Crack Attack: A Collection of One-Shots and Other Disturbing Shit

Training (Prest-inero?)

Please check the story warnings before lurking around in here!

Another sequel that nobody asked for, but a couple of people may secretly have wanted. Sequel to "Southern Style" with extra k1nks and twists.

Loosely based on a prompt challenge by SpicyKiwiWrites .
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            I'm out of practice. I can't do it anymore and if I can't do it, I'm done for. I'm not gonna lose the bets I know we're gonna make and hafta suck on it again. His meat tastes like it's been dunked in brussels sprouts and it's freaking gross. That ain't going in my mouth again.

            So I hafta do this.

            I hafta beat him before I get beat across the face with his meat stick.

            And it's not as hot 'n spicy as it sounds, trust me.

            I sprint jump to the very edge of the block and parkour for my life - 'cause this's gonna get ugly if I start falling. I get about fifteen jumps in before I eat the dust and it looks like I might be eatin' something else pretty soon.

            "Crap. I'm crap." I turn on the death counter and I know what's coming next. Shoulda went to the store today and got some habaneros. I'm so outta practice I even forgot to set up right. My butt's so toast you might as well call me Bread and make me flop my way up the wall so I can find a toaster. "Let's try this again."

            I sprint-jump to the corner of the block and it feels better this time. But there're a hundred jumps and it says they get harder and now I just died on the twentieth jump.

            And you know what happens when you die, Preston.

            And this's why I had to do this at home. I knew I was gonna suck but I'm not gonna suck it. I'm the parkour king and I'm gonna keep that title no matter how bad it hurts.

            I get up and go dig out the good ol' training kit from the bottom of the bottom box hidden in the back corner of my closet where no one's ever gonna find it. I find the big locked security box and I drag it out and take it back to my desk and I'm clenchin' up already. I'm gonna get real good at parkour real fast. I reach way back in the file cabinet and I pull off the key I taped back there. My breathing's already faster. Hopefully I just needed the adrenaline and now that I'm awake it'll be real easy. I bet this map's not even that hard.

            I unlock the box and they're all staring up at me with their little pink eyes, waiting their turns. They know what time it is. I try not to look at the mega ones down at the bottom. I hope I don't need that much training this time. I find the one that's like the same size as a highlighter and I pull my boxers down... then the butt goes down.

            It's hard to relax with all the other ones starin' up at me so I hafta close the lid of the box.

            It's so rubbery and hard and dry... I hafta wiggle around a little bit to find the right spot then it's between the cheeks and ohthatreallyhurtsandit'sjustthefirstoneohLord. It's only halfway in and I'm already whining like a big baby. Guess I need to train more often. This shouldn't even hurt that much. I'm gettin' too lazy.

            "Okay, Preston. You feel that? That's what failure feels like and it don't feel good. You gotta do this and you gotta do it right or it's gonna get bad. So relax and take a deep breath and starting jumping." I breath in, and out. In, and out. But I can't push it out.

            I sprint-jump and get momentum and I can see ladder jumps up ahead and I'm so glad I don't hafta do commentary right now. I lose count but I still don't make it to the forty-jump sign before I die. I look over at the box then stand up and it slips out. It's still so dry it burns. I'm already sore and we just got started.