Unique_High

 Being in a place like this made me feel like a dad in the tampon aisle. Theodore fell into this place seamlessly, going through each shelf with steadfast determination. The walls were lined with games and every kind of system. Each section was divided by genre and age demographic. When I was Theo's age, I never picked up a video game preserving rolled-up dollar bills and doing lines of coke off some hooker's ass. Comparing my youth to Theodore's was like comparing water to oil.  How Lucas and I lived our younger days would put the devil to shame. We became the main reason our father kept a firm hand on Theodore, keeping him as sheltered as possible for as long as possible, ethics be damned. The poor kid had to live the way our papa wanted Lucas and me too. Once he realized he couldn't get us to abide by his rules, he became fixated on getting Theodore to. Sorry, Theo, you have to deal with a bitter old man like our father. "What kind of game is Resident Evil?"

  For me, sleeping most nights is non-existent. Staying awake left me alone with my demons, who laughed at my misery. The past of my childhood visited me like an ex-lover who only missed you when they were drunk, babbling incoherent words, but with a brief pause, when they spoke again, you got something clear: "I still love you." knowing their words were only lies that burned on their tongue. Knock, knock, knock. The door creaks open. I was expecting Theodore to peek his curly head in. But instead, it's Papa. He doesn't say a word as he enters and just stays next to the door. My dimly lit room cast shadows across his face. He's different from earlier. I mean, he is so different in his mood that I can feel the guilt rolling off him in waves, crashing into each other. This is how it goes—he comes to say sorry, and I forgive him. You can't hold anything against Papa, not his actions, not his words. You'd be a fool to wait for him to seek forgiveness. The kind

 Lucas and I had this unspoken bond that when we were kids boiled down to twin telepathy. It was a sixth sense he had that he could instantaneously let him know something was wrong with me. Even when not here miles apart he knew when something was off. We sat on the phone in silence, the sound of crickets and his leveled breathing filling the air. He was waiting for me to let him in on what rock was tied to my ankle this time but knew I wouldn't let him speak up. I was a fickle thing having to be gently coaxed into vulnerability. Never bringing up the subject and only mentioning what'd been weighing me down in abstract terms. He knew this, but still; he waited for some slim chance that I might tell him. His sigh echoes from the other line. "It was Papa, wasn't it?" he asked. When I don't say anything, Lucas sighed again. "What happened? Another one of his uncalled-for outbursts?" He took my silence as a pitiful admission. "What did you do?"

 Later that afternoon, when the house was enveloped in a tender silence. The nuance of sound failed to penetrate my familiar corner of ecstasy. No outsider's perturbation to break the spell of papa. He dug his nails into my back. The ringlets are a mix of reminder and reward as his grasping hands brand my back. It was to be anticipated that sex follows all aspects of our dynamic. The amphetamine-like high of fucking him was followed by the thick whip of pain. How his ass clenched around my dick felt like an asylum with the warmth of him, both my place of refuge and madness. I threw my head back as soft groans exacerbated me. I hit his prostate repeatedly until he was an undone wreck beneath me. "Shit, Tesoro." My papa grunted out. "Fuck me with some class, will you?" I rolled my eyes and ignored him. My thrusting picked up quickly the closer I felt myself about to bust. "Do you enjoy being fucked by your son, Papa?" I grabbed his face-making him look a