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Bucephalus didn't bother to knock on the door when he reached it. He'd seen the cameras on his way up the path, their silent gazes judging him as he walked towards the house. He simply stood on the porch, arms crossed, and waited.

Marcus took his time. Five minutes. Ten. Bucephalus didn't move. He would not knock. He would not ask for entry. Fifteen. Marcus must be loving this...making his father wait. It had been hard enough finding this place to begin with: his son had covered his tracks well, and nobody that Bucephalus had spoken to had known where the mustang actually lived. And, since he'd mysteriously stopped showing up at the usual clubs after that fateful night in Stud Farm, the big stallion hadn't even been able to tail him home after a night of debauchery. Instead, the black stallion had had to variously call, threaten and cajole it out of clerks at city hall. He'd called in years of favours, and made far too many new promises...but he'd found the place. Had even sat in his car outside and watched the asshole mustang coming and going. No sign of Perch, though. Probably fucking tied up inside...or worse. Who knew what deranged shit Marcus got up to with those fucking necklaces?

After nearly twenty minutes of standing on the porch, there was a sound, and Bucephalus' attention snapped back to the current moment. The handle turned slightly, and the portal opened, revealing Marcus in loose sweatpants and nothing else. His upper torso glistened like polished hardwood, as if he'd just finished working out. He raised one arm, resting it against the door frame, and leered out at his father. His underarm hair was matted with sweat; he had been exercising while his father stood outside. Unnecessarily drawing out this confrontation.

"Hey, Bucky," Marcus drawled. The smell of him was potent; for a moment, it took Bucephalus back to a time when he'd smell that wonderful male warmth right next to him. But he shut that thought down before it went any further, and seethed.

"Give him back," the black stallion growled, trying not to spit each word. With one name, his son had undone the careful calm he'd cultivated before walking up to the house. He'd been determined to keep his cool and be the bigger horse in front of Perch. To make a point. But this fucking colt knew exactly how to say his nickname...

"Him?" Marcus put on an expression of mild confusion. "I don't think there's a 'he' here that belongs to you, Bucky. I mean...it's certainly not me!" He barked a laugh at the impossibility of that idea. "And there's nobody else here except...oh, but you said 'he', right?" He brought his free hand to his chin, frowning deeply, and Bucephalus ground his teeth. "But that doesn't make sense. Because the only other person here is Perch...and he's not a 'he' to you. Or even a 'she'." Marcus dropped his arm and crossed them both over his chest, mirroring his father's stance, and his eyes seemed to sink deeper under his brow. "He's just an 'it' to you."

The two stallions glared at one another. Marcus filled the doorway; he'd bulked up lately, looking even more like his father now. Bucephalus wasn't sure he'd be successful if he tried to push his way in. But he needn't have worried; his son lifted his head and raised his voice.

"Perch! Bucky's here."

He gave his father a simpering smile and stepped backwards, letting the other horse walk into the house as if pulled after his son by an unseen string. The black stallion barely spared the place a look, his eyes drawn immediately to the top of the stairs where a lithe younger horse stood, hands held against his chest fearfully. Bucephalus wasn't even shocked anymore at how his heart jumped when he saw Perch, but he ignored that the same way he'd ignored his son's scent. He raised one hand imperiously and gestured the young stallion towards him.

"Perch," he said tersely. "Come. We're going home."

Perch didn't move, and didn't answer. He was dressed in light clothes for the cool spring, with only a scarf around his neck for warmth. Bucephalus stared at it, and then turned to look daggers at his son.

"Take that fucking thing off him," he snarled venomously. Marcus was wearing a faint smile that was somehow even more irritating than him saying 'Bucky'. "Now!" the big black stallion yelled at the mustang. "You think you're such a big stallion, Marcus? Needing to use toys and fucking...tricks to get a guy to stay in your bed? What an achievement." He clapped insincerely. "I'm so proud. Maybe if you weren't such a fucking asshole, you wouldn't need to trap people."

Marcus coughed, his eyes wide. "Excuse me? Oh, Dad, that's fucking rich coming from you! And, just for the record..." He looked up at Perch. "Sweetie," he said pleasantly, "won't you take the scarf off for the mean old walking glue-factory?"

Perch raised a hand to his neck and pulled the scarf down -- revealing his plain, unadorned neck. He still said nothing, but he was looking at Bucephalus now, and Bucephalus knew his expression intimately. He was used to inspiring it in others. He even enjoyed it, usually. But not tonight.

Fear.

"He doesn't want you anymore, Bucky," Marcus said in a triumphant tone. He reached into a pocket, removing one of the torcs and placing it ostentatiously down on a table. Bucephalus glared at it with loathing. "He knows what you are. He knows what you really care about. I've helped him understand...since I've been there and all, you know." He walked around to stand in front of Bucephalus, his bulk hiding the young stallion at the top of the stairs and his eyes meeting his father's. "I think you should fuck off back home, now, Bucky," he murmured, satisfaction oozing from every word. "You lost. Perch is happy now. Properly happy, not that fucked-up hero worship bullshit you've convinced yourself is happiness." He tutted as Bucephalus snarled and clenched one arm into a fist. "Shall we go for round two, then, Dad?" he said, the smirk fading from his face. He rolled his own shoulders determinedly. "It's been a couple years. I don't think you'll find me as much of a pushover as last time." His steely gaze met Bucephalus', and the big stallion hated how much of himself he could see in it. And his son was right, fuck him. He'd given up the lean, pretty-boy muscle he used to parade around the clubs like the night Perch had appeared. He was merely big, now. And twenty years younger. He could probably take his father on and win.

"He doesn't know anything," the black stallion growled. "Just whatever fucking lies you told him."

Marcus snorted. "You really think I needed to lie to him? Fuck you, Bucky." He poked a finger into his father's chest. "And you think he needed a torc to stay here? Use that big fat brain. I didn't need to put on one him -- just on me."

The stallion turned, walking slowly up the stairs as he spoke. "We had a good fun night in the club after your attempted homicide." He spun and held up a finger when Bucephalus tried to interrupt. "Don't even fucking pretend it was anything else." He turned back, cocking his head at Perch. "Poor little thing was distraught. I helped him relax with some of my friends. That was fun, wasn't it, Perch?" The young stallion looked up at Marcus in silence as the big horse slipped an arm around his shoulders. "I know what he likes, and I gave it to him. But, Bucky, you see...the difference between you and me?" He turned an invisible key in the air. "I know when to turn it off." He took a step down and encouraged Perch to join him. The younger horse faltered, but then followed.

"Brought him home after," the mustang continued, "gave him a place to sleep. Fed him, cleaned him. Took care of him." He huffed. "You remember taking care of others, don't you, Dad? It's what you used to do before your shrivelled anthracitic heart stopped beating. And when he was rested, and wasn't waking up in the middle of each night screaming from having nightmares of you trying to fucking kill him...!" The horse yelled the last two words, making Perch flinch and Bucephalus clench his teeth. "I gave him a torc, and let him put it on me, and ask me anything he wanted. About you, and us, and everything. Because I actually trust other people, you walking fucking anger-issue dick-on-legs."

The two males reached the bottom of the stairs, and Marcus slipped his arm out from around Perch's shoulders. He looked down at the smaller horse. "So, he knows exactly what you are, and what you've done." He brushed a lock of hair out of Perch's face. "Do you have something to say to this sorry excuse for a father, Perch? He doesn't seem to be getting the message."

Perch was staring at Bucephalus' hooves, his eyes not even flickering up. His hands were crossed in front of his groin, his fingers twining in and out of one another. His body shivered ever so slightly when Marcus' fingers touched his mane, and the black stallion's anger grew. What had Marcus done to him? Fucking twisted Bucephalus' words, no doubt, and fed him lies to poison the pretty thing against him. Well, that was easily solved. The truth was on his side.

"Perhaps he's thinking about what you did," Bucephalus said softly. His eyes rose from Perch's face to his son's. "You've got an awful lot to say about me, Marcus. And I'd say you've been chewing on those words for a good long while, by the sound of them. Sucking out every last bit of revenge. That's what this was all about, at the end of the day, right? You wanted revenge. Simple as that." He pointed at the silent stallion between them. "Perch was simply the tool you used. Him...and Sven...and the fucking necklace."

Marcus sneered, but Bucephalus spoke sternly over him. "You blackmailed my friend to plant something in my house. You lied to Perch; pretended to be me. You made him do things he'd never do -- you made both of us. Not for his sake. Not to help him. Just for revenge, to hurt me. Just to get back at me. He was nothing but a means to an end for you -- and when you got what you wanted, you took him. Like a trophy." He addressed Perch directly; the stallion still wouldn't meet his eyes. "You're nothing to him, Perch. He doesn't care who he hurts. All he cares about is getting back at people he feels have slighted him. He did it to me before, and now he's doing it again...and he knows taking you will hurt me."

Perch's head rose a fraction at that...but then he was pushed aside as Marcus snarled and stepped closer, standing right before his father.

"Friend?" he hissed. He seemed oblivious to everything else the black stallion had said. "You think Sven is your fucking friend, Dad? HAH!" He looked at the other horse with a face full of derision and disgust. "You don't have any fucking friends, you pathetic piece of shit. Nobody in this entire city likes you. Not one person. Most actively hate you, you arrogant, irritating fuckhead! Oh, you should hear them talk behind your back. You prance around with your fancy fucking little coloured lock of hair"--he slapped Bucephalus' dyed mane--"and you pretend you're the classiest piece of ass on the street...but you're just a common whore, Dad. You know how I know? Because you bent over for all those stallions in the club, and you moaned your slutty moans as their cocks filled you, over and over and over. Perch could take lessons on getting fucked from you, Dad -- or I can just tell him about all the times I had your sweet ass for myself."

He spat into Bucephalus' face. "You dare tell me this is only about revenge? Sure, fine! I want fucking revenge! But I deserve it! You threw me out. You threw your own fucking son out! Because of a JOKE!"

Bucephalus felt the heat rising in his cheeks. "That wasn't a fucking joke, you insouciant little shit--"

"Big words! Oooh, wow! Everyone's so impressed!" Marcus was shouting now. "People see through you, Dad! You act in control because you're so fucking scared that if you don't, people will treat you like...like Granddad. Huh? That's it, isn't it? Big bad Bucephalus, all these years later...his hair still so dark from spending his life in the shadow of his father." The mustang's voice quavered. "Well, he's not the fucking only one, you asshole. You ruined my fucking life!"

"You're the one who walked."

"You..." Marcus blinked, disbelievingly. "I'm sorry, what? Are you putting all of this on me?"

Bucephalus shrugged. "You walked. You could have stayed."

Marcus was silent, his eyes wide. Then they slid down to Perch. "It's the same fucking thing," he said wonderingly. "It's the same. You...you only have the one answer. That's it, isn't it? You're so fucking broken inside...all you have is the anger. Decades of it. Is it all for Granddad? He tried, Dad, you know? He wasn't the best, but he tried--"

"He was a failure!" Bucephalus screamed. He hated it when Marcus mentioned his father. Hated it more than when he called him Bucky. Hated it more than anything, because no matter how angry he became, how many people he controlled, how much he tried...he could never reach him again, to show him that his son had done what he'd never even tried to do. "He failed," he said again, softer, but with smooth, liquid rage slipping between the words, "and he would have dragged both of us with him. I saved us. I saved you, you ungrateful, worthless, unrepentant little two-bit lying sack of excrement...and all you have ever given me back is pain and disrespect and hatred."

"How the fuck would you know what pain feels like, Dad?" Marcus snarled. He was breathing heavily, and one hand was clenched into a fist. "Who loved you? Me!" He stabbed his chest with a finger. "Which of us lost his home, his father, and his lover on the same day? Me!" Stab. "Who had to tell everyone, why yes, I am related to the psychotic stallion who fucks vulnerable colts in nightclubs, but I actually have a sense of right and wrong, so p-please h-h-hire..." The last stab was weaker, and a sob exploded from his throat before he reigned it back in. "Me, Dad. Me. Always me. I did everything for you...I just wanted you to love me. Fuck, I'd have settled for a 'good job, son'. Just once. Once. I gave you everything I had, you fucking hateful beast...even me! And because of one joke--"

"STOP CALLING IT A JOKE!" Bucephalus roared, and it was as an earthquake. Perch screamed and fell to the floor, sobbing, but the black stallion didn't care. "YOU HUMILIATED ME!" He could not stand to hear his son lie one more time by calling what he'd done a...a joke. It was insulting! When he'd come to, and he'd seen their faces. Their smirks. The gear had chafed, and he'd struggled, but it was far too tight. And they were laughing then, and Marcus had come up to him, and smiled, and taken his cock out, and slapped his face with it. Called him "horsey". Asked him if he'd had his daily dose of sausage. And behind him...his friends, the strangers, the passers-by. Even people he knew. Looking at him and rolling their eyes. Another stupid, uncontrolled stallion who didn't know when he'd gone too far. Just like all the others.

No different to any others. No better at all.

He could see nothing now through the redness and the fury except his son, standing before him, a hated and unwelcome challenger. The bottled anger of decades was uncorked now, and could not be put back. He would show Marcus why he deserved to be respected. He would prove to him that he was superior to all the other men in his life. He would dominate this ungrateful, whining boy, and remind him that he was his father, and ensure he never stepped out of line again.

He swung for Marcus' head, but the other stallion grabbed his wrist as it curved in towards his neck, and punched him in the solar plexus from the other side. Bucephalus grunted, bending over and snarling. A hoof flew forward, but his son twisted to the side, releasing his father's wrist to turn the groin-kick into a simple glancing blow along the thigh. Bucephalus took advantage of the moment to lash out with one hand, fingers like claws, making his son dance backwards a step. When his hoof caught on the edge of a carpet, and he took an instant to steady himself, the black stallion took the opening: with a furious scream, he lunged, arms wrapping around Marcus' midriff and using their combined weight against his son, driving him to the ground and knocking all the air out of him with a loud snort.

Before his son could gather his wits, Bucephalus grabbed his wrists, spreading his arms wide and holding them down against the ground. He shifted one knee to press into his son's groin, applying fearsome pressure against him. His mane had fallen down over his eyes, and he flicked it away with annoyance. Marcus was breathing heavily, looking at his father through narrowed eyes. Bucephalus ground his knee against his son's balls, making the other stallion snarl up at him and struggle against his arms.

"You disrespectful little shit," Bucephalus hissed. "I am your father, and you will fucking respect me." He grunted and redoubled the effort to hold his son down; he really was a lot stronger than the last time they'd fought. His knee pushed in more; he could feel his son's cock through his pants as well now. "You never fucking learn, Marcus. Always so arrogant, refusing to bend when you've already lost. Just fucking do as you're told."

Marcus spat into his eye. His breathing seemed even heavier than before. "Make me, shithead," he growled. And then he pushed his head up as far as it would go, and grabbed his father's lower lip in his teeth, and pushed his tongue into his father's mouth.

Bucephalus was caught so unawares, his grip on Marcus faltered. The mustang ripped his arms free, but didn't push his father off him. Instead, one hand flew down to grab painfully at his cock, and the other took a handful of mane, pulling his head towards him for a deeper kiss. Bucephalus growled, but his body was reacting instantly to Marcus' rough treatment. It hurt: the bite, the rough fondling of his sensitive balls, the pulling on his mane. But he liked that, and his son knew it. A little bit of pain, to season the pleasure. He'd gotten used to Perch, and others like him. They never fought back. They never challenged him. They needed training, but they rarely needed complete physical domination. They all wanted him already. Marcus...who knew what Marcus felt, but he hadn't wanted him. He'd wanted to kill him. And now he'd shown his belly in the way Bucephalus liked most, and he was going to take the opening.

He pulled back from his kiss, suddenly intensely aware of his son's body. The muscle was beautiful; every curve earned through weeks of effort. He smelled of stallion, pure stallion: sweat and power and lust. The sweat glimmered still, and droplets stood on his muzzle like tiny diamonds. He lunged in to lick them off, tasting Marcus' rawness. Fuck this stallion! Fuck him for everything he'd done. Fuck him for being so beautiful.

"Fuck you, Marcus," he grunted, and his son's response was instantaneous.

"If you still can, you softcock mare." The hand at his cock slipped inside his pants, gripping the flesh as it hardened, stroking up and down. "I fucking hate you, Dad...fuck, you drive me insane. Fuck you. Fuck your sexy cock. Fuck me!"

"Shut the fuck up, boy, I do what I want." He was simply saying things now, not even trying to be original. His hands gripped his son's chest, squeezing the hard muscle, sliding down his belly. One hand grabbed his son's belt and tore it off, tossing the ragged leather to the side. Ripping the zipper open was just as easy, and then he had two fingers up inside his son's warmth, and it was like going back in time. He didn't give him any time; the fingering was rough and unlubricated. Marcus cried out, and swore at him, and called him names and asked for more. Bucephalus shut him up by pressing his mouth to his, their tongues battling a proxy war inside Marcus' mouth as his father's fingers stroked and dug and made his son moan.

Bucephalus pulled them out, and broke the kiss. Marcus didn't wait; he undid his father's pants, pulling out his hot, erect dick with excited eyes. He spread his legs and his father took his ankles; this was a dance they'd had many times before. One hand to guide the flare forward, to press it in juuuust enough -- and then Bucephalus drove forward with a yell matched by his son.

"Ah, FUCK!" Marcus screamed, but whether it was the pain of dry entry, or the pleasure of a thick stallion cock filling him, who knew. Bucephalus didn't care. His son's ass needed cock, and he would provide. It was still a perfect ass; he could feel that. Marcus had not neglected his rear when working out, and the muscles were tight and warm. It felt incredible to be fucking a stallion who had the power to fight back. This was domination. This was control. His son would remember why he was in charge now.

The fuck was as bestial as they came. Every thrust made his son wince with pain, but equally, his moans were loud and guttural. Bucephalus did not hold back; he pressed and pressed until every inch of himself was inside Marcus. His flare felt bloated and tugged against the barely-lubricated flesh with every thrust. It felt incredible. His cock was oozing pre-cum faster and faster, and soon the thrusts weren't silent, but sloppy; slippery deep poundings of cock in ass. Marcus's arms were thrown back now, and his musk surrounded them, driving Bucephalus mad. His son smelled like him, but not. He looked like him, but fitter. Only his cock did not measure up, although it was more than close enough. The sum of it was intoxicating, like fucking a younger version of himself. It was all he could hope for, and not having this had only made him hate his son more.

"I will breed you, and you will thank me," he snarled, and Marcus' eyes flew open, wide and intense. "You are mine, Marcus, and you will fucking acknowledge that. And me." His thrusts were faster now, as every inch of Marcus' insides became slippery with his fluids. "You will do as I say, when I say it..."

"I'll do as I want, you geriatric fuck," Marcus shot back. His cock lay hard across his chest, drooling into the ridges between his abs. "You're just another....old stallion...trying to relive his glory days...ahhhhh, fuuuck!" He stopped speaking and Bucephalus felt the soft muscles around his cock clench, and release, and clench again...trying to milk the orgasm from his father. And -- fuck him -- it was working. He was so tight...

The big horse leaned into his fucking, driving his hips as hard as possible into Marcus, the plap, plap of the meeting of their skin filling the room. He could feel how flared he was now, the spongy mass completely blocking the passage. Not an ounce of sperm would escape his boy. His stomach would bulge from the volume of it, and he'd moan and call his father's name as he used to do.

Oh, Dad...oh, Bucky...fuck me deep, Daddy...

Memory and reality skipped around one another as Bucephalus shut his eyes and lost himself in the final moments of the fuck. This was how it should be. Should have been, all these years. Why did Marcus have to ruin it? The fucking idiot...he did deserve to pay. He didn't deserve a thick, creamy load from his father in his beautiful, tight ass. He didn't deserve to feel every inch of stallion prick filling him, fucking him, sliding deeper and deeper and getting thicker and longer and rising up to crest and explode...

Bucephalus bellowed when he came, a wordless equine scream that was unmistakably stallion. Breeding stallion, achieving peak. Flooding the chosen mare with virile seed that would linger for days, the scent of horse sex. His son's ass clamped down on his flare, and the big black horse almost passed out from the intensity of the pressure against his flare. He could feel his cock pulsing with each expulsion, his body straining to empty itself as fast as possible, the pleasure a hot, white glow throughout him, like a physical exultation that said to all watching that the act was complete.

The stallion had cum.

Bucephalus did not pull out. His cock simply softened to the point that gravity tugged it out -- along with a gloopy mass of white stallion semen that almost about steamed in the cool air. He had released his son's legs, and he sat on his haunches, now, breathing hard, staring at Marcus' face. His son's muzzle was splattered with his own cum from where his ejaculation had shot up to hit himself. Bucephalus used to do that to him. But thinking that brought the memories back, and the anger. He pulled one leg up, steadying himself, and then stood fully. Son or not...he was just another stallion. Not worth his time.

"Hmf." He turned away from the sight of his well-fucked son, and looked to Perch. The small stallion was curled up on the ground, looking distraught. He shivered again when Bucephalus looked at him, and the big stallion felt that frustrating twinge inside again. The one that was like a little reminder. You're supposed to care, here. You're supposed to feel. It only angered him more.

He strode over, wet dick flopping from one thigh to the other, and stood in front of Perch. "Come, son," he said snappishly. "We're leaving."

Perch whimpered, and from behind him, Marcus laughed softly. "Whatever. Take your slut, Bucky. Enjoy him. He'll never see you the same anymore. He's like me now -- except he's not your son. No matter what you call him." The other stallion stretched along the ground. "He's not me, Dad. Nobody is. You'll never replace me."

Bucephalus snarled and reached for Perch, but the stallion crawled backwards, away from him. He looked at Bucephalus now, and his expression held such terror, and confusion, and sadness that Bucephalus was momentarily at a loss. He wanted people to feel that. He wanted them to be off-kilter with him. It gave him power. But...this wasn't just anyone. It was Perch.

The twinge grew stronger.

"Son," he said again, trying to ameliorate his tone, "it's fine. You're safe now. Marcus won't bother us again. Come." He held out a hand, but Perch merely stared at it. Bucephalus waited. Scared animals sometimes needed a little while to remember the hand that fed them. Perch would see. There. He was looking at it, now. And he was lifting his eyes, and opening his mouth to say the words...

"You tried to hurt me, Daddy."

Bucephalus took a step back at the confusing pain that brought up inside. This was annoying. This was wrong. Fucking Marcus again; all the emotions he'd made the stallion dig up were getting in the way of his thoughts. He needed to clamp down on them.

"Why, Daddy?" Perch's voice was soft and beautiful, like him. But also pained, and bleeding. The wound was within, and he could not bandage it. "You...you...you attacked me..." He sniffed and wiped away a tear, and Bucephalus tried to explain. Funny that the words did not come out. He stood, with open mouth and extended hand, and was speechless. He knew what to say. He simply couldn't.

You humiliated me, Perch. Just like Marcus did. And I could not bear the shame. But it was a mistake. Marcus lied to you, to hurt me, knowing what I hate most. He abused you, and made me do it. He made me try to hurt you. To try to kill you. But you can trust me now. It won't happen again.

"It won't happen again," was the only part that he got out. Perch stared at him in confusion, and then the tears began again, and he shook his head.

"How can I trust you, D--daddy?" he gulped between sobs. "I'm s-s-scared."

"It's fine, Perch, I'm here now..."

"I'm scared of y-y-you!" The eyes that looked at him were watery, and brown, and the pain they held was infinite. "I l-l-loved you, Daddy...w--why..." He broke down, clasping himself and rocking back and forth. "Why, Daddy?" He shook his head. "Why does e-e-everyone..."

"Perch, I..." I don't know what to say. He had hurt his stallion. Not a stallion, not merely another dumb evening fuck. This stupid, annoying, beautiful horse had managed to get inside him in a way none of the others had. He should be furious at Marcus for manipulating that. He should turn around and throttle him. But...he couldn't seem to look away from the sight of the small, damp stallion weeping before him.

Now both the stallions in the room had broken his heart.

There was something he could say...but it was a lie. Marcus had taken that from him. He had loved his son so passionately -- so intensely -- that when their trust was shattered, so was his faith in love. If someone he'd loved that much had betrayed him so deeply, then love was a smokescreen. A pretty lie. It couldn't be trusted. To love was to invite hurt at any moment.

Perch was looking up at him, waiting for the end of his sentence. Bucephalus tried to speak, but nothing happened. His mind spun, trying to find the answer. He could leave without Perch; that left a stabbing pain that made him wince. He could come back later, when he was calmer; but that just left more time for Marcus to fill his mind with untruths. He could force him to come with him. But he knew if he took that path, Perch would never be his again. He would simply be his prisoner.

The two horses stood in silence, clutching their hurts, unable to find an answer. Bucephalus' mind raced around and around and around...and found an answer. A loathsome, terrifying answer that filled his joints with gravel as he turned and walked stiffly to the table, and picked it up, and walked back. He stretched forth his hand -- the hardest motion he'd ever made in his life -- and offered it to Perch. He didn't try to add words; if he needed to add words to this, then the gesture was never gonna work anyway. He simply stood as still as ice, his blue eyes locked to Perch's face, and waited.

After a moment, Perch rose and took the torc from his hand.

Bucephalus forced himself to stand still. Every muscle in his body screamed as he held them taut, terrified that if he let himself go, he'd break the spell. Perch stared at the torc, and at him, and he gave only the slightest nod. And then waited some more.

Perch walked closer. He could smell him better now. The light, fruity smell that came from his favourite soap. The soft musk from his dense, fine hair. How he had missed it. But he did not say anything, and did not move. Perch stepped up close to him, so close. His breath wafted over Bucephalus' face, and Bucephalus looked down at him. He was not crying anymore. That was good. He shouldn't cry. He was too beautiful, too...too loved.

"Son, I lo--"

The cold metal of the torc slid around his neck, cutting off his final words.

---

Perch slowly pulled his hands back from Bucephalus' neck. The stallion's eyes had gone dun, and stood tall and still. The tan stallion hesitated, and then reached up to tug on his father's mane. The head dipped, but there was no other response.

Marcus came up behind him, and Perch moved slightly away from the taller horse. The mustang gave a low whistle.

"Wow, Dad...wow." He patted the side of his father's face. "Didn't expect that from you." He looked down at Perch. "Don't have to be scared of him now, huh? You can just tell him what to do, and he'll do it. Probably for the best." He sneered. "Stupid fuck's never gonna change."

Perch ignored him, looking up at his father. "Daddy?" he said softly.

"Yes?" Monotone, but listening.

"Daddy...I want to be happy with you. But you scare me. And I don't want to leave. I don't...my mom was crying when I went home, Daddy. Marcus said I should go home. But...my mom and dad...they wanted me to come home to stay. To go back to school. They said you lied to me. But...you never lied to me, Daddy. And..." He clasped his father's arm. "I can do what I want. I don't want to...I'm not so smart, Daddy. And it's hard. And you care for me, and...and so what if I want to do that? I can do what I want, and...and I want to be with you. I don't want to do anything else. I want to be with you, and take care of you, and you take care of me. Why not? I can do what I want. I'm grown up. And you'll take care of me." He stepped closer, nuzzling into his father's chest. "Will you care for me, Daddy?"

"Yes, son."

Perch sniffed and wrapped his arms around Bucephalus. They could figure this out. The fear of experiencing his father's uncontrolled violence again had only barely been enough for Perch to not go running home to him, once the loneliness and need truly set in. But Daddy had found a way. He had come for him, and he had put on the torc, and now Perch could make him better. He would do what Perch said, and they could be happy.

He stepped back, looking up at Bucephalus with a smile. "I'll care for you too, Daddy. Because I love you."

"That's real touching, Perch," Marcus drawled. "But you don't have to lie to him. I'll handle everything."

"It's not a lie--" The small horse turned just in time to see Marcus bringing a hand towards him, and feel the cold metal. His mind was thrown again into the chaotic miasma, and he fought against it until the cool words slid through, making a clear and obvious path for him to follow.

"Perch, this is handsome Bucephalus," Marcus said. The black horse before Perch seemed limned in light, beautiful beyond anything he'd ever seen. "Bucephalus, this is beautiful Perch." The handsome horse looked back at him with wide-eyed delight, and Perch blushed at the desire in his eyes. "And I'm Daddy Marcus." The two blushing horses looked at Marcus together, and the mustang smiled.

"And we're going to be a very happy family."