The Break In - 1. Chapter 1

Bucky Hart was bad news.

The fact that I was entertaining his plan as he mapped it out for me told me so. He was bad, bad news. He was the kind of guy fathers warn their daughters about. Well, I wasn’t my father’s daughter, so I’d never gotten that warning.

“So we sneak in right here, and we do it. Plain and simple. No one finds out,” he said. He had a proud grin on his face.

What he was proposing wasn’t a senior prank. It was suicide.

As I studied the floor plans he’d procured God knows how, I wondered if there was any way in hell we could pull this off.

The Dylan Boys School was built like a prison. Our dorm, Jamison Hall, was on the far left of the page. The highlighted trail towards Headmaster Peterson’s home in the center of campus was straight forward. Any road would have taken us there.

That was the easy part of the plan. The tricky part came in getting into Peterson’s house. According to Bucky, my neighbor and evident partner in crime, there were three viable entrances. The first was the front door, naturally. Visible from the main street and the side street and a direct line from the chapel it faced. The chapel had a camera on the steeple that took pictures of the main campus every thirty seconds and transmitted them to the switchboard. Unless we planned on being invisible or as fast as lightning, there was no way to get through Peterson’s front door without it being caught on camera.

“The second option is the back door,” Bucky explained. I tried not to smile at the innuendo, especially when Bucky looked at me. “Out of the gutter, focus right here.” He pointed to the map. “The trick with this one is that Peterson’s housekeeper and assistant are the only two who have keys to this door and it stays locked almost always.”

A locked door hadn’t stopped Bucky from pulling pranks before.

“See here,” he pointed to Peterson’s back yard. “This is his garden. Easy enough to slip through the hedges, unseen. But once we’re inside, there’s a door we can’t open and this.”

He handed me a photograph of bull terrier that was uglier than sin itself.

“Peterson’s bull dog sleeps by the window every single night I’ve gone by there. We wake him up, we wake Peterson up and we’re doing kitchen duty well into the summer.”

He was right. Getting caught wasn’t an option. Not only would coach find a way to punish us, our parents would most likely have to pay a hefty fine and we’d be assigned demerit duty. Last time I got demerits because of Bucky, I was forced to clean every beaker in the science center under the watchful gaze of Professor Scab (his real name was Mr. Scobata with a long O, but they’d been calling him Scabby since this place was built, probably).

The third option, the riskiest option, was also the most daring.

“We go through the second floor balcony,” he said. He pulled out another floor plan. This one was bigger and much more detailed. It wasn’t the plan for the entire campus, just Peterson’s house. He pointed to the balcony. “This is the balcony to his bedroom.”

“No way,” I said.

“Listen up. Peterson sleeps like a brick,” Bucky explained. “On my last three trips there, I’ve thrown stones from his garden up to the balcony and nothing. He never woke up.”

“Stones are a different thing.”

“I know that. Don’t you think I know that? So the last time I went up there, I climbed up to the balcony. It was a noisy endeavor. I had to drag a table there. I lunged up, I scraped my foot and cursed. Still nothing.”

Leave it to Bucky to do thorough reconnaissance work. He knew I wouldn’t sign off on a mission unless he was sure we could pull it off. Not after the last debacle.

“Still—“ I began to object.

“So I opened the door. And I stepped in. Not only did he not wake up, but he snored like a madman, it was crazy, Mo, you don’t even know.”

The plan lying before me was starting to look doable. Up the balcony, through the door, shuffle past a sleeping Peterson, across the hall to his office and bam… we’d be in.

“There’s still the question about the key,” I said. He knew I was already sold, just covering my bases. He grinned and I knew this was when I came in.

“Ok, so Peterson has three copies of his office key floating around campus,” Bucky explained. “One is with the Assistant Headmaster.” Jenkins was a hawk. No way we were getting that key.

“The second one is with Peterson’s assistant himself.” Mike Johnson was a prick and a half. Legend was he’d made prefect his first year at Dylan and had been sucking the administration’s dicks up the ladder ever since. He was a two-year alum, gunning for a more glamorous post. If it meant wiping Peterson’s ass to get it, he’d do it. No way we were getting that key.

“The third key stays at the switchboard,” Bucky said mischievously. This was where I came in. The night time switchboard officer was a young guy—about 25, and he’d always taken a rather strong interest in me. His crush was yet to be confirmed physically, but the passes he made at me were less than subtle.

His first month on the job, Bucky had thought it would be a great idea to rearrange the furniture in the student commons one night. We got busted by Young Red. Bucky, as was his custom, bolted, leaving me to explain why everything in the commons was facing outward instead of inward.

Instead of writing me up like he should have, Red just took me to the switchboard and asked me all kinds of questions about going to all boy’s boarding school. His curiosity turned from sports and class difficulty levels to sexual preference and performance. He hadn’t come right out and asked me if I was a homosexual, but he’d alluded to the question.

“So I bet you guys get together and have circle jerks and stuff, huh?” he asked me. “And compare sizes and stuff? You get off to that kind of stuff?”

“We’re 17,” I told him. “We get off to anything.”

“Ever get off with another guy?” with that question, I gave him a look that said he’d crossed the line and he curtailed around it. “You don’t have to answer that, that’s personal. You run along and don’t cause any more trouble.”

Being well trained by Bucky, I knew that if this guy fancied me, it’d be a good card to have in our pocket. “I’m not gonna answer that question for you until I turn 18. I wouldn’t want you to find out and get yourself into any trouble.” I flashed him the smile I knew could make straight and gay guys melt, and I turned and walked away from him.

Since that encounter, Red would shout out numbers to me any time he saw me on campus. It took me three or four times to realize it, but I finally understood he was counting down to my birthday. He must have gotten it from the student profiles. When I did turn 18, I got ridiculously drunk and Red had to drive me to the clinic on campus. He didn’t write me up again, but he stayed with me all night. I’m not sure exactly what happened, but he had been super nice to me ever since. Even nicer than before.

If anyone could get something out of Red, it was me.

“So when does this mission go down?” I asked.

“Parents weekend,” Bucky replied with brimming pride.

“Parents wee… that’s in four days,” I said. There was no way we could get this done in four days. We didn’t even have the supplies we’d need once we were in the office.

“Leave everything to me. You get the key from Red, and I’ll handle the rest.”

I knew that Bucky had underlings in lower classes on his service and guys from the town he could call on to get him anything from liquor to cigarettes to strippers for speak-easy parties, but I doubted he knew anyone who could get us this stuff on such short notice.

Still, if Bucky said he could handle it, he would handle it.

Parent’s weekend. It was such a perfect time for a prank like this. All senior parents would be at a cocktail party in Peterson’s foyer a floor below where Bucky and I would be doing our damage. It was so perfect, I couldn’t help but smile as I walked next door to my room. We always planned in Bucky’s room. Always.

I started on my mission the next morning. I woke up extra early, before the sun was even out, and circled campus to the library. I walked back towards the dorm, this time taking the route that led through the commons. The door to the back of the commons opened loudly and I shuffled in. I rubbed my hands together to feign freezing as I walked through the front foyer and next to the switchboard desk. Red was there, of course.

“Elmo!” he greeted. “You’re up awfully early. Or is it late?”

“It’s late, Red,” I replied. He let me call him Red. Everyone else called him Officer Redson. “Been up in the library studying all night. I’m still not close to finishing this paper though.”

I yawned for good measure.

“Well look at you, you look downright exhausted.”

“I am, Red. I’m as tired as a hooker in the White House.”

“Here,” he said, standing up and offering his seat. His security uniform hung loosely on his tall frame, but his face was cute in a goofy go lucky kind of way. The glasses could go. Still, I’d only hit it if the uniform was part of the equation. It upped the hotness quotient Bucky and I had developed our second year.

“I couldn’t, Red,” I said.

“Nonsense. I’ve been sitting here all night. And here.” He handed me a full cup of hot coffee. Whatever I’d agreed to the night I turned 18 was paying itself back in spades, right then. I sat down and looked around. I told Red about a paper I wasn’t actually writing as I surveyed the area. The faculty keys, the keys to every room in every building were under the desk to the left, sorted out into little envelopes. The envelopes were kept in folders in a mini-filing cabinet, labeled by building. Faculty Houses was the bottommost drawer. Bingo.

“Well, Red,” I said standing. “Thanks for the seat and the coffee. I need to shower and hit the grind some more before classes start.”

“You hang in there Elmo,” he said. I hated my name and had gone by Mo for all of high school. My teachers called me Mr. Richardson, which was fine. Red was the only one who called me Elmo besides my baby brother. He thought the name was fun to say. He was six.

Now that I knew where the keys were, I just had to create a diversion for Red. It would take me less than a minute to swipe and switch the key with a dummy piece of brass.

I spent all day thinking of a plan, running through scenarios and thinking three steps ahead of Red. He wasn’t the brightest bulb in the bunch, but I still needed a plot good enough to get him away from the desk long enough for me to make the switch. I decided to try that night, giving me two nights grace in case I failed. Parent’s weekend was coming up fast.

I followed the same pattern I had the night before, circling around campus wide so that I passed through the commons from the library. Same thing. Same routine. Only this time, I had a plan.

“Here,” I said, handing Red a box of cookies. “My mom sent me these a few days ago. They’re snickerdoodles.”

He took a cookie and bit into it.

“Sorry they’re kind of tough. My mom’s not the best baker.”

“No, they’re really good,” he said. I munched on a cookie I’d swiped from the dining hall that afternoon and leaned against Red’s desk. Just as I expected, Red picked up his coffee to wash down the cookie. As he brought it to his lips, I moved my foot over just a little to tip his chair sideways.

Bingo.

His coffee lurched and half the cup spilled onto the desk. The other half spilled onto Red as he overcorrected.

“Oh shoot,” he said, standing up and surveying the damage.

I maneuvered around so that I was using every napkin in Red’s stack to clear the coffee. Some had spilled onto the floor, so I kneeled down to wipe it up. The key was a foot away from me.

“Red, these napkins won’t do. Could you—“ I turned around to see Red taking his uniform shirt off, revealing a nicely chiseled body underneath. I hadn’t been expecting that many muscles or that many packs—eight in all. Red was a total closet hunk and his secret was out.

“What do you need?” he asked.

I recovered quickly, forcing myself not to lick my lips in front of him like a dog being offered a bone. “More napkins. Or paper towel from the bathroom.”

“Here.” He tossed me his shirt. “Just use that.”

Well that had backfired. Instead of running off to the bathroom to give me a chance to make the switch, Red had to ruin my plan by being sexy and offering me his shirt. I finished cleaning up, and said bye to Red as he put on what I could only imagine was his work out shirt to finish out his shift.

It was back to the drawing board, only this time, knowing what I now knew about Red, my plans took a different turn.

I followed the same early morning pattern, only this time I wore tight jeans and my freshman baseball t-shirt. The shirt was now too small in the shoulders, arms, and chest. The bottom barely grazed my belt line and if I moved my arms, anyone watching would get a clear view of my flat stomach and treasure trail. The jeans made my package look huge. They’d worked wonders when Bucky and I went to New York for a “debate club tournament” when the Navy happened to be docked for fleet week.

My seduction was tried and true. I’d done it more times than I could count, but I knew that it surprised Red to see me flirting back with him for a change. It surprised him even more when I made a crystal clear pass at him by sitting down on his desk with my legs to either side of him, putting him face to crotch with what I’m sure he’d wanted since he first met me.

It took seven minutes from first contact that night before Red was sucking my dick. About ten minutes after that, without warning, I spilled my load all over Red’s face and freshly washed uniform.

“Oh fuck,” he said, fingering my cum on his chest. “Is it bad?”

One of his eyes was closed, probably because semen was lingering dangerously close to it. On cue, I started laughing.

“Don’t laugh at me,” he said.

“You have to see your face Red,” I chuckled. “Go look at it.”

With his one good eye to guide him, Red stood up and walked to the bathroom. In the twenty seconds he was checking his facial out in the mirror, I crouched down and made the swap, sitting in Red’s chair with a second to spare.

He’d wiped off his face and taken off his shirt, giving me just what I wanted to see. I figured, I was already here and doing this, I may as well get some real enjoyment out of it. With my part of the mission complete, I spent the next 20 minutes worshipping the best abs I’d ever seen.

But that was only the first part. Bucky was pleased to see I’d been successful. He showed me the contraband he’d managed to score in the two days since we’d planned and I was pleasantly surprised at the idea he had for Peterson’s office. We smiled, planned some more and got ready for our parents to arrive for the weekend.

For the fourth year in a row, the Harts and the Richardson’s ate at the fanciest restaurant in town. Mrs. Hart and my mother had become friends by proxy of mine and Bucky’s relationship. They’d spent part of the summer in Europe together after our freshman year. Sophomore year it was the Hamptons while our dads bet on horses during the derby circuit. Last Christmas break, our motley crew had all gone up to Aspen for a week.

“Sebastian, you’re getting so tall these days,” my mother said to Bucky. He hadn’t grown and inch since she’d last seem him. Mrs. Hart commented on my baby face, gave me a smothering hug, and we endured the same conversation we endured every year.

I could tell Bucky was antsy. He fidgeted with his food. He smiled weakly when addressed. Was he nervous? Was Sebastian “Bucky” Hart intimidated by a mission?

I refused to believe it.

We escaped our parents early enough and lost them at one of the several tent parties going on around town. We did keg stands with fathers who could very well be our employers in a few months and danced with MILFs looking to cougar some young prey.

When we got back to our hall, back in Bucky’s room, we made our final plan. The next night was it.

We watched the parent’s cavort with the faculty at Peterson’s house from across the lawn on top of the chapel. We were sight unseen to the naked eye, but with our spy novel worthy binoculars we could see clearly what was going on. As the wine dwindled and the parents began to scamper away, Bucky grew more and more fidgety. He looked at his clock every few minutes.

“You realize this is our last building, right?” he said.

“We saved the best for last, Bucks,” I replied.

The best for last. I had fond memories of all of our missions. Breaking in to every building at some point in the last four years. There were 5 offices that had to be infiltrated in order to complete the Original Dylan Boys' challenge. Peterson’s was last and by far the most difficult. The others had been child’s play.

The Original Dylan Boys, class of 1844 and forever immortalized in Dylan’s history, had broken into what they considered sacred places on campus- five rooms within five buildings. Bucky and I were one room away from completing the Dylan Boys’ challenge. No one but us would ever know, but we’d hold that pride close to our hearts forever.

The time finally came. Through our night vision lenses, we saw Peterson retire to his room. We couldn’t help but watch him strip down to nothing and put on matching pajamas. It was like watching an animal give painful birth… we just couldn’t turn away. When his bedroom light clicked shut, Bucky started the timer. 70 minutes until he reached his REM cycle.

“I’m gonna miss this, Mo,” he said quietly as we waited.

“I am too, Bucks. But let’s be honest. You and I? This isn’t our last mission. We’ll be wild and crazy until the day we die, you know that,” I said.

“I do,” Bucky replied. We spent the rest of the time reminiscing some of our biggest pranks and accomplishments. This wasn’t icing on the cake. It was sprinkles on top of the icing.

70 minutes later, Bucky’s timer beeped and we knew it was time. Dressed in our best black Mission Impossible attire, we repelled down the wall of the chapel and into the bushes on the side. I followed Bucky along the hedges that hugged the trail, knowing that if Red at the switchboard looked closely enough, he would see two shadowy features making a stealthy crawl up the hill.

When we reached the top, directly in front of the Headmaster’s house, Bucky and I rounded the corner along the backside of the house. Had we turned right, we would have triggered the automatic lawn lights. Instead, we slipped around the hedges to the back and into Peterson’s large garden. The ghost of reverie hung in the air, along with the smell of catered barbeque and wine.

“This is it,” Bucky whispered. I smiled at him, wanting to give him a kiss right then and there. Instead, I slid up the wall behind Bucky and landed stealthily on balcony, next to Bucky. Another quick eye contact and smile, and we slid through the French doors and into Peterson’s boudoir.

Our boots made the slightest creek as we shuffled along the wood of the old house. Just as Bucky reached the bedroom door and creaked it open, I heard Peterson shift behind me. Out of instinct, I stopped moving, taking in whatever breath I could without making a sound. I craned my neck to the side and saw the headmaster so many feared clutch a husband pillow as if he longed to hold on to a real human body.

I turned back to Bucky, smiled and nodded. He took the cue, opened the door and we slipped into the hallway.

The door across the hall was our prize. It stood before us like a holy grail, waiting for us to turn the key and slide right in. I handed Bucky the key I’d stolen under Red’s watchful eye and waited to see the prize on the other side.

Bucky turned the lock and it stuck.

“Shit,” I said before I could stop myself.

He turned it again, looked back at me in panic. We’d come too far to stall here. There was no way this was ending like this. I know I’d taken the right key. Peterson must have had his locks changed. Maybe he was on to us. Maybe this whole thing was a reverse set up.

I saw our plan flash before my eyes. Every office and room we’d broken into before this seemed mute. You’re only as good as your last mission, I thought. And we were about to fail.

Just as I was about to ring the buzzer and admit our failure, Bucky smiled at me.

“Just kidding,” he said. He turned the knob, opened the door and we were in.

The room was what you’d expect from an office that was built in the mid-18th century and had only had moderate renovations since. A well varnished wood floor wore an old plush rug. The desk was too large for a man who fumbled his duties. Behind the desk was a huge shelf with the plates of every headmaster to guide The Dylan School. On the opposite wall was a photograph of James Walter Dylan, famed War of 1812 general from which Dylan derived its code of ethics and name. Next to him was a similar photograph of George Washington, the other prolific inspiration.

“We’re in,” I said to Bucky, finally pulling him in close. It was our fifth and last break in. We’d completed the challenge. All that was left was reaping our reward.

I kissed Bucky deeply, turned on by the danger of the situation. A few feet and two walls away slept a man who could have us expelled for the break in and the blatant act of homosexuality in one fell swoop. A scandal of that magnitude would ruin our families, embarrass our names. But we didn’t give a rat’s ass.

We kissed deeply and with the kind of abandon that only comes from doing the wrong thing and not giving a shit about it. That night, we made love with a passion only achieved by mixing danger and risk with two love-struck boys at the peak of their prime.

Story Discussion