Date: Sun, 24 Nov 2019 23:33:21 -0500
From: RJ <ruetheben@gmail.com>
Subject: Lessons in Fatherhood - Ch. 4

Lessons in Fatherhood
by RJ Meyers

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.

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~ Chapter 4 (Kieran's POV) ~

Ricky's a godsend. Usually I don't work Wednesdays because it's gymnastics
night -- which means I, instead of Mary, pick Niall up from school. But
lately, my shifts at work have been inconsistent, typically because I've
been pressured into taking last-minute hours. Maybe this is a sign that I
should really be considering switching to the allegedly more stable
pediatrics department.

I got into an argument with Mary about it last night, because she has "a
particular Wednesday routine" that would be "utterly jeopardized" if she
had to pick up her own fucking child from school. I was livid, considering
it's not like her routine involves any sort of income, so we had it out. It
quickly became one of those nonsensical arguments that I couldn't be
bothered to see through, though. In the end, I was just going to have Niall
wait after school for a few hours until I could get him -- but Ricky's
timing was impeccable. As soon as I removed myself from Mary's presence,
Ricky called, asking if I wanted to go out the following morning since he
randomly decided to take the day off. I would have loved to, but I told him
I had to work and then caught him up on my latest marital feud -- and he
followed up by offering to grab Niall from school on my behalf.

That's what I appreciate most about our relationship: it's easy. We just do
things for each other without asking and without it being a huge
deal. Naturally, that includes looking out for each other's kids. I'm
thankful for Ricky always being in my corner despite the fact that we
haven't known each other for very long, especially since half the time it
feels like Mary isn't even part of this family.

Once my shift ends around five, I give Ricky a call. He picks up after the
fourth ring, clearing his throat. "Kieran?"

"Hey man," I say, smiling as I walk to my car. "I just got off. Should be
back in town in... a half hour or so?"

"Alright," Ricky says. "I can bring Niall by then."

"I can just swing by your house," I suggest, not wanting him to go out of
his way again.

But he insists. "It's all good. I need some air, anyway."

I pause in front of my car, fingers around the door handle. "Everything
okay?"

"No, yeah, I'm good," Ricky says, even though I can detect something
off. Even last night when we talked, I sensed a hint of something, but I
was still too heated from my argument with Mary to pester him for
details. "See you in thirty or so?"

"Yeah, sure," I say slowly, and without saying anything further, he hangs
up.

I spend some time wondering what could be bothering Ricky, but my
speculation is interrupted when I get home. I see my wife's car in the
driveway, and I instantly start fuming. What is she doing home? And how
long has she been here? Sighing heavily through my nose, I park my car
beside hers and head up to the house, already calling her name before I
even enter through the front door. "Mary?!"

"What?!" I hear her calling. She sounds distant, but it's coming from the
back of the house. Thinking she's on the deck, I cut through the kitchen
and push aside the screen door to find her lounging on a beach chair with a
homemade cosmopolitan in one hand and a paperback in the other.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I ask.

She looks at me through her sunglasses -- which further irritates me
because it's not even that sunny out. "What does it look like I'm doing?"
she snaps.

I stare up at the sky for a second, refocusing and attempting to maintain
some level of composure. Clearly I'm not asking the right question. "How
long have you been home?"

"I don't know," she says casually, taking a sip of her drink. "Few hours?"

"So you couldn't have bothered to pick your son up from school?" I demand.

She seems bored with this conversation. "I thought you were handling it,"
she says, lifting the book up to her face.

I stretch out my fingers, focusing my energy on my outermost limbs as to
avoid getting pissed. "I was working!"

"So where's Niall, then?"

"My friend picked him up for me."

She smiles -- a particular cunty smile, at that. "Which means you handled
it."

I stare blankly for a few moments. She can't be serious. "That's not the
fucking point, Mary!"

"Then what *is* the point?" she asks, sounding frustrated as she drops her
book in her lap.

"The point is you've been sitting here lounging for who knows how fucking
long and didn't even fucking offer to pick up your own damn child," I
seethe.

"Please, Kieran," she sighs, and I swear she's rolling her eyes behind
those shades. "I can't be blamed for something you didn't ask me to do."

I can't believe this. Part of me wants to scream in frustration, to grab
her stupid book and rip it in half, to snatch her prissy drink out of her
hand and splash it in her face before throwing the glass against the house
just to hear it shatter. I don't think I can suffer her for much
longer. She's not in this, and we both know it. In the blink of an eye, I
see the possibility of my future laid out before me: officially working in
pediatrics with regular hours and heftier paychecks, divorcing Mary and
subsequently kicking her the fuck out of my house, and maintaining this
home as a father-son love nest. I need that. I need that as soon as
possible.

Suddenly, I hear the front door swing open, someone shuffle around, and
then my boy's sweet voice calling, "Dad?"

I don't give Mary another look. I head back inside, shutting the screen
door behind me and entering the living room with a smile on my face. The
sight of Niall unlacing his sneakers while Ricky stands behind him in the
open doorway makes my mood instantly perk up. "There's my little munchkin,"
I say.

Niall looks up at the sound of my voice, gasps, hurriedly strips himself of
his shoes and backpack, and runs towards me as if he hasn't seen me in
weeks. I vaguely hear Ricky laughing as the boy jumps into my open arms,
and I squeeze him tight, peppering his cheek with smooches.

"Where's that handsome little friend of yours?" I ask curiously.

"At home, finishing homework," he says, sounding like he's living out the
worst-possible scenario.

Ricky chimes in. "I told him he has to get it all done before gymnastics,
so..."

"That's not a bad idea," I say, glancing at Niall -- who is already
turtling into his shell from the mere anticipation of my words. "I'm sure
you have plenty of homework to do."

"But--"

"No buts," I say, setting him down.

He glares at me (in an unserious way, of course) and mutters "You're
boring" before grabbing his backpack off the floor and settling at the
coffee table.

I just chuckle to myself before heading over to the front door to talk to
Ricky. "Thanks for picking him up, man," I tell him. "It was a huge
help. And you didn't have to bring him home."

"Eh, it's all good," Ricky says, waving me off with a smile. "I needed to
get out and stretch my legs anyway."

I eye him up and down, wondering why he'd need to get out of the
house. "Everything good on your end?"

"Me? Yeah," he says loosely. It's evidently a lie, but before I can
question him, I notice him glance at Niall before he clears his throat and
lowers his voice. "Actually, there is *something* I wanted to talk to you
about."

I raise my eyebrows at his transformation. Suddenly, he looks
uncomfortable, shifting on his feet. "What's up?" I ask.

"On Sunday, I... uh... I caught the boys..." He trails off, attempting to
feed me the rest of the sentence with just his eyes. With an intrigued
look, I urge him to continue, and he just sighs before spitting it out. "I
caught them fooling around."

I blink, tilting my head. "Fooling around, like...?"

"Like sex."

I pause for a moment before I burst out laughing. That's what he's so bent
out of shape over? Because he caught our boys getting a little frisky three
days ago? Oh man, the look on his face is priceless, especially when he
sees how humorous I find this. "Yeah, well... You know how it is," I say,
my laughter reduced to leftover chuckles.

He looks confused by my reaction. "Huh?"

"What, you didn't explore at that age?"

He blushes slightly, eyes shifting around the room as he scratches the back
of his head. "I mean, I don't know," he murmurs.

Man, he really looks damn fucking awkward right now. "Does it bother you?"
I question. Isn't he gay? I would have figured this to be a nonissue.

"I, uh-- No," he says, clearing his throat and standing up straighter. "I
just thought you should know."

I smile. "Thanks. I'll keep an eye out for cum stains," I say. I mean it as
a joke, but Ricky just looks increasingly more uncomfortable -- which, of
course, makes me laugh. "Lighten up, man," I say, slapping his arm
affectionately. "They're just boys being boys."

"Right," he says, trying his best to smile authentically.

"You sure you're okay?" I ask, hitting him with a calculating expression.

"No, yeah, I'm good," he says, momentarily fussing with his shirt. "I
just... It just came as a shock to me."

That can't be all it is. If it's one thing I pride myself on, it's being a
people person, and I can generally read strangers pretty well, let alone
friends. Something else is going on in Ricky's head for him to look so
nervous and... what, embarrassed? I think that's what I'm detecting. Is he
embarrassed that he caught them? Or maybe... he looked a little too long?

"Anyway," he says, shaking his head, "I'm gonna go. I'll see you tonight?"

"Yeah, of course," I say before smiling at him. "Say hey to Kyle for me."

"Will do," Ricky says before glancing towards the living room. "See you in
a few, Niall!"

At being addressed, my son turns his head away from his homework and
towards Ricky, grinning. "Bye, Mr. Fischer!" he says politely.

With a nod, Ricky turns and heads back to his car. I watch him leave,
speculating as to what else is going on, but I try not to think about his
reaction too much. I'm sure it's just... a weird thing to deal with as a
parent. Of course, I can't fully relate to that, but I sympathize.

Once I shut the door, I turn towards Niall. I'm not surprised that he
(probably) roped Ricky's boy into something sexual, but I *am* surprised
that Niall didn't tell me he was messing around with his buddy. Frankly,
it's not a big deal. But maybe he likes Kyle a little more than he's
letting on.

When I step into the living room, I have a grin on my face. I squat down
behind him and wrap my arms around him, lightly tickling his sides and
making him squirm and giggle. "Did you like visiting your boyfriend?"

Through the laughter, Niall pushes on my arms and says, "He's not my
boyfriend."

"Oh really?" I ask, pausing my tickles.

"Yeah," he assures me.

"Because Mr. Fischer has a sneaking suspicion you two are up to
less-than-innocent things."

Niall blushes but smiles. "Maybe some stuff."

"'Maybe some stuff'," I repeat lowly, which makes Niall chuckle. "So he
*is* your little boyfriend, huh?" I tease playfully.

"He's nooot, Daddy."

"Why not?" I ask, squeezing him tight and starting to slowly pepper his
neck with kisses. "Is there already a special man in your life?"

He giggles again, deciding to tease me back. "Nope."

"No? No one special?" I ask. "No one you like even a little bit?"

Niall practically yelps when I surprise him with a quick round of tickles
before leaning back against me. "I like you more than a little bit, Daddy."

I laugh, kissing the top of his head. "I know you do, baby," I murmur
before patting his chest. "Listen. I'm not saying you have to stop having
fun with your friend, but maybe don't do it at his house anymore."

He frowns a bit. "Why not?"

"Because you're not as sneaky as you think," I say with a smirk. "Not
everyone's dad is like me, sport. So keep the fun confined to *your*
room. Okay?"

He sighs but nods, seeming to understand. "Okay, Daddy."

"Good boy," I tell him, and I reward him with a kiss.




When we get back from gymnastics with Ricky and Kyle, the boys immediately
head upstairs to Niall's room while Ricky and I retire to the kitchen for
some drinks. I've been catching Ricky up on my latest decision: to do
pediatrics like my boss has been nagging me to do, a symptom of my argument
with Mary (who has disappeared for the evening, thank God). I'd have to
make some serious adjustments, but it'll be good for me and Niall in the
long run -- and thereby the family, since I've already consciously removed
Mary from that definition.

"I don't know," I say, capping the bottle of whiskey after pouring a
couple. "I still wonder how Niall would take it if I divorced her." Then I
laugh to myself. "He'd probably jump for joy, but... I don't know." As I'm
pouring drinks, I notice that I don't get a response from my friend. I turn
my head towards Ricky, who's seated at the island, looking like he has
completely checked out of the conversation. "Ayo. Earth to Richard."

Ricky blinks and glances at me. "Huh?" he asks in a confused voice before
blushing. "Shit, sorry."

I just smile at him, bringing over his glass and setting his cup in front
of him. "Alright, big guy. Spill," I tell him as I slide his whiskey over
to him.

He stops it before it falls over the edge of the counter and into his
lap. "Spill what?"

"You've been acting weird all night," I say before taking a sip. He's been
off, somehow. I can't quite put my finger on it, but something's clearly
up. It started with the awkward "my son and your son are fooling around"
conversation, but even while we were in the waiting room at Kinetix, he
seemed far more distant and pensive than usual. "Talk to me."

Ricky just sighs, swirling the brown liquor in his cup but not drinking
it. "I'm just stressed out."

I wince slightly from his tone. The poor guy sounds so... defeated, all of
a sudden. I take a substantial drink before moving behind Ricky, placing my
hands on his shoulders, and starting to knead my fingers into his
muscles. "What about?" I ask.

"Just stuff with Ethan," he says, deflating slightly. "We kinda had it out
over the phone last night."

Seems both of us had trouble in paradise more or less twenty-four hours
ago. Maybe that's why he seemed so awkward and shifty: he's got his
boyfriend fucking with his head. "Any new developments?" I ask, working out
a particularly stubborn knot above his left shoulder blade with my thumb.

Ricky squirms before relaxing a little more. "Not really," he says. "Same
old same old." Then, I watch him bring his glass to his lips and
practically guzzle its contents. Once the whiskey is gone, he coughs to
clear his throat before murmuring, "I think I have to end it."

I arch my eyebrow. Shit, maybe we're in the same emotional boat right
now. "Really? Is this because of the engagement thing?" I ask, remembering
how twisted up he was about Ethan getting down on one knee.

"It's more than that," Ricky explains. "I've felt like this for a while. I
don't know." He slumps his head forward a bit, tracing a pattern in the
marble countertop. "The intimacy... It's dead."

"Dead?"

"I told you, we haven't had sex in forever."

Yeah, that would certainly kill one of my relationships. I wonder whether
Mary and I would get along better if we just fucked things out now and
again -- but she's sleeping with who knows who, and I'm sleeping with the
boy we raised. "Sex is important to you, huh?" I ask, working my fingers
closer to his neck.

"Very," he says simply.

"And he knows this?"

"He better," Ricky mutters, sounding bitter. "We've talked about it dozens
of times, and still, nothing. Not even fucking hand stuff." Then, blushing,
he glances back at me. "Sorry."

I laugh. "Why are you apologizing?"

"I sound like a middle schooler," he says, shaking his head before
muttering, "Hand stuff? Pffft."

"You're good, buddy," I assure him, a little amused. "Don't get yourself
all pent up."

He scoffs. "Too late for that."

I decide to ask something a little more intimate. "When'd you get off
last?"

"With him?" he asks.

I shrug. "In general."

"Oh. Um... I don't know," he says, scratching his beard. "Two weeks?"

"Two--?" I pause my massage, flabbergasted. "Jesus Christ, man."

"What?"

"That's a damn long time to go without even jerking one out," I tell
him. I'd imagine that someone who considers sex to be vital to a
relationship at least masturbates regularly. But two weeks? Where else is
all that energy going?

He just shrugs lightly. "I don't like jerking off."

I nearly burst out laughing. "Are you fucking me?"

"I mean, I do," he says, laughing and looking flustered for a moment. "I
just mean that it doesn't satisfy me like sex does."

I smile. "Alright, alright, I'll give you that one," I say with a chuckle,
reaching over his shoulders to give each pec a fraternal pat. "But you
should really give yourself some love, man. It might help."

"I guess," he says quietly.

I notice him pick at his groin, and when I peer over his shoulder, I can
see him rocking a tent in those loose shorts he's wearing. I smirk
slightly. "Clearly your body likes that idea," I tease.

I can tell I've embarrassed him a bit, because the back of his neck gets
all red. "It's 'cause you're touching me," he explains -- and then, as if
nervous by how that could have come across, he's quick to rectify any
potential lack of clarity. "I just meant--"

"I know what you meant, big guy," I say, patting his shoulders this
time. "Relax." I know exactly why he tried to backtrack: he didn't want it
to seem like he was coming onto me. Does he still think I'm straight? I bet
he does. In all our get-to-know-each-other talks, we've never discussed
*my* sexuality. All he knows is that I have a wife, and that I've fucked
her at least once to produce Niall. Like everyone else, I doubt he has
truly considered my past (or, frankly, my present).

So, for good measure, I push my hips forward. My bulge, half-forming a tent
from my semi, slips through the slats in the back of the chair and nudges
Ricky's spine. Immediately, he inhales sharply and tenses, but I keep a
firm grip on his shoulders.

"Seems we're in similar situations," I say softly, almost breathily, my
fingers still gripping his shoulders.

I can hear Ricky swallow. "Are we?"

"Sure," I say, smiling lightly at the back of his head. "Both at
the... ends of our ropes, in a way."

"What... what are you saying?" he asks, half-looking back at me. He won't
face me fully, though. I'm sure he's nervous.

"I'm saying..." What *am* I saying, exactly? The thing is, even though I
find Ricky to be a bit of a stud, it's more than that. We're buds, pals,
comrades. I already consider Ricky to be a true, loyal friend, and I
wouldn't offer this sort of thing to just anyone. Plus, there's the added
allure of my son canoodling with his. Niall can handle the boy while I bunk
up with his daddy, yeah? "I'm saying, we could... help each other out."

Ricky's no fool. He can hear the sensual edge to my tone. Again, he
swallows thickly. "What about your wife?" he asks.

I almost snort. "What about her?"

That seems to serve as enough of an explanation for him. After a few
moments of considering my indirect proposal, he speaks up. "I don't know,
Kieran," he says.

I understand his hesitation, and I didn't expect him to leap at the
idea. Ricky's a faithful guy, a monogamist through and through. But as his
friend, I can be there for him in ways most friends can't be. Men have
needs, after all. "Up to you," I tell him, patting his shoulders and
pulling my groin away from his back. Then, to completely switch the
topic. "Did you see those handstands Kyle did? He's getting better than
*my* boy."




Niall and I both get ready for bed simultaneously, sharing the sink as we
brush our teeth in just our sleep shirts and underwear. I finish before he
does, quickly rinsing out my mouth before clearing my throat and standing
behind my son.

"So," I ask, putting my hands on Niall's shoulders and giving them a gentle
squeeze, "we're always honest with each other, right, kiddo?"

Niall peers at me through the mirror as he scrubs his pearly
whites. "Right," he says with a muffled voice. A little bit of toothpaste
trickles down his bottom lip, and I chuckle.

"And if I ask you a question, you won't lie to me, right?"

I can sense he looks a little nervous from how stern my voice seems. He
slows his rate slightly, but he nods.

"How much have you told Kyle about us?"

Almost immediately, he looks relieved. "Nothing," he tells me in a level
voice before leaning over to spit.

"Nothing?"

It takes him a second to rinse the toothpaste out of his mouth. Then, after
he sets his toothbrush next to mine, he turns around to face me. "You told
me not to tell."

"That I did," I say, maintaining eye contact. "But you and Kyle have been
getting pretty close."

"I know," he says simply.

"And you haven't said anything to him at all?"

He just shakes his head. "'Course not!"

"You sure?" I ask. "Because you know what could happen if the wrong
person--"

"I knooow, Daddy," he says, holding onto my shirt. "I'm not dumb."

I stare at him a while, trying to judge whether or not I should trust
him. In the end, I have to go with my gut -- and my gut is completely
relaxed. I smile and stroke his cheek appreciatively. "You're a good boy,"
I murmur.

He smiles, his freckles looking even more apparent right now. "I try to
be," he says with a giggle.

"Mhm," I say, leaning down to kiss his lips. "My good, hardworking boy."

He flushes when I adopt that tone of voice: the one with a deeply sensual
edge to it. I bet the little fucker's hard already. He leans up and gives
me another kiss, smiling in a satiated way. "Love you," he whispers.

"Love you more," I whisper back, stroking one of his warm cheeks with my
knuckles. "What say you let your daddy show you how much he loves you?" I
ask, cocking an eyebrow. It's been a little while since we've had any
special family time together -- and if I've been craving it, Lord knows
Niall's about ready to explode.

"Yes!" he squeals excitedly, standing on his tip-toes as he tugs on the hem
of my shirt. Then he makes a suggestion, grinning wildly. "Let's do it in
your room."

I laugh. "I don't know if that's a good idea," I murmur. "I have no idea
when your mom's coming home."

"So lock the door," he says simply, shrugging his shoulders before taking
my hand. "C'mon! I'll be Mom."

Something about that notion makes my cock twitch, but I grin a bit, letting
him drag me out of the bathroom. Once we enter the master bedroom, he
pushes me aside to shut the door and turn the lock, thereby creating a
protected space in the house for us to play. "Naughty boy," I mumble.

My comment just makes him giggle. "I like being naughty," he says, standing
in front of me. He lifts my shirt and gets under it, sandwiching himself
between fabric and my bare torso. I laugh down at the mound he's making,
feeling him pepper my skin with little kisses. What keeps my attention the
most, though are his hands. I feel them exploring, teasing, stroking,
investigating whatever he can reach.

Then he gets to my bulge. I grunt a bit as his little hand starts groping
me. He feels out the length of my semi-hard cock through the cotton fabric
before reemerging from underneath my shirt, hair disheveled and face
flushed from the warmth. He starts tugging the waistband of my briefs down
to set his favorite body part of mine loose. It flops out thick and heavy,
and he tests its weight by holding it up in his palm. I sigh at the feeling
of his warm hand taking hold of my cock -- even more so when he bends over
to guide the head into his mouth.

I peel my shirt off as I hum in pleasure, my cock hardening in the
welcoming warmth of my son's mouth. He rocks his head back and forth,
already getting sloppy with spit. I smile when I see a thick string of
drool dripping off his chin swinging back and forth in time with his
rhythm. He breaks pace when he decides to try and take me into his throat,
working his way down, opening as wide as he possibly can, and attempting to
swallow the head of my cock. I grunt, placing a hand gently on the top of
his head -- not to encourage nor discourage, but simply to rest.

Eventually he pulls back to breathe, letting my cock fall from his lips
with a lewd wet noise. As he catches his breath, I take my finger, scoop up
the stream, and guide it to his panting. He looks up at me as his lips wrap
around my middle finger, breathing heavily through his nose instead.

"Good fuckin' boy," I whisper as I rock my hand back and forth. "You'll
make a good wife." In response, he giggles around my finger before pulling
back and licking his lips appreciatively.

Now, it's time to get my boy comfortably naked. I remove his shirt first
before scooping him up in my arms and holding him tight, planting a kiss
right on that little mouth of his. I carry us both to the bed and, as I lie
him down, I maneuver us towards the center. Once I've gotten sufficient
kisses from his lips, I move my mouth to his neck, inhaling his scent as I
suck. He still smells like the long, thorough bath we took together: clean,
and ready to be soiled.

I take my time kissing down his body considering I've neglected to give
Niall the attention he deserves lately. I haven't been available enough to
just let him lie back while I plant little kisses on his ultra-smooth
armpits; or smooch, suck, and nibble on his dangerously hard nipples; or
nuzzle my scratchy facial hair against his sensitive, taut tummy; or dip my
tongue into his miniscule belly button to make him squirm and giggle. God,
how I love the little mewls he makes, especially when they're punctured by
soft expressions of laughter. It lets me know that my boy is happy, and
that's what keeps me motivated the most.

I feel fingers gripping the hair on the top of my head as I peel back his
briefs, my lips getting closer to his boyhood. He raises his hips to meet
my mouth, so I press a smile right against that little nail before dragging
my tongue up the length. He shudders a bit, letting out a small "Mmf!"
noise -- and he completely tenses when I wrap my lips fully around his
goods, balls and all. Once the initial shock of pleasure wears off, he
relaxes and lets Daddy reward him just for being my son.

Kyle loves getting his dick sucked -- and it's not lost on me that I'm not
the only one who's had the pleasure of blowing my boy. Kyle's lips have
graced the same intimate parts, too, and the thought alone gets me
excited. How often have they played? Has Niall shown his little buddy that
he can make cum? Is Kyle at that stage of development yet? Hell, had he
ever experienced an orgasm before he met my son? It gives me a strange
sense of pride to think that my boy is potentially spreading pleasure
amongst his special friends, teaching them things he learned from me.

I start pulling his briefs off his hips, not once removing my mouth from
his boner. He lifts his ass up for me to make his stripping easy before
relaxing, totally naked, legs spread wide and invitingly. I could move on,
but the urge to make him cum is too strong. Instead of pulling off, I wrap
my lips more tightly around his little member and suck harder. I let my
hands slide up his torso and soak in the marble-like smoothness of his
body, as well as the miniature nature of it. My adult hand looks so large
against his chest, especially when I take my fingers to tweak one of his
nipples and make him writhe.

Niall doesn't even warn me when he's about to cum. One second, he's trying
to shy away from my fingers, and the next, he's moaning as he practically
fucks my face and blasts a little load of boycum onto my tongue. I swallow
it down, slowing my movements to allow him to return from his climax.

But of course, being so young and practically a walking erection, he's
still roaring to go as soon as I pull off and say, "Flip over for me."

He grins and does so eagerly, even wiggling his plump little peach as if to
tempt me -- not that I need much convincing. Daddy's hungry. Licking his
flavor off my lips, I slide my hands up the backs of his thighs before
letting them come to a rest on each cheek, gripping and groping and
prying. Every time I spread them apart, I get a glimpse of that
pristinely-pink hole of his: the true temptation.

"You've got the prettiest little hole, baby," I tell him, grinning as I
lightly drag my finger across his most sensitive spot. He giggles a bit,
lifting his ass up a little higher for me. It's his way of subtly and
nonverbally asking for more, so, eager to appease, I lean down behind him
and graciously drag my tongue across his prepubescent pucker.

He's delicious. There's no other way to describe it. I moan as I savor my
son's taste, lapping to get all the flavor I can. Niall moans as well,
unable to stay still as I run my tongue in long drags and deep
circles. Keeping a hand on each cheek, I hold them apart, eventually
getting him wet and relaxed enough for me to gently ease my tongue in.

That's when he *really* can't remain still. He rocks his hips back and
forth through the tongue-fuck, letting himself be vocal as he clutches onto
the sheets. Such a sensitive kid, he is -- but that makes it all the more
erotic. I just hold his vibrating body in place and give him the rimjob he
deserves: deep, sloppy, and loving.

"Daddy?" I hear him ask.

A bit reluctantly, I pry my sucking lips away from his hole. "What's up,
baby?"

"Can you put it inside me now?"

I chuckle softly. Sometimes I think he just likes to play up the innocent
thing -- even though we both know he's anything but. "You want it bad,
huh?" I ask, pressing my thumb against the hole I just Frenched.

"Mhm," he whimpers, grinding back against my finger.

"How long has it been, kiddo?" I ask, watching his hole open up to receive
my thumb. "Five days?"

He grunts, pushing back on me. "Six," he says.

I try not to laugh, but I know very well Niall's been counting every
minute. Sure, we've gotten a smidge of playtime in over the past six days,
but that was just light oral. There's nothing like a good fuck -- and he's
been craving that. "Six, huh? Too long."

"I know," he whines, glancing back at me with an adorable pout. "Please?"

How could I say no to that face? Instead of responding with words, I
briefly slide out of bed to grab my stash of lube. Niall, in all his
excitement, practically sings as he watches me. "How you want it tonight,
kiddo?" I ask with an amused grin, my cock jutting from my body completely
parallel to the floor.

"Umm..." He strokes his chin a little bit, weighing all our options before
his face lights up. "I wanna be on top this time."

"Aye aye, cap'n," I say, tossing him the bottle. He fumbles with it for a
moment before giggling and making room for me to lie down on my back. "You
gotta do the honors, then."

He sure isn't upset about that. He barely waits for me to get settled
before climbing into my lap and popping the cap off the lube. First, he
squirts out a clean line along the length of my hard cock. With his free
hand, he wraps his fingers around my manhood and slowly coats my shaft with
the slippery fluid. Then, once I'm nice and lubed up, he applies a bit to
his hole. I watch as he reaches back with slick fingers to prep himself, a
focused expression on his face. Watching my boy finger himself in
anticipation of making love is a sight that never gets old.

Once he feels he's ready, he shimmies forward, resting one hand on my
chest, the other reaching between his legs to grab hold of me. He lifts
himself as he holds my cock up straight, and as he hovers, he fishes for
the right position before the head of my cock meets his eager hole. Slowly,
he eases down on me.

Both of us sigh, but his sigh comes out as a tender moan. It's admirable,
the way Niall's ring stretches to accommodate and accept me. I run my hands
up his thighs and tenderly hold his hips as I watch my cock disappear inch
by inch, my view slowly being replaced with Niall's impossibly hard
boycock. For me, this perspective is a classic.

Niall whimpers, and when I look up, I see his eyes are closed as he sinks
lower and gently gyrates. "Doin' so good, baby," I tell him, praising him
with truths. My son making me feel good is almost a given, but it doesn't
hurt to remind him how I feel.

He puts both hands on my chest now, starting to move his hips up and
down. The tempo is nice and easy at first so that he gets used to the
sensation. After all, he's still just a child, and I'm a full-grown adult
who hasn't loosened him up in six days. It's a lot to ask from a boy of his
stature -- though it's less me asking and more him demanding.

"Feel good?" I ask, looking up at him.

"Uh huh," he murmurs, starting to move a little faster, the softest smile
on his face. Often, I can't help but think Niall was built for cock
considering how well he handles it and how hungry he is for it. Sex is in
his nature, it seems, and the gratification it brings correlates with his
happiness. I know he got that trait from his daddy.

I let him dig his nails into my chest, grunting softly as he sinks deeper
into my lap on each down-thrust. "Fuckin' love you, baby," I whisper.

He blushes, smiling wider. "Fuckin' love you, Daddy."

I chuckle at how cute cuss words sound coming out of his mouth before I
reach up, grab hold of the back of his neck, and pull him down for a lusty
kiss. He doesn't resist, humming softly as we swap spit and tongue while he
rocks his body against mine. Quickly, I wrap my arms around him and take
over the stride. As I move my hips up and down and feed him what he's
desperate for, I want him to feel safe and loved and desired, so I hug him
tightly to me.

When he breaks the kiss, he pants against my lips. "Can we do it on my back
now?" he asks.

I smile. "We can do it however you want," I tell him, playfully nibbling on
his bottom lip.

He laughs until I let go and then glides his tongue against his natural
pout. "Back, then," he says.

It's as simple as rolling over. I hold onto him tightly and quickly shift
positions, laughing along with my boy as we switch to missionary. Even
though I love watching Niall bounce on my cock, this position is a classic
for a reason. I can get deep inside of him, control the pace, and watch his
body submit to the pleasure and trust that Daddy will always provide.

And submit he does. As soon as I start moving my hips, his laughter ceases
and morphs into moans. I watch his hand search for his cock before wrapping
it in a tight little fist as I rock him the way he likes it: with long,
slow strides. He likes to feel every inch of me, and I'm more than happy to
give it to him that way. On every backstroke, I nearly pull out, my glans
just starting to reappear. Then, with every forward thrust, I let my pubes
meet his skin. It's a constant rhythm, and one that both heightens and
elongates both of our pleasure.

I look down at my boy as I make love to him, swearing under my breath. He's
goddamn beautiful with his freckled face slack and red, his ginger hair a
mess, his lips glistening from both our spit. Often, he'll keep his eyes
closed when we have sex, but every now and then, when he lifts his lids to
let our gaze meet, he'll smile at me adoringly -- and I'll smile right
back.

This time, when his eyes open, he has an announcement. "I'm gonna shoot."

I love that he says that -- "shoot." I suppose he's allowed to, now that he
can actually produce cum. "Wait for me, buddy," I tell him, just slightly
picking up the pace. I want to make it there together.

"Hurry up," he whines.

I chuckle, leaning down to kiss him once. "Do that thing I like and I'll
get there faster."

He smiles before scrunching up his face in concentration, focusing on his
anal muscles. I grunt when I feel his hole flex around my cock, loving the
control over his body he's developed over years of lovemaking. He's milking
me for all I'm worth -- and I'm so close to rewarding him.

"You ready, Niall?" I ask after a minute.

He just nods a few times, biting his lip and resuming the stroking of his
cock. His lips slowly part more and more the closer he gets to orgasm, and
to get to my own quickly, I focus my sights on those nuances. Niall lets
out a short but high-pitched moan, his stomach flexing and his hips
twitching a bit, riding so close to the edge.

He beats me there. He whimpers as he cums, his moans almost making him
sound like he's crying. For a moment, I'm a passive participant, merely
watching and listening and feeling the way his hole constricts repeatedly
through his climax. It's just the right amount of push I need, and I grunt,
clenching my teeth as my own orgasm sends shockwaves throughout my
midsection. I swear under my breath, still working my hips as I fill Niall
with my load, the heightened sensitivity nearly making my arms tremble
under my weight. Eventually the pleasure proves too intense, and I have to
pause mid-stride and just let my balls empty. Panting, I hold myself above
Niall as my cock twitches and spurts inside of him.

Once finished, I let out an immensely relieved sigh. I feel totally
satiated. When I look down, I smile at the little mess Niall made of
himself -- and with a sudden burst of inspiration, I slowly pull out of my
son and lean down to clean him up with my tongue. I lap at his cum and
slurp up the little pool in his belly button, the latter of which makes him
giggle squirm. I just laugh and give his cocklet a kiss before crawling
over his lithe form to peck his lips.

"Hope you're happy now," I murmur.

He nods. "Just don't make me wait six days again," he warns me, poking my
chest.

"Well excuse me," I say, amused. "Sorry Daddy's busy and your mother's
always home."

"Well, get a new job," he suggests, eyes focused on the little tuft of hair
between my pecs that he's playing with. "And then we can move out."

I smile tenderly. "Just you 'n me?"

"Uh huh," he says, clearly cheery about this fantasy. "Then we could have
all the sex we want."

I laugh. "We sure could," I say, licking my lips. I love that we're on the
same page without having to compromise. Having total behind-closed-doors
privacy with my son would be a dream. "You wouldn't miss your mom?"

"No," he says easily. No hesitation, no tentativeness. "I have you."

I expected him to say as much, but it's still nice to hear that, if I were
to go forth with this divorce, Niall would barely bat an eyelash. It's all
about us. "And you always will, kiddo," I assure him, collapsing on the bed
next to him and sighing as I rest on my back. I place one hand on his
thigh, lightly stroking the impossibly smooth skin there. "At least promise
me you won't forget about me when you're with your little boyfriend," I
tease.

He turns to me, almost scowling. "He's not my boyfriend!" he claims -- but
that blushing of his indicates otherwise. At the very least, I think it's
safe to assume he's developed quite the crush. I don't blame him,
either. That Kyle is a looker *and* a sweetheart, with a personality
similar enough to Niall's for them to have fun but different enough to
serve as the proper counterbalance to my son's high-octane craziness.

I just grin. "Just promise me."

He tries to maintain an angry look for teasing him, but he can't hold out
for long. He breaks façade, smiling and then quickly cuddling up to me
before uttering words that give me the warmest sense of comfort: "I
promise. You're my number one, Daddy," he says, sealing it with a kiss.

- End of Chapter 4 -