SONS OF ANARCHY meets BREAKING BAD... but make it GAY!
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Young and naïve, Everett's preference for bad boys lands him under the protection of a handsome biker named Knox, aka The Beast. When a dangerous new attraction blossoms, wil...
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❥ KNOX'S POV
Knox chuckles against the wall as he watches Everett do the opposite of what he had taught him.
The boy is standing in front of the punching bag that hangs from the ceiling almost like he fears it. He's throwing light jabs that would, at most, tickle his opponent. The two have been working on self-defense techniques for an hour, Knox having had to demonstrate and repeat himself multiple times for Everett and his new short attention span.
Everett's endurance is shit and needs a major upgrade, among other things, considering he broke out in a sweat barely twenty minutes into today's session. His breathing now comes in short pants, his wild curls have since lost their volume and are currently pushed back with a headband. His white T-shirt clings to his lean body from both sides, soaked with sweat.
Admittedly, he's more cute than threatening.
"I told you to move around, not remain stationary," Knox calls out. "In the real world, your attacker won't just stand there and let you kick his ass. You have to—"
"Fuck off! I get your thick ass is built for this shit, but I'm not," Everett huffs. "This is exhausting. I'm ready to be done."
Knox sighs. "We've barely begun—"
"I think an hour is good enough to start with," Everett continues, though his punches gradually falter. "For Christ's sake, I'm not trying out for the army! I'm just a beginner, remember?"
"A beginner who's extremely fragile and weak," Knox adds, his tone soft. "I'm trying to help you become strong. Don't you want to be able to protect yourself when danger strikes?"
"Being strong is overrated. How about that?"
Everett stops and takes a minute to center himself by resting against the massive punching bag, every single muscle group screaming for him to run and never look back. He'd try if he knew he'd be able to get past Knox and reach the door.
"Please." He whines, still struggling to catch his breath. "I think my legs are about to give out and my lungs are on fire. This is torture! When can we quit?"
"When I see you've made actual progress." Knox approaches Everett like a lion stalking its prey, his movements slow and calculated. "First problem—you've been standing too close to the damn bag, and you're hitting it like you're apologetic about it."
Everett doesn't turn around when Knox stops behind him. But he does gasp at the feeling of warm breath hitting the back of his neck, Knox's body heat slowly tangling with his. Large hands grip his waist as Knox helps to position him properly, and it takes a fucking miracle for both to remain professional about their close proximity.
"Now, when you hit the bag and it swings back at you, it's going to force you to move out of the way or get hit." Knox shifts Everett's body from left to right. He doesn't miss, or comment, on the flush that travels up the back of Everett's neck. "Pretend you're dodging someone's fist. Pretend the fucker just disrespected you in front of your friends. Hell, pretend it's Finn, since you hate him so much. Show me how you're going to handle him."
