The Son's Rivalry

Hi everybody! This story will start off slow, so if that's not what you like, you may need to skip this chapter (and maybe the next one, although I wouldn't recommend it). This story is a little bit different from the ones I usually do, but I hope you enjoy it.

Kyle felt the roar of the engine vibrate through the steering column. He looked out the window towards Tyler's BMX, a couple metres to his left. Tyler met his gaze with one of mutual hate. "Fuck off," he mouthed through the window.

Kyle flipped him off. "Your mom's tits hang lower than your grades." He didn't yell it, but he knew Tyler could lipread it, and it gave him a thrill to see Tyler's jaw clench. Kyle had been stuck at this traffic light for what felt like forever, his Toyota Corolla idling beside Tyler's BMW. Kyle hadn't seen much of Tyler's mom - Tyler ensured that much - but from what he had seen, she was gorgeous.

Suddenly, the BMW surged forward without warning. Tyler's engine screamed as he took off on the green light. Kyle slammed his foot on the accelerator, tires squealing as the Corolla lurched forward. He pushed the engine hard, the cheap rattling sound competing against Tyler's smooth, deep growl. Kyle kept his eye on the BMW's taillights as they tore through the suburban street corner. He saw Tyler glance at him in the rearview mirror, smirking. Kyle's knuckles were white on the wheel. Tyler was pulling ahead.

The chase tightened Kyle's chest. Every time he gained a little ground, Tyler would pull away again. They weren't going fast enough to draw sirens yet, but they were racing through residential zones where kids played. Kyle didn't care. His blood thrummed as he rounded a bend too sharply, the Corolla's wheels struggling for traction on wet pavement. Ahead, Tyler's BMW slid sideways briefly before straightening out. Kyle followed. He saw Tyler signal right abruptly, tires screeching as he veered onto Maple Street. Kyle followed without hesitation.

His palms were slick with sweat now. Tyler's sudden turn led them past Kyle's own house. There, standing dumbly at the mailbox wearing nothing but an oversized pink robe loosely tied at her waist, was Kyle's mom, Diane. The robe gaped open as she bent to retrieve junk mail, exposing one heavy breast fully. Kyle slammed his fist against the steering wheel. "Fucking Christ!" He knew Tyler had seen it—the bastard's brake lights flashed mockingly. The humiliation burned hotter than the engine's whine.

Kyle's car roared forwards, fueled by rage, as he closed the gap between Tyler and himself. The boys sped through a tunnel of Maplewood trees at a dizzying pace, the ground beneath them turning into a dirt track as they ventured further and further from town. Tyler’s BMW kicked up dust clouds that settled on Kyle's windshield like a gritty veil. Ahead, Tyler swerved onto a narrower lane—one Kyle knew led to an abandoned farmstead—then slammed on his brakes abruptly. That was the last thing Kyle remembered as his car veered of the dirt track, smashing through the thick forest growth. The passenger side door crumpled against a tree trunk, pinning him inside. When he pulled his bleeding head up, Tyler was already leaning against his still-running BMW, grinning like a predator. "Looks like you lost," Tyler drawled. "Again." Then, he blacked out.