La Bastille (ManxBoy)

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 dried sweat and sunrise.

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 sex 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 sex 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.