Date: Sun, 11 Jul 2010 10:57:51 -0700
From: DJ <barebuttup@gmail.com>
Subject: Father and Son Byrne, Ch 1 (father/son)

  On an early summer morning in a high altitude mountain retreat, Brian
Byrne, 42, 6'2", tousled black curly hair with tiny hints of salt mixing
in, watched his seventeen year old son Ciaran, complete his water workout.

   From the Olympic sized pool and deck, Brian could see the rugged peaks
of snow laden mountains just being kissed by the sun.  He noted quietly
that everything in his view -- sun, mountains, surroundings, and most of

all, his child -- was perfect.  In his mind, he did a freeze frame of the
moment before yelling to Ciaran, "Dig in, son, 100 meters left!"

   Brian walked the pool as Ciaran trained for the Olympic trials.  He'd

been there every step -- or stroke -- of the way, since Ciaran first joined
the swim team in grammar school, the second grade.  The kid was built for
the water, and a decade later, he still loved to swim.  That was the single

reason Brian pushed Ciaran, because his son loved his sport.  Brian wasn't
the sort of parent who would push his son just because he had the
capability and the potential to be a world class athlete.  He was the sort

of parent who wanted his son to grow up a fully formed, healthy human
being. His love for his son was boundless, as was his commitment to being
the best parent possible.  His wife, Ciaran's mother, Aisling, an

archaeologist, was away more than she was home, so Ciaran and Brian's bond
was deeper perhaps than most fathers and sons.  Brian had been both father
and mother to Ciaran since Aisling's career and notoriety began pulling her

away when Ciaran was just barely out of his toddler years.  Through the
miracle of social networking sites such as FaceBook and technology such as
satellite phones, Ciaran and his mom managed to stay in close touch.

Still, there was no question in any of their minds who the main parent in
the family had always been.

   Ciaran made his last turn and Brian grabbed a towel.  The swimmer
touched in and kicked out into the lane on his back, took off his goggles

and flashed a slightly winded grin at Brian.  Brian's own smile at his son
nearly matched the sun's reflection off the water in intensity.  Ciaran
came back in, hoisted himself to the pool deck and his dad wrapped him in

the towel for a hug.  "Great workout, buddy.  Your times were strong
throughout.  You are still not quite getting full extension on your left
side coming out of your turns, though.  Otherwise, you looked great out

there."

   Ciaran toweled his body and hooked his arm around his father's shoulders
as they headed off the pool deck and onto the cedar deck patio that
surrounded the mountain retreat.  Brian noticed Ciaran's raised eyebrow as

they walked.  "What?"

   "Oh...nothing," Ciaran said with a smirk.

   Brian stopped, holding on to Ciaran's forearm around his neck, forcing
his boy to stop, too.  "I know that grin, what's on your mind, champ?"

   "Ah, dad, it's just that -- have you noticed?  Don't tell me you
haven't!"

   They stood eye to eye, humor dancing in Ciaran's face.  Brian's
mystification grew.  Ciaran rolled his eyes.  "Dad!  Here we are, standing

side to side.  Right?  Eye to eye, man to man, and..?"

   Brian's brow was knitted as though he was attacking a complex
mathematical procedure.  Finally, he sighed, and admitted defeat.  "Sorry

son, maybe I'm getting dim in my old age, I have no idea what you mean."

   Ciaran held his father's gaze and slowly began raising and lowering
himself on his toes.  "Standing eye to eye, dad....get it?"

   Dawning awareness blasted into Brian's brain.  "Holy shit!  Stand still,
son!" Ciaran complied, grinning.  Brian looked at his shoulder, then at his
son's.  The boy's was half an inch higher.  "Jeezus, Ciaran, how could I

have not noticed?  We are not eye to eye, actually, you've surpassed me.
You have grown taller than me!  When did that happen?  How the hell..."

   Brian held his son at arm's length.  "Let me look at you, son.  I'd

better start paying more attention!" Ciaran stood still and felt his
father's scrutiny.  Brian noted that his son's arms were bulkier than he'd
last noticed, his shoulders, pecs, his entire upper body was sculpted lean

muscle.  His shape was a classic V.

   As Brian's eyes fully engaged in looking carefully at his son, he began
seeing him not just as his son, rather as a piece of art, a perfectly
created beautiful creature.  He saw some pieces of himself in his son,

broad shoulders, same witchy light green eyes, and he saw much of Aisling
in Ciaran, fully lips, high cheekbones.  He wondered in that moment if
Ciaran had inherited the Byrne endowment, and hoped he had.  He wanted

suddenly to reach out and touch his son.  Ciaran sensed a shift and tried
to catch his father's eye.  Brian had to restrain himself from running his
hands down Ciaran's chest, had to hold back from drawing his head to his

own to kiss his son.  He was immediately jarred by a crashing deluge of
uncomfortable feelings, images, long suppressed desires.

   "Okay, well, congratulations, my son!" Brian said in an ultra-jovial

tone.  Let's get some breakfast in you!  I will make the famous Byrne
Breakfast while you shower.  I'll be ready in fifteen minutes, so busta
move, son!"

   Ciaran headed upstairs to his bathroom feeling discouraged.  For a

moment, he had thought that maybe, just maybe, his dad was starting to feel
some of the same deep feelings for him that he'd held for his father since
he could remember.  "He was so close, I almost thought he was going to kiss

me," he said softly.  "Wonder what happened.  Hell, if he DID feel that
way, he's probably scared to death.  How do I let him know that I love him
more than a son loves his dad?" Ciaran pondered the question for the

thousandth time in his young life.  Talking still to himself as he turned
on the shower, he said, "No, actually, it's not the thousandth time,
because I never really stop thinking about it.  The question is always with

me.  I can't imagine what it would feel like to NOT wonder what I could do
to show him how I feel without scaring him off or making him hate me."

   Under the water, he soaped up and washed thoroughly.  His right hand

slid down to his manhood, half stiff before he touched it, and fully rigid
after just a few strokes.  As he often did, he imagined his father walking
in on him in the shower as he masturbated.  Seeing what his son was doing,

Brian kept watching as Ciaran saw his dad and didn't stop pulling his meat.
Brian would slowly undress and join Ciaran under the jets, first pulling
him to his lips, hungrily parting them with his tongue, kissing as the

water cascaded onto their entwined bodies.

   As Ciaran imagined his father's hands on his body, he held his sac in
his left hand and beat his cock with his right, imagining his father all
over him.  The morning's exchange had him edgy and he felt his balls

tightening as he hammered his cock with his fist, blasting his heavy load
against his chest, wishing hard to feel his dad's body next to his.

   He dried quickly, and tossed on gym shorts and a muscle shirt, as he and

his dad would hit the gym downstairs after breakfast.

   "'Bout time you got here," Brian said, almost normal and recovered, or
so he thought until he looked up from the stove and felt his manhood surge

at the sight of his son, whose eyes seemed particularly intense as he came
to the counter to get dishes to set the table.

   Ciaran put his hand on his dad's shoulder and said, softly, "Dad, I
don't say it enough, but thanks.  Thanks for making breakfast.  Thanks for

taking care of me.  Thanks for ..." Brian heard a catch in his son's throat
and glanced at him.  Ciaran cleared his throat and continued, "Thanks for
loving me, dad.  Just thanks."╩ He didn't move his hand, rather,

squeezed Brian's shoulder lightly.  Brian was terrified.  His cock was
straining against his shorts, and had Ciaran looked down, he would have
immediately noticed.  And, the same was true for Brian.  Both Byrne men

were displaying the Byrne legacy under their shorts.  The pain he heard in
his son's voice was enough to pull Brian back from his self absorption.
Ciaran's grip on his shoulder grew stronger and Brian saw tears in his

son's eyes.  Only then did he really see the inner struggle Ciaran fought.

   Still not understanding, he followed his instinct and drew his son to
him, and Ciaran held him in a viselike grip, sobbing, trying desperately to

hold back his pent up emotions.  He turned off the gas stove with one hand
and held his son, trying to comfort him.

   Ciaran wept hard against his father, afraid to let go, afraid to not.
He knew, finally, that he had to be honest.  Not able to speak, he let his

body speak for him.  He took his father's hand and guided it to his rock
hard cock.  He watched his father's face, let a moan slip from his lips,
heard his father's responding moan and felt his father guide his hand to

HIS rigid manhood.  Each man felt the other's heart pounding against the
chest pressed to his own.  Each man looked for and saw fear and amazement
in the other's face.

   "Doing the silence," was a mantra in the Byrne house.  When you became

uncentered, when your energies grew fractured, you did the silence,
refocusing, steadying.  Theirs was a house that respected and nurtured
silence and self sufficiency.  So now, the Byrne men did the silence.  Into

one another's eyes they gazed.  Hands between them held still for long
minutes until Brian ventured out to do that which he so wanted, to touch
his son's body.  He broke Ciaran's gaze only long enough to take off each

of their shirts.  They shucked out of their shorts and stood.  Brian
started with his hands on Ciaran's shoulders.  He kneaded the muscles,
moved his work-roughened fingers over his son's nipples, heard the catch in

Ciaran's breath, felt the throbbing of both of their cocks.  He continued
playing with the tiny hard nubs as Ciaran's hands both began exploring his
father's back and butt.

   With a look of apology, Ciaran broke gaze with Brian and sank to his

knees to take his father's cock in his mouth.  While not a virgin with
girls, Ciaran had never lusted for any male other than his father, and
anticipating this moment, had read as much as he could about fellating

another man.  He hoped he could get it right.  Brian's moan was certainly
not one of displeasure.  He grasped his son's head to steady himself as
Ciaran felt his father's knees weaken.

   The head of Brian's phallus was purple, bulbous, oozing precum, and so

thick that at first, Ciaran could only fit the tip in his mouth.  As Brian
began to gently thrust, Ciaran was able to make room in his throat for his
father.  He pulled lightly on Brian's sacs with his hands.  In his mouth,

he kept his teeth out of the way, and let his father direct the movement.
He gagged and teared, but refused to pull away.  He wanted to feel his
father's release jetting down his throat, but Brian pulled away and hoisted

his son up.

   Standing face to face again, Brian looked deeply into Ciaran's eyes,
this time just before closing his own as he kissed his son in the way a
lover kisses his lover.  Their lips met tentatively, but as soon as they

did meet, hunger overwhelmed each, the father and the son.  Ciaran wrapped
his fingers in his father's longish curls and Brian held his son's head,
touching his cheeks, nibbling his lips, feeling his son nursing on his

tongue.

   Ciaran looked at his father and said, "Dad, take me to bed.  I've dreamt
of this day since I was six years old.  I need you to make love to me."
Brian pondered those three sentences for a few moments and said, "My God,

Ciaran, that long?  How?" He hesitated and then smiled at his beloved son
and said, "Nevermind, time for questions and answers later."

   Brian's bedroom was on the main floor of the cabin, which really was

only a cabin insofar as it was made from logs, but at 6,000 square feet and
four levels with another 10,000 square feet of deck and then the pool, the
"cabin" as Brian called it, was a masterpiece, his masterpiece.  As a

builder, an architect, and a designer, Brian's little retreat had won
several major design awards.  He was very glad at the moment that his suite
was on the main floor just off the kitchen.

   "Lie down, son.  I need to taste and touch and feel every damned inch of

you."

   Brian lay against his son as he spoke.  Ciaran had other ideas, pushing
Brian's head down to his cock.  "Dad, will you...I mean...please?"

   Brian opened his mouth and accommodated a phallus that was at least as

large as his own.  Like Ciaran, it took Brian a few minutes to manage the
mouthful.  Unlike Brian, Ciaran was not gentle.  Brian could feel the pent
up years of tension and need in his son's body.  Through the strong fingers

on his head, Brian felt control, and a young man who was comfortable being
in control.  He wrapped his lips around his son's phallus kissing it,
keeping as much tension and pleasure-producing friction as he could on the

pistoning rod, marveling at the smooth skin of the only penis he'd ever
laid his lips on.  He did his best to adapt as Ciaran's thrusts quickly
quickly became frantic.  "Dad, oh fuck, Dad!  I'm gonna squirt,

eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"

   Ciaran never loosened his grip on Brian's hair and Brian swallowed most
of his son's load.  When Ciaran finally relaxed his hold, Brian rubbed his
scalp as he moved up.  He took his son in his arms and held him, feeling

his own need stiff between them against Ciaran's cum-stained belly.  Brian
rocked his pelvis against his son, feeling the friction.  Ciaran felt the
heat and friction, too.  Brian reached in a bedside table and grabbed lube.

He lubed his and his son's cocks and repositioned to continue the frottage.
Ciaran held his father against him, already feeling his cock swell as his
father's massive member rubbed his own.

   "I want you to fuck me, daddy," Ciaran said huskily.

   "No, son, not now.  This is all really fast.  Have you ever HAD anal sex
before?  As the receiver?" Brian prayed the answer would be "no."

   Ciaran shook his head and Brian said, "There will be time then, but not

now.  Now, shhhhhh."

   He kissed his son again and humped him harder and faster.  Ciaran
continued to hold them together tightly and snaked a hand between them and
wrapped around both of their cocks.  "Yea, dad, come on, give me your daddy

cum!  I want to taste it, dad, give it to me!"

   "Oh yea, C, you gonna cum with me?  C'mon, son, blow your load with me!"

   "Oooh, dad, yea, here it comes!"

   They humped together hard and fast, Brian's orgasm seemingly coming from

his toes and crashing over him so hard he nearly blacked out.  He came so
much he would have slid off his son had Ciaran not had him in a death grip.

   "Son, relax that hold a little bit, could you?  I'm not going anywhere,

except maybe to the shower with you.  We have a huge pool of jizz right
here and sticky is just not a really sexy feeling after the fact.  C'mon,
let's clean up a little."

   He slid off Ciaran and rolled off the bed with his son following him

watching his dad from behind.  "You know, dad, you have a great butt.  Your
thighs, too, they're massive.  You're a stud!"

   Brian turned and looked at his son, flushed in the face, cum stained,

eyes full of merriment and vulnerability.  Brian just shook his head and
chuckled.  "What the hell have we started here, son?"

   "I don't know, dad, but it's about damned time we did, whatever it is.

Hurry up!  I'm starving, and you're lucky I am because I have this fantasy
of you and me in the shower that will take some time.  We'd better hurry
and eat because I think we're going to need another shower and soon!"