FIGMENT

By Wes Leigh

 

This is a work of wild fantasy intended solely for the entertainment of my readers; any resemblance to any real people or places is purely coincidental. This story involves romance and sex between adult men as well as between men and teens and preteens, some incestual. If you are uncomfortable with any of this, please choose another story. This story is the property of the author and is protected by copyright laws. The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent.

Readers who would like to chat are encouraged to contact me at weston.leigh@protonmail.com.

If you enjoy this story, please support the Nifty archives today with a thoughtful donation by visiting https://donate.nifty.org/.

 

Chapter Three

 

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Sar tel' lythi ath tel' sintilai, ath Menodal, ath Aro, ath En, ent ath Eern ro talin. Sar tel' Eladrin.

We are the children of the seasons, of Springtime, of Summer, of Autumn, and of Winter's frigid grasp. We are the Eladrin.

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A soft knock on the bedroom door woke me up. Rick continued sleeping soundly next to me. The next knock was louder, and when Rick didn't awaken, I nudged him gently in the side. He grunted and mumbled, "What izit?"

"Someone's knocking on your bedroom door," I replied, turning on my side to kiss his naked shoulder.

He groaned and sat up. "Who's there?"

The door opened halfway and Trace's face snuck around the edge. He saw the two of us in bed together and smirked. "I have practice in 30 minutes, Dad."

Rick turned and looked at the clock. "Oh, shit!"

"Yeah. `Oh shit' is right. And Drew said you promised to take him for a haircut this morning."

Rick shook his head to clear it, then threw off the bed coverings, jumping out in all his naked glory and trotting into the ensuite bathroom to splash water on his face.

Trace moved inside the bedroom and casually leaned against the wall, studying me. I wasn't about to allow this teenager to intimidate me, so I sat up in bed, allowing him to see my naked upper body. I wanted to say, `That's right, boy. I slept with your dad last night, and we had a great time!' but instead, I asked, "What kind of practice is it?"

"Swim team," Trace replied with a smile as his eyes travelled up and down my hairy dad-bod.

"What's your best stroke?" I asked, making conversation.

He grinned, and I could tell he wanted to make an inappropriately vulgar response, but instead he replied, "Free or butterfly. I'm pretty good at both." He peeled off his tee-shirt and revealed a powerful, ripped physique.

I was impressed and said so.

Rick came out of the bathroom, drying his face on a towel. "He's been on the team for a couple of years. His body puts mine to shame."

I couldn't completely agree with that. Rick had a great body, and certain parts of it were fantastic. I didn't say that out loud, not with Trace standing there.

Trace glanced at his naked father and frowned. "By the way, we should have left a half hour ago and dropped Figment off at his piano lesson?"

Rick's shoulders slumped. "I completely forgot about that." He turned to face Trace. "Why didn't you wake me up sooner?"

Trace shrugged. "Didn't think about it. You're always the one with the schedule."

Rick sighed and pulled on sweat pants, covering his shapely ass. He mumbled to himself, turning to face me and biting his lip. "I'm sorry to take off so abruptly, Caleb, but we gotta leave now." He pointed at Trace. "Get your brothers in the car. You'll just have to be late for practice."

"Coach is gonna flip out. That's twice this week."

"I know, Trace. But there's nothing I can do about that."

I spoke up. "Anything I can do to help?"

Rick turned to me and said, "Well, yeah, but I can't ask that of you."

"Sure you can. What do you need?"

"I need to be in two places at once. I need someone to take Trace to swim practice while I drive Figment across town to a piano lesson."

"I can do that," I replied, climbing out of bed and looking for my underwear. Trace was unashamedly checking out my gear, so I decided not to do the bashful cover-your-junk move. If he was going to look, I would let him see all he wanted to see. I found my underwear against the wall and pulled them on.

"That would be a HUGE help," Rick said, "but it's really a lot to ask. You'll be stuck there for two hours while they practice, then have to bring Trace back home ..." His voice trailed off and he looked dismayed by the dilemma he found himself in and the favor he was asking.

"No problem. I'm your man and Trace's chauffeur. For TODAY ONLY!" I gave Trace a fake glare.

Trace laughed and said, "I'll grab my bag."

Rick came around the bed and kissed me quickly. "I can't tell you how much I appreciate this. You're a life saver."

"Pfft," I replied. "Just helping out a friend in need."

He kissed me again and rushed to his dresser, shoving a wallet in one pocket and keys in another. "Drew, Figment, we have to go NOW!"

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Trace lied to me. He wasn't "pretty good" at the butterfly. He was lightning fast, leaving the rest of the swimmers a length or two behind with every lap. And his freestyle stroke was smooth, efficient, and a thing of beauty to behold. His body moved effortlessly through the water, and as I suspected, he was well-endowed, which became obvious when he stood at the edge of the pool with a towel around his neck, chatting to his teammates. The black speedo he wore barely contained the monster between his legs.

I had to look away. `He's the son of your lover,' I kept telling myself. `The TEENAGED son of your lover.' But damn, did that boy look fine! In fact, most of the boys on the swim team were pure eye candy, and they definitely didn't mind flaunting it. When the coach blew the final whistle, sending them into the locker room to shower and dress, I was grateful. Maybe now I'd have a chance to get my boner down before Trace came back out for his ride.

Fifteen minutes later, I saw Trace strolling along the edge of the pool, gym bag tossed over one shoulder, his hair wet and more curly than ever.

I stood up, grateful that my cock was finally behaving. "All done?" I asked.

He nodded. "Thanks for bringing me."

"No problem," I replied. "You're pretty damned fast at the butterfly."

He shrugged. "It's in the arms. I'm a few inches longer than the other guys." He glanced down at his crotch and gave me a sexy smirk.

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On the ride to their apartment, I tried to make small talk, but Trace grunted and ignored me, staring out the window. The good mood he'd been in at the pool seemed to have evaporated completely, and the grouchy Trace had returned with a vengeance.

After my third attempt to start a conversation, Trace turned to look at me and said, "Look. I get what you're trying to do, and it's not necessary. You gave me a ride. That's cool, but I don't need anything else from you. I don't need a friend. I don't need a pal. And I sure as fuck don't need a new stepdad or whatever the fuck it is you're trying to be."

I was shocked into complete silence. I focused on the road and didn't say anything else.

After a minute, Trace cleared his throat and said, "Hey. That was a little harsh. Didn't mean to sound like a total asshole, and, ummm, I'm sorry."

"It's okay," I replied. "Apology accepted." I held out my hand. "Friends?"

Trace looked at my hand and replied, "If it's alright with you, I'll pass on the friend part for now. I'm not sure I'm ready for that."

I put my hand back on the wheel and kept driving.

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"What are you plans for the weekend?" Rick asked me over lunch.

"Nothing specific," I replied. "I need to start working on the next campaign for D&D. We're going to finish up with the Wizards of the Caves in two to three weeks, and I want to try something new after that."

"Like what?"

"Well, you guys have inspired me to take the party on a walk on the wild side."

Rick chuckled. "Really?"

"Yes. You know how your family is always talking like you're actually fey elves?"

"Yeah."

"I just thought it would be fun to magically transport the party to the Feywild, where fairy dragons, unicorns, and sprites live. Maybe spend a month or so adventuring there."

Drew and Figment looked up from the pie they were eating.

"Awesome!" Drew shouted.

Figment shook his head eagerly in agreement.

I laughed. "If the two of you approve, then I'll get started this afternoon."

Drew pointed his fork at me. "You have to include the Eladrin."

"The Eladrin? Who are they?"

Drew shook his head in disbelief. "You call yourself a DM, and you don't know who the Eladrin are?"

"No. Tell me." I turned my head slightly and winked at Rick, making sure Drew and Figment couldn't see.

"Only the most important creatures in the Feywild," Drew replied, exasperated with me. "They're elves ... the FEY elves ... the rulers of the Feywild. You can't adventure in the Feywild without running into the Eladrin."

"Ohhhh!" I exclaimed, smiling broadly now.

Drew shook his finger at me. "You're pulling my leg. You know about the Eladrin, don't you?"

I smiled and nodded. "I do, but I could use some help fleshing out the campaign. I wish I had someone to suggest ideas and help me design the puzzles."

Drew shook his head. "Nope. Not me. I'm no good with those. I hate puzzles."

Figment silently pleaded with me to choose him. I walked forward and knelt down until our eyes were level. "Will you help me out, Figment? Be my assistant Dungeon Master?"

He threw his arms around my neck and hugged me until I gasped for air.

I looked back at Rick and said, "I take that as a yes. May I borrow Figment this afternoon? I'll bring him back tonight after we plot the doom of the party."

Rick looked at Figment and said, "I think that's a wonderful idea. Grilled chicken for supper?"

"You've been feeding me all week," I replied. "Let me bring home a bucket of fried chicken."

"YES!" Drew shouted. "I love KFC!"

Trace wandered into the room. "KFC for supper?"

"That's the plan," I replied.

"Mac and cheese," he grunted. "Can't eat KFC without mac and cheese."

"Your wish is my command," I teased.

Trace looked at me strangely, as though thinking of other commands he might give me.

͠ ͠ ͠

Figment sat in my lap as I searched the internet for story concepts related to the Feywild. As we read each website, Figment sometimes nodded in approval, but often shook his head, reaching down to click the mouse for the next site.

We found an article on the Eladrin, with interesting background I'd never seen before. It described the Eladrin as elves of the seasons.

Spring Eladrin exhibit the joy of Springtime to all creatures around them, rendering enemies temporarily friendly and reluctant to attack. Spring Eladrin are also mischievous and delight in using charms, confusion, and hallucinatory spells.

 

Summer Eladrin are fiery and aggressive and project fear to those in their proximity. Unlike Eladrin of other seasons, they do not cast spells, but instead rely on their speed and strength.

 

Autumn Eladrin are more mellow, filled with the goodwill of the fall season. They avoid conflict when possible and used their magic to heal and help.

 

Winter Eladrin are creatures of sadness. Filled with the melancholy of midwinter, they attack by sapping the will to act from all creatures around them and by casting wind and ice spells in combat.

 

As I read, Figment scribbled on a piece of paper. He held it up for me to read.

It's not that way.

Almost but not exactly.

There's more to the Eladrin.

Much more.

I read his note and smiled. "I hope you'll tell me what isn't quite right. I want this journey to the Feywild to be perfect."

He wrote furiously for a few moments then handed me the note.

My dad is an Autumn Eladrin, most of the time. He's good for us.

Trace is Summer. Always mad about something and really strong.

Drew is Spring. He's funny and makes me laugh.

 

I chuckled as I read what Figment had written. "Then I can use your family as the model for the Eladrin of the Feywild?"

Figment nodded.

"And you? Which kind of Eladrin are you?"

Figment ducked his head and blushed.

I hugged him to my chest and rocked him slowly back and forth. He sighed and relaxed, enjoying being in my arms. I had to admit I loved holding the boy, feeling his warmth against my chest. How had I missed out on this wonderful feeling? Could I have started a family like Rick? Was Rick's family my second chance at fatherhood? I didn't expect to start crying, but tears of missed opportunities fell down my cheeks and onto Figment's blonde hair.

After a few minutes, he pushed off my chest and added a line to his note.

You are Winter, but I'll help you find your Spring.

͠ ͠ ͠

I wanted to spend every night with Rick and the boys, but I made myself go home after we ate KFC (complete with two extra orders of mac and cheese for Trace, of course).

Rick tried his best to get me to stay, but I made up some silly excuse about having to prepare for work on Monday. It wasn't true. My work was to enjoy retirement, having sold the investment planning business I started twenty years ago. I still dabbled in stocks from time to time, and that's something I could do from home. But mostly, I wrote. Boring, dry tomes full of amazing advice on financial planning. I found that writing about investment planning and tracking market trends and such things helped me to stay grounded in the real world, unlike D&D, which allowed me to explore my wildest imagination. The two fit together and brought balance to my life, and somehow, it seemed to keep my mental monsters at bay.

Although I didn't have work per se, I did need to tighten up a chapter or two in the book I was currently writing. I suppose I wasn't actually lying to Rick, but I still felt bad making excuses for leaving, and to be honest, my heart yearned to spend every hour of every day with Rick and Trace and Drew and Figment.

But my head argued with my heart. It's a good idea to spend a day or two away. Give yourself a break. Give them a break. Make sure this is what you want.

Is it possible to be sensible and moronic at the same time? Yeah. I thought so, too.

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I gave in to my heart on Tuesday. Called Rick and asked to take him and his family out for a nice meal at a nearby steakhouse.

Rick wanted to pay for it, but I insisted that it was my treat, and they could repay me by listening to some ideas I had for the Feywild campaign. We met at the restaurant at 7:00, ordered our meal, and enjoyed the delicious food while I told them my ideas for the Feywild, leaving out a few key plans I had for tormenting the players. I didn't want to spoil the campaign for them.

They listened to my ideas and offered several suggestions on how the Eladrin would respond to a party of adventurers trudging through their kingdom. Oddly enough, they all talked knowledgably about the Eladrin, except for Figment who sat next to me with his hand lightly resting on my knee, listening and nodding his head vigorously in agreement with his brothers and dad. They suggested a few minor changes I should make in the culture and attitude of the rulers of the Feywild, and when the meal was finally over, I felt I had a solid background for our next D&D adventure.

But here's the odd thing. At times, I found myself thinking they weren't simply D&D enthusiasts who happened to be infatuated with fey elves, but that they actually KNEW what the Eladrin were like. As if they had been there. And experienced it all first hand. Weird.

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Friday night, we were back at Mountain High Games, sitting around our table in the back corner, moving the figurines around the hex map and fighting a new mess of monsters and one angry, vengeful wizard.

I had decided to give Mark a few extra-difficult puzzles, basing the solutions on rogue skills such as detecting traps, picking locks, and sneaking in the shadows. Mark was enjoying himself, but Trace was getting visibly agitated.

Finally, Trace burst out, "When are we gonna fucking kill something? This is boring as fuck!"

Rick grabbed Trace by the elbow and pulled him to his feet, then guided him across the room and began speaking softly but intensely to a surly teen who stared at his feet, mumbling "okay" and "yeah" every few seconds. At one point, Trace looked up at his dad and muttered, "You kidding me?"

Rick shook his head and spoke again, daring Trace to disagree.

"Fine!" Trace huffed, turning and walking quickly to where the rest of us sat and waited. "Dad says I have to apologize. Sorry for being an asshole. Sorry for my language. Sorry I think this has been boring as fuck tonight."

"Trace!" Rick shouted.

Trace ignored Rick, turned and stomped out the front door of the gaming shop.

"Should we take a short break?" I asked.

Rick nodded. "Yeah, I think that would be good."

We all bought soft drinks and sipped them, waiting for Trace to come back inside. He eventually did, thanking his dad for the Mountain Dew Rick had purchased, and sitting down at the table, fiddling with his pencil, drawing patterns in the side margin of his character sheet.

I started the game again, wrapping up the puzzles and sending the group down a trap door to the dungeons underneath, where they confronted zombies and ghouls. Trace's spirits improved when he was able to dispatch three zombies in a single round. In fact, everyone seemed happier now that Trace's barbarian was covered in blood and ichor.

At the end of the night, Rick took me aside and apologized. "I promise I'll talk to Trace about his behavior tonight."

"Look, Rick. It's okay. We understand."

Rick shook his head. "No, I need to talk to him. His anger is so out-of-control sometimes."

I put my hand on Rick's forearm and squeezed gently. "Do you think it would help if I talked to him? Maybe in my capacity as the Dungeon Master? I could talk about how I want to include different kinds of activities in every night's adventure to appeal to all the players. If we start talking about D&D, he might talk to me about whatever it is that's making him so angry all the time."

Rick nodded. "It's worth a try. I would love it if you could get through to him. I've tried everything I can think of."

I squeezed his arm again, reassuringly, and turned toward Trace. "Hey, Trace. Got a minute?"

He frowned and nodded, walking over to where his dad and I stood.

"I was wondering if you'd like to get hamburgers tomorrow. I want to talk to you about your barbarian and what kind of quests you'd eventually like to go on."

Trace looked at me suspiciously, but then nodded his head. "Sure. We can do that. After swim team."

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I waited for Trace in the parking lot outside of the natatorium where his team practiced. His face was flushed from the cold, his cheeks rosy, and his hair was still slightly wet, though he wore a woolen cap. He climbed into my car and pointed the heater vent directly at his face. "Damn, it's getting cold."

"November in Colorado," I said with a grin.

He rubbed his hands together in the warm air blowing from the vent and asked, "Where we going?"

"Golden Bear okay with you?"

"Oh, yeah," he replied. "Love their bison burgers."

"That's why I go there," I said, putting the car in gear.

As we drove to the restaurant, I asked him how he was enjoying the D&D games so far.

He didn't answer right away, then stared at his lap and mumbled, "I know what this is all about. I saw you and my dad talking. We really don't have to do this."

"Do what?"

Trace turned and looked at me. His eyes were the same color as Figment's, but filled with anger and frustration. "Don't treat me like a child, Caleb. Dad probably told you I'm a fucked-up kid, bitter and mean and hateful. He wants you to talk to me, get me to settle down and treat everyone better. Am I right?"

I shook my head. "We never discussed any such thing, Trace. I asked your dad if I could talk to you about D&D, nothing more, but if there's something else you want to get off your chest—"

Trace interrupted, laughing. "This is incredible. You're going to sit there and let me vent all my frustrations? Really? So we should talk about how you came into our house, climbed into my dad's bed, and fucked him while me and my brothers are just down the hall?"

"I don't think you can say we—"

"Oh, yeah? You guys didn't fuck each other?"

"I didn't say that—"

"I heard you shouting last night, Caleb! `I'm cumming!' Isn't that what you shouted? Was my dad ball's-deep in your ass when you yelled that?"

I was stunned into silence.

Trace turned and looked out his window. "Don't worry, dude. I don't care, to be honest. Dad's been lonely since Mom died. This last week, with you spending the night and hanging out with us ... he's been happier than I've seen him in a long, long time. So I suppose I should be glad you're fucking him and he's enjoying himself."

Trace's attitude was beginning to irk me, so I had to correct one thing he said. "We aren't fucking, Trace."

"Well, you sure as hell aren't playing cards!"

"No. Just give a minute. Let me explain."

"Fine. Educate me. I'm only seventeen, so I don't know shit."

"No, I'm sure you know all sorts of shit, but one thing you damned sure don't know is what is going on between your dad and me!"

Trace finally shut up and looked at me, waiting to hear what I had to say.

I swallowed my own anger and said, "First of all, we aren't fucking. That's a disgusting word and doesn't begin to describe what your dad and I have been doing. We've been making love. Kissing. Caressing. Hugging. And, well, a few other things."

Trace snorted and smirked. "You can tell me the rest of it too. I'm sure you and dad haven't done anything I haven't done before."

"Maybe. I don't know how much you've experimented."

Trace grinned. "Actually, I've done a lot."

I chuckled and shook my head. "I don't need to know."

Trace persisted. "That's why I say you don't have to skip over stuff. I know what two guys do when they're making love. I can guess that my dad was fucking—was making love to you—when you yelled, `I'm cumming.' It's what I yell when I'm getting it good up the ass."

I stared at Trace in surprise. He laughed and shrugged. "I told you. I've done a lot."

I sighed. "I don't think it really matters just which body parts were inserted where. The bottom line is your dad and I weren't fucking. We were making love. Sharing emotionally and physically with each other."

Trace mumbled, "I get it. You don't have to explain. And to be honest, I know you're good for my dad. Like I said, this is the happiest I've seen him in a long, long time."

"So are you okay with us being together?"

Nodding, Trace replied, "Yeah, I'm cool with you guys being lovers. Drew and Figment are okay with it too."

"They know about—"

"Of course, they do. They know what sex is. Dad has always been open and honest with us, so we all know what's been going on in Dad's bedroom. We've seen how happy he is, and we know how big Dad's pecker gets, so you're probably pretty happy too." I knew Trace was teasing me, but I carefully kept my eyes on the road.

He laughed and said, "Come on, Caleb. Don't be a prude. Dad's got a nice big one, and I'm sure you enjoyed having it up inside you."

All I could do was blush.

But Trace wasn't finished. "If you like what Dad's giving you, you would LOVE what I can do. I'm a few inches longer and just a little thicker at the base. I could rock your world, Caleb."

I almost hit a parked car, quickly steering the car back into my lane.

Trace laughed and added, "Hell, I'd make you cum twice if you gave my barbarian a better war hammer."

I swallowed hard, struggling to find an answer to that. "Uhh, Trace, I don't know what to say right now."

Trace looked at me and his eyes widened slightly. It seemed he finally realized what he had just said. His cheeks glowed bright red with embarrassment as he turned and looked out the window, refusing to meet my eyes. His voice was strained as he moaned, "Damn it, why do I keep doing this? I'm such a fuck-up!"

I didn't know what to do, so I pulled the car to the side of the road and parked. Then I reached over and gently squeezed Trace's neck.

He shrugged my hand away, groaning in misery. "You probably think I'm a total piece of shit right now."

"No. I don't."

"But I am, Caleb. My dad is finally happy. He's found someone to love, and I make the dumbest dumb-ass comment I can possibly make."

I softly suggested, "You know something, Trace? You are probably the first teenager ever in history to make a dumb-ass comment. You should be proud of yourself. Might even start a new trend."

He turned his head and stared at me, then snorted. "Right. First in history, huh?"

I nodded. "Most teenagers are a perfectly balanced blend of common sense, emotional stability, and wisdom beyond their years. I'm sure it's been difficult for them to be so perfect, and now that you've broken new ground, they can all relax and let loose."

He blew out his breath and stared gloomily at his hands, folded in his lap.

Making a guess about why he was doing this, I asked, "You still miss her a lot, don't you?"

He nodded and frowned. "Almost every day. Sometimes I think I can hear her in the kitchen, making our breakfast. I don't tell my dad, because he tries so hard to take care of everything. I don't want him to think he's not doing enough for me."

"He won't think that, but he might appreciate knowing exactly what you're dealing with."

Trace nodded. "You may be right. I always try to help dad with Drew and Figment, and I try to keep my own shit together, so it's one less thing he has to deal with."

"How's that working out?"

Snorting, Trace replied, "I think you can see for yourself. I'm a fucking mess some days."

"Welcome to the real world, Trace, where all of us have good days and all of us have fucked-up days. It's life. But one of the cool things about life is you have people around you who actually enjoy helping you out on the fucked-up days."

He nodded his head. He swallowed and took a deep breath. "Thanks, Caleb."

I reached out, offering my hand. He grinned and pushed my hand away, instead pulling me in for a tight hug, which wasn't easy given the tight confines of the front seat of my car. He pressed his cheek against mine and nuzzled against me, so I held him and rubbed his neck with my thumb.

Trace seemed to whimper slightly, then I felt his hand sliding down my hip and onto my groin. His fingers searched until the found my cock and began squeezing through the fabric of my pants. My cock wasn't hard, but his fondling was causing me to swell up quickly. Oh yes, he was definitely experienced, but I simply couldn't allow this.

I pushed him back gently and softly spoke. "Trace. Stop. Please."

He pulled away, looking at me in surprise with his hand still on my groin, still fondling me.

I took his hand and pulled it off my cock. "We can't do this, Trace. We just can't."

He gasped and turned away from me, wrapping his arms around his body and curling up in a tight ball against the door on the far side of the car.

"Trace. Buddy. Listen—"

"NO! Don't talk to me. I'm so fucking embarrassed right now. Just take me the fuck home. Please."

 

The end of Chapter Three of FIGMENT