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There’s no excuse for beating your son.
Damn sure no reason that he should’ve been sporting an almost pitch black eye and minor concussion he lied about getting in a fight over who makes a better car the Italians or the Germans.
“Now, from the starting line,” my partner begins again, arms folding to match mine, “why the fuck did you try to leave?”
“I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Why the fuck does everyone think I’m that fragile?!” The Kid harshly shouts in obvious frustration. “I’m not some piece of shit sub-compact that’s got a recall notice out on it! I can take a fucking hit! Maybe I’m not a fucking tank like Nolan-”
“You think I’m that…big?”
“I think you’re that fucking strong.” He offhandedly rebuts. “And I think I’m more like a Silverado than anyone wants to give me credit for.”
Our woman tucks the pen into her bun and sighs, “Not sure I entirely follow this fucking metaphor or simile or car report in progress, but I wasn’t implying that you’re not physically capable of taking a hit so much so as trying to say I don’t want you to emotionally take a beating because of me.”
An unexpected, emotionless shrug is presented. “Tough tits.”
I’m not sure whose jaw cracks faster…mine or hers.
“It’s not all about what you want, Bunny.”
“I-”
“Sometimes shit is about what you need.”
“But-”
“And you, whether or not you get it, or whether or not you wanna get it, or whether or not you fuckin’ understand it, you need us. And we need you. And we all need to start workin’ together the way we’re fuckin’ meant to as the engine,” he tips his head at me, “the transmission,” his chin dips inward prior to kicking outward, “and the fuckin’ ignition.”
“But-”
“There are no fucking buts!”
To my surprise, his continual yelling causes my cock to stir.
Despite how magically fuckable he looks as his muscles flex and unflex during each outburst, now is not the time for that shit.
I know that.
Now, let’s get my dick that memo, too.
“You don’t get to burn rubber ‘cause shits hard or scary or maybe a little fucking confusing!” Kipp’s frame naturally gravitates towards where she’s sitting on the couch. “You have to stay in fucking park just like we do!”
Her mouth suddenly clamps shut.
“We’re all on the insurance. We’re all on the maintenance plan. We’re all here for the next stretch of long hard miles between services.” He drops his palms firmly on the edge of the couch and leans into her space. “Am I making myself freshly fucking waxed clear?”
“You’re making me rollbar hard,” I playfully mumble loud enough for Rabbit to hear.
The corner of her lip kicks upward as if tempted yet rather than encourage the action, our boyfriend tosses me a scowl over his bare shoulder.
“And now you’re making me safety harness soft.”
“Could you please take this shit seriously, Nolan?!”
“What the fuck do you call takin’ the doors off the hinges?!”
“Dramatic,” Rabbit croaks receiving two sets of glares for her answer.
