bamboo doesn't grow in dark spaces. [80K Words / Complete]

chapter twenty-three, part two.

"I know it's controversial," Case said, loosening his shoulders. He eased on his serves, letting his volleys become lazy. "But I don't mind pineapple on my pizza. A cheesy Hawaiian, add some mushroom, spicy sausage . . ."

The ball's rhythm slowed. Sir's movements began to match the tempo Case was setting.

"Savory and sweet. It's a good balance." Case inched closer to Sir, subtly changing the angle of aim. "Pineapple's meant to make your spunk taste better, right?" He struck the ball in a slice shot, sending it veering wide.

"Oop," Sir let slip. He jolted, making the save.

Case grinned slyly to himself. The voice was right: Sir wasn't going to hurt him, no matter what buttons he pushed. "I think it's all the sugar and acid," he continued. "Makes it less bitter." He checked Sir in his peripherals. Noted the vein popping in his neck, the red flush in his skin. Noted he was still focused on the game. "I know you like it when I cum. I know you watch me."

A scowl, a grunted syllable. Whatever Sir was going to say was abandoned as he saved another stray ball. Barely.

"It gets you off, seeing me cumming hard because of you." No more hook shots. He was on the offense, going in hard and fast. "Come on, make me cum. Suck me off, Sir—"

Sir pivoted on his heel. His hand was raised high, ready to strike.

The stray ball flew by, pop-pop-popping around the basement.

Oh, no. Case gasped as Sir grabbed him by the shirt, yanking him closer. He winced, bracing for impact. Why did I do that? Shit, fuck, why do I always do this?

The ball dribbled then rolled across the concrete floor.

Case didn't need to see Sir to feel the raging dark energy radiating off of him. He knew he'd gone too far, had sabotaged whatever goodwill there was between them. Sir was fucking pissed.

So, why isn't he hitting me?

Case peeked through squinted lids. Sir's face loomed over him. His thin lips were curled into a snarl. But then, slowly, as if a thought was beginning to form in his sick mind, his snarl morphed into a smile. A twisted, sneering smile.

Sir shoved him, releasing his hold.

Case stumbled backwards, stunned as he watched Sir turn and walk away from him. Sir's mad. His heart hammered behind his sternum. Blood whooshed in his ears. He's leaving. Why is he leaving?

Because you won, the voice reasoned, relishing the hollow victory.

But he's mad, Case thought again, reeling. He watched Sir stomp up the stairs, knowing this didn't make sense. Why wasn't Sir screaming at him? Beating the shit outta him?

Because he's going soft. And he likes you.

Realization washed away the adrenaline. He's not going to hurt me. The residual nerves left Case's body in a fluttery giggle. He straightened his posture. "Do I still get that pizza?!"

The door slammed shut. Sir had officially left, and Case was free of punishment. He howled with triumph and laughter.

The next day, his sense of invincibility was reinforced again. Sir didn't return for a visit, but when Case's dinner arrived that night it was accompanied with a spine-creased copy of The Fellowship of the Ring. Book one in a trilogy, the beginning of a new adventure with old friends. Case admired the cover, studying the lush green moss, the gnarled tree roots, and the foggy valley overlooking the elven town of Rivendell. He found Gandalf and Bilbo, their backs to him, but their presence filling him with a warm mix of excitement and reunion.