"Takes Three To Tango"
(Five years earlier)
The soft clatter of papers shuffled under Nick's fingers. He sat at his desk, sleeves rolled up, collar loosened, a pen held like a scalpel as he carved through essay after essay. His brow furrowed in annoyance at one particularly mangled thesis about Madame Bovary, the kind of shallow reading that weaponized SparkNotes and betrayed a total disregard for irony.
"Flaubert didn't create Emma Bovary so you could judge her," he muttered, scribbling a sharp "Unpack your assumptions" in the margin. He flipped another paper, sighed at it, and marked it with a resigned shake of the head.
But the next one caught his attention. He sat up straighter. Caleb Carter. The handwriting was precise, the prose economic yet lyrical. The essay traced a careful, almost poetic analysis of Anna Karenina, not through the lens of morality, but of hunger. Emotional, physical, and spiritual. It suggested Anna didn't fall because she defied her marriage vow, but because she was starving in a world that offered her only illusions of love.
Nick reread a paragraph, fingers tightening around his pen. "What the world calls betrayal is often just the body demanding to be heard after years of being silenced."
A knock cut through the quiet.
He looked up. The door stood slightly ajar, the hallway bathed in amber light. Caleb stood there, tall, lit from behind like a shadow cut from gold.
"Professor Morrissey?" Caleb's voice was soft, almost apologetic. "Got a minute?"
Nick leaned back in his chair. "Sure. Come in."
Caleb stepped inside. He moved like someone trained in restraint, with shoulders tucked in and steps light, not out of shyness but intention. He wore an oversized gray sweater over slim jeans, his green eyes sharp behind a veil of understated confidence.
"I didn't want to bother you, but… I had a question about the prompt for next week."
"Shoot," Nick said, gesturing toward the desk across from his.
Caleb didn't sit. He hovered by the edge of the desk instead, hands in his pockets. "You asked us to write about moral ambiguity. How love sometimes makes us choose between two wrongs. But you didn't specify if we should use examples from the reading, or if we could… branch out."
Nick tilted his head, curious. "What did you have in mind?"
"Well," Caleb said slowly, "I've been thinking about Lady Chatterley's Lover. The first version, the one that got banned."
Nick's lips curled into the beginnings of a smile. "Lawrence's forbidden fruit."
"He wasn't afraid to write people...messy," Caleb said, his voice more alive now. "Connie doesn't just betray her husband. She betrays her entire class. Her world. But when you read it, it doesn't feel like betrayal. It feels like survival."
Nick folded his hands, elbows resting on the desk. "So, do you think love justifies betrayal?"
Caleb shrugged. "I think love unmasks people. It shows you who they are. Betrayal is just a symptom."
"Interesting." Nick tapped his pen against the desk. "Most of your colleagues see these characters through the lens of morality. Good versus bad. Right versus wrong. You're looking at cause and consequence."
"I don't think people cheat because they're evil," Caleb said. "I think they cheat because something inside them is starving. And sometimes… hunger makes you forget who you're hurting."
Nick studied him. The boy's poise was uncanny, too poised for a college sophomore. Too precise. But there was something else. Something behind those green eyes. A kind of sorrow that deepened the more he stared at it.
"Tell me something," Nick said. "Why this book? Why this essay? Why now?"
Caleb didn't answer immediately. His gaze drifted toward the windows, where autumn leaves skated across the lawn in lazy spirals.
"I guess I'm...used to things that aren't easy to explain," he said. "Stories where everyone's a little wrong. And no one's really right. Life feels more honest that way."
Nick nodded slowly. "You write like someone who's seen a lot."
Caleb gave a small, enigmatic smile. "Maybe. Or maybe I just read too much."
They were quiet for a moment. Then Caleb turned, heading toward the door.
"You'll like my essay," he said, without looking back. "But it won't make you feel better."
Nick watched the boy disappear down the hallway. The door swung shut behind him, and with it, the room seemed emptier than before.
Nick turned back to Caleb's paper. He read the last line again:
"Desire isn't always a fire that consumes. Sometimes it's a slow, cold hunger that devours you from the inside."
*
(Present time)
Nick remained standing, his fingers spread on the edge of the table. He wasn't looking at the plates. He was watching Adrian. Across from him, Adrian reclined in his chair, brows faintly furrowed, chin tilted in that defensive angle.
Bobby lounged on his chair, arms crossed behind his head like a smug, golden devil dropped straight from a Caravaggio painting. The tension was molasses-thick now, clinging to everything in the room.
Nick's voice, when it came, was soft. "Out with it, Adrian."
Adrian blinked. "Nick, what the fuck?"
Nick tilted his head, just slightly. A small, almost kind smile curled his lips. "Cat's out of the bag."
Adrian sat up straighter, wariness bleeding into his features. "If this is about earlier...if this is about Bobby..."
Nick cut across him, gently but firmly. "Don't. Please, don't insult me with another performance."
Adrian's jaw flexed. "What do you want from me?"
"I want," Nick said, his voice gaining weight now, "for you to speak a single sentence that isn't calibrated to protect your version of the truth."
Bobby chuckled low in his throat. "Oh, this is getting good."
Nick's gaze flicked to him. The boy only grinned wider, teeth white as bone against his sun-kissed skin.
Nick looked back at Adrian, eyes calm, voice colder now. "I might have...done something to your food."
Silence.
Adrian blinked. "What?"
Nick leaned forward, the candlelight catching the sharp line of his jaw. "A mild blend of Sodium Pentothal and scopolamine. You won't die or anything. You'll be tired, disoriented. But the truth will come a little easier."
Adrian pushed back from the table, his chair scraping. "Are you fucking insane?"
Nick didn't move. "Calm down," he said softly, pausing. "And before you ask, no. I didn't put anything on Bobby's plate."
That made Bobby sit up. He stared at Nick, eyes alight with delighted disbelief. "Jesus, that's... I mean..." He burst out laughing. "I thought I was the crazy one."
Nick kept his gaze locked on Adrian. "Bobby's many things. A liar he is not. But you...Adrian. I believe you're utterly incapable of telling the truth. Specially to me ."
Adrian stood fully. "This is fucking insane, you know that? You laced my food?"
Nick slowly walked around the table, his steps measured, almost ceremonial. "Of course I did. I knew you'd never tell me willingly."
Adrian stumbled slightly as he reached for the back of the chair. His fingers slipped. The effects were starting. His pupils had dilated just slightly. The sweat above his brow gleamed faintly under the soft, golden light. "I never cheated on you," Adrian mumbled, already slurring faintly.
Nick's smile turned almost compassionate. "That's the first lie. But go on."
Adrian opened his mouth, closed it. Then shook his head. "No. No, I'm not doing this."
"You already are," Nick said gently.
Bobby whistled low. "Holy shit, this is so much better than that HBO crap you make me watch."
Adrian was breathing harder now, knuckles white on the table's edge. "I just...I didn't want to hurt you," he murmured.
Nick sat down in the chair beside him—not across from him anymore, but beside. Close enough to touch. "That's the second lie."
Adrian's lips trembled. His voice cracked with anger, or guilt, or both. "I needed to feel..."
"What? You needed to feel what?"
"I don't..." Adrian stuttered. Nick sat back. For a moment, he was quiet, letting the silence speak. "I still love you," Adrian said suddenly.
Nick stood again. He walked toward the window, his back to Adrian. His shoulders were still. His hands hung loose at his sides.
"Your voice sounds a little parched," he said, his voice calm. There was a long pause. "I'll get you some water," Nick added, and he stepped out of the room.
He returned a moment later with a tall glass of water. Adrian had shifted in his seat, slumped slightly, his face slack in a way that robbed him of the sharp handsomeness he so often wore like armor. The drug had begun its work. Not a truth serum in the cinematic sense, no. It didn't force confessions, but it weakened the inhibitions, stripped the polish. What remained was raw and tremulous.
Nick set the water down before Adrian, who stared at it like it was a foreign object. Next to them, almost unnoticed, Bobby sat with exquisite grace. He didn't speak. He just watched.
Nick sat again beside Adrian. "You remember how we met?" Nick asked softly, conversationally, as if they were old friends catching up over wine instead of circling the wreckage of a shattered marriage.
Adrian blinked slowly. "Yeah."
"Freshman year. Literary Theory."
"You corrected the professor," Adrian murmured.
"I did," Nick replied. "He was misquoting Barthes. You looked at me like I'd just peeled off the wallpaper and showed you the room's bones."
A faint smile tugged at Adrian's lips, as if summoned from muscle memory. "I thought you were...pretentious."
"You told me that," Nick said. "Over drinks, two weeks later, when you finally let me buy you one. You said I was too clever for my own good."
"You were. You are."
Nick's fingers drummed the edge of his chair once, twice. "I remember the first time you kissed me. Outside the dorm. You leaned in fast, like you were afraid you'd talk yourself out of it."
"I..." Adrian murmured.
"I also remember," Nick said, eyes narrowing slightly, "the first time I knew you were fucking someone else."
Adrian froze. The air shifted. Bobby leaned forward slightly in his seat, his smirk sharpening.
Nick continued, his voice still calm. "You thought I didn't notice how you started taking longer showers. How you smiled differently, like you were saving your real one for someone else."
Adrian swallowed hard. "Then...why the fuck didn't you say anything?"
Nick exhaled, almost a laugh. "Because I loved you. And love, Adrian, is a quiet cannibal. It eats the warnings. It swallows the doubts. It tells you that pain is just another form of intimacy."
Adrian turned to him, and for the first time that night, there was a flicker of something real, regret, perhaps, or fear. Yet, his nature betrayed him. Again. "I didn't think you knew."
Nick looked at him. "Of course you did. That's what made it thrilling, wasn't it? The way I played the good man. The fool."
Adrian's voice was barely a whisper. "Yes...yes," he stuttered, reluctantly. "I did it on purpose."
Nick nodded once, slowly. "I know."
"I wanted to get caught," Adrian continued, his eyes distant. "I wanted you to look at me and see it."
"Why?" Nick asked, though he already suspected the answer. "Why would you mine your own sanctuary?"
Adrian stared at the water glass, the candlelight fracturing his reflection. "Because...I don't deserve you," he said. "I knew that from the moment I met you."
Nick chuckled softly. It wasn't warm. "No. Try again. That's too tidy. Too neat. You'll have to dig deeper than that."
Bobby exhaled sharply through his nose. "You're good," he murmured. "God, you're good."
Nick glanced at him. "Enjoying yourself?"
Bobby spread his arms as if presenting a masterpiece. "Watching the king and queen of tragedy tear each other to ribbons at their own banquet? This is better than watching Avengers: Endgame in theaters. This is art, man."
Nick returned his gaze to Adrian. "You didn't cheat because you felt unworthy. You cheated because it gave you power. Because hurting me made you feel less small. Because the love I gave you was so complete, so undeserved, that it terrified you."
Adrian stared down, his throat working. He didn't deny it.
Nick rose again, slowly, and turned his back to both of them. His fingers drifted along the edge of the countertop, tracing something unseen. The kitchen light gilded the edges of his shoulders, painting his silhouette like a man carved from patience and pain. Then, with a slow breath, he turned and opened a drawer quietly, like someone choosing a scalpel.
He pulled out a small lacquered box. Sleek and black with mother-of-pearl inlay. He placed it on the table like an offering and slid it across toward Bobby, who caught it one-handed without missing a beat.
"Roll us something," Nick said softly, his voice suddenly casual, almost warm.
Adrian looked between them, his face drawn. "Nick…"
Nick didn't acknowledge Adrian's warning. He only watched Bobby, who opened the box with the delicate care of someone who knew the value of theatrics. Inside: paper, flower, a grinder.
Bobby smiled, drawing the grinder toward him like a pianist settling in. "So…this is how it's going to be, huh? A little late-night trauma with a side of haze?"
"We're just having a conversation," Nick murmured. "Isn't that what families do over dinner?"
Adrian leaned back in his chair, visibly unnerved but saying nothing.
Bobby pinched the bud, breaking it apart with practiced ease, letting it crumble between his fingers. His movements were graceful, feline, slow. A young man entirely in control of himself and the room, and knowing it. "So," he said as he twisted the grinder. "When did you two start…you know. Doing it."
Nick quirked a brow but didn't look away. "Second semester."
"And he was already fucking my mother?"
A pause. The grinding stopped.
Nick nodded. "He was. Wasn't long before she got pregnant with you."
Adrian shifted, lips parting as if to interrupt. But again, Nick beat him to the air.
"I didn't know at first," Nick continued. "He let me believe we were exclusive," he added.
Bobby chuckled, a soft, poisonous sound. "Classic."
The grinder clicked shut. Bobby opened it and poured the pale green shavings into a paper, fingers moving slowly, slow enough to draw the eye. He licked the edge delicately, sealing it.
"So when you found out?" Bobby asked.
Nick leaned against the counter. "I broke it off. For a week."
Bobby snorted. "A whole week. Impressive."
Nick didn't smile. "He showed up at my dorm. In the rain. Told me he was in love. Told me it was over with her."
"And you believed him?"
Nick watched the paper roll tighten under Bobby's fingers. "I wanted to."
"And did she know?" Bobby asked, his voice silk-smooth.
Nick exhaled slowly. "Eventually, yes."
Bobby tapped the joint on the table, admiring his handiwork. "She fucking hates you."
Nick didn't flinch. "I don't blame her."
Adrian tensed, but Bobby beat him to it again.
"Well...she's kind of a bitch, I'll give you that." Bobby lit the joint, drew in a deep inhale, then exhaled in a long plume toward the ceiling. "You do have a way of making people feel like they matter. Even when you're slicing them open," Bobby added, his eyes on Nick.
Nick took the joint as Bobby passed it, their fingers brushing. He watched Bobby, this creature, half-snake, half-star, and felt the dangerous gravity of him. Not a child. Not an innocent. A reflection of Adrian in a younger, crueler form. A mirror held too close.
"Do you hate me?" Nick asked.
Bobby tilted his head. "Should I?"
"You've got reasons."
Bobby grinned, teeth white and sharp. "You think I didn't know what a piece of shit he was?" he added, tilting his head torwards Adrian who looked like he might speak. But the drug still clung to his body like a fog, softening every muscle, slowing his tongue. Bobby turned back to Nick. "Nah. I don't hate you. I do enjoy watching you squirm, though."
Nick sat there, watching them, not as a husband or a victim, but as something more complex, a presence neither of the other two had yet learned how to read.
The joint was a slow ember between his fingers. He tapped the ash into the crystal bowl he'd set out with almost ritualistic care. His silence wasn't passive. It was tactical. "I knew," he said softly, as if the words had existed all along in the smoke curling between them.
Adrian looked up. "Nick…"
"I knew who you were when you kissed me in the library stacks, while you eyed the jock down the aisle," Nick continued, eyes fixed on the red glow of the joint. "I knew it when you touched me like someone starving while your girlfriend was at home pregnant."
Adrian winced.
Nick smiled faintly, almost kindly. "You were always hungry. Always looking for something outside the lines. I just...stopped trying to fix it."
Bobby watched him now, his mocking grin slowly fading.
"You let him cheat," Bobby said.
Nick nodded. "Not because it didn't hurt. In the beginning, it did. But then...I started to see something in it. The cheating... it wasn't about me. It was the only time Adrian looked alive." The words floated out, strange and honest. Adrian's face crumpled slightly, the weight of it hitting in ways that all the accusations hadn't. "You needed to feed some part of yourself I couldn't reach," Nick said, his voice low and composed, almost professorial. "And I let you. Because...I loved you anyway. All of you. The part that came home to me. And the part that ran to others."
Bobby sat back slowly, eyes narrowing. "That's...twisted."
Nick turned toward him, the faintest smile curving at the corner of his lips. "Maybe."
He stood, almost lazily, and walked across the room. His feet padded quietly on the wood floor. He passed the wine cabinet, the long windows reflecting the night like a hush of black silk, until he reached the room's far corner. There it sat. An old stereo, dusty and antique. A wedding gift. Nick knelt, turned the dial, static flaring then fading into a ghost's breath of melody. The crackle of time shifted. A soft jazz tune began to play, grainy, nostalgic. A saxophone rising gently, kissed by piano. Melancholy and warm.
He stood upright, facing them again, letting the music swell into the spaces between them. "It's not about reason," Nick said over the music, voice calm and cruel in its honesty. "Love rarely is."
Adrian watched him as if seeing something new. Not the man he'd taken for granted for years, but the one who'd outlived every version of him.
Bobby was still, stunned perhaps for the first time. His gaze flickered from the radio to Nick as though trying to understand the rules of a game that had just rewritten itself.
Nick didn't press his advantage.
He just let the music play.
"You know what's strange?" he began, quiet but resonant. "We spend our entire lives believing what we're told. We cling to morality like it's armor. We collect rules and principles the way children collect shiny stones, holding them up to the light and calling them truth." He moved to the sideboard, pouring himself a measure of something dark and aged. His reflection in the glass was fractured. "We say cheating is wrong. That betrayal is wrong. That loyalty defines character. And yet, every day, people walk into rooms like this one and tell someone they love a lie. And yet...the world keeps spinning."
He took a sip, letting it linger on his tongue before he continued. "We punish the ones who confess more than the ones who pretend. We exalt monogamy but devour stories of infidelity. Society thrives on contradiction. We are told to want less. To feel less. To forgive quickly and forget quietly." Nick turned, now facing them fully, his eyes luminous but unflinching. "But here's the thing, Adrian...maybe I'm not who I thought I was."
His voice didn't break. It deepened.
"I used to think I was good. I mean, not perfect. But good. A man who knew right from wrong. A man who would never stay in a marriage like this one. And yet, here I am. Not just staying, but watching. Learning. Wanting things I shouldn't. Feeling things I never thought I could. Dark things. Beautiful things. Violent things."
He looked at Bobby briefly, long enough for it to mean something, but not long enough for Adrian to catch it.
"Maybe you two came into my life to show me that I am not the victim here. Or the savior. Or the wronged. Maybe I'm something else. Something…flawed. Maybe there's a part of me that's always known. That's always wanted it this way." He leaned forward slightly, elbows on the table, hands folded as if in prayer. "And maybe it's time I stopped trying to fix it. Maybe it's time I stopped trying to be the better man."
There was a silence. Like breath held at the edge of a dream.
Adrian stared at him, eyes narrowing with slow, dawning tension. The drug may have dulled the edges of his wit, but something was reawakening in him now. His awareness slithered back into place like a snake warming under the sun.
He swallowed hard, his throat moving. "What are you saying?" Adrian asked finally, voice low and wary.
Nick didn't answer.
He smiled.
The jazz murmured on in the background, lazy, seductive, endless.
And the room held its breath.
Nick's eyes drifted from Adrian's, now wide and dazed with residual chemical haze, to the smoldering joint left half-smoked in the ceramic ashtray. The smoke curled like a whisper toward the ceiling, winding around the chandelier in ribbons.
He spoke slowly this time, each word measured, more intimate than a confession and far more dangerous. "I'm saying…I want to watch you," he expressed, and though his tone remained gentle, it landed like thunder. "I want to see you fuck him again."
Adrian flinched, visibly. His lips parted slightly, and for a second, the old Adrian, the Adrian who lied like a poet and deflected with a smile, surfaced. But then that mask cracked. He stared at Nick like he had never seen him before. Adrian shook his head slowly, confusion and discomfort beginning to war with arousal in his expression.
"You're trying to punish me."
Nick's eyes didn't move. "If I wanted to punish you, I'd have walked away years ago." He stepped back, giving Adrian space again, his voice barely above a whisper. "I've loved you with my eyes closed. Let me do it with them open."
The weight of the room changed. Even the shadows on the wall seemed to draw closer.
Adrian sat frozen, the air around him vibrating. "You're serious."
Nick gave a single, slow nod.
Bobby's gaze bounced between them, breath shallow, lips parted, his face unreadable for once. A silence settled, thick and dark, like velvet over glass.
Bobby leaned forward, the joints in his bare elbows creaking softly against the table's polished edge. For a long beat, he said nothing. Just watched Nick. Then he chuckled, low, a dry breath of amusement. "So let me get this straight, professor," he said. "You want to watch your husband fuck his own son? I mean, let's not pretty up the rot. You want to sit back in some velvet chair, smoke your little joints, and watch him stick his dick in my ass. That about the shape of it?"
Nick didn't flinch. "Yes."
Bobby's eyes gleamed, hunter's eyes, sharp and feral.
The room shimmered in half-light, the music from the old radio pulsing softly, like a remembered heartbeat echoing through the walls. Something crooned low and warm, Etta James or maybe Nina Simone, Nick couldn't be sure, but it poured from the radio in smoky swells, brushing gently over the high ceiling and falling like silk over their skin.
Bobby rose, moving like smoke himself.
He pulled his shirt off and walked barefoot, his long limbs stretched in liquid grace as he wandered from the table, the joint trailing a lazy thread of incense in the air behind him. He passed by the counter and opened a cupboard, his fingertips languidly dancing along the edges of the glasses until he found one he liked. His hips swayed slightly with the music, a quiet rhythm in his body that matched the slurred cadence of the song.
The refrigerator opened with a soft suctioned gasp. Bobby retrieved the white wine, already opened, and poured it too full into the glass, the golden liquid trembling near the rim. He leaned back against the counter, sipped, and sighed. His lashes fluttered briefly shut, as if savoring the moment was a prayer or a performance.
Nick didn't watch him.
Not fully.
His eyes were fixed across the table, where Adrian sat in the same chair, unmoving. His once-perfect posture was bent, his hands still flat on the tablecloth, as if grounding himself. Their eyes met and held. Adrian's lip trembled. Just once. And in his gaze, there was something raw and ancient, like he'd been waiting to be seen for years and was only now realizing that he had been, all along.
Nick sat back slowly in his chair, folding one leg over the other. His hands, elegant and still, rested on the arms. He didn't speak. He didn't need to. Because this silence, this burning stillness between them, was the conversation. It was an old language, shared only between two men who had broken each other beautifully over the course of years.
Adrian blinked. A tear broke loose and slipped down the hard line of his cheek. Nick tilted his head slightly, taking it in. There was no triumph in him. No cruelty. Only recognition. The man across from him was not just his betrayer. He was his mirror. His ache. His gravity.
A memory shimmered behind Nick's eyes. Adrian, years ago, younger and less careful, laughing into the wind on the back of his motorcycle after graduation. Hair wild, shirt damp from the rain. And Nick behind him, arms wrapped around his waist, feeling like he'd found the center of the universe. That boy still lived inside the man before him. Just buried under layers of artifice and fear. Adrian opened his mouth, then closed it. His throat worked around something unspeakable.
Nick's eyes locked with Adrian's, gazes smoldering like two flames about to merge. Adrian's lips parted slightly, a soft, almost imperceptible gasp escaping as Bobby's hand came swooping from the side and slithered around his neck like a serpent claiming its prey. The touch was possessive, deliberate. Nick's wine glass hovered at his lips, the deep red liquid catching the dim light as he took a slow, deliberate sip. His eyes never left the scene unfolding before him, his own arousal growing with every second. He wasn't just watching now, he was part of it, his presence a silent but undeniable force in the room.
Bobby, now completely naked, moved with grace. His cock, already half-hard, swayed slightly as he stepped closer to his father, his hips rolling to the rhythm of the music. The sound was low, sultry, and it seemed to wrap around them, pulling them deeper into the moment. Adrian's breath hitched as Bobby's hands slid down his chest, fingers teasing the fabric of his shirt before slipping beneath it. Bobby's lips brushed against his father's ear, his breath hot and heavy as he whispered something that made Adrian's cock throb in response.
Nick's eyes darkened as he watched, his own hand moving to his lap, fingers tracing the outline of his hardening shaft through his pants. He could feel the heat building inside him, a slow, steady burn.
Bobby's hips began to move in earnest now, grinding against Adrian's thigh as his hands roamed over his body. His cock pressed against his father's leg, the heat and hardness of it making Adrian's breath come in short, ragged gasps. Bobby's lips trailed down Adrian's neck, leaving a trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses that burned Adrian's skin.
Nick's fingers tightened around his glass, his knuckles white as he fought the urge to join them. His cock was fully hard now.
Bobby's hands moved lower, fingers deftly undoing the zipper on Adrian's pants before sliding them down his hips. Adrian's cock sprang free, thick and hard, the tip already glistening with pre-cum. Bobby's lips curled into a wicked smile as he dropped to his knees, his hands gripping Adrian's hips as he unceremoniously took the length of him into his mouth. Adrian's head fell back, a low moan escaping his lips as Bobby's tongue swirled around the head of his cock. Adrian's hands tangled in Bobby's hair, pulling him closer as he thrust deeper into his mouth.
Nick's breath deepened as he watched, his own hand moving to free his cock from the confines of his pants. He stroked himself slowly, his eyes locked on the scene. The sight of Bobby's lips wrapped around Adrian's cock, the way his throat worked to take every inch of his father, was almost too much to bear. Bobby's hands moved to Adrian's ass, fingers digging into the firm flesh as he took him deeper, his throat relaxing to accommodate the massive length. Adrian's deep, guttural moans reverberated off the walls, mingling with Bobby's muffled, desperate groans as his mouth worked his father's thick, throbbing cock. The wet, sloppy sounds of Bobby's lips and tongue slurping and sucking filled the air, each slick noise making Nick's cock twitch in his hand.
Nick's fist moved faster.
Adrian's hand suddenly shot to Bobby's head, yanking him back by his hair with a violent jerk. Bobby's lips parted in a gasp, his eyes wide and glazed with submission. Adrian leaned down, chest heaving, and spat a thick glob of saliva onto Bobby's open mouth. The spit glistened on Bobby's lips for a moment before Adrian's tongue lashed out, licking it up with a feral hunger. Their lips crashed together in a wet, sloppy kiss, tongues tangling, saliva dripping down Bobby's chin as Adrian devoured him.
"You're such a filthy slut," Adrian growled against Bobby's lips, his voice low and dripping with sovereignty. His massive chest rose and fell rapidly, his breathing ragged as he pulled back just enough to lock eyes with Nick across the table.
He was asking for permission, and Nick didn't hesitate.
He nodded slowly, his hand still stroking his own cock, his eyes never leaving Adrian's.
"Do it," Nick said, his voice rough with need.
Adrian's arm swept across the table swiftly, sending silverware, glasses, and plates crashing to the floor. He grabbed Bobby by the hips and slammed him down onto the table. Bobby's back hit the hard surface with a thud, his body sprawled out like a feast. Adrian's hands roamed over his son's trembling form, fingers digging into the soft flesh of his thighs as he leaned down and began to lick and bite at every inch of skin he could reach.
Adrian's breath was hot and ragged against Bobby's trembling stomach, his tongue a slick, sinful instrument of pure torture. "You taste so good," Adrian growled, his voice low and dripping with lust, as if he were savoring the finest fucking delicacy. His lips glazed lower, leaving a glistening trail of saliva, his teeth grazing Bobby's hip bone with just enough pressure to make him whimper and writhe. Adrian's hands gripped Bobby's thighs with a possessive force, spreading them wider, exposing every inch of his trembling body to the hungry gaze of the man between his legs. "You're so fucking perfect," Adrian whispered, his lips brushing against Bobby's skin as he continued his descent, his tongue tracing every curve, every dip, every inch of Bobby's body like it was an altar and Adrian was his most devoted worshipper.
That's when Nick stood up. He pushed his waistband down with a single, fluid motion, stripping off his pants to reveal his 9-inch cock, thick and hard and glorious. Bobby's eyes darted over, sensing Nick's movement, and when he saw it, his breath hitched in his throat. It was the first time he had seen Nick's cock, thick and veiny, the head glistening with pre-cum.
Nick's fingers curled around the stem of his wine glass. The deep red liquid swirled as he brought it to his lips, his tongue darting out to catch a stray drop before it could escape. His eyes, dark and hungry, never left Bobby's. The corner of Nick's mouth twitched into a smirk. He wasn't just savoring the wine, he was savoring the moment.
Meanwhile, Adrian's head snapped up, his hair a messy halo around his face. His lips curled into a wicked grin as his hand slid across Bobby's stomach. His fingers trailed lower, brushing over the soft skin of his son's thighs before disappearing into the cleft of his ass. Bobby's breath caught in his throat, his body tensing as Adrian's fingers teased his entrance, circling the tight ring of muscle with a precision that made Bobby's toes curl.
"Fuck," Bobby gasped, his head snapping back as Adrian's finger pressed inside, slow and relentless, stretching him open. Adrian's smirk widened as he worked Bobby open, his finger sliding in and out with a rhythm that was both torturous and intoxicating. Bobby's hips bucked, desperate for more, but Adrian couldn't give in that easily. He added a second finger, scissoring them apart, stretching Bobby wider, deeper, until the first whimper broke through.
Nick watched, his hand still stroking himself. He could see the way Bobby's body responded to his father's touch, the way his cock twitched, desperate for release. Nick's smirk deepened as he took another sip of wine, the liquid sliding down his throat like liquid iniquity. He wasn't just watching, he was savoring every second of it.
Adrian's fingers curled inside Bobby, brushing against that sweet spot that made Bobby's entire body jerk. "Fuck," Bobby moaned, his voice ragged, his hands gripping the edge of the table for dear life. Adrian's grin turned feral as he added a third finger, stretching Bobby wider. Bobby's breath came in short, sharp gasps, his body trembling with need as Adrian worked him open with a skill that bordered on cruel.
Adrian's fingers were slick now, gliding effortlessly into Bobby's tight, quivering hole. Adrian's thick digits plunged deeper, curling and scissoring, stretching his son open with a brutal, relentless rhythm. Bobby's back arched off the surface, his cock throbbing against his stomach, leaking pre-cum in thick, glistening strands. His lips parted in a silent scream as Adrian's fingers pistoned in and out, hitting that sweet spot with unerring precision. Bobby's hands clawed at the table, his nails leaving faint scratches in the wood as he writhed, his cock twitching with every brutal stroke. Adrian's other hand gripped Bobby's hip, holding him in place, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he fucked him with a savage intensity.
By then, Bobby's moans grew louder and more desperate, his voice breaking as he begged for mercy, for Adrian to slow down, stop, and keep going. His body was a mess of conflicting sensations, his mind overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of the pleasure his father was providing.
And that was the moment Nick's voice cut through the haze of lust, sharp and commanding. "Wait." Adrian froze, his fingers buried deep inside his son's ass, eyes snapping up to meet Nick's. There was a moment of tension, a silent battle of wills, before Nick spoke again. "Take them out…slowly."
Adrian obeyed, his movements deliberate as he began to withdraw his fingers from Bobby's ass. The boy whimpered, his body trembling as he felt the slow drag of Adrian's fingers against his sensitive walls. His hole clenched around them, trying to keep them inside, but Adrian was relentless, pulling out inch by agonizing inch until his fingers finally slipped free with a wet pop. Bobby's ass was left gaping, his hole twitching and pulsing. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath, his cock still hard and leaking. Adrian's fingers glistened, coated in spit and Bobby's juices.
Nick stepped forward, walking over to them, his eyes dark with desire as he reached for Adrian's wrist. Then, he guided Adrian's fingers to his mouth, his tongue darting out to lick the slickness from them. The taste was intoxicating, a blend of musky flavors that sent a shudder down Nick's spine. He sucked Adrian's fingers into his mouth, his tongue swirling around them, cleaning them with slow, purposeful strokes.
And Adrian watched, his breath hitching as Nick's lips wrapped around his fingers. He could feel the heat of Nick's mouth, the wetness of his tongue as it lapped at his skin, the pressure of his lips as they sucked and pulled.
It was a filthy, depraved act.
Utterly wrong. And exquisitely right.
Bobby's eyes were stuck on Nick's lips, his own slightly parted in an expression of reluctant awe.
Nick released Adrian's fingers with a wet pop, his eyes locking onto Adrian's as he licked his lips. "Okay," he said, his voice low and husky, "You can fuck him now."
Adrian's hands were like iron claws, gripping Bobby's hips with a force that left red, angry marks on his son's pale skin. Bobby's breath hitched as Adrian yanked him backward, flipping him onto his stomach with a brutal efficiency that left no room for protest. The table beneath them creaked under the weight of their bodies, the sound drowned out by the wet slap of flesh on flesh as Adrian positioned himself. His cock, a monstrous 11-inch beast, glistened, the tip already slick and throbbing over his son's crack.
Without warning, without so much as a courtesy spit, Adrian slammed his dick into Bobby's tight, unprepared hole.
Bobby's scream was a blend of pain and pleasure, his voice cracking as Adrian buried himself to the hilt. His fingers clawed at the table, nails leaving deep gouges as Adrian began to fuck him with a savage, unrelenting rhythm. Each thrust was a brutal assault, Adrian's hips pistoning forward with a force that sent Bobby's body skidding across the surface.
Adrian wasn't making love.
He was claiming, conquering, fucking his own son like he was nothing more than a warm hole to be used. Bobby's ass clenched around Adrian's cock, the tightness only driving his father wilder. Adrian's breath accelerated, his muscles coiled like a predator ready to pounce. Sweat dripped down his chest, his abs flexing with every thrust.
Nick kept watching. His eyes drank in every detail, the way Adrian's biceps bulged as he held Bobby down, the way his back muscles rippled with each punishing thrust, the way his ass clenched as he drove himself deeper into Bobby's hole.
Bobby's moans grew louder, his body writhing under Adrian's relentless assault. Adrian reached down, grabbing Bobby's hips and pulling him back onto his cock with a force that made him cry out. The sound only spurred Adrian on, his thrusts becoming even more brutal, even more desperate.
"Fuck, dude," Bobby whimpered, his voice trembling as he arched his back, his ass clenching around Adrian's thick shaft. "You're so fucking deep...oh god, I can't...I can't!"
Adrian smirked, his hands gripping Bobby's hips hard enough to leave bruises. "Yes. Yes, you can," he growled, his voice low and dripping with dominance. He slammed into Bobby harder, the force of it making his son cry out, his body jolting forward with each brutal thrust.
Nick walked around them and sauntered over to the kitchen counter, leaning against it. His hand moved faster, his thumb swiping over the slick head of his cock as he bit back a moan.
"Is this what you wanted?" Adrian's voice cut through the haze of lust, his eyes locking onto Nick's as he continued to pound into Bobby. "You like watching me fuck his pussy?"
Nick nodded, smiling. He sipped on his wine, the liquid doing nothing to cool the fire burning in his veins.
Adrian chuckled darkly, his thrusts never slowing. He reached down, his fingers digging into Bobby's ass cheeks as he spread them wider, giving Nick an even better view of his cock disappearing into that tight, pink hole.
Nick's hand was a blur now, his cock aching as he stroked himself faster, harder. All he could focus on was the sight of Adrian's cock plunging into Bobby's ass, the way Bobby's body shook with each thrust, the way Adrian's muscles rippled as he fucked him like an animal.
"I'm close," Nick gasped, his balls tightening as he felt that familiar heat building in his gut.
Nick's hand lingered on the glass for a moment, his fingers tracing the rim with a slow, deliberate tease before he set it down on the counter with a soft clink. His eyes locked onto Adrian's, a glint in his gaze as he moved with the confidence of a man who knew exactly what he wanted, and exactly how to take it. But just as Adrian's breath hitched, expecting his husband to close the distance between them, Nick veered. Adrian's jaw dropped as Nick stalked over to Bobby, who was sprawled out, his head dangling off the table's edge. Bobby's lips were parted, his tongue lazily tracing his bottom lip as if he already knew what was coming.
And Nick didn't waste a second.
Adrian's cock twitched inside his son's warm hole as he watched Nick grab Bobby by the hair, yanking his head back to expose his throat. Bobby let out a low moan, his lips wrapping around Nick's cock like he was born to suck it. Nick's hips snapped forward, shoving his length deep into Bobby's mouth, the wet slurp of Bobby's lips and tongue working him making Adrian's own dick ache with envy.
Nick's head fell back, a guttural groan tearing from his throat as he started to fuck Bobby's face with brutal, unrelenting thrusts. Bobby gagged, spit dripping down his chin, but he didn't pull away, his hands gripping Nick's thighs as he took every inch willingly. And then it happened. Nick's hips stuttered, his cock twitching violently as he came, thick ropes of cum shooting down Bobby's throat. Bobby swallowed every drop, his throat working around Nick's cock as he milked him dry. Nick let out a ragged moan, his fingers tightening in Bobby's hair as he emptied himself into his stepson's mouth.
The world didn't just slow, it fucking stopped.
Time itself seemed to hold its breath as Nick's dick pulsed, thick and throbbing, deep in Bobby's wet, eager mouth. Every vein on Nick's shaft twitched as he unleashed his load, ropes of hot, sticky cum shooting down in a relentless, creamy flood. Bobby's lips were stretched obscenely around Nick's girth, his tongue laboring instinctively to milk every last drop, his cheeks hollowing as he sucked with a desperation that bordered on worship. The sound of Bobby swallowing, gulping down Nick's seed was obscenely loud. Nick's cock eventually slid out with a wet pop, and Bobby's lips stayed parted, a thin strand of saliva and jizz connecting them for a moment before it snapped and dripped onto his chin.
And that's when Bobby's eyes fluttered open.
His pupils were blown wide, his lips swollen and slick, his cheeks flushed a deep red. But it wasn't embarrassment or surprise. No, there was something there, something raw and primal. A hunger. A need. His tongue darted out, licking the remnants of cum from his lips, and the way he looked up at Nick, like he was both terrified and desperate for more, sent a jolt of pure, unadulterated lust straight to Nick's cock.
Adrian was still buried balls-deep in Bobby's wrecked ass, but his thrusts had slowed to a crawl. His eyes narrowed, squinting at Nick like he was trying to figure out if he'd just been out-fucked or if he was hallucinating. His cock pulsed inside Bobby, thick and unrelenting, but his rhythm was off. Distracted, confused. Then, his gaze dropped to Bobby, who was still staring at Nick with those wide, fuck-drunk eyes, his lips parted and trembling like he was about to beg for more.
That's when Adrian snapped.
His face twisted into a mask of rage, and he reared back his hand and slapped Bobby across the face with a sharp crack that echoed through the room. "What the fuck are you doing?" Adrian snarled, his voice dripping with venom. He grabbed Bobby's hips and started fucking him again, but this time it wasn't just rough, it was savage. His cock pistoned in and out of his son's hole like a jackhammer, each thrust making Bobby's body jolt and his ass clench around Adrian's girth.
Nick watched the scene unfold with detached amusement. He grabbed a kitchen towel and wiped himself off, his hand lingering on his shaft as he gave it a few lazy strokes. Then he sauntered over to Adrian, his bare feet beating against the floor, and grabbed Adrian's chin with a firm grip. He pulled him into a deep, filthy kiss, their tongues tangling like two snakes in a fight for dominance. When Nick finally pulled away, he leaned in close to Adrian's ear, his breath hot and heavy as he whispered, "He's all yours."
Adrian froze, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths as he watched Nick walk out the back door, onto the deck. Then he let out a frustrated growl and yanked Bobby off the table, tossing him onto the couch behind them like a sack of meat. Bobby's legs were still spread wide, his hole glistening and stretched to its limit, and Adrian didn't waste any time. He grabbed Bobby's ankles, hoisted them over his shoulders, and slammed his cock back into that tight, ruined hole with a wet splat.
“Please…wait…I need..." Bobby whimpered, his voice trembling as he tried to catch his breath.
"Shut the fuck up!" Adrian barked, slapping his hand over Bobby's mouth to muffle his pitiful pleas. He started fucking him again, his hips slamming into his son's ass with a force that made the couch creak and groan beneath them. Adrian's balls slapped against Bobby's taint with every thrust, the sound wet and vulgar, and Bobby's hole was so loose now that it let out a loud, guttural queef every time Adrian pulled out.
Outside on the deck, Nick leaned back on the bench, his cock still half-hard and twitching. He closed his eyes and let out a deep, satisfied sigh, the sound of Bobby's muffled screams and Adrian's grunts of exertion music to his ears.
*
(Two hours later)
Nick sat alone on the deck, legs propped on the low coffee table, his body bare. The night was warm. A breeze moved softly through the tall grass lining the dunes. His wine glass, almost empty, dangled loosely from his fingers, catching the faintest glimmer of ambient light.
The sounds of Adrian and Bobby fucking inside were finally starting to wain down. A gasp, a groan, some shuffling of bodies before it all came to a stop. Moments later, he heard bare feet gently hovering over the wooden floors.
Nick smiled. Not a full, teeth-baring grin. Just a soft, wistful pull at the corner of his mouth, the kind of smile that came with age and the subtle, aching relief of truth being set free.
Behind him, the sliding door creaked.
Nick didn't turn, but he felt the change in the air as Bobby stepped outside. Looking like he had just been mauled by a wild bear.
Nick looked over.
And for a second, he just stared.
Bobby was absurdly beautiful, a contradiction wrapped in youthful skin: arrogance clinging to vulnerability, cruelty stitched with longing, desire born of detachment. All of it written across his face, in the slope of his jaw, in the way his eyes narrowed, not with suspicion, but with that familiar, feline hunger to be known, and never caught.
Bobby caught the smirk on Nick's face and tilted his head, a flicker of defiance in his gaze.
"What's with the smirk?"
Nick took one last sip of the wine, then lowered the glass onto the table, letting the silence build like a low tide preparing to break.
Then, with the gentleness of someone opening a storybook, he began. "You're such a beautiful young man, Bobby," Nick said, his voice even, quiet, almost tender. "Beautiful in the way storms are beautiful. Terrifying, but impossible not to watch. Every line of your body is a threat and a promise. You know it. You've built yourself around that knowledge."
Bobby didn't move, but Nick saw it, the tiniest twitch in his brow.
"But you want to be seen, Bobby. Not desired. Not chased. Seen. That's the part that haunts you."
Bobby scoffed, looked away, but said nothing.
"I'm sure you learned early on that control was the only way to survive. That if you couldn't be loved safely, then being wanted would have to be enough. So you crafted this…version of yourself. Witty. Daring. Sex in the shape of a boy."
Nick leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. His voice softened further, like a scalpel wrapped in velvet.
"You wanna know what I think?" Nick questioned. Bobby's jaw clenched. Nick's voice was starting to sting. "I think the reason you let him fuck you like that is because it numbs your hunger," Nick went on. "Your 'real' hunger."
Nick stood slowly and walked to the railing. He had his back to Bobby now, and his voice was calm and reverent.
"You don't want someone that'll fuck your hole. Anyone can do that," he said. "No. The truth is...you're scared shitless. Because deep down...you're really just waiting for someone to swoop in..." Nick said, finally turning, his arm raising slowly, finger gently coasting over his temple, tapping it ever so gently. "And fuck the shit out of this."
A long silence.
Then, finally, Bobby spoke. Quiet. Raw.
"You think you know me...professor?"
Nick smiled. But there was no victory in his expression. Only softness.
"I think I see you."
Another silence. But this one was different. Not heavy. Just real.
"Trust me, kid. He'll never give you what you want. No matter how deep, or how hard you let him fuck you," Nick said pulling forward and walking over to the door, where he paused. "But don't blame him for it, Bobby. He's just doing what it's natural to him," Nick finally added, walking inside and slamming the porch door shut behind him.
Bobby stood there, no longer smirking, his posture uncertain for once. The deck light painted him in silver, but the arrogance had flickered out. What remained was just a boy who had spent too long building thrones out of ashes.
Meanwhile, the waves continued to break in the dark.
(To be continued...)
Casual Wanderer © 2025
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