Chapter 27 - "You're not my father and you never will be."

Four years later

"...nngh..."

"...ha...Char...mmhmm..."

"...a-aah...ah!"

"...fuck...don't stop...mngh..."

"...ah...a-aah...Charles...yesss..."

"...mmph...Ch-Char...I-I'm...a-ah...cu-cum-ming...!"

The ecstasy had rose all the way to his brain, bells ringing all over his body as he felt all his organs melt. Every single pulse made him grunt, and even though he felt the release, he still continued to thrust slowly and slowly, the body underneath him trembling more and more, his legs instinctively starting to close.

"Ch-Charles...holy fuck...!"

Eventually, Charles pulled himself apart and watched his pleasures leaking from the person's opening, but before he could observe it long enough, they heard knocks on his bedroom. Instantly, Charles slammed his palm over the person's lips, watching the panic cross his eyes and knowing he would have squealed if Charles's hadn't done that.

On the other side of the door, Nate's voice echoed across as he stated, "Charles, a few guests are already here, you should come down."

He didn't have a lock on his door since Dante and Nate didn't want him to, hence if Nate was to open that door, he was going to walk in on this and Charles would definitely have to explain himself—which he didn't want to just yet.

"I'll be down in a second, Nathan," Charles replied sternly.

There was a short pause, before he heard, "By the way, have you seen Asher? He's not in the guest room but all our cars are here so I don't think he left."

"He went for a walk."

"Do you know when he'll be back?"

"I have no fucking idea. Can you leave me alone now?" he snapped, glaring at the door. "I told you I'd be down in a sec."

There was a pause, and he heard a long sigh from Nate. "Great." They heard his footsteps grow distant as he descended the stairs, and eventually, it was silence again.

Other than Asher squirming underneath Charles's palm.

As Charles pulled himself apart, Asher sent quivering fingers through his golden hair, staring at the door; they had almost gotten caught. For some reason, Charles didn't even seem stressed at all, his naked body walking across the room as he picked up his clothes and started dressing himself.

He had changed through those four years, and they had all noticed it.

The moment he turned eighteen, he added tattoos along the side of his neck, one of Natalia's name across his collarbone, angel wings across his back and the last one he had gotten was of flames from his pinky all the way to his elbow. He also had been dying his hair black for years now, which he needed to retouch since his ginger roots were visible again. His eyes had been permanently narrowed and droopy since his treatment at the hospital four years ago, but at least he wasn't on his sleeping medications anymore.

Charles had definitely gotten bulkier over the years, starting to workout in the gym on his own and stopping any sorts of training from his parents or uncles. He hadn't been as close with them as he used to be, and he wasn't as kind to them either.

Ever since his stay at the hospital, it was almost as though he tried to be his normal self but he couldn't; he no longer viewed the world the same. His perspective on his parents had shifted, so it didn't matter how wide of a smile Nate sent him or how genuine Dante's warmth touches were, the fact that their hands had both caused bloodshed boggled his mind to the point that he didn't want to associate with them anymore.

Quite frankly, he didn't want to associate with anyone. The only person he spoke to the most was Natalia at her grave, and she was still the closest person he had.

He hadn't visited her in a little while, maybe he would go today after the party...

"Do you think they know about us?"

Charles reached for his nightstand, pulling a cigarette and a lighter. "No," he murmured, lighting the end of the cigarette, "I doubt it."

That wasn't enough for the stressed Asher who pushed himself from the bed. "Aren't you scared that they'll find out?" He looked down at the leaking liquid along his leg and hissed, "I told you not to cum inside of me, Char."

"Stop worrying so much," Charles reassured, although his voice sounded way too nonchalant for it to console Asher whatsoever. "And if that bothers you, you can get back on the bed and I'll lick it off of you."

Charles knew that it flustered Asher, whose cheeks instantly tinted pink as he hurriedly reached for his clothes on the floor. "You know I hate..." he exhaled heavily, feeling as though no air was entering his lungs, "...when you say...stuff like—"

As he was seconds from bending down to grab his shirt, Asher was taken by surprised when fingers gripped his wrist and pulled him. Then, with the movement of his body, he was stopped by lips pressed against his own, and instantly, the rushing thoughts, the distress, the fact that he was completely naked, vanished from his mind. He even dropped his clothes onto the ground as his fingers reached for Charles jaw, pulling his lips that tasted like cigarettes deeper into his own.

The way Charles hands caressed him always made his heart flutter, feeling as though his heart was skipping so many beats that he may even have a heart attack.

It was such a contrast to Charles' personality, since to anyone else, Charles was an absolute shithead. Not only did he not care to have a filter over his words, but he had no problem cursing at anyone for the slightest annoyance. Plus, the fact that he had put on size and grew in height made him more intimidating, and people were less likely to confront him for his behaviour.

But to Asher, he stayed gentle and kind, ensuring that Asher didn't panic too much and wanted to spend time with him. His touches were soft, and he held onto him as if he was a butterfly, trying to maintain his delicacy.

And Asher loved every second of it.

So much so that he didn't hear the door open, neither did he realize that there was someone standing by the doorway for the past three minutes of their make out.

Both their heads turned when they heard his throat clear, and the moment Asher realized who it was, his spine tightened to the point that he couldn't move.

It was Charles that instinctively pulled Asher behind him, hiding him from view as he spat, "Is there a problem?"

Dante's eyes darkened the moment he met the arrogant ones of Charles, who even lifted his chin as though he was looking down on his own father. Although Charles' behaviour had plummeted ever since Natalia's death, it felt as though he had recently stopped trying to even be better.

It took him an extra year to graduate high school since he had skipped most of his classes, he left lines of cocaine on their living room table as though he wanted them to see it, he destroyed everything in his sight whenever he got enraged, never lifted a finger to clean anything and his room was a complete disaster, and even worse, any time his mouth opened, it was filled with attitude and insults.

He had a party at the house while Nate and Dante were there, and told everyone to ignore them to which they had to call the cops, and they kept Charles in a cell for the entire night since he decided to fight not only his own parents but the cops. He was already caught drunk driving, and they had to fight in court the charges for a year, which they had been luckily dropped but they had spent endless amounts of money to save him, to which he never thanked his parents.

Dante was at his wits end.

The worst of all was what he witnessed now, which he had been speculating for months now but Nate continuously dismissed his compelling theories. He hadn't witnessed it before, but he found it odd when Charles said Asher had left for a walk when Dante was absolutely certain he had not seen Asher leave the house at all.

And lo and behold, here he was.

"I said," Charles broadened his shoulders, "is there a fucking problem?"

Dante exhaled a long shaky breath; it took everything in him not to lash out, especially since he knew Asher was panicking behind Charles. After a few seconds, he forced a small smile and turned around. "I'll speak about this with you later."

"Uh-uh, you have something to say, you say it now." Charles' reached for the blanket and threw it toward Asher behind him, before stepping closer to Dante.

Dante felt his blood pressure start to rise; he swallowed hard, trying to keep his cool. "Charles," he sighed, twisting back around, "I don't want to argue with you right now, and the party has already started dow—"

"Then don't barge into my fucking room," he snapped, pointing towards the door. "Get out."

He really tried to maintain his composure but Charles was making it impossible. "What's wrong with you? Why are you being an asshole right now?"

"Because I know exactly what you're doing, Dante." Charles only stepped even closer to him, even though she saw Dante's hands tighten, as though he wanted to bawl them into fists but tried to leave his anger aside. "You've been dying to catch me with him, that's why you were lurking around my room." Charles pointed the cigarette towards his face. "You've been begging for this and now I'm confronting you about it, and you're again making it seem like I'm the crazy one."

"Don't fucking point that at me," Dante snapped, snatching the cigarette from Charles grip faster than he realized Dante had even moved, crushing it in his palm.

"You're my fucking son, of course I'll be worri—!" Dante caught himself, closing his eyes for a moment. He had shrieked, raised his voice higher than he thought and he sent quivering fingers through his hair. He really didn't want to have an argument right now. "Charles, there are people downstairs, they can hea—"

"Why the fuck do you care what I do so fucking much?" Charles growled, not caring about anything Dante was saying. Even when Asher—who had now put on all his clothes—approached them and reached for Charles' shoulder, Charles shoved him backwards. "You didn't give a fuck when I told you about Kane being in my hospital room, did you?"

"And we're back at this again!" Dante could no longer resist this. "You've been bringing that up for the past four years, Charles! I've apologized so many times already!" He slammed his fist into his palm. "What more do you want me to do so you can let it fucking go?!"

"I want you to leave me the fuck alone and stop being so overbearing in my goddamn life! That's what the fuck I want!"

"Well that can't happen because I'm your father, so—!"

"No, you're not!"

Charles knew this was deeply going to hurt Dante, that he would turn and turn throughout the night, or pace back and forth during the day as he thought about this until his mind spiralled. But Charles didn't care, he didn't want to care.

Instead, he stepped even closer to the widened eyes of Dante, stared at his quivering pupils and spat, "I don't have a single gene from you, and that means that you're not my father and you never will be."

Dante wasn't even angry anymore.

All he felt was hurt so bad that it made his chest squeeze. He wanted to have something to say, but hearing it from his kid made his at a loss for words; of course Charles had said this in recent times, but it didn't hurt any less every time he said it. Quite frankly, it hurt thousand times more.

Before he could respond, they heard from the doorway, "I don't know what's going on but we can all hear you two screaming from upstairs."

Charles scoffed and he realized it was his uncle Bronsted. "I don't give a fuck if they can hear or not, I wanted to make it clear to this fool," he pointed into his father's face, "that he's fucking annoying and has no right being all over my business."

"Alright!" Bronsted intervened, stepping between Charles and Dante, facing his nephew whose teeth were gritted so hard as though he was trying to break them. "We get it Charles, you're a defiant kid that hates everyone and is mean to everyone, especially his parents, we get it." The sarcasm in Bronsted's tone enraged Charles even more. "But we have all your friends downstairs and they can all hear this and this is fucking embarrassing, especially for you," he hissed through a whisper. "Dante clearly has gotten your point across, so..." he grabbed onto Dante, "we're going to wait for you downstairs, please hurry up because the food is getting cold."

Charles was going to refused, but Bronsted spun around and raced down the stairs, dragging the saddened Dante with him.