"Finally," I murmured to myself, standing before the open dresser drawer, the scent of fabric softener wafting gently around me. After what felt like an eternity of college dorm living, I was back home for spring break. The comfort of my own room was a sweet respite from the stale air of shared spaces and the endless cacophony of academic stress. The last of my shirts lay neatly folded in my hands, the soft fabric whispering promises of relaxation and the warm embrace of familiarity.
With a sigh of contentment, I flopped onto my bed, feeling the familiar cushioning of the mattress give way beneath my slender frame. My eyes closed instinctively, savoring the sensation of the cool, crisp sheets against my sun-kissed skin. The exhaustion of the long flight from across the country clung to me like a second skin, but the comfort of my own bed was a balm to my weary bones. The springs groaned slightly under my weight, a comforting sound that had lulled me to sleep countless times in the past. The quiet hum of the house was a symphony of comfort compared to the incessant buzz of the dorm hallways.
But amidst the serenity, the gnawing emptiness in my stomach grew more insistent, reminding me that home wasn't just about comfort—it was about food too. I chuckled to myself, thinking about the meal I'd have to whip up for dinner. It had always been my role to cook since my dad, Hank, had the culinary skills of a caveman. In a way, it was a strange bonding ritual between us, him watching sports and me slaving over a hot stove.
I stretched my arms over my head, feeling the muscles in my back pop and crackle. The silence was broken by the distant sound of Dad's booming voice, calling up the stairs to ask if I was home yet. I yelled back, but the echo of my own voice suggested he'd missed it. Typical. With a roll of my eyes, I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, my bare feet hitting the plush carpet with a soft thud. The journey downstairs was one I'd taken a thousand times, but today it felt like a homecoming.
As I descended the final few steps, I spotted Dad's sneakers by the front door, the worn-out soles hinting at the long day he'd had. His back was to me, broad and strong, as he rummaged through the fridge. He was still wearing his work shirt, the fabric outlining his broad back and powerful shoulders.
"Hey, Dad," I called out, my voice echoing through the hallway.
He turned his head, a smile breaking out on his handsome face. His green eyes lit up with a warmth that washed over me like a gentle wave. "Ash, buddy!" He took a step towards me, his arms outstretched for a bear hug.
I didn't even bother trying to dodge it. His embrace was like a safe cocoon, the scent of his cologne mixing with the faint hint of his own sweat from a hard day's work. For a moment, all the stress of college life melted away, and I was just his little boy again. "Thanks for the cab, Dad," I mumbled into his shoulder. "It's no problem, buddy," he rumbled back, his voice as comforting as ever. "How was the flight?"
"It was good," I said, pulling away to look up at him. His blond hair was slightly disheveled, and the lines around his eyes had deepened since I'd last seen him. It dawned on me how much I'd missed him, despite our usual banter. "But I'm starving."
Dad's smile grew wider. "Good timing, I just got back from work. Let's get Uncle John over, and we'll throw something on the grill."
The mention of Uncle John sent a peculiar warmth through me. I'd always had a bit of a crush on him, but it was nothing more than a harmless schoolboy fantasy. Or so I told myself. He was Dad's best friend, and had been there for me just as much as Dad had, especially after Mom took off.
As I followed Dad into the kitchen, the anticipation of spending the evening with both of them grew.
"So, how's the office?" I asked, sliding onto one of the stools at the kitchen counter.
"Oh, the usual grind," Dad said, shrugging his massive shoulders. "Nothing new to report." He grabbed some milk from the fridge and began to whip up his daily protein shake, the sound of the blender a rhythmic pulse in the otherwise quiet kitchen.
"And college?" he prodded, raising an eyebrow at me. "You meeting anyone interesting?" His tone was teasing, but I knew he was genuinely curious about my life away from home.
"You know me, Dad," I said with a smirk, trying to play it cool. "I'm the king of the library, not the party scene."
"Oh, come on," he said, giving me a playful nudge with his elbow. "You've got to be letting loose a little. What about that one friend you talked about?"
"Duke," I said, feeling a blush creep up my neck. "We're just friends."
He took a swig of his shake, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "Just friends, huh?"
"Yeah," I said, punching him lightly on the arm. "What? You don't believe me?"
"Well," he said, feigning shock. "Imagine that. Little Ash, the bookworm, with a friend. Who knew?"
I rolled my eyes, but couldn't help but laugh. Our banter was playful, the kind that came from years of knowing each other's quirks and teasing each other mercilessly.
As the conversation turned to more mundane topics, I felt a slight pang of relief. Dad had always been open about pretty much everything, but I wasn't quite ready to spill the beans about my love interest. Back then I had a crush on Uncle John, aka I couldn't tell him. And now I didn't really have anyone new, sure there were a few hot guys at college, but he didn't know them anyway so why even start.
"You've got to tell Uncle John about your 'adventures' when he gets here," he said, winking. "He'll get a kick out of it."
"Yeah, right," I shot back, rolling my eyes. "He'd probably just tease me about still being solo."
Dad chuckled, shaking his head. "John's just messing with you. He's like that."
"And speaking of Uncle John," I said, changing the subject. "How's he doing? Is he still playing the field?"
"John?" Dad's eyes sparkled. "The man's got more game than a video arcade. He's just picky, that's all." He took a moment to add some more protein powder to his shake before sealing it and giving it a vigorous shake.
I couldn't help but let my gaze linger on Dad's bicep, flexing as he mixed. The way his muscles danced under his skin was mesmerizing, and I felt a familiar tightening in my chest—a mix of admiration and something more primal that I didn't quite understand. Dad caught my look and grinned, playfully flexing his arm again. "Like what you see, champ?"
I rolled my eyes, but couldn't wipe the smile off my face. "You sure you want me to answer that...Dad...?"
He chuckled, a deep rumble that seemed to resonate through the very air of the kitchen. "What can I say, I've still got it," he said, flexing his bicep once more before taking a long swig of his protein shake. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, and I couldn't help but follow the line of his strong throat down to his broad chest, which heaved with every breath. Despite the fact that he was my father, and that it was probably weird to think about him like that, I couldn't deny the attraction. But then again, he'd always been like this, flaunting his body without a care in the world, as if to say, "Look, but don't touch." It was his way of bonding with me, of showing that he was still young and cool, even though his age suggested otherwise. And I had to admit, it worked.
As Dad went to grab his phone to call Uncle John, I found myself staring at the fridge. I'd always felt a strange tension between us, a sort of unspoken understanding that we both knew I enjoyed his showmanship. It was twisted, sure, but it was also comforting in a weird way. He was so comfortable with himself, so confident, that it was hard not to get caught up in it. And as much as I tried to convince myself that it was just a phase, a part of growing up, it was getting harder to ignore the way my heart raced when he was around.
The sound of Uncle John's gruff voice echoed through the phone speaker, bringing me back to reality. "Hank, what's up?"
"Just got back from work, and our little college boy is home," Dad said, grinning at me. "Figured we'd throw some steaks on the grill. You in?"
"You bet your ass I am," John responded with a laugh. "How about 6?"
Dad and Uncle John chatted for a bit longer, their laughter filling the kitchen with a sense of camaraderie that was as comforting as the aroma of a home-cooked meal. They talked about work, the game last night, and the latest gossip from the neighborhood. It was easy to get lost in their banter, their voices a soothing background to the rhythm of homecoming.
"Alright, I'll let you go," Dad said finally, holding his hand over the phone. "Don't be late, you know how impatient I get with an empty stomach."
"Wouldn't dream of it," John's voice boomed back. "And don't worry, I've got the goods. Steaks and veggies, just how we like it."
As Dad hung up, he turned to me with a knowing smile.
John's always been like that, ever since we were kids. He's got the patience of a saint when he needs to be, but get him excited about something and he's like a bull in a china shop.
Dad clapped me on the back, his hand warm and reassuring. "Why don't you go grab a shower, get changed? You've got some time before he gets here."
A shower would be heavenly after the day of travel, and it would give me a chance to get my thoughts in order. I nodded and headed back upstairs, getting exited about a real good private shower.
The warm water cascaded over my body, washing away the travel grime and the lingering tension from being around Dad. As the steam filled the bathroom, I found myself daydreaming about Uncle John. His deep blue eyes and the way his muscles bulged under his flannel shirt when he'd help me move into my dorm room. The way he'd ruffle my hair and give me a bear hug, his stubble scratching my cheek. I'd always felt safe with him, and as I grew older, that safety turned into something else. Something more...desperate.
The thought of seeing him again made my heart race. I quickly finished up, not wanting to be caught in a compromising position if Dad or Uncle John came looking for me. I wrapped a towel around my waist and padded back to my room, the scent of my body wash trailing after me.
Choosing an outfit was surprisingly difficult. I wanted to look good, but not like I was trying too hard. I settled on a pair of well-worn jeans and a snug t-shirt that accentuated my own muscles, the result of months of sneaky workouts at the college gym. As I pulled on the shirt, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.
I knew I wasn't the typical alpha male, but that's what I liked about myself.The guys I found myself interested in would eventually fly on me, but my introverted side made it harder to let them know. As I examined my reflection in the mirror, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of satisfaction with what I saw. Sure, I wasn't as beefy as Dad or Uncle John, but I had a good chest and a nice ass that I knew was a hit. It suited me, being a small, twinky bottom, and I liked that it was something unique about me.
I finished dressing and made my way back downstairs, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves. The clock ticked away the minutes until Uncle John's arrival, each second stretching into an eternity. The house was quiet, save for the occasional clank of pans as Dad started prepping the meal.
When the doorbell finally rang, I felt my stomach do a little flip. I took a deep breath, trying to compose myself before heading to the door. I swung it open, and there he was, standing tall with a cooler in one hand and a bag of groceries in the other. His brown hair was styled in a way that suggested he'd made an effort, and his beard was neatly trimmed. His blue eyes sparkled as they met mine, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Hey, buddy," he said, his voice as warm as a campfire.
I stepped aside, allowing him to enter, my eyes dropping to the way his biceps flexed as he set down the supplies on the kitchen counter. Dad called out a greeting from the backyard, already busy with the grill. Uncle John handed me the bag of veggies. "Think you can handle these?"
"I'll manage," I said, trying to sound nonchalant as I took the bag from him. Our fingers brushed, sending a shiver down my spine. The kitchen was suddenly too hot, the air thick with a tension that had nothing to do with the grill outside... Fuck... I was still madly into that man. I hurried to the sink to wash the vegetables, focusing on the cool water and the mundane task to get my mind off the way Uncle John's arms bulged when he carried the heavy cooler.
While Dad and Uncle John bantered outside, I found myself stealing glances through the kitchen window, watching as Uncle John tossed the steaks onto the grill with a flick of his wrist. The flames shot up, casting an orange glow across his rugged face. His laugh was low and rich, a stark contrast to the sizzle of the meat. My heart hammered in my chest, the sound of it drowning out the TV's commentary on the baseball game in the background.
Dinner was a blur of conversation and laughter, the kind that only comes from people who've known each other for a lifetime. I listened to their stories, my mind wandering to the way Uncle John's forearms bulged as he cut into his steak. His hands were large and rough, a stark contrast to the tender meat. The sight made my own stomach clench with desire, and I had to look away to avoid betraying myself.
After dinner, we settled into the living room, the TV playing some action movie that neither of them were really watching. Dad was stretched out on the couch, his legs taking up half the space, and Uncle John sat in the armchair opposite, a beer in hand. The room was bathed in the soft light of the pendant lamp, casting shadows that danced across the floorboards. The air was thick with the scent of the BBQ and the faint hint of cologne.
As the night grew later, the conversation grew quieter, the silence between us stretching out like a tightrope. Uncle John looked over at me, his gaze lingering longer than usual. I felt my cheeks heat up, and I took a sip of my water to avoid his eyes.
"You okay, buddy?" Dad asked, noticing my sudden shyness.
"Yeah," I said, shaking my head. "Just tired."
John leaned forward in his chair, his elbows on his knees. "You sure? You've been pretty quiet."
"Yeah," I said, a little too quickly. "It's just been a long week, you know?"
Dad nodded, his eyes on the TV. "You can head to bed if you want. No need to stick around for us old guys."
I took the out gratefully, standing up and stretching. "Thanks, Dad," I said, my voice a little shaky. "I'm gonna hit the hay."
John's eyes followed me as I left the room, and I couldn't help but feel a little thrill at the thought that he might be watching me walk away. When I looked back over my shoulder, he was still staring, a strange look on his face. I told myself it was just my imagination, that I was reading too much into it. After all, he was just my dad's best friend, not some secret admirer.
But as I climbed the stairs, my heart racing, I couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted. That maybe, just maybe, there was more to Uncle John's glances than I'd ever allowed myself to believe.
The door to my room closed with a soft click, and I leaned against it for a moment, my breath coming in shallow gasps. My hand hovered over the doorknob, half expecting to hear footsteps on the stairs. But there was only the distant murmur of their voices, the occasional burst of laughter.
With trembling hands, I began to strip off my clothes, the fabric sticking to my damp skin. The room was a sanctuary of darkness, the only light coming from the sliver of moon peeking through the blinds. I crawled into bed, my thoughts racing as I lay there, the sheets twisted around my legs.
The house grew quieter as the night went on, the TV volume dropping to almost nothing. I could hear the occasional clink of bottles and the low murmur of their conversation, but it was background noise to my racing thoughts. I couldn't shake the image of John's arms, his biceps bulging... Mmh, yeah, he was definitely too hot to let me ignore it.
My hand slid under the waistband of my boxers, my heart racing as I touched myself, the memory of his eyes on me playing on a loop in my mind. I knew it was wrong, that I should be focusing on my studies, my future, but the ache inside of me was too intense to ignore.
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