La-Bastille

Verse Un - Dominic Reinhardt

PROVISO: From this chapter forward, I’m making the decision to switch this book to an R rating. Sorry. I’m a Romance writer. And I can’t leave that out of the equation when I write. It just has to be a part of my writing. You should know that by now. Lol. So kids, please, avert your eyes. And just wait for the next chapter that I will write. Thanks.

Verse Un – Dominic Reinhardt

I’m falling back into my bad habits. And my bad habits aggravate my frustrations. What I crave and long for is love everlasting. A love so pure that not even death can destroy it.

—Dominic Reinhardt, Academy Patrolling Officer, La Bastille 2089 AP

He can’t remember the last time he was naked in bed. And right now he’s too drunk to remember anything at all.

His soldier boots occupied the right side of the landing, a pair of kid-sized chino boots listed on the step below his.

His feral moans carry through the air as he sinks himself into another boy stupid enough to fall for his charms.

With a moan of grudging surrender, the boy presses his palms flat against Dominic’s chest, willing the beastly man to at least take a shower to wash the smell of sunrise and dried sweat.

With a grunt, Dominic grabs the boy’s wrists and pulls them over the young man’s head. No amount of squirming can free the boy from the hands of a big, muscular soldier.

“Dominic, when are you going to tell my brother about us?”

“There is no us,” Dom grunts, bucking his hips.

“Just please, promise that you’ll take me away from him. I don’t want to be with him. I want to be with you.”

“You’re gonna get me into trouble. And what will I tell him huh?” Dom’s losing his patience. He dislikes mixing s*x with conversation.

“That you’re fʊcking his fifteen-year-old kin. I don’t see a problem with that. And please, please tell him that you’re taking full responsibility of me.”

“I hate your brother. I’ve hated him ever since he made that foul move to get me kicked off the ranks of the squadron. I will always hate him. Always have and always will. I’m not telling him shít about us!”

“But—”

“No buts! We talked about this. Don’t make me angry.”

The boy starts to cry.

Dom’s hands are large, calloused, the hands of a workingman. And he uses them to shut the boy up. And even if the boy refuses to admit, he is intrigued by what Dom’s big hands can do to his much smaller body.

A body to fʊck to make me feel whole again, Dom thinks as he withdraws and rubs their private parts together.

The young boy gasps at the feeling of their hard, throbbing members making contact. The friction is maddening, and it makes the boy cling to Dominic like Dom’s an experience of a lifetime he will never have again. And right after tonight it might be the case, because Dom dislikes chatty, clingy s*x partners.

Dominic rests his forehead onto the boy’s. A boy he can’t even remember the name of.

“What’s your name again?”

“Etro.”

“Shut up, Etro.” Dom growls as he plunges back in, making Etro buck his hips in surprised pain at the ripping sensation of Dom’s hard length punishing him; penetrating, parting, scorching his soul from within.

Dom grinds his hips, burying himself deeper in an abyss of sensation deep within the depths of Etro’s clenching passageway.

“Aaaahh…it hurts.”

Dom opens his eyes to Etro’s protest, his sheen of perspiration pooling between their foreheads, “Ugh…” he pulls himself up slightly, withdrawing partway to allow Etro some time to breathe and gather his senses.

Dom rests on his elbows bracketing Etro’s face. Both of them breathing raggedly. After a couple beats he sinks once again, making Etro gasp at the spearing pain that shoots through his body. The poor boy wraps his arms around Dominic’s back, crying his heart’s desire as he tightens his legs around Dominic’s waist.

Dom tries to concentrate on his movement but he can’t. He sees Etro’s imploring eyes bore into him, digging through his soul, begging him to love him back but he can’t, because he doesn’t want to.

Dom clenches his jaw, “Don’t.”

“What?”

“Don’t look at me like that.”

Etro’s heart clenches as he sees no expression in Dom’s eyes. Nothing. Not even a sliver of hope that he cares just as much. There is no shared emotion between them other than the hot physical connection they are making between their bodies. And that thought makes Etro sad.

“Dominic. Do I repulse you?”

“Huh?” Dom slows his frantic movement, “What a silly thing to say.”

Not entirely a silly thing to say, especially when the one being used is fast developing feelings towards the user.

Dominic grinds his teeth as Etro squeezes his lower muscles. All Etro can see on top of him is a hungry man in a drunken stupor, unwilling to open up and share his emotions.

Dominic buries his head into the space between Etro’s shoulders as he picks up the movement, slowing down when he feels himself near.

“Etro, I uh…am I hurting you?”

The boy shakes his head and smiles. But inside he feels dejected. He tells himself that Dom is just refusing to get too close. Etro is not entirely sure if he’s fine with that, but it would have been nice if Dominic was to show a little more interest so he will not feel like s*x is all they have.

Etro pulls Dom’s face in his hands, “Do I make you happy?” Etro asks, tears in his eyes.

“Of course,” the affirmation doesn’t match the face, “Let’s stop talking, please.”

“Okay,” Etro smiles.

Dominic tries his best to mirror the boy’s smile. But it feels uncomfortable. His facial muscles unused to the motion, let alone the emotion.

The boy wants to make love. But there’s no love in the way Dominic is pounding him.

They go into several different positions. And each time is more painful than the last for the young boy. And with each thrust, Etro feels a sharp stab of pain, not just in his rear, but also in his poor heart.

The used condoms dripping with semen are piling in the trash bin at an alarming rate. And if the boy has any respect left for himself he has to stop this madness. He has to stop seeing Dominic after this one last time, because Dom, with his stamina of a raging Atticus—a mantis-like automaton—he will never stop fʊcking the boy till he becomes a chasm of emptiness…a deep emotional void.

The boy cries into the pillow as Dom penetrates him from behind; twisting, flipping, and working Etro’s exhausted, lanky body till every extended limb is the consistency of jelly.

The boy, in his ignorance, thinks that their connection is 80% love and 20% lust. But he’s fooling himself. To Dominic, this is a hundred percent fʊck…fʊcking, just fʊcking, and nothing more.

The unyielding tightness of inexperienced youth squeezes Dom as he sinks his manhood deep into penetrating the helpless boy.

Dominic puts his whole body into Etro’s s*x to breach the tight ring of muscle which makes Etro scream and cry his body’s inability to accept the well-endowed penetration.

The boy tries hard to communicate his pain. But Dom is lost.

All Dom can sense is the harsh breathing of protest in his ear, nails scratching lines down the skin of his back, and the constant squirming of Etro’s virginal body that tells him the boy can only take so much.

He quickly sinks all the way in and pulls just as fast, the pleasurable withdrawal and intrusion makes him deaf in the ears to the pain Etro is crying out. All that matters to Dom is whether or not he can get to five more minutes of thrusting without coming apart.

Surely if he comes in a minute then he might as well have just jacked off, instead of penetrating another person’s body, like this hopelessly-romantic and feeble boy.

An orgy of sensation fills Dom’s body as he pounds into the abused boy. He feels a strong buzzing along his shaft as the pleasure swarms his groin, making him hungrier with each thrust, craving sweet release that he’s been denying himself for days, making his balls blue, ripe, and very much ready for an explosion.

“I’m going to come.”

Those words Dom can hear as he turns Etro to fʊck him like a dog. He wraps his big arms around the boy’s waist and pounds away to reach his climax.

With his left palm, fingers spread over the mattress for support, Etro reaches down with his right hand, grabbing himself between his trembling legs, jerking himself to completion, wanting to come just as hard as Dom who is frantic and wild like an animal behind him, lost as he bucks his hips messily with every pounding thrust.

With a stabbing howl, Etro comes, shooting his load onto the sheets, spilling his frustrations for a love he knows he will never have.

Dominic tightens his arms around Etro’s waist, putting all his weight into his final thrusts. And with one sharp stab he detonates, filling the bulb of the condom that is heavily-sacked within Etro’s tender, throbbing hole.

With no affection and desire to cuddle, Dominic pulls out, throwing his legs off the bed to stand up.

He bends at the waist, picks up his soiled underwear and pulls it up snug against his balls to wrap the garter around the waist.

With a few light taps on his open palm, he pushes his swollen díck inside his underwear and walks near the balcony. He picks up a pack of cigarettes along the way and pulls a stem, lighting it and at the same time hallowing his cheeks for a drag, “See your way out. Don’t let anybody see you,” he says without looking at the boy he just wasted.

Etro didn’t say anything. His words are trumped by the pain of rejection in his heart.

He grabs and gathers his clothes, shaking to the bone, shrugging on whatever looks presentable down his body, and then pads his way forlorn unattended to the door.

The door slams shut with a resounding smack, and it leaves Dominic with a feeling of emptiness and hatred for himself.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers as the butt of the cigarette burns with an orange glow.

He drains the stem, reducing it into ashes, and then throws the butt into the air.

He hunches over the balcony overlooking La Bastille, his elbows leaning against the marble for support as he wipes a lone tear in his eye with the back of his hand.

His fingers rake his scalp, and then he smacks his forehead, a forehead with a raised hairline that makes him look older than he actually is.

He wrinkles his nose. The kind of Phoenician nose that is wide from the bridge going down the stem, and right below the nostrils is a furrow that is deeply grooved, meeting an upper lip that’s close to a duck lip but not so much. It’s slightly upturned and just right for kissing.

Deep-set eyes with a sun-burnt Irish complexion. Charming and appealing. Like an animal tamer who has gone wild. He looks like a handsome Neanderthal with a toned body, broad shoulders, and a flat stomach.

Physical attributes that make Dominic Reinhardt. An Academy Patrolling Officer. A lonely man. A man who doesn’t know love.