Bro’s Room 3: Dominion

 

 Pearson Gable sighed as he trudged up the stairs with his suitcase. He was now a college graduate and back home for the summer. He kicked his door open and found things exactly the way he left it. Good. There wasn't a lock on it. His parents had removed it long before having any kids. 

His room was his little kingdom. He made the rules and set the standards. He played the music he wanted and ate what he wanted. Paraded around in his underwear if he wanted. The roomed smell what the fuck HE wanted it to smell like, a fresh shower, deodorant, a workout, a protein packed ass blast. It didn't matter. What was important was HIS decision.

His mom and dad never interfered. They’d learned their lesson. 

His mom claimed she always caught glimpses of a messy room. She wasn’t a fan of the locker room smell that leaked out when the door was cracked open. Always talked about the bad example it set. She told him repeatedly to clean it. That didn’t happen. Pearson didn't follow her rules in his room. She had no power there. On multiple occasions she tried to clean it herself while he was at lacrosse practice, only to find it spotless and soaked in lemon-scented cleaning supplies. EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. Drove her crazy until she just let it go. Stopped bringing it up. And it never bothered her again. 

Then there was his dad. A harder nut to crack. He was always real buddy-buddy and chummy with Pearson. Coming into Pearson’s room with a knock as an introduction instead of for permission. He’d start talking and boy could his dad gab. Pearson didn't mind it much growing up, but there came a point where Pearson wanted to game with his friends and talk about fucking, and parties. Real shit.  Not have his dad in his ear trying to bond. Weren’t they bonded enough?! And during one of those talking sessions he was trapped on his bed, dad sitting beside him. Pearson didn't even know it was coming. The young man winced; his father caught it. Pearson’s intestines gurgled. Then came the pain of something trapped inside him. 

“Having tummy troubles, son?” Mr. Gable leaned over, “Here let me help. Probably just gas.” He placed a hand on his son’s stomach and massaged. Now perhaps it was muscle memory from burping Pearson as a baby, but his dad’s hand played Pearson like a fiddle. Pearson’s body responded with ‘music’ that was loud and room shaking as his dad emptied out Pearson’s chamber and Pearson ass bombed them both.

“Christ, son!” His dad got it straight up his nose. The man yanked his hand away and wobbled out the door as fast as he could. Never came in again. Only knocks while passing by to relay messages. 

Then there were them. Asher. Rowan. Lincoln. Little shits one, two, and three. Pearson didn’t ask for little brothers, certainly not three of them. They didn’t get the memo that Pearson’s room was not for them. The gremlins would sneak in and try to hide only to have Pearson kick them out. Pearson was in a bind. He couldn't clean them out, and he definitely couldn’t gross them out. Those fuckers played around in the dirt like it was their day job. They didn't like his music, always had something to say about his clothing choices, and always had an opinion on how the room smelled. “Smells like soap,” or “Smells like sweat,” they’d complain. Why had they kept bothering him if they hated everything so damn much?

“They just look up to you.” His mother would say. Pearson disagreed. They were nosey and wanted to trespass into his place of ruling.

Back then, he’d come home from practice kicking off his shoes and before he’d get into his comfortable outfit, Artsy, Remedial, and Loser came charging in. He didn’t get how boys on such different wavelengths united to annoy him. Asher was some kind of drawing prodigy and loved acting. Rowan was turning into a lil punk barely passing his classes. Lincoln was the normal one and still didn't have any friends. Pearson couldn't believe not a single one of them had any inclination to sports. If that had been the case maybe he could have forgiven some transgressions. They could have played lacrosse while talking shit. He could even have tossed a football, or played a few rounds of basketball, if that was their sport of choice. 

But that was years ago, they were older now and surely had learned the ways of respect. Pearson slammed his suitcase on the bed, unzipping it, taking his toiletries and clothes out. He heard snickering coming from the closet. “Those dumb fucks wouldn’t,” He thought. Certainly not on the king's first day Throwing open his closet he found his brother packed like sardines, too big to be doing this shit. To be defying him. 

“Surprise!” they laughed, pushing each other out into the room.

Pearson was at peace. He was at peace because he knew what was going to happen next. It was time to go nuclear. He had given them years to get their act together and recognize his room as a sovereign nation that merely existed in their house. If they couldn’t do that then he had no choice but to make them denizens. He was definitely in the mood for some knights. He placed his underwear out on the bed, his brothers hounding him with questions. Pearson turned on his old speakers, letting the screamo music blaring. He bent over and started his old PS2 and threw a controller on the bed. Already his brothers wanted to leave but they couldn’t, their bodies weren’t responding. No, their bodies were listening to the commands of Pearson. His silent decrees. 

Relax and stay here. 

Become just like me.

Jock out.

Suitcase empty, Pearson put it away in the closet. He grabbed his Axe body spray and doused all three with it. His brothers were breaking out into unexplainable sweats, as their muscles flexed. They tried to peel their clothes off, in an attempt to cool down. It wasn’t working, as their arms and legs had trouble maneuvering in rapidly shrinking outfits. Their clothes were ripping and gaining holes. The three were going to have to bust out of them. 

 Pearson headed for the door, but before he left, gave them a protein surprise, his ass cheeks clapping to the melodic sound of a post workout soundtrack. His brothers coughed and coughed but fresh air was not coming. Pearson closed the door, as his brothers ran to him not knowing they couldn’t step out even if the door opened. They pulled, none of them a match for Pearson but that was the price they paid to not work on their muscles.

 Pearson had hotboxed his brothers in everything him. They had no choice but to take it all in. Overstimulation of sorts. People who couldn’t respect his space had to be rectified. The tugs on the doorknob stopped, but he continued to hear clothes being shed. Pearson was patient though he wanted it all to set in. He gave it a good 10 minutes, around the time the PS2 classic opening restarted. Walking back in he found his brothers’ eyes on him in reverence, his position properly situated in their minds. Their clothes were gone and they were all wearing Pearson’s outfit of choice: His briefs. Bulges all on display, muscles out in the open, engaging in Pearson’s activities. His knights were ready to go. Pearson had to admit, maybe sharing his room wasn’t so bad if his guests were like this. Then again, who would mind a little expansion? There were newly vacant rooms in the house. 

 What kind of king didn’t do a little conquering?