left unanswered, he just knew it was greater
than his own and that he knew they had vastly superior night vision, a
benefit he himself was still currently, though now waning, experiencing due
to the blood liturgy he had shared earlier with Atticus.

It was with that thought in mind specifically, that as Brock made shoreline
again he paused at the shallow waters edge, in ankle deep waters and
scooped up handfuls of mud and began smearing it all over his body,
including his face and head, while additionally pulling down handfuls of
Spanish moss from the surrounding trees and draping it all over the wet mud
adding an element of camouflage to what he hoped the dual purpose of the
mud garnered him; Brock deduced that the mud would not only help mask his
scent but would also mask his ambient body temperature.  Having completed
his task, Brock stealthily covered the distance to the back of the cabin,
where he hid within nearby shrubs, a position that still afforded him a
concealed visual of the path leading to the Ceremonial grounds and waited
expectantly for Atticus to begin his pursuit.

In what seemed an interminably long passage of time, Brock could clearly
discern the loud cheers and oo-rahs, knowing for a certainty that moment,
what Danal had referred to as the great hunt, was finally at hand.

Brock crouched there in the shrubs, trying to make himself as invisible as
possible, anxiously awaiting Atticus' emergence from the pathway into the
parking lot.

Far sooner than he thought humanly possible, Atticus did in fact appear
mere moments later, in what Brock calculated as nearly half the time it
took hm to traverse the same distance and though it was faster than he had
anticipated, Brock was certain it still factored well within the parameters
of his estimations.

From his hidden vantage point Brock suddenly felt a surge of anxiety as
Atticus halted and appeared to be scanning the area, his nose raised high
sniffing the air and turning to face in his direction; for a few short
seconds Brock wondered if he had screwed up and that Atticus was even now
see aware of him, despite his best precautions, detecting his position.

Those fears quickly passed as Atticus suddenly veered right and ran toward
the lakeside shoreline. stopping briefly, glaring across the lake before
diving in and began his trek across the lake, almost perfectly following
the same course Brock had previously set.

His confidence in his strategy now bolstered, Brock relinquished the
security of his hiding place and darted toward the bivouac the team had set
up, he quickly rushed to the tent he himself had set up the day before for
himself, Brock retrieved the rucksack he had packed earlier and left for
this moment before invading the other tents, ripping through his teammates
personal affects and appropriating bottles and cans of aftershave and
colognes he found until his was satisfied he had enough to accomplish his
next task.

Tossing the items into his rucksack Brock proceeded out of the bivouac
about fifty feet, before sitting the sack down and searching the area for a
small branch he could use and settling for one roughly about the size and
thickness of a baseball bat.

One by one Brock chose a bottle or can from among his collection and
proceeded to pepper the entire surrounding are with the various often
overpowering noxious scents by rocketing each through the air spraying or
dispersing their contents by whacking them with the branch all while being
as cautious as possible not to get any of the liquids on his person until
each and every item was used.

Even without his ramped up olfactory senses the entire area for hundreds of
yards in every direction now reeked overpoweringly of the artificial
stench.

Brock smiled wickedly to himself, mockingly saying under his breath: "Sniff
me out now big guy" before snatching up his rucksack and darting further
into the woods.

By Brock's estimate he was certain Atticus must have reached the other side
of the lake and was even now having to reconnoiter, in several directions,
before he figured out his little ruse. Brock actually hoped, though he
wasn't counting on it, that Atticus would chew up all the time allotted
searching for him on the opposite side of the lake, but like any good
strategist Brock wasn't hedging his bets and putting all his eggs in one
basket.

After reaching a minimum distance of at least a hundred yards from the
encampment,Brock set down the rucksack and opened it, pulling, at first the
pair of running shoes he had packed and donning them as quickly as
possible, then retrieving a pair of synthetic gripping gloves he used for
repelling exercises and finally a thirty foot length of nylon rope attached
to a small, three pronged stainless steel grappling hook.

After putting on the gloves, Brock tossed the rucksack as far back up into
the woods as he could before he began climbing the nearest pine tree until
he was a good twenty five feet off the ground; form that height Brock was
able to swing the rope with the hook and release it to secure a hold on the
nearest tree to him and swing Tarzan like to his new destination and
repeating this procedure numerous times until he had made a complete semi
circular path around the campsite, ending with him finally swinging from
the last tree to land feet first on the grassy ditch line of the main road
leading into and out of the Devil Dawg Compound.

Having completed his planned course, Brock now cautiously headed back to
the parking lot and hid himself from view beside one of the MTVR vehicles
that afforded him a clear view of the lakeside.

With no small degree of self congratulatory pride in his flawlessly
executed plan, Brock sat silently as he awaited for Atticus' reappearance
before he could execute the final stage of his stratagem, which was as
equally simple, if Atticus made it back and began tracking his course
through the bivouac and into the woods, Brock would once again make his way
to the lake and swim across it in the same path he used before except this
time he would pick a direction to start running into and run as fast as he
could until the time ran out and he was safe to return and claim his
victory.  "Ya know, that was quite the show ya put on up there Gunny", came
the deep guttural voice twinged with a hint of a snicker from above him,
coming from the back of the truck he was crouched beside.

Brock leapt to his feet just in time to see Atticus Walker rise up from his
prone position to peer down at him over the side rail of the vehicle, his
eyes full of mirth, his lips contorted into a sneering half grin.

"Tag, your it!" Atticus laughed, hauling himself up and over the side rail
of the truck to land squarely and neatly next to a very surprised Brock
Gryzinski.

"How the hell..." was all Brock could manage to stammer out, still in
shock: "I saw you swim across the lake!" he insisted, his voice sounding as
incredulous as he felt.

Atticus draped his beefy muscular arm around Brock's shoulder and reached
over to ruffle his mud caked hair: "That's simple, you only thought I did
because I wanted you too, the truth is, I knew where you were the whole
time."

Brock just shook his head in disbelief, knowing full well he had executed
his plan flawlessly; Atticus could see the mounting confusion and
consternation on Brock's face and decided that maybe it would be best not
to mock him further, especially since this night would mark the first of
many they would share together throughout the rest of their lives.

In way of an answer to his unspoken question, Atticus clasped Brock's right
hand between his and brought it up between them, showing him his bandaged
palm: "With this wound I could track you anywhere within a miles radius,
the scent of your blood is now and forever etched in my head, besides..."He
smiled gently at Brock leaning into his ear and softly whispering: "You're
not the only Marine in this compound who has undergone SERE training."

Brock couldn't help but laugh despite the fact he now felt like he had been
set up right from the start, but it was a trap he had willingly walked into
and after all things considered, the end result was that either way, he and
Atticus would have still ended up together and judging by the size of the
bulge in Atticus' pants, he was certain he could have done a lot worse.

Without another thought, Brock reached down and shoved the four fingers of
his right hand down the front of Atticus BDU trousers and clasped his belt
buckle and turned and dragged him by his crotch toward the path heading
back to the Ceremonial grounds: "C'mon country boy, let's get this over
with, I'm tired, wet and covered in mud and might I add, hornier than a
bitch in heat and your parading around the scratch to my itch!"


                             *****

"Man dude, you have got to stop beating yourself up over this" Gavin Hollis
repeated once again as he and Billy Donnelly sat on Gavin's bed finishing
the last of the burgers and fries they picked up at the local BK on their
way back to his house for the night: "You heard what your Dad said, your
brother and Kent are okay and back where they are supposed to be."

Billy knew that everything Gavin was saying was true, but he still couldn't
shake the feeling that something was still wrong, he knew it didn't make
sense, but the mounting feeling of trepidation, despite the good news about
his brother, still lingered.

Exacerbated, Gavin through his hands up in defeat: "Okay, what's it going
to take to get you past this?"

Billy hung his head, knowing Gavin was just trying to help but knowing
there was only one thing that would truly make him feel better and that
would be to actually talk to his brother, to hear his voice telling him
everything was okay.

Growing up, Mike had always been this intensely focused persona, always
pushing himself to be the best at everything, no matter what he tackled. He
was an incredible athlete, made perfect grades, always demanding the best
of himself, but there was his soft side, a side he seldom showed others but
one he often demonstrated in the way he treated both Billy and their
younger brother JD.

Billy couldn't begin to count the many ways Mike would always encourage him
to push past his limitations, to never accept defeat and to learn from his
mistakes and do his best not to repeat it, in Billy's mind, other than
their Dad, there was no one as determined and confident as him, yes,
sometimes to the point of arrogance, but what young guy didn't do that from
time to time, especially someone as adept at everything as his brother
always seemed to be.

When he and Baxter first showed an interest in wrestling, it was Mike that
spent endless hours with them showing them various moves and holds he had
learned and how to counter each; he pushed them both at the gym and gave
them their first workout routines, emphasizing the importance of
flexibility and agility in proportion to strength and self discipline, but
most importantly, strategy.

Mike had been everything he could have ever wished for in an older brother
and he still keenly felt his absence in his life, even more so as his own
apprehension grew as the day drew nearer to his own eighteenth birthday and
his Heritage Ceremony.

Billy couldn't help but worry and dwell on it, after all, it was right
after Mike's Ceremony that everything changed and none of it for the
better.

Almost overnight his brother completely changed, gone was the confident,
structured self control; if Billy were to try and describe it, the one word
he could envision most was defeated and from that defeat came anger and
resentment most of which was aimed at their father. He didn't know what had
transpired to so drastically affect such a dramatic change in his brother,
but as his own time approached it was eating at him more and more. He
couldn't ever imagine anything that would turn him against his own father,
but up to the point of Mike's Ceremony, he couldn't ever imagine Mike would
change so much that he would so openly defy their father and to do so with
so much anger and resentment.

It was true, that Mike had always tended to be closer to their mother than
their Dad, but at least their Dad never abandoned them and Billy had always
gotten the impression that Mike felt the same way, but after his Ceremony,
accusing their Dad of driving their mother away became an all to often
repeated refrain during hushed but heated exchanges between the two.

All of it had been so confusing to both Billy and JD and try as they might,
in the days that followed his Ceremony, they couldn't get their brother to
open up and talk to them about it, dismissing their concerns by saying they
would soon find out for themselves, and Billy sadly recalled how it had all
come to a heated end; he had never seen his brother so enraged as he poured
and heaped vitriol at their Dad, who just stood there in the living room of
their old base house, arms folded over his chest as Mike vented his rage at
him, not saying a word, just glaring back at him silently. It had started
shortly after dinner and Carl had quickly ushered Billy and JD out of the
room, but ultimately, there was nowhere in the house they could go that
Mike's booming voice couldn't be heard and shortly after Carl returned to
join them, he and JD snuck out into the hallway to listen in.

The shouting finally concluded by Mike accusing their Dad of being both a
liar and a deceiver; to their surprise it wasn't their Dad who spoke but
Carl, they watched as Carl stepped up to Mike and slapped him so hard it
nearly knocked Mike to his knees, before clutching him by the collar of his
shirt and thrusting his face in Mike's before speaking to him in the most
cold and guttural tone imaginable: "The only liar that has ever lived in
this house was your bitch of a mother and the only one who has ever
deceived you was yourself."

They watched almost clinging to each other as Carl tossed him to the floor
and with an accusatory finger wagging under Mike's nose: "You father has
done nothing but try to warn you and prepare you for your future in the
Heritage, it was your mother that broke his trust and revealed too much to
you at too early of an age for you to comprehend, she broke the Code and
poisoned your mind with delusions of grandeur."

They both had watched as their father just shook his head and placed a
restraining hand on Carl's shoulder before reaching down with his other
toward Mike and offering assistance that Mike slapped away before jumping
to his feet giving both their father and Carl one last look of disgust
before storming out of the house; two days later they had learned that Mike
and Kent had joined the Marines and were on their way to bootcamp.

Once again, Billy found himself missing Baxter, wishing he was there now to
talk too; sure Gavin had done so much for him, but the one thing he
couldn't do was bring up his fears of his coming Heritage Ceremony, how
would he ever be able to explain something he himself as of yet understood
and he knew Gavin would ask uncomfortable questions whereas Baxter would
already know what he was feeling and why he was feeling that way, his
entire life Baxter had been the Ying to his Yang and with each passing day
he missed his comforting presence more than words could say, it was like he
was missing a vital part of himself a void that could only be filled by his
return.

Gavin broke the the silence between them by positing: "Ya know, there's one
thing you could do that might cheer you up."

Billy looked at his young friend, he could see the concern written on his
face and wondering whether Gavin was now hitting on him or actually had
something else in mind, causing him to respond: "I don't know if I'm in the
mood for that right now."

Gavin giggled and punched him in the arm playfully: "You wish... no man I
was going to suggest that maybe you call him." Gavin looked over at the
clock on his bedside table, noting: "It's one am here but in Germany it's
seven in the morning, he might be up by now, at the very least he should be
back in his quarters."

Billy's eyes lit up at Gavin's suggestion, realizing he was right and
giving himself a mental kick in the pants for not thinking of it himself
instead of just sitting there moping.

"Better yet..." Gavin said, moving to his computer and typing furiously for
a few seconds: "Why don't we Skype him?" Gavin sent the chat request and
beckoned Billy to take his place at his desk and the blank video screen as
the request continued to process.

After a few interminably long moments passed, Billy was about to give up
when his brother's face suddenly appeared on the screen, smiling back at
him from across the other side of the world: "Hiya runt, long time no see!"
Almost instantly Billy's trepidation lifted his mood became joyous and he
could feel the waves of relief wash over him as his eyes began to water and
threaten to spill over: "Mike, you're okay?!!" was all he could manage to
say, the words sticking in his throat.

Gavin sat back on his bed watching his friend reconnected with his older
brother, observed as the tension that had knotted the muscles in his body,
relaxed and gave way to the now jovial repartee exchanged by the two
siblings.

As his concern faded for his friend he finally took note of the man Billy
called brother; Gavin had always thought that Billy was extremely handsome,
even one of the hottest guys in school, but the golden, wavy haired Adonis
that now conversed with Billy was next level, Hollywood actor/model
handsome, Gavin found himself nearly gawking at him he was so stunning
before he came to his senses and realized he was missing out on their
conversation.

"There was no reason for all the fuss runt, seriously, Kent and I are fine,
I don't know how the wires got so crossed, but Kent and I were at the
facility voluntarily, we thought it had all been approved, but it looks
like Major Drummond forgot to properly process the paperwork." Mike mused,
the smile on his face disarmingly upbeat and buoyant.

"But why would you volunteer at a German genetics lab, did they run out of
lab rats or something?" Billy queried smiling but with a hint of skepticism
thrown in for good measure.  Mike laughed and rolled his eyes: "We weren't
there as guinea pigs runt, we were helping them beef up their security
protocols, that's all, it was kind of a friend helping a friend sort of
deal, nothing to worry yourself over..." Mike's smile broadened, adding:
"As you can see I'm still the same ol irresistibly handsome stud I've
always been."

Gavin could tell by the timber of Billy's voice and mannerisms that like
himself he still wasn't quite buying fully into Mike's story and Gavin in
particular was absolutely certain there was far more going on here than met
the eye and he himself was about to interject on Billy's behalf with a few
questions of his own when Mike suddenly changed the topic: "I got your
emails about your birthday and I just wanted you to know I hadn't forgotten
and I might just have some good news for you" Gavin saw it for the
deflection that it was, but it did manage to refocus Billy's attention:
"Please say your at east thinkin' about coming?" Billy asked his voice now
full of hopeful optimism: "Kent and I both have put in a request for leave
so we can fly over for the weekend, we hope to find out today so we can
make the necessary arrangements to make it by Friday."  Gavin couldn't help
but notice how happy that news had made Billy so he shoved his own concerns
to the back of his mind but filled them away for future reference, thinking
that maybe Billy wasn't the best person to voice them too and thinking
maybe he should have another conversation with his Uncle Carl.

Billy and Mike talked for a few more minutes before he announced he had to
go stating that he had to report for duty within the next half hour.

Mike's image had no sooner faded and Gavin closed out the chat then Billy
threw his arms around him and for the second time that evening and began
swinging him around the room thanking him over and over again for
everything he had done for him: "I can't wait to tell my Dad and Uncle Carl
and Hank too for that matter, won't they be surprised?!"

"Yeah..." Gavin agreed reluctantly, but doing his best to feign a happy
veneer: "I'm sure the news will come as a complete shock to all of them!"
Gavin knew Billy didn't catch the sarcasm in his voice, but Gavin was more
convinced than ever, that there was more to all this than he was currently
aware of and if Billy couldn't see that, then as his friend he would have
to tackle this for him and there was only one person he was sure might
agree with his concerns and that was Billy's Uncle Carl!


                           *****

It had been a long day, full of twists and turns and surprising revelations
followed by an equally chaotic and astonishing evening that bordered, at
least from Brock's perspective, on damn near fantastical.

Never in his life would he have ever dreamed he would now be where he was,
standing on top of the dais in the Ceremonial grounds of the Devil Dawg
Compound waiting expectantly for Atticus Walker to rejoin him so they could
complete some ancient ritual that would forever intertwined their lives
together.

This was his third time that evening he now stood where he was; after the
great hunt, he and Atticus had made their way back to the grounds and Danal
had declared Atticus victorious in the hunt to the hoots and hollers of
their teammates.

Danal had then suggested that before he completed the ritual that the two
of them go and clean up and meet back at the reliquary at midnight where he
would then perform the final liturgy binding them together, Brock had used
the time to cleanse himself of the layers of caked mud and grime and after
shaving and donning a clean set of BDU's, he had returned and now stood
there atop the dais, alone with Danal Cornelius nervously awaiting the
return of Atticus Walker.

"That's quite the get up you got on there Danal." Brock posited bemusedly,
giving the elder a lilting sneer and casual wink.

Danal eyed him up and down: "We all wear costumes my boy, as a famous drag
queen once observed "We're all born naked and the rest is drag", no truer
words were ever spoken."  Danal returned his wink with a playful jab at his
belly and a hearty laugh.

Brock laughed with him, thankful for the minor distraction and the breaking
of the awkward silence between them: "Is there anything I should know
before Atticus gets here?" he queried, hearing the slight anxiety exhibited
in his own voice and knowing Danal most assuredly had picked up on it as
well.

Brock was a little taken aback when Danal started giggling, a mirth-some
twinkle in his eyes that Brock mistook for mockery: "Sure, laugh it up, ya
know, I could still say no."

Danal laughed even louder, reaching over and placed a hand on Brock's
shoulder and gave him a reassuring squeeze: "My jovial mood isn't meant as
sarcasm toward you my boy, you are going to be just fine." Danal smiled
lecherously at Brock, followed by another wink: "It's the apprehensive
consternation of your intended I find humorous."

The confused look that filled Brock's facial features voiced his confusion
far better than the words he was still trying to postulate before Danal
concluded observationally: "You don't get it do you?" He said, more as a
statement than a question, before asking: "Why do you think it's taking him
so long to return?"

Brock didn't have the slightest clue, but the question was valid it wasn't
like Atticus had to scrape and scrub a thick layer of dried mud from his
entire body and for that matter where was everyone else, where were his
other ten teammates?

"I don't know..." He mused sardonically: "Maybe he got a run in his
stockings or he can't find a purse to match his shoes."

Danal just smiled back at him, shaking his head, giving his shoulder one
more hard squeeze before releasing him: "You really don't understand do
you?" Danal postulated, before continuing: "Your encounters with Max and
Carl afford you a level of experience in what to expect from one of the
Heritage does it not, or even with men in general?"

Brock considered his words for an instant before it registered what he was
actually implying: "Are you saying Atticus has never been with another guy
before and now he's nervous?"

Danal chuckled, his eyes locked with Brock's: "Clearly Max left a few gaps
in your education about those within the Heritage."

It was at that moment Brock could clearly hear the steady marching
footfalls coming from behind him and knew without looking, who was now
approaching.

Danal and Brock continued to stare at one another, the mirth never leaving
the elders eyes: "You are partially correct, but his inexperience isn't
limited to just one gender."

He didn't know if his jaw had actually dropped open or not, but
proverbially he felt it must have hit the ground below him as he hesitantly
posited: "Are you saying Atticus is a virgin?!"

The broad Cheshire cat grin that spread across Danals' face, ear to ear,
left absolutely no doubt he had nailed it and as he gulped down a sharp
intake of air, he turned to face the procession just now clearing the path
and entering the Ceremonial grounds of the Devil Dawg Compound.

All this time Brock had thought that this was somehow a set up by Max
Donnelly in which he, Brock Gryzinski was being offered up as some sort of
gift to Atticus Walker, nothing more than the passing of goods from one
owner to another, but Danal's revelation now changed his entire perception,
that despite the outcome of the hunt earlier, it was now clear, that as the
night progressed it would be up to him to take charge of this situation and
see it through to its logical conclusion and that Atticus, though the
winner of the great hunt and soon to be voice for the both of them, was
also a blank slate to write upon, to mold and shape and build a
relationship with, his life experiences making him the guide in their
shared existence.

"Max you crafty bastard," Brock thought to himself, his own face now
covered in a broad grin as he watched the marching procession approach the
dais.

Brock felt a sudden twinge in his crotch at seeing them draw nearer; there
were few sights in the world that affected him as much as this, all ten of
his teammates were formally attired in their Dress Blues, they marched in
dual columns with a similarly attired Atticus Walker between them, the
light of the twin torches reflected off their brass pips and buttons, each
man meticulously dressed to precise Marine Corps specifications until they
reached the bottom steps of the dais and a lone Atticus Walker ascended
until he stood officiously by his side, only offering the briefest of head
turns to momentarily lock eyes with Brock before turning to Danal and
assuming a full parade rest acknowledging his readiness to begin.

Brock did his best to suppress his mounting lust for the uniformed giant
beside him while simultaneously feeling grossly under dressed for the
Ceremony at hand, regretting his failure to foresee a need to pack his own
Dress Blues.

Thankfully Danal made a quick start to the final ceremony by once again
beginning with the ancient greeting of Salve and the entire group responded
with the traditional Salevete.  "Brothers of the Heritage..." Danal began,
his arms raised, hands extended, palm up: "Let all bear witness to the
final rights of the Coaptandas, the joining of two into one." Danal reached
down and took Atticus' right hand and turned him toward Brock, then did the
same with Brock, until both men faced each other, their right hands clasped
together.

Brock and Atticus locked eyes, staring intently into each other's gaze
barely aware of Danal binding their two hands together with a cord of soft
braided leather and then anointing their foreheads once again with his
index finger, dipped in scented oil.

Danal covered their joined hands with his own and announcing: "Et qui habet
aures audiendi audiat me, factum est, Let those with ears hear me now, it
is done."

Brock watched in fascination as Danal reached over and flipped the lid to
the long white oblong box that Brock himself had brought, finally revealing
to Brock it's contents. Inside there were two long cords composed of a long
rod of bronze metal braided with two leather strips, each rod ended with a
small ornate ball with a hook at each end.

Danal removed the first one and turned to Brock, reaching up with the rod
until it was behind his neck, Danal's hands clasping it firmly on either
side of his head, before commanding in the ancient tongue "subicio"
(submit)

Brock stared him in the eye passively as Danal began to bend the metal,
leather woven bar around his neck until the two hooked ends met and clasped
together in a near perfectly conforming circular torque; once accomplished
Danal gave the ends a final twist with his hands forcing the metal hooks to
seal and thus lock in place forever.

After repeating the same process with Atticus, Danal freed their hands and
held them both up over their heads and declared loudly: "Duo in carne uno,
two become one!"

Both men smiled as their teammate erupted in cheers and rushed up the steps
to encircle them, each hugging them in turn and patting them on their backs
or giving them a playful smack on the ass.

After a few moments, Danal clasped his hands on their shoulders and drew
their heads in close to his and speaking loud enough for all gathered to
hear: "Max has graciously extended the use of his cabin to the both of you
so that you may consummate this union, you are relieved of all other duties
until Monday morning and I do not want to see either of you again until
then."

With a roar and numerous ohh-rahs, their teammates gathered around them
dragging them from the dais and quickly escorted them from the ceremonial
grounds right up to the front door of the cabin and herding them both in,
Scott Taylor and Barin Young took up guard position on either side of the
door and before closing it, Cpl. Scott Taylor instructed them that their
every need had been set up and provided for inside and that the team would
take turns standing guard for the next two days and nights to make sure
they were not interrupted, before pulling the door shut leaving the two of
them alone, staring awkwardly at each other.

As they stood there silently Brock noticed the cooler and and a couple of
grocery bags sitting on the counter that separated the kitchen and main
room: "Shall we check out what kinda goodies they left us?" Brock suggested
as he walked past Atticus and started poking through the bags: "I don't
know about you, I haven't eaten since breakfast and I'm starving." he
concluded, giving Atticus a brief sideways glance as he pulled out a
package of hoagie buns from one of the bags and then flipping the lid of
the cooler and hauling out a package of assorted luncheon meats.  "Now that
ya mention it..." Atticus noted in his deep southern twang, a smile
spreading across his handsome face: "I haven't either and my bellies been
rumbling for hours."

As Brock set about making a few overly stuffed hoagies, Atticus grabbed a
large bag of chips, a package of chocolate chip cookies and a couple of
beers from the cooler and began spreading the items out for them across the
counter before sitting down on one of the bar stools.

After completing the hoagies, Brock pulled one of the stools up next to
Atticus and took a seat beside him: "Don't be getting no ideas about me
becoming some housewife who spends all day in the kitchen cookin', 'cause
this is the extent of my culinary skills." Brock stated, a bit more
authoritative sounding than he intended and attempting to diffuse it by
giving Atticus a half smile and a playful wink.

Atticus just smiled back at him: "See'in as we don't have a kitchen that
shouldn't be a prob" he chuckled, before adding: "But even if we did, I
wouldn't mind do'in it, I did most of the cookin' for my pap paw and me
when I went to live with him after my parents died."

Brock already knew about Atticus' parents untimely death in a car crash
when he was still just a kid and that it had been his grandfather who
raised him and even got him through his Heritage ceremony, he had made it a
point to read the bio's and stats on all the men he would be training with.

Brock was about to make a comment, when he noticed Atticus lift his hoagie
to take a bite, Brock reached over and took hold of his forearm blocking
him from doing so: "Are you really willing to take the risk of soiling your
uniform jarhead?"

Atticus stared back at him as he lowered the sandwich, watching intently as
Brock reached over and started unbuttoning his dress blouse, then standing
to move behind him and help slip the near skin tight jacket from his arms
and shoulders before carefully laying it across the countertop; Brock
smiled inwardly noting he had not worn a T-shirt underneath and now sat
there bare chested, a sight Brock stood there admiring for a few seconds
before returning to his seat beside him.

"Do I have your permission to keep my pants on while we eat?" He queried
jovially: "Or will you be removing those as well?" He chuckled again
winking at him mischievously.

Brock sneered back at him: "You can keep 'em for now, but don't be
surprised in the future if I make a no clothes rule anytime we're home."

A serious expression crossed Atticus' face before responding: "We don't
have a home and I don't recall us having had a discussion about
cohabitating either."

Brock locked eyes with him, not sure that what he just heard was made in
jest or not, before responding sternly: "Then I see no reason why we should
be spending the night together Corporal, we'll finish our meal and I'll
return to my tent and you can return to yours". Brock turned away from him
and started consuming his hoagie, fully aware that Atticus was still
staring at him but completely ignoring his presence.

A few moments passed before Atticus spoke again: "We have to spend the
night together, the Coaptandas isn't valid unless we consummate the
ceremony."

The tone in Atticus' voice seemed far more measured and calculated to
Brock, like they would just be performing some ritual to seal the deal, a
mere physical act devoid of any other purpose than the completion of some
task.

Brock continued to eat, still refusing to make eye contact with him and
coldly responding: "A hand shake is legally binding as far as intent goes
for any business transaction in the state of Georgia, I see no need to
complicate things further, after all..." Brock turned his head to stare
solemnly right into Atticus's glaring eyes: "This is not a marriage, it's a
joining of two people for the sole purpose of unifying two different
groups, you don't need to fuck to do that and I have absolutely no
intention of doing so with someone whose only goal is to conclude a
business arrangement."

Brock could visibly see Atticus' previous analytical glare shift into a
full on disapproving, glowering scowl, he realized that things were about
to go from bad to worse: "The Codex is quite clear about the definition of
consummation Gryzinski and it ain't a handshake." Atticus' voice, though
still subdued, had the hint of a growing growl behind it as his gaze now
nearly burned into his own.

"Ya know what Walker..." Brock began, his own voice cold, precise, cutting
like a surgeon's scalpel as he slipped from the stool to stand momentarily,
defiantly returning Atticus' stare: "This is not what was presented to me
by either you or Danal and I see no reason, since we haven't "Sealed the
Deal" so to speak...." Brock practically spat the last words at Atticus
before concluding: " I see no reason to continue this fucking farce." Brock
turned and walked toward the cabin door, becoming more angry with every
step he took before a loud thud came from behind him; Brock whirled around
to confront a now standing Atticus Walker, his eyes to flaming emeralds,
burning white hot in his direction, his stool now laying across the floor
where it fell a few feet away: "We both wear the torque of the Coaptandas,
what has been done cannot be UNDONE!"

Atticus boomed the last word and slammed his fist on the countertop with
another loud thud that threatened to buckle and splinter the hard wood
surface.

Brock's calm demeanor didn't waiver as he responded in a matter of fact
tone: "I have a pair of wire cutters in my tool kit over at the Lodge that
can easily remedy that."

Without so much as a pause, Brock pivoted back toward the door and opened
it and walked past the two surprised Marines who stood guard at the cabin
door.

He had no sooner cleared the porch steps when he heard the lumbering steps
of Atticus Walker following directly behind him, even matching his
quickening pace as he approached the units bivouac.

He completely ignored a confused looking Danal Cornelius as he stood from
the seated position he had at the campfire to watch him charge into his
tent.

Brock angrily began stuffing his personal effects into his rucksack and
duffel bag ignoring the somewhat heated exchange going on outside his tent
between Atticus and Danal though tacitly aware of it at the same time; he
was just about finished when he saw Danal standing at the entrance to his
tent a look of concern written across his countenance, his normally jovial
eyes now eschewing a thinly veiled trepidation: "May we speak Brock?" he
asked almost diminutively, caution hanging from every syllable he uttered.

Brock barely looked at him as he continued to zip up his rucksack, offering
only a mild grunt of approval watching from the corner of his vision as he
entered his tent, noticing the absence of his ceremonial garb and now being
attired in his usual bluejeans and green plaid button up shirt: "Whatever
you have to say, say it quickly because in a few minutes my ass is hitting
the road and heading home." He announced more coldly than he actually
intended, but meaning every word of it.

Danal just looked at him, his face still full of concern: "And what do you
think Max will say about that?" It was a logical question, since Max was
the one who issued his transfer here, something Brock now had every
intention of contesting once he made it back to base, certain that his
service record and skillset would garner him any post he wanted, regardless
of how much he respected Max Donnelly, he didn't own him and Brock made
that perfectly clear to Danal, concluding heatedly that he wasn't a piece
of ass to be passed around from one person to the next.

He continued to vent his anger and frustration at Danal for a few minutes,
while Danal quickly realized that what was at the core of his rantings was
his disappointment and a growing feeling of rejection by Atticus.

As Brock finished up and stood there expectantly staring at Danal awaiting
a response and steeling himself for the rebuke he was certain would come,
he was surprised to hear him giggle as a smile spread across his age lined
face, made even more mirth-some by his full silver beard and his twinkling
light blue eyes.

Brock was just about to give him an angry retort when Danal stepped forward
and clasp his right hand in his and pulled it up to his chest, clutching it
close to his own heart: "I apologize Brock, sometimes I forget that those
outside the Heritage don't hear what we hear, or see what we see or smell
what we smell..."

Danal looked intently at him, there was no mockery in either his words or
jovial gaze: "Do you remember what I told you about Atticus right before he
took his place by your side earlier?" He queried, pausing for his
response. Brock considered for a second before haltingly uttering: "You
told me he was a virgin, I fail to see how that correlates with his actions
at the cabin."

Danal's response was careful and measured, Brock almost felt like a child
being instructed by an adult: "Allow me to explain..." Danal began, his
grip on Brock's hand tightening slightly: "For the last four years, since
his Heritage ceremony, Atticus has done what few do, he has kept himself
physically pure in the hopes that he would find his place within the
Heritage, two years of that has been under Max's tutelage and mentor-ship,
in his heart he sees an end to that long wait coming in less than one weeks
time."

Brock's brain synaptically sifted through his available data, logically
concluding that Danal was speaking about Billy's upcoming Heritage
ceremony: "Are you suggesting this thing that's going to happen to Billy
will somehow also affect Atticus?" Brock asked questioningly.

"Not just Atticus.." Danal swept his free hand broadly, indicating the
entire camp, a joyful merriment beaming proudly from his now ethereal gaze.

For the second time that evening, Brock was certain his chin had hit the
floor at his sudden realization: "Are you saying they are all virgins and
what...."he paused, thinking it was too incredulous to take in: "That they
are all saving themselves for Max's kid?"

Danal's squeezing hand confirmed his suspicions without vocalizing them,
pausing long enough for Brock to process it all: "You know how things work
within the Heritage, does that really come as such a surprise?" Danal let
go if Brock's hand and placed his arm around his shoulder: "Belonging is
ingrained in who we are and for those who are part of the Heritage but
denied a life or place within it, is almost unbearable."

Brock thought about it from his own perspective, it was like his own
family, knowing full well the reason he had never come out as gay was his
fear of their rejection and ultimately his ostricization from all those he
had grown up with and called family and suddenly realizing Atticus had no
one, even his grandfather had passed away shortly after his Ceremony and
that most of the guys here had simular situations and were here now with
much the same hope as Atticus.

Like a light turning on in his head, Brock had a disquieting thought:
"Atticus is afraid of being intimate with me isn't he?" he queried, turning
to face Danal, staring dubiously into his eyes: "He's also afraid if he
does he will be somehow betraying Billy or at least limiting his chances at
attaining an active role within the Heritage?"

Danal didn't say a word, he didn't need too, Brock saw it all clearly now,
he saw right through Atticus' earlier behavior and now knew exactly what he
needed to do, with a quick knowing glance and nod at Danal, Brock headed
out of the tent and marched right up to Atticus Walker and grabbed him by
the arm and pulled him along, heading back toward the cabin: "Time to put
up or shut up Walker, 'cause whether you like it or not, your stuck with me
now!"

Upon their return to the cabin, Brock ushered Atticus in before him,
shutting and locking the door himself before turning to face the big
Marine.

Atticus stood there, arms folded over his still bare chest a contemplative
look of disdain written in his expressions and body language; Brock knew
the signs of a man that was about to assert himself or in this case, issue
some command and Brock decided he wasn't having any of it: "Let me make
something perfectly clear..." He began, staring down Atticus as he drew
nearer to him, until he was less than four feet away: "We are going to
consummate this dumbass ritual and when I'm done breaking you in..." Brock
closed the distance between them and grabbed the buckle of Atticus' belt
and flipped it open: "You are going to march your ass over to the bivouac
and move your gear into my tent where we will be staying until we acquire
more suitable accommodations."

Brock paused for a second, looking directly up into Atticus' eyes as he
yanked the belt loose from it's buckle: "Got any questions so far
Corporal?"

Atticus glowered down at him, his eyes burning with tenacity and finally
finding his voice: "You forget whose in charge here Grysinski."

Despite the air of authority in which he spoke, Brock smiled up at him, a
smile both disarming and cocky at the same time as he jabbed his right
index finger into Walkers hairy chest: "I had a discussion with Danal
earlier about something you said to me on the beach about me being in
charge when we are alone and in our home.."

Brock turned around and walked over to the leather coach in the middle of
the great room and sat down, draping his arm casually over the back before
once again locking eyes with Atticus: "Danal confirmed that indeed I am in
charge when we are alone and in our home..."

Brock could see the brooding response building in Atticus and knew exactly
what his response was going to be and deciding to head him off before he
could voice a single objection: "Before you say it, know this, as Marines
our home is where we lay our head down at night, and for all intent and
purpose, at least for the next couple of days, this is our home and you are
bound by the Coaptandas to obey me while we're in it..."

Brock paused for a second, letting the weight of his words work their magic
as Atticus' expressions took on a more conflicted grimace as he internally
debated his alternatives and realizing his choices were limited and his
options even fewer.

Brock smiled to himself, thinking the great hunt hadn't ended in the
parking lot of the Devil Dawg compound an hour ago with his capture, the
final victory was his and it was here and now he would claim his prize:
"Strip Marine" Brock commanded, a lecherous grin spreading across his face
as he eyed the big hairy Corporal up and down, licking his lips and feeling
like a little kid at Christmas opening his gifts and anxiously wondering
what he would find underneath the pretty colorful wrappings.

If Brock had expected further resistance from Atticus, he didn't get it,
evidenced by the smug grin that spread across the big Marines face as he
unfastened the top button of his dress blues trousers and slowly unzipped
his fly: "Be careful what you wish for Gryzinski, you may get more than you
bargained for." Atticus exclaimed, his voice low and guttural as he hooked
his thumbs inside the waistband of his pants and slowly began lowering them
to the floor, removing his shoes, socks and trousers.

Atticus now stood completely naked before Brock, who looked on
appraisingly, admiring his stunning physicality, Brock first found himself
comparing him to Max, in part because of their, equal height and of course
their ruggedly handsome good looks and their hirsute bodies, but when it
came to muscularity, Brock had seldom seen anyone comparable to Atticus,
the man looked like he was carved from stone, every muscle on his body
seemed to stand in relief, even the denseness of his auburn body fur did
little to mask the striated perfection underneath, the only noticeable
defect in his masculine beauty was the slight offset of his nose bridge,
the obvious result of a poorly set previous breakage, but for Brock, even
that added to his masculine appeal.

Atticus stood there proudly displaying his magnificent body to Brock, his
fist planted firmly on his hips, his eyes burning embers highlighting his
growing, lustful desires; it was true, he had allowed his judgement to
become clouded earlier with his intended, his thoughts torn between his
desire to secure for himself and his men, their rightful place within the
Heritage, a place that was solely dependent on the outcome of Max's son
Billy's ceremony less than a week away and the growing attraction he felt
ever since he first laid sight on Brock Gryzinski and caught the sweet
scent of honey and freshly dug earth, that he and others of the Heritage
found so alluring.

Brock too felt this attraction and though he found many men attractive he
realized long ago, after Max had made him aware of those within the
Heritage, that he had a heightened attraction for those of the Heritage; he
didn't know if that was more a physical or psychological reaction, but
ultimately deciding it didn't really matter, it was what it was, he had
wasted enough of his life fighting his natural inclinations until Max
helped free him from his self imposed exile from his true nature.

All of Brock's commiserations came to an abrupt halt as his gaze fell, for
the first time, on the thick flaccid appendage between Atticus' hairy,
thick thighs, almost doing a comical double take as he took it all in;
though apparently completely limp, the organ hung a good eight to nine
inches and had to be at least as thick as Max's fully erect cock.

Like all those within the Heritage, Atticus was uncircumcised though the
large tip of his manhood, exposing his pisslit, protruding past the thick
folds of his prepuce to dangle erotically over his large, ovaled, tight
hairy ballsack.

Motioning for Atticus to draw nearer, Brock found himself gulping as his
mouth began watering in anticipation watching the huge organ flop side to
side as Atticus drew closer, closing the gap between them until his phallus
was nearly eye level to Brock's seated position, mere inches from his face.

Brock's mounting lust, seethed behind his eyes as he looked up into
Atticus', whose face contorted into a lurid sneer as he became suddenly
aware that he was about to experience for the first time, that which he
had, up until now, only dreamed and fantasized about.

"Like what ya see faggot?" Atticus growled, the low raspy rumble of his
voice emphasizing the burning passion behind his eyes as his large
calloused hand came up to gently stroke the smooth skin of Brock's left
cheek, while his thumb slowly traced and caressed the fullness of Brock's
pouting lips.

"Let's see if ya still feel that way after I bone up" Atticus snickered,
while using his other hand to grasp the base of his dong and began slapping
the other side of Brock's face with it.

Limp it was easily as thick as Max's fully erect, wrist thick cock and
Atticus' heavy bloated balls were at least half again as big as Max's,
looking very much like his sack was stuffed with a large orange covered in
thick, wiry reddish brown hair.

Brock watched, mesmerized, as the already huge organ began to lengthen and
expand, slowly engorging with blood, his eyes grew wider in astonishment as
it pulsed and jerked sporadically, growing to mammoth proportions in its
inexorable, expanding journey upward until finally standing fully erect,
nearly perpendicular to his fur covered chest.

Gulping uncontrollably, Brock marveled at the wondrously monstrous cock
that stood before him, filling and exceeding any fantasy or expectation he
could have ever dreamed of.

Max was big, Brock thought to himself but the thing pulsating and throbbing
before him nearly dwarfed it in comparison, from the top of his balls to
the tip of his uncircumcised crown, Atticus' dick had to measure at least
fourteen inches in length and most amazing of all, the meaty girth of the
thing had to exceed the circumference of a coke can; without even trying to
encompass it with his hand, Brock knew there was no way his fingers and
thumb could meet around it; thicker still was the huge, bulbous helmet
shaped head, that thinly stretched his foreskin tightly around the glans,
leaving only the very tip protruding from his prepuce, Brock estimated the
size of the the thing to be at least comparable to a large granny smith
apple and would more than span the entirety of the palm of his hand.

As Brock stared up wantonly into Atticus' eyes, he felt Atticus' large
meaty hand clasp the back of his head and pull him into his large bloated
hairy balls, Brock's tongue instinctively slipped past his lips and began
swabbing the prodigious orbs with his wet slavering tongue, coating them
profusely with his saliva and mucus.

Their eyes locked in passion, Brock began moving upward, licking and
sucking, from the bottom of his balls up to the base of his veiny shaft,
eliciting deep, continuous, guttural moans from the hairy muscular giant,
watching in fascination as a pea sized droplet appeared over the crest of
his flanging glans to drip like candle wax over his frenulum and down the
wide protruding tube of his corpus spongiosum where Brock's flicking tongue
and pursing lips sucked up the succulent tart nectar into his hungry mouth,
an action that only made him more ravenous for the viscous liquid.

Brock's oral ministrations led him penultimately to the broad flaring tip
of Atticus' glans where his tongue dipped rapaciously into his seeping
urethra, lapping up the oozing juices and savoring the rich sweet manly
sap.

Atticus half expected Brock's upward sojourn would end with him trying to
engulf his manhood and suckle him into ecstasy, but was surprised when his
lips moved from his glans and continued the upward trek, moistening the
hairy flesh of his sternum and driving upward as he tongued the cleft
between his massive slab like pectorals, his body rising from the couch and
sliding against his as he did so, his arms trying to encircle his broad
back, kneading and caressing his skin sensuously.

Brock's wet tongue raked across his neck and adams apple, swirled around
his chin before ultimately moving in to plant his lips firmly against
Atticus'.  As Brock's lips touch Atticus' he felt him turn his head away,
pulling back and taking a step backward effectively separating their bodies
and bringing his hands up to Brock's shoulders holding him at arms length
before saying: "I'm not all that sure I'm into all that lovey dovey kissy
kiss faggy shit buddy."

Atticus' sudden change in attitude took a moment to register with Brock,
initially ignoring his protest and swooping in attempting to reengage their
lip lock, but as Atticus' lips remained taut and closed, Brock pulled away,
his lustful gaze shifting into a questioning grimace: "You've got to be
fucking kidding me!?" Brock practically spat at him, before giving Atticus
a hard shove away from him.

"You've picked a fine time to let me know your a homophobic prick, asshole"
Brock fumed, brushing past Atticus and walking over to the cooler on the
counter and retrieving a cold can of beer, flipping the top and downing the
entire content, trying to calm his nerves and his rising temper.

Atticus turned to face him, his gaze dropping down toward the floor after
seeing the seething anger written on Brock's handsome face as he now
glowered seethingly at him.

"I'm not homophobic Brock, I'm just not use to this level of intimacy
between men" Atticus managed to stammer, attempting but failing several
times to make and keep eye contact with Brock, his body shifting its weight
nervously from foot to foot, reminding Brock of a scolded boy.

"Would you feel the same way if I was a woman?" Brock shot back, certain he
knew the outcome of this conversation before another word was uttered, but
totally unprepared for Atticus' timid and unusually passive response: "I
will never know, since I will never be with a woman."

Atticus' confession hit Brock like a slap to the face and as bad as that
made him feel it's what he revealed next that sent Brock's mind into a
spiral of conflicting thoughts: "None of the team ever will if everything
goes as we hope at Max's sons ceremony."

The dichotomy of the situation left Brock stunned, the forlorness of what
he was saying opposed to almost joyous exuberance encapsulated in the
hopeful optimistic outcome of Billy's Heritage ceremony, rocked his senses.

Max had told him much about the Heritage and about those like Atticus and
the team it left as outcast.

Brock gave himself a mental kick in the pants, knowing what all these guys
have been through, how who they were left limited options open to them and
here he was bitchin' and moanin' about a simple kiss and concluding that if
Atticus needed time to adjust, then all he needed to do was be a little
patient, and judging by the obvious response of his libido to Brock's own
desires, he was now equally certain the adjustment period would be
negligible, after all, Brock noted, despite the tenseness of the situation,
Atticus still had a raging boner.

"Okay tough guy..." Brock stated, walking toward Atticus, his mood shifting
again as his thoughts returned to the prodigious phallus pulsating a few
feet away, beckoning for attention: "We'll put the training wheels on this
ride until you find your big boy pants and man up."

The wicked smile that crossed Atticus' face at his jest made Brock all the
more certain, that his little adjustment period wasn't going to take long,
nope... it wasn't gonna take long at all.