Date: Fri, 11 Oct 2019 17:42:07 -0400 From: RJ Subject: Lessons in Fatherhood - Ch. 2 Lessons in Fatherhood by RJ This fictional story is about the love between two fathers and their respective sons. If themes of incest and adult/youth pairings offend you, do not read. Please note that the perspective of this chapter has changed. Each subsequent chapter will (most likely) alternate between Ricky and Kieran. If you have any questions or comments about this piece, want to know about any of my other works, or just want to reach out, please don't hesitate to email me. If you would like to be added to a mailing list for this story (or all stories) and receive emails about any updates, let me know. A list of my works, including links and descriptions, can be found here: https://bit.ly/2S5IYDI Please also consider donating to Nifty if you can: http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html. Any amount helps. ~ Chapter 2 (Kieran's POV) ~ Same old routine: scan in, change into my uniform in the locker room, catch up with the previous shifts to hear any good stories, grab my keys and my radio, check in with the boss, and then head outside. Carlos is more often than not my partner, and if so, he always beats me to the punch. I waltz out of the building with a grin upon seeing him waiting for me by the truck. He just smirks, shaking his head as he holds the rest of our supplies. "Took your ass long enough," he always says, and I always playfully flip him off. We take a few minutes to check the tire pressure, gas, system operations, drug bag, CPU, oxygen, inventory -- all the basics. After that, it's just a matter of heading out to our designated location and waiting for assignments to come our way. "Where we headed today, boss?" Carlos asks as he closes the back doors. "Parker's Park," I say, laughing. Carlos just rolls his eyes. "What a stupid name," he says. "I mean, who the hell names a park 'Parker's Park'?" "Lucky for you, it's not your job to worry about it," I say with an amused grin before hopping into the driver's seat. Carlos slides in through the passenger's side and buckles up next to me, and once we're both secure, we're off. I'm happy it's a Sunday. Even though a day can go from zero to sixty in the blink of an eye, Sunday is always chock full of routine calls. Kind of dull, but it's a nice change of pace considering how exhausted I am from working full days the past few shifts. We go through hours of chest pains and help a few people who need minor CPR, someone in the midst of anaphylactic shock, and two daredevil kids who found themselves with fractured arms and concussions after attempting parkour for the first time. There's lots of downtime between each call, though, which is much-needed. I'm worn-out -- and the more worn-out I am, the less effective I am at doing my job. Thank God I took tomorrow off. Mondays are always the busiest. For whatever reason, every heavyset person in the tristate area decides to have a heart attack on a Monday. About eight hours into our shift, after dropping yet another person with chest pains off at the hospital, Carlos and I walk back to the truck. "Kelly's still pushing me to be an RN," I say. I decide to bring it up to him, because Carlos always has a way of motivating me without really trying. Carlos looks at me, smiling. "Yeah? You should do it, man," he says. "You have the talent." "I don't know," I mutter, running my fingers through my hair. "I'm happy where I'm at, y'know? Why would I give that up for something I might hate?" "I know you. You won't hate it," Carlos says reasonably, and I smile appreciatively. Carlos is a great partner, my favorite guy to work with. Our energies align pretty well. He can be incredibly easy-going off-hours, but as soon as the going gets tough, he's all business. He's no pussy, either. He'll get down and dirty without a smidge of hesitation if that's what the situation calls for. "Focus on the best parts of it," he suggests. "Like?" "Like, you'll get to know your patients. Make connections. I know you like that shit." I chuckle softly. Carlos prefers the one-and-done nature of being a paramedic, and though I really like the fact that I get to meet people from all walks of life (astronauts, mathematicians, even moderately famous people), I really love building solid connections -- and that just doesn't happen when you're a paramedic. You don't have "regulars." If I decide to switch career paths, though, I would. The job description makes it seem like I'd be stupid not to take it. All the benefits are serious pros: higher earnings, more options and opportunities in the workplace, patient engagement, and less stress. I'd have to go back to school for a spell, but this job is probably safer and more stable than sticking with being a paramedic. Kelly, my boss, has been gently nagging me about it for months now. She knows how good I am with kids (and parents alike) and truly believes I should make the switch to pediatrics. Something about "homing in on my potential." She even put my name in already, and because the hospital administration knows my work ethic and personality, I basically have the job if I want it. All I have to do is say "Hell yeah, motherfuckers." But damn, I love being a paramedic. I like that I never know what to expect, that I can never fully anticipate how my day's going to turn out. I love meeting random people and helping them even if it's something incredibly trivial. And needless to say, when shit gets serious, it's a fucking thrill ride. Maybe it's time for a change, though. This could be a good thing for me and my family. We hop back into the truck, and I sigh, resting my hands on the wheel and pausing for a moment. "What if I did something completely random?" I ask dreamily. "Like what?" he asks, shuffling in his seat. "I don't know," I say with a shrug. "I could be a florist." Carlos stares at me before laughing, slapping his thigh. "The fuck you know about flowers?" "Jack shit," I say with a grin, and he chuckles again. Before I can continue fantasizing, I feel my personal phone buzzing in my pocket. I squint a bit before fishing around for it, and when I check who's calling, I see that it's the house phone -- which means only one thing. "Damn. My son's calling." "Go ahead and take it," Carlos says. "I'll keep an eye out." I nod appreciatively before answering the call and bringing my phone to my ear. "That you, Niall?" I ask, smiling. "Daaad," he whines, and I chuckle softly. Yep. That's my boy, alright. "When are you coming home?" "Soon, pumpkin," I say, checking my watch. My twelve-hour shift ends at seven, and Carlos and I will probably top off the night with a quick trip to the bar before I head home. "Couple more hours." "But I want you home *now*," he says, huffing slightly. "Be patient, okay?" "I hate being patient," he says, and I can so clearly envision the pout on his lips. "I'm so bored. And I miss you." I sigh gently. "I miss you too, kiddo." "I hate your job." I laugh a little. "Yeah, but your dad needs this job." "That's stupid." "I know," I say with a slight smile, a little amused. "But someone's gotta pay the bills." "Bills are stupid and jobs are stupid." I laugh, putting my forehead in my hand. This boy. I feel his pain, though. It's been a few days since we've had any real time together. "What if I bring you a little gift when I get back?" I suggest. "Maybe those cupcakes you like. Would that make you happy?" "I don't want cupcakes. I want *you*," he says, emphasizing that word with another whine. The desperation in his voice both warms my heart and sends a shiver through my loins. "I know, I know," I say, rubbing my forehead. "I'll be home soon, okay?" "Liar," he mutters. "Hey, don't be like that," I say, smiling slightly. "C'mon. Who's my favorite munchkin?" Niall pauses for a moment before grumbling, "I am." I grin, knowing he's trying his damnedest to not smile. "Good boy." We exchange a few more words before I manage to convince him to get some sleep and not wait up for me. Chances are I won't be home until closer to ten, but depending on how Carlos and I choose to unwind (as in, how plastered we get), I don't want to get Niall's hopes up only to crush them. He's extremely reluctant, but after telling him that I'll make it up to him tomorrow with a boy's day, he seems satisfied enough to hang up. We exchange "Love you"s, and I pocket my phone with a smile on my face. "Niall missin' ya?" Carlos asks. I nod, not feeling embarrassed that I still talk to my boy like he's a little kid half the time. Carlos knows how it is. He's like that with his baby girls -- although they're both much younger than Niall is. "What's new," I say with a smile, and he chuckles. "How's he doing?" "Good," I say with a nod, realizing we talked a lot about his two kids but didn't get a chance to bring Niall up. "Same old same old. Going to school and being needy." Carlos chuckles. "Still top of his class, I bet." "Certainly on track to be," I say, grinning. Niall's always been a smart boy, but last year, apparently he was (in terms of his grades) the highest achiever. I remember telling Carlos that at the end of the school year a few months ago, and his eyebrows raised, clearly impressed. He told me I must have been proud, and I've never been one to brag, so I just smiled. But goddamn, I *was* proud. Still am. Top of his class? It's not even a small school, so it's quite an achievement to be so ahead of his peers. My smart, beautiful son, getting ready to take on the world already. If he keeps it up (especially with all the encouragement I'll be giving him), I'm sure he'll go far. I just have to remember to enjoy my boy while I have him. When I step into the house, the first thing I notice is that it's fucking freezing. Mary likes it to be a goddamn ice box in here for whatever reason, so as soon as my shoes are off, I turn off all the air conditioners in the house, trying not to get too irritated. What a waste of fucking money, though. It's not even that hot out. I'm already fully prepared to have an argument about it when I get up to our bedroom, but it's just past eleven and she's fast asleep. Probably better this way. I spend some time on my own, treating myself to a long, hot, calming shower before I brush my teeth and get dressed for bed. I throw on a pair of pajama pants over my briefs and a sleep shirt over my head, moving quietly as to not wake Mary. Only one thing left to do before I nod off: check on my boy. I sneak down the hallway and slowly open his bedroom door to kiss him goodnight. Once the light from the hallway starts streaming into his room, though, he turns over in his bed to investigate. Then, he hits me with that precious smile of his, quickly lifting his head up as he pulls his headphones out of his ears. No wonder he didn't notice I was home. He's probably been watching some silly videos on his iPad instead of sleeping. "Dad!" he says excitedly. "Shhh," I say, holding a finger to my lips so he doesn't wake his mother, and Niall just giggles softly as he lies down on his back, facing me now. I shut the door behind me, blocking out the abrasive hallway light and letting his little night light give the room a soft, almost sultry glow to it. "You're home," he whispers. "That I am, little nugget," I say, coming over to him and kneeling beside his bed with a smile. I stroke his hair gently before my hand slides down over his arm, and I chuckle slightly. "Whipped out your old pjs, did ya?" I ask. He's wearing the plaid set he usually only wears in the winter, with a button-up sleep shirt and a matching pair of pants. "It's cold," he says. I almost roll my eyes. Leave it to Mary to freeze out my boy. "Haven't seen you wear these in years," I comment, looking him over. "They still fit?" "Kinda small," he says, pulling his blanket down more to show me how his shirt attempts (and fails) to cover his midriff. I laugh slightly, placing my finger on his belly button and circling it gently. "Guess we gotta get you some new ones soon, before your mother freezes us to death," I say with a playful smile. "Is she asleep?" he asks as I rub his tummy in circles with my full palm, dipping just under his shirt. "Yep," I say with a smile. "It's just you and me, kiddo." He grins at that news. That's music to his ears. But I dash his hopes pretty quickly when I say, "I just came in to say goodnight, though." "Nooo," he whines, grabbing my arm as if I'm about to pull away. "Yeees," I mock, laughing. "Daddy's tired, buddy." "So sleep with me," he suggests. "I think we both know you don't wanna sleep," I say, eyeing him in a way that makes him giggle. "I'll let you sleep," he says. "I promise." "You promise, huh?" I say, somewhat amused. I'm willing to bet that promise won't last longer than five minutes. "If you give me a kiss," he says cheekily. I snort a bit. "I could just get up and leave, you know." "Daaad--" "Alright, alright, quit with the whinin'," I say, laughing and leaning over to plant a quick, affectionate kiss on his lips. "There. Happy?" "No," he says, licking his lips. "A *real* kiss." I can't help but smile. Niall has no problem saying it how it is or expressing his opinion or making his desires known -- especially to me. And so often, I give in to his needs. I can't say no to the kid. Should be the other way around, I suppose, but he's got me wrapped around his little finger. That's not to say that everything that has happened is his fault -- nor am I complaining. I'm just acknowledging that my boy is my weakness, my Achilles' heel. I'd to anything to make this little bastard smile. So, I lean in and kiss him the way he likes it: deep and long. I rest my hand on the side of his face, cupping his fragile jaw, sighing against him when he lets out that tiny, characteristic whimper I've come to adore so much. I hold my lips firmly on his for a while before gently pulling back, the sound of our wet lips separating clicking in my ears. But he ropes me in for more, and I chuckle against his lips before letting him feed me loving kisses. My hand slides down to his chest to rest there, but the feel of his fabric isn't enough. It needs his skin. Slowly, I start undoing each button of his shirt while our lips dance against each other's, the shirt popping open more and more until finally, his smooth torso is exposed to me, available to touch. I drag my hand up and down his boy-muscled core and am rewarded with a few more of those whimpers of his. "Feel good, baby?" I ask when I pull my lips back, tenderly stroking his full torso over and over. I feel those little, hard nubs of his nipples against my fingers every time I brush past them. He nods, looking up at me with a satiated smile. "Now I'm warm." I laugh. "Good," I say before cocking my chin as a gesture towards the bed. "Gonna make room for me?" "Yeah," he says, sitting up before pausing. "No shirts in the bed, though," he adds. I look playfully affronted for a moment. "Making up new rules on me?" "It's official law," he says, putting on his best studious voice. "I'm gonna have to talk to my lawyers, then," I say with a grin. "Or you could just take your shirt off," Niall suggests, biting his lip as he reaches forward and grabs little fistfuls of my shirt. I encourage him with a simple look, and he smiles, reaching lower to grab for the hem before slowly peeling the fabric off my torso. I lift my arms for him, letting him do the honors and toss my shirt to the floor. "Better," he says decidedly. "Good." "Wait!" he says, stopping me before I move. "No pants either." "But *you're* wearing pants," I remind him, "*and* a shirt." In response, he quickly pulls off his unbuttoned shirt, lies on his back, lifts his legs and his hips, and makes quick work of those pajama pants as well. Mere moments later and they're joining my shirt on the floor. "Now I'm not," Niall says, grinning at me. "Little bastard," I mutter, which just makes him giggle. I eye him a bit, biting my lip at the sight of him wearing those tight briefs, today's of which feature Spongebob. They're quite snug on him, accentuating the stiffness they're trapping. "Your turn," he says cheerily. I grumble a bit before standing up, pushing my pants off my hips and letting him see the son-induced hard-on I've got in my briefs pointing at my right hip. His eyes fixate on it before I start to climb into bed with him, a twin that requires us to stay close. He makes a little room for me to slip in before switching to cuddle-mode, front-to-front, face-to-face. I put my arm around him and he hums appreciatively, slipping his own between my tricep and my ribs. "Gettin' cozy, are ya?" I ask, chuckling. "Yep," he says, smiling at me as our legs get intertwined. He kisses my chin, and I respond by giving his little nose a peck. "So!" I say, eager to hear about his newest pal and latest hangout. "How was your sleepover?" "So fun!" Niall says, beaming ear to ear. "I really like Kyle. And Mr. Fischer bought some super cool games and we had pizza and made huge ice cream sundaes." I chuckle lightly, rubbing his back. "Ice cream sundaes? You're gonna make your old man jealous," I say, and he giggles. "You behaved, I hope?" "Yes," he says with a blush. "I'm not gonna get a call from Kyle's dad, am I?" He bites his lip, shaking his head. "Good boy." I pat his butt to show my appreciation. I really like Ricky. He's a down-to-earth kind of guy. Might be a smidge more reserved than I'm used to, but I get nothing but positive vibes from him, and I'm excited about this friendship -- and I know Niall's been *extra* excited about his friendship with Ricky's son. "I missed you at work, though," he says, lightly tracing his fingers along my back. I smile at him, hooking my leg behind his ankle so he gets closer. "Yeah? I missed you too." "I hate that you have to work," he says, a slight pout in his voice. I sigh. "Part of being an adult, buddy," I tell him, resting a hand on the small of his back, my fingertips just grazing the curve of his ass. "Being an adult is stupid too," he says firmly. "I agree," I say with a grin before giving his butt another pat. "Just don't grow up." That brings a smile to his face, and he leans in more, pressing his boy-bulge against my stomach. "I won't," he promises me. Then he kisses me softly on the lips once... then again... then gives me a third deeper, heavier kiss, his little tongue just barely darting out to swipe against my lips. I grunt softly. "I thought you were gonna let me sleep." "I am," he mumbles against my lips, grinding rhythmically and slowly against me. "Liar," I mutter with a little grin, slipping my hand into his briefs and holding one of his cheeks perfectly in one hand. "I told you I was tired." "You're not that tired," he says, nudging my hard-on with his knee, making me grunt and then laugh. "Little twerp," I tease, giving his ass a tender squeeze before kissing him softly. He hums in response, and I can feel him smiling as his hand slides to my front. He rests it on my shoulder before letting it drift down my arm, to my hip, and then in-between us. When his fingers find my bulge, my cock throbs, surely oozing precum into my underwear. "Whatcha doin', huh?" I ask him. "Playin'," he says with a coy smile, lightly groping me. "Uh huh," I say, letting my own hand slide around his tender cheek. "Playin' with daddy?" "Just a little bit," he says -- of course, a lie, considering he's reaching into my underwear. I sigh softly as his little fingers wrap around the shaft. He gives it a testing squeeze before pulling it halfway out of my briefs, feeling out how it fills his fist. "Playin' with your babymaker." I almost choke from laughter. I remember how that blew his little mind when I told him about how reproduction works. Now he refers to my cock as a babymaker, *his* babymaker. It's endearing how serious he is, but it always gets a laugh out of me. "That's right, kiddo," I say, kissing him with a quick peck. "And it made you special." But that word doesn't even cut it. My boy's everything to me. A man's greatest tool for art is his cock, I suppose. He giggles, biting his lip before speaking. "I wanna make someone special." I cock my eyebrow in surprise. This is the first time I've heard something like *that* come out of his mouth. "Yeah?" I ask, smiling widely. "You wanna be a daddy too?" I reach around in response to slide my hand in between us, and he pushes his hips back enough to let me reach into his own briefs and fondle his hard-on. I always grin when I touch him, when I feel how ample he is for his age. Makes a man proud. "Maybe one day," he says dreamily, slowly working his fist up and down my cock. He opens his legs a little more for my full palm to cup his whole set. "I'd like to see that," I say with a little grin. Fuck, the simple thought of my little boy fathering a child is *very* appealing. "You'd make a good daddy." He blushes and smiles as he makes eye contact with me. "I'll be just like you," he says, and in those big emerald eyes of his, I can see all that love and adoration he has for me practically pouring over me like honey. There's no greater joy on this earth than being Niall's father, no greater pleasure than to wade in the depths of our connection. As I lean towards his face a little more, I feed him some of my tongue, eliciting a small whimper from him. He takes my tongue between his lips and sucks softly, lewdly, suggestively -- all while keeping a firm grip on his daddy's manhood. He strokes me slowly, one hand on the shaft and the other trying to pull my underwear down. To tease him, I move my hand to my waistband, keeping him from being able to tug my undies off. He whines a little when he feels resistance. "Daaad," he murmurs. I grin a bit. "What?" "Stop." He moves his hand from my cock to my fingers, trying to gently pry them from my waistband. "I'm not doing anything." "Stooop," he says, trying to tug harder, his tone as if on the edge of a tantrum. "Let me." I just chuckle softly. "Alright, baby boy." He blushes and smiles at that heavily sensual tone in my voice before noticing I've let go of my waistband. Now he's free to try and strip me of my briefs. He tugs the fabric down a bit, and I lift my hip up so that he can shimmy my underwear down to about mid-thigh -- enough for my hard cock to swing free, and enough for him to grab hold and play. As I expected, he starts moving down with one goal in mind: getting his mouth on my cock as quickly as possible. I lick my lips in anticipation, parting them slightly when I feel his hot breath on my shaft. Then, just a moment later, his mouth engulfs me. Still hard to believe that, even after years of feeling those tender lips and tongue on my manhood, I'm still not quite used to the sensation, the sheer thrill of it. There's nothing quite like the taboo of being sexually intimate with your one and only son. And fuck, how much he loves it. He hums softly around my cock as he grips it in one fist and bobs his head back and forth. He's a messy one, and when it's been a while since we've gotten some daddy-son time in, he salivates like crazy. I just pet the back of his head, listening to the sloppy sounds of his movements, combing his soft hair, sighing blissfully. Niall pulls off slowly, moaning when he does. I can't tell if that wet noise is the sound of him smacking his lips or stroking my wet cock, but either way, it makes me throb. "Can you put it inside me?" he asks me softly as he laps at the head. I grunt softly from his tone. "Not tonight, buddy," I murmur. "You know the rules." When his mom's home, no fucking. Can't risk getting caught. "But I'm all--" "No buts," I say, cutting him off. He groans grumpily but wraps those pretty lips of his back around the head of my cock, and I comb my fingers through his hair again to keep encouraging him. I know he wants to fuck, to get as close as possible with his daddy, and I would love to. But I'm too tired to prep for it, and with his mother home, I wouldn't be able to fuck him like he wants to be fucked. But I'll make it up to him. I let that image persist in my head, though, licking my lips as I picture Niall and I making quiet love in his bed -- or loud. Man, if I had more energy, and if his mother weren't home right now, we'd have the privacy to be as uninhibited as we want to be. As I feel my orgasm approaching, I inhale softly. "Where do you want it, kiddo?" I ask. He pulls off slowly and says "My face" as he grips my slick cock and starts stroking me faster. I tense up when the slick noises of his handjob practically echo off his bedroom walls. They seem too loud, almost like they're tempting fate, but I know Mary can't hear us. We're fine. I'm gonna cum for my boy. I grunt deeply, swearing under my breath as my cock throbs. I feel the cum surging through my shaft, a shot for each throb, my balls emptying over my boy's face. He even giggles as I cum, milking me with his fist until the ropes finally stop coming. I sigh in holistic relief, feeling the tension of days of long work hours leaving my body. Once he finishes me off, I open my eyes and look down, smiling at him. When he senses me looking, he looks up with a big ol' grin on his face, ropes of daddy jizz painted across his adorable features. "Lookin' good, kid," I say with a smirk. He laughs a bit before sliding up to get a kiss out of me. He pecks my lips before I run my fingers through his hair and then tug a bit, pulling him back. First things first: I need to clean him up. I stick out my tongue and slowly start lapping my load off his face. He just giggles at the tickling sensation but otherwise stays still, letting me collect my cum before I give him a sensual kiss. When I pull back, I watch as he licks his lips and gives me a satisfied hum, cuddling closely. I can feel his hard pecker poking at me and I chuckle slightly. "Want me to make you cum, baby?" I ask tenderly. He just nods. I move my hand to his hip before sliding it into his briefs, getting a grip on his boynail and stroking it tenderly. He shivers slightly, tensing up before relaxing and letting me do my thing. I stroke him slowly, wrapping my full fist around his shaft and letting him grind into me. "How many times did you jerk off tonight?" I ask him, grinning. He blushes, biting his lip before uttering one word: "Three." "Mmf," I grunt, picturing Niall all alone in his bed, horned-up, craving my attention and presence. I'm glad he at least tried to take matters into his own hands. "Sorry," he says. "Don't be sorry," I tell him, working my hand against his cock. "You know I like it when you take care of yourself." He smiles slightly before his eyes flutter closed as I start to get into it more. "That's it, baby," I murmur to him. He holds onto my upper arm, huffing slightly between whimpers and mewls. It doesn't take much to make Niall cum. He's always a hair-trigger away from orgasm, even if he's cum multiple times beforehand, and I can tell he's getting close to climax by the redness in his cheeks deepening. I lean in and kiss his forehead, stroking him faster. "You gonna cum, little man?" "Y-yeah," he whines, inhaling sharply and holding his breath. "C'mon," I coo, and before I know it, Niall lets out a moan that sounds more like a cry as his body stiffens and trembles, yet another boygasm to rock his world. As he comes down from his dry cum, his body goes completely limp, and I laugh softly at the transformation. "You okay?" I ask, moving my hand from his cock to his side and pulling him close. He just nods, smacking his lips a bit. "Thanks," he says softly, smiling sleepily. "You're welcome," I say, giving him a peck on the lips. "*Now* you gonna let me sleep?" "Only if you stay here," he says, ensnaring me in his arms and legs. I just laugh, shaking my head. "Fine," I mutter, having already decided that I didn't want to leave. Tonight's just one of those nights I need to spend with my boy. "No more funny business, though." Niall giggles tiredly. "No more funny business," he repeats. "Good boy," I say, hugging him tightly to me, wordlessly expressing my deep love for him with a simple, tender embrace. When Niall was just a little thing, he was wild -- and I mean off-the-fucking-walls wild. He was indefatigable, a well of limitless energy. He drove Mary and I insane with his yelling, and his running, and his constant commentary, and his singing, and his propensity to destroy things around the house. I loved my son dearly, but half the time, I wanted to tranquilize the little tyke. Eventually, though, I found a solution that didn't require drugs or physical and emotional abuse. The only thing that calmed him down were... well, we called them "tickles." It started by accident, really. We were wrestling a bit, half because he wanted to play and half because I wanted to tire him out enough to get him to bed. There was a moment where I ended up gripping his groin in an attempt to pick him up, somewhat grinding my palm into him in the process. He had just recently made the switch from Pampers to briefs, and since all he was wearing were those thin undies, I could feel him pretty easily. It felt strangely stiff -- and sure enough, he had a tiny hard-on, probably something he worked up from all our playing. But that wasn't the most surprising part. What really struck me was how quiet Niall got, almost instantaneously. He went from a giggling beast to a sedated child. He was just staring up at me with an expression I couldn't quite place. I pulled my hand away from his groin, and his eyes flickered down before he looked back up at me. "You okay?" I asked. He nodded, looking at me curiously. It was in that moment that I understood: he was taking in new information, acknowledging a new sensation. I didn't think much of it until it happened again the next day. Niall was sitting in my lap while we were watching a movie in the living room, his mom asleep on the couch beside us. He was being his normal talkative self, and since I was fresh from a full-day shift at work, I was particularly exhausted listening to him. I was half-drifting off when I noticed Niall take my hand and bring it right to his groin. Again, through the crotch of his briefs, I could feel the small stiffness. He rubbed my hand against him, and I almost pulled away before I noticed that he wasn't making a sound. No babbling, no giggling, no yelling. He was completely quiet. Relaxed. So, I let him use my hand. In fact, I encouraged it. I began using it as a calming tactic after that. Those incidental touches turned into fondling, where me rubbing between his legs would completely put him at ease. After getting carried away and letting it go on for too long one night, he had his first orgasm. It surprised me, that's for sure, the way his body trembled, but the effect it had on him was miraculous. Those dry cums would satiate him and buy me the most time -- until he wanted another, that is. As the years went on, I used it as a bargaining chip. In order to get him to do something (like be quiet while I tried to sleep after a hefty twenty-four-hour shift), I'd promise tickles. And it always worked. I could get peace and quiet whenever I needed it just by doing some light masturbation for my boy. The thing is, eventually, tickles were reciprocated. One instance of satisfying Niall's curiosity about *my* body led to another, and then another. Slowly, we graduated from mutual masturbation to kissing, from kissing lips to kissing other parts of each other's bodies, from oral play to coming as close as man and boy could possibly come... I've tried to stop, on several occasions. I've tried to leave sex out of our relationship. But every intimate moment we shared undeniably brought us closer, made our bond deeper and richer, reinforced a connection that both of us relied on. When you're a dad, sometimes the pleasures of fatherhood aren't just limited to the emotions. They're physical, too, and there's a need to express that as such. We love each other. Hell, maybe we're a little *in* love with each other. And as crazy as it is to think that sometimes, in my heart, I know it feels right. When I wake up, I'm warm as can be. Niall's room is smaller than mine, so our body heat has created a too-cozy feel in the room, making me thirsty. It's even a bit musty in here, mixed in with the faintest scent of cum that gets my morning wood twitching a bit. I groan and stretch slightly, and Niall, still fast asleep on my chest, squirms slightly. I slowly slide myself out from underneath him, slipping out of bed, smiling to myself. He always looks so pure when he's sleeping, lips lightly parted, hair messy, eyes moving rapidly behind those lids of his depending on how deep in sleep he is. I lean down and stroke his hair before giving him a kiss on the cheek. Then, I collect my clothes. Once I'm dressed, I slip out of his bedroom and head downstairs to grab a glass of water. Seems Mary is awake, though, because she's fussing around with her phone at the island once I step in. "'Morning," I say. She looks up at the sound of my voice, seeming surprised to see me. "Oh. You're here." "Yup. Niall had a nightmare," I lie, "so I slept with him." I don't even know if she wanted an explanation, because she doesn't even look in my direction when I speak. I pass her to head to the cabinets, and as I do, I get a whiff of the perfume she's wearing. I recognize that one: it's her "special" perfume, the one she wears when she's going out. It's obvious that she's having an affair, but we both pretend like we don't know that I know. It's not like it upsets me. It'd be a bit hypocritical of me to be bent out of shape over it when I'm the one who cheated in the first place -- with our own son. She doesn't know *who* I started sleeping with, but she could tell something was up all those years ago. She sensed the shift. She confronted me on multiple occasions, but somehow, she never left. Somehow, we're still together. "Where are you going?" I ask as I grab a glass from the cabinet. "Out," she says simply, vaguely. "Shocker," I mutter. I meant to say it only to myself, but apparently, she heard me. "What was that?" she asks, clearly rearing to fight. She must be on edge already. "I didn't say anything," I say, trying to diffuse the situation. But it doesn't work. "You're out for days on end and I don't get to leave the house? Is that it?" "I was *working*," I say irritably, looking back at her. "The hell are you doing, huh?" "Oh, okay, go ahead," she says sarcastically, "make it seem like I do nothing around here. You're good at that." "I never once said that." "Don't bullshit me, Kieran," she snaps, narrowing her eyes at me. "Don't think I don't hear the way you and Niall talk about me." In truth, Niall has said some interesting things about his mother -- but I always shut them down. "Leave Niall out of this," I warn her. She holds her hands up in mock surrender. "God forbid I talk about your kid," she spits out. That's her favorite attempt to toss an insult my way: by distancing herself from parenthood. Maybe it's a way for her to say that Niall's disdain for his mother is somehow my fault, or maybe she just resents us for how close we are, but if anything, her ploy just makes Niall and me feel like more of a unit. But I always try to reel her back in for some reason. "He's just as much yours as he is mi--" "Don't even *try* to tell me that it's the same thing!" she shouts. Suddenly (speak of the devil), Niall walks into the kitchen in his briefs and t-shirt, and both of us stop yelling almost instantaneously. "Morning," he says, peering at both of us. It's evident that he overheard at least the latter part of our argument. "Hi Niall," Mary says bitterly, hooking her purse onto her shoulder. "Where are you going?" he asks her, and it almost makes me smile hearing him echo my previous question. "Shopping," she decides to say. "Ooo!" he says excitedly, smiling. "Can you get the Captain Crunch with the berries this time? You always get the peanut butter one and I don't like it." She narrows her eyes. I don't know if it was our argument that makes her quick to snap at her son, but she does. "You get what I fucking give you, Niall." Niall looks momentarily affronted before he murmurs the word "bitch" under his breath. Of course, both Mary and I hear it. "Hey!" I say, stepping in before Mary can lash out at him -- but she doesn't say anything else. Looking positively incensed, she glares at *me* before grabbing her keys and quickly leaving out the front door. It slams, making the photos hanging on the wall threaten to drop to the floor. I round on Niall. "Go apologize," I demand, giving him a stern look. "But--" "I'm not gonna argue with you," I tell him, holding my hand up before pointing to the door. "Go apologize before she leaves the driveway, or I won't hear the end of it." "No. I hate her," he says, grumbling. Sometimes, I get how he feels, but I don't need my son to be a dick for no reason. That's not how I raised him. "If you don't apologize, we won't do that thing you like for a whole month," I say. "I mean it." He looks scandalized that I would threaten to take away sex. "Dad!" "Go!" I insist. He huffs at me before angrily heading towards the front door. "And don't stomp," I add, watching as he opens the door and steps out into the morning in near-bare-minimum clothing. He slams the door just as hard as Mary did. I rub my fingers into my temple, sighing heavily before I move to the living room and collapse onto the couch with a groan. I hate being stern with Niall, even a little, but sometimes that's the only way to get through to someone. Plus, despite our relationship, I'm still his father. It's hard not to blame him, though. Him and Mary have never really seen eye-to-eye, but I'd prefer it if Niall would at least respect his mother. It's just easier if we all get along. We have to live in the same space, so we might as well make the most of it. Not to say that it's not difficult. Hell, Mary and I have been struggling for a while, to the point where sometimes, I feel like I only love her for giving me Niall. The door opens after a minute, and in comes Niall, looking embarrassed, maybe even a little mad still. "Well?" I ask. "I apologized," he mutters, coming over to the couch. He sits beside me, quietly fuming for a moment before getting soft on me. "I'm sorry," he says gently. I sigh before putting my arm around him, and he leans in, resting his head on my chest. "It's alright," I tell him, stroking his arm. "Just don't use words like that. It's not nice." "But she hates me." "She doesn't hate you," I remind him. "And even if you think someone doesn't like you, that's not an excuse to be rude." "I guess," he says, playing with the fabric of my pajama pants. "What did she say?" "She said she didn't believe me." I roll my eyes. "Well, what did *you* say?" "I said I didn't mean what I said." I rub my forehead again. Well, at least he tried. That's better than nothing. I suppose I can only hope his insincere apology touched the mother in her, but I've always taught Niall to only apologize if he means it -- and he only apologized so I wouldn't withhold sex. "What's done is done, I guess," I say before giving him a reassuring squeeze. "Well... Now we have the whole house to ourselves for who knows how long." In response, he looks up at me with a smile. "What do you wanna do?" I should have anticipated him reaching over to grab my crotch. He smirks a little more devilishly before pawing at my groin, and I chuckle, gripping his wrist and pulling it away. "That's not what I meant," I say. "Something like a movie, or a game." "We can make it a game," he says. I burst out laughing. "I raised a monster," I mutter to myself, shaking my head before patting his thigh. "Let's at least make breakfast first. You hungry?" "Yeah!" he says, sitting up excitedly. "Can we make waffles?" I smile and nod. "Waffles it is." We both migrate to the kitchen, and Niall handles grabbing all the proper cookware while I get the ingredients ready. His favorite part is making the mix. Measuring everything out correctly gives him an adorable burst of joy, so I let him handle the prep before I do the actual "cooking." Just as he's mixing everything together, though, the house phone rings. I ruffle Niall's hair before heading over to the phone and answer it. "McCarthy residence." "Hey, Kieran? It's Ricky." I smile at the sound of my buddy's voice. "Hey man! How's it going?" "Doin' alright over here," he says, sounding a little tired. "You?" "Oh, you know," I say, glancing at Niall. "Same old, same old." Ricky chuckles a bit. "Kyle's already asking when he can see his pal next." "Oh yeah?" I say in a tone that gets Niall's attention. He looks back at me as he swirls the mix with a whisk. "I don't know. Niall's *pretty* busy." "Is that Kyle?" my son asks, looking at me wide-eyed. "Apparently he wants to hang out with you soon," I tell him. "But I told his dad you're pretty booked." "Lemme talk!" he says, abandoning the bowl of waffle mix and running over to me. I laugh, keeping him at arm's length. "I think Niall wants to talk with your boy," I say to Ricky. Ricky just laughs. "Well, he's right here." A few seconds later and Niall has the phone practically glued to his ear, chatting it up with Kyle in the living room. Smiling, I handle finishing up with the waffles, making more than we can possibly finish between the two of us. By the time I set the table, I have to practically force Niall to hang up the phone so that we can eat. We share a hefty breakfast together, topping our waffles with bananas and berries and (per his request) copious amounts of whipped cream. Initially, we talk about what he and Kyle were discussing on the phone. Unsurprisingly, it was nothing deep. Kyle taught his puppy a new trick, asked Niall if he wants to go hiking soon, and then the two of them chatted at-length about the latest episodes of "Rick and Morty." I love their friendship. It's so easy and carefree, exactly the type of relationship boys should be having. It's a cakewalk for Niall to connect with people, but I haven't seen him connect so *deeply* with a buddy in a while, so I thank the gods that the four of us met. The fact that both of those Fischer boys are pretty damn handsome is quite the perk, too. We'd make a fine foursome. Just as I'm chuckling at that thought, Niall asks about my shift, curious about any particularly exciting stories. I always make them sound more dramatic than they were (if the story calls for it, at least), but I can tell Niall appreciates my job for what it is. He often refers to me as a hero to strangers when he's asked what his daddy does for a living -- and the opinion of a ten-year-old might not mean much to most people, but his opinion means everything to me. After breakfast, we stack the dishes up in the sink and shift to the living room for some post-meal relaxation. "Movie time?" "Yeah!" he says, hopping on the couch before me. However, he switches right over to my lap as soon as I sit down. "Whatcha in the mood for?" I ask, grabbing the remote and switching over to Netflix for the sake of simplicity. "Hmm," Niall says, thinking as he leans back against me. "Something dirty," he says finally. I snort with laughter. "I don't think so," I say, wrapping an arm around him loosely enough to just rest on his bare thigh. I lightly pick at the hem of his briefs. "Why not? Mom's not home." "Because, dirty movies aren't good for you," I tell him. I try to limit his porn consumption as much as possible, because I had an unhealthy attachment to it at his age -- though I guess it's silly of me to prohibit porn while I'm fucking him at least twice a week... "Ugh. Fine," he murmurs, setting against me. "Can we watch a superhero movie?" "Which one?" I ask, scrolling down to the "Action & Adventure" section. "Um..." He watches the TV as I sift through the selection before he slaps my arm. "Thor!" I groan a bit. "Again?" "What?" he asks, snatching the remote from my hand and clicking on "Thor: Ragnarok" before I can stop him. "It's funny," he says. "You've watched it, like, ten times this week alone," I say. We watched it together, what, four days ago? "But it's funny!" he insists. "Pleeease?" he asks, looking at me with a little pout. I roll my eyes, grumbling. "The things I do for love," I murmur, and he just giggles as I submit to his whims. Maybe I'll just sleep through this one. I wouldn't mind getting an extra hour or two in, especially if we're both cozied up on the couch together. But barely a minute into the movie and Niall takes my hand that's resting on his thigh and guides it further up to his groin. I feel his stiffness against my thumb, and I grin. "Niall..." "What?" he asks, feigning innocence. "What are you doing?" "Nothin'." "Mhm," I say, knowing he'll be grinding on my hand in a matter of minutes -- just like the old days (that still haven't left). This is his favorite game to play: the angel. "So what's going on here?" I ask, nudging his boner with my thumb. He giggles slightly, bringing my full palm against his crotch. "Nothin'," he says again. "Doesn't feel like nothin' to me." I hook my thumb into his waistband in the front and tug it down enough to expose him. "Just like I thought." He laughs. "Dad--" he starts to say, trying to pull my hand away. "What? You started it," I say with a grin, play-slapping his grip away with my other hand before wrapping my fist around his cock. Instantly, he calms down. "This is what you wanted, isn't it?" "Uh huh," he moans, resting the back of his head against my shoulder as I stroke him up and down slowly. "And if I do this, you're gonna behave during the rest of the movie, yes?" "Mhm," he says, lightly holding my wrist -- not to stop me, but just so he can hold on to some part of me. "Good boy," I say, kissing his cheek before looking down at my movements. Niall doesn't need any fancy tricks or techniques. He just needs Daddy's hand and he's set for the ride. Still, I like him to feel as good as possible. I like him to squirm. So, I vary my speed, my grip, the length of my strokes. I get him mewling, giggling, and sighing in pleasure, his hips constantly pushing up to meet my manipulations. I keep it tender, though. That's always the case in moments like these. When we're doing something like lazily playing in the living room, my boy is considered precious and deserves to be treated as such. Unsurprisingly, it doesn't take long for me to get him to cum. He mutters it at first, and just to tease him, I ask him to repeat himself. "I'm gonna cum," he says again, a little louder. "Huh? What's that?" I ask, picking up my speed. He flushes deeply. "I'm gonna cu--" But he grunts, tensing up, his back pushing against my torso and his legs going rigid for a few moments until I feel his boycock throbbing. I smile, kissing his shoulder and letting him ride out his dry cum. But the thing is, it's not dry. I peer down at his cock when I feel something wet against my fingers, when I notice that classic slick noise my own cock makes when I'm stroking my naturally-lubed-up cock. I stare wide-eyed, in total surprise, as little dribbles of boycum trickle down over my fist. I bring my hand up to my face to inspect the mess, almost laughing. "Holy shit," I mutter. "What?" Niall asks distractedly. But then, upon noticing the clear liquid oozing from his tip, the same substance coating my fingers a bit, Niall gasps. "Did I...?" "You did, buddy," I say, hitting him with a proud, paternal smile. "You made cum." Niall's lips slowly form an open-mouthed grin. He hops off my lap, takes his cock in his hand, and squeezes as much out as he can. Then, holding up his cum-tipped finger to the light, he jumps in place, letting out such an excited cry that I burst out laughing. "Finally!" he yells, and I just chuckle, amused and supportive. I let him enjoy this moment, something he's looked forward to for years now. He deserves it. - End of Chapter 2 -