According to Parker, the urinal cake incident is only the second to worst thing Brett did to ruin his life. First, he destroyed his family.

The last time Parker saw his mom, he was coming home from school while she was hauling two large suitcases into her van. His dad was running across the lawn, shouting expletives at her in a bathrobe and flip-flops while he walked in the front door unnoticed.

His mom threw the suitcases into the trunk and slammed it shut. "You told me to move out, so I'm moving out! What more do you want from me?"

His dad shouted back, "I didn't really want you to leave! I wanted you to fight for us!"

"Stay? Go? Make up your damn mind, Hank!"

"If you stay, do you promise not to fuck our neighbor's son again?"

"I had four orgasms in one night!"

"See?" He threw up his hands, gesturing to her. "You don't bother deny—!"

"Four, Hank! Four! That's four more than I've had our entire fucking marriage!"

"What about when we made our son?"

His mom laughed hysterically. Doors were slammed, then she yelled, "Goodbye, Hank!"

A minute later, her red minivan zoomed down the street, never to return. The writing may have been on the wall for a divorce, but Parker blames Brett for destroying his family. And so does Hank. That's why Parker chose eight to meet up. He had to make sure his father was long gone off to work before inviting a home-wrecker back into his home.

*****

The doorbell rings and Parker races to answer it, shirtless. He decided it'd be less awkward than having to take one off in front of Brett, thinking ahead to lunch-making.

Brett bursts out laughing as he shoves past him, barging his way inside and slamming the door behind him.

"What's so funny?" Parker asks, defensively.

Brett waves him off as they head into the kitchen. "Oh, nothing."

"Just say it."

"It's just, your chest, it's so small and smooth and you have wide, child-bearing hips like your mom," Brett replies, each word saturated with laughter, "I mean, look at those pointy things. They have horns." He shamelessly grabs Parker's hips, but there's nothing romantic about it. "Take a corner too sharp and you'll carve up a wall."

Parker lifts his shorts, so they aren't showing. "Anything else you want to make fun of?"

Brett chuckles. "You sure you wanna go there? I might not be able to stop."

"Sorry, it's hard to take you serious when you have a belly full of my cum," Parker quips.

"I've had worse. I used to go down on your mom's old, weathered cooch, remember?" Brett asks, lowering his brows, "Where's she at nowadays?"

Parker snaps, leaping on him and hammering him with fists that do absolutely nothing. Brett slams him to the laminate floor with ease, pinning his wrists and sitting down on him.

Parker squirms, but can't get free. "Get off or I'll go to the police! Go ahead, lose football!"

His cocky grin fades. "Will you calm down?"

Parker nods once and stops resisting long enough to catch his breath.

Brett gets off and says, "I have an hour, so let's get this over with." Parker stands, dusting himself off. "Go on, pull out your little anteater and do your faggot shit to my lunch."

Parker knows his angle, and it pisses him off. If Brett does this on his own terms, it's hardly revenge. He made Parker feel ugly and the anteater comment reminds him how he used to get teased for being uncircumcised.

Brett goes on the offensive. "You're obsessed with me and I have no way out, so how about this?" he asks, "I show you a real cock, you get your rocks off and I don't have to eat your sandwiches."

Bargaining. Brett has reached bargaining. Given the alternative, he'd gladly have his dick touched. Tempting as it is, Parker won't let him off that easily.

He breathes a laugh. "A real cock?"

"Yeah, I know how this gay stuff works," Brett says, "the guy with the bigger wang is the man. Otherwise, it's a waste."

Parker rolls his eyes. "Both are the men. It's kind of the whole point."

"Bullshit! There's always an alpha," Brett shouts, moving in closer, grabbing Parker's waistband, "But I'm not surprised widdle willie Wilson doesn't think so."

He nearly falls out laughing, always so amused by himself. Parker grabs his hands to stop from being pantsed and they struggle briefly before Brett lets go.

"Aww, Come on. I thought you were making lunch," Brett says, "Or can I go since you've lost your nerve?"

Parker is so shaken, he's trembling in front of him. Sure, making him watch was the plan, but Brett's effortless dominance and teasing has made him lose sight of that.

Brett, taking advantage, whips out his flaccid cock. "Go ahead, have a taste. You know you want to. It's mother-approved."

More laughter.

Parker loses his shit, screaming, "Shut the fuck up! Say another word and you're done!"

Brett crosses his arms with a dumb smirk on his face. Parker sneaks a glance at his cock as it hangs out over his shorts. Brett notices and grins even wider, dumber. The king of confidence strips in silence, certain Parker can't resist him, certain he'll get his way.

#####

The gesture stops Parker in his tracks. His heart races. He can't deny the attraction, but he won't ever give in by submitting to Brett.

Brett walks across the kitchen, fully naked and starts rifling through the refrigerator and pantry. Parker stands frozen, admiring this perfectly toned creature—with his stupid six-pack abs and his stupid carved out v lines—as he collects sandwich materials. Wordlessly, Brett slams each one down on the islander as he finds it. He brushes his hands off when he's done and folds his palms out toward Parker, who miraculously finds words.

"You're not as big as you think," Parker says, "Fine. Let's play your game. I'll show you why I'm in charge, why you're my bitch."

Brett purses his lips, the stupidity of his grin reaches new heights. He presses his hands to his hips, waving them so his cock does a little dance he, no doubt, spent hours in front of a mirror choreographing.

Parker takes a deep breath and pulls down his shorts and boxers in one go, exposing himself to his tormentor. Brett's smile retreats as Parker's cock stiffens, his foreskin slipping back and tightening against shaft, growing impossibly large in front of their eyes.

Parker rests his hands on his hips and smiles. "Go ahead, have a taste," he says, mimicking Brett's voice and swagger.

"Geez, your body is so small, that thing looks photoshopped to your waist." Brett gulps as he passes him a slice of bread.

Parker slaps it out of his hands. "No, this was your game!" he shouts, "You lost and you only have yourself to blame. Now, taste my cock!"

"Dude, I'm not g—."

"On your knees!" Parker shouts, releasing the pent up energy from the past half hour, "Taste my fucking cock or leave!"

Brett cautiously lowers himself in front of Parker. His twitching face, showing his inner struggle. Taste cock OR lose scholarship, possible championship, go to prison and return stolen goods just to get passed around a cell block anyway.

It isn't a tough choice. Brett opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue as he leans in toward Parker's erection. He hesitates, losing his nerve when he sees a trail of wet leaking from the tip.

"Here, let me help." Parker grabs the back of his head and thrusts his hips into his face.

Brett doesn't resist. There's no point, at least this way he can pretend he's not the one doing it. In his mind, he's not sucking thick, uncut cock. Its girth is stretching his lips, filling his mouth to the point where suction occurs automatically. Brett gags as Parker forces his superior length down his throat.

Parker pulls out, holding a fistful of Brett's flowing blonde locks. A trail of saliva bows from tip to lips like a rope bridge as Brett gasps for air.

"Submit," Parker says, "Tap my waist when you're ready to call me Master."

Parker carelessly humps Brett's face as he struggles to open his throat. Brett's eyes are tearing. Sucking cock is one thing, but pride won't let him submit. Even in prison, he'd never admit to being the bitch.

Brett lets Parker work his face, stealing breaths between thrusts as precum mixed with saliva leaks from his mouth as drool. Parker tenses with drawn out groans of passion. To Brett, he sounds like he's maxing out on bench press. He pulls away believing he's endured.

Parker pinches Brett's nose closed as his cock slips out of his mouth, shooting thick ropes of cum all over Brett's face. Short of breath, Brett parts his lips for air, but is greeted by thick cock spilling piping hot semen into his mouth.

"Swallow it," Parker demands, slapping his face just hard enough for Brett to know he means it.

Brett swallows, if only to distract from more pressing concerns. He reaches down, pinching his own testicle, welcoming pain in favor of confronting unspeakable truths.

Parker is none the wiser.

"Now, get out of my house," Parker says, "until I need my bitch's mouth again."

Brett opens his mouth, then stops himself. This isn't over, but it's not an argument he can win naked, knelt down in front of Parker, with the taste of cock and cum fresh on his tongue. He scrambles to put on clothes, feeling the heat of Parker's stare the entire fifteen seconds it takes to get to the front door. He flips Parker off on his way out, anything less would be admitting defeat.

Parker's phone rings the moment he closes the door. He runs to answer in time. "Hello?"

"Need to break in a sub?" asks an attractive, yet mysterious voice.

Parker looks at his screen, confirming he recognizes neither the voice nor number. "H-How did you know—get my n-number?"

"Relax," they say, "Call me . BTO tells me you could be in the market for some high end equipment."

Parker chuckles to himself, letting out a hefty sigh of relief. "Well, he's not wrong."