Horns!

Friday

My dad was a drill sergeant and I didn't realize until I had a kid of my own how hard he tried to leave work behind when he came home to me and my mom. There's something to be said for a what a man is willing—able—to leave behind. But it's no surprise that I grew up in a household of order and structure. A regimented life that I thought I'd break away from when I was out on my own. But even when the form of a man emerges from the marble under the sculptor's careful guidance he doesn't suddenly become flesh and blood; he isn't suddenly infused with purpose and wisdom and the mandate to reject the block of cold stone he once was. I am my father's son. I've always been.

I've spent years learning to redirect anger and frustration and a desire for control into better outlets. I turned myself into a forceful thing, honed my mind to a cutting edge. For work I consult with people who are unsuccessful for any number of reasons and I tell them why, exactly whythey're fucking up and how to unfuck themselves.

Yet at home, right now, my boyfriend is handcuffing me to the bed frame. His name is Paolo and he has the darkest hair I've ever seen. He's not just handsome, he fucking smolders. My ex wife says it's cruel that I'd ended up with someone prettier than either of us ever were, even at our primes, even when I was the leather jacket wearing stud who swept into her life. Paolo is certainly prettier than I am now: the guy with the work-in-progress body fussing about the gray in his hair.

Paolo looks an actor in his early thirties playing a teenager on TV; it's convincing, but only if you don't look too hard. I've seen his skincare regimen and decided that I'd prefer the wrinkles. But he's still the hottest person—man, woman, or other—that I've ever tricked into sleeping with me.

And he's handcuffing me to the bed frame.

"It's about control, Joel," he says.

"Oh gee, you think? You're handcuffing me to the fucking bed," I reply, a mite testily.

"Want me to gag you too?"

That shuts me up. Well, that and the fact that he's stroking my cock, which quickly rises to the occasion.

"Are you gonna let me have it?"

"Yes." I'm leaking badly. Every time he touches me, his hand comes away coated in the stuff. I've always been a producer, but with Paolo? It feels like it'll never stop.

"It looks like you want to let me have it," Paolo confirms. He straddles me, his thighs meaty and thick on either side of me. He played hockey in college and fuck does it show. He settles back and my cock slips between his cheeks: not penetrating, just sliding up and down between them.

"You could cum like this," he says. It's not a question, or at least it's not a question directed at me. He doesn't seem to be talking to me at all. He's doing a monologue while grinding against my cock. I want him to sit on it already, but he takes his time. Fucking dick.

He continues, "But how does that get me off?"

"Paolo," I say.

"Shut the fuck up." He says it without heat, but I don't know, we're in the scene now and he's on top of me looking deliriously hot and I'm handcuffed to the bed. My first impulse is to argue, to puff myself up, but instead I let myself be vulnerable. I let him be in control.

Once Paolo decides to sit on my cock, he takes his time. He rips open the condom packet and slowly rolls the rubber over me. He has one hand on my chest and one guiding my prick into the warmth of him. His hole wraps tight around me and it takes a bit of rocking and a significant amount of lube before he's sliding up and down without hesitation.

My cock throbs inside of him, but my brain is full of mixed signals. I want to throw him down on the bed and use his hole, to fuck him into a grunting, quivering mess. But instead his ass is milking me and the rhythmic undulations of his gym-fit body look like a cross between porno and music video. I'm suddenly paranoid that there's a camera somewhere.

"I'm fucking you, daddy. I'm using you to get off. You like that? You like my tight young hole?"

"Paolo," I say, breathing heavy.

He keeps riding me, faster and harder. His cock beats a tattoo on my stomach and leaves a snail trail of his own copious precum. "Tell me you want to fuck my young ass, daddy. Tell me your baby boy rides good dick."

We've disagreed before on the daddy shit. It's not my favorite flavor of sex chat, but his hole feels good and he's so sexy. I want to run my hands all over him and even though my cock is pleasurably buried up his ass, I still feel unsatisfied and pent up. So I cave. I let him guide me down the road I've tried to discourage.

"Ride me, son. Squeeze me. Yeah, that's it. You're gonna get daddy's load."

And that's it. He goes still and shivers and shoots right in my face before I have a chance to even close my mouth. Naturally, I blow seconds later.

He doesn't uncuff me right away. Instead, he goes to bathroom and gets a warm rag. He cleans up me up like I'm a prisoner of war or a patient in his case. He slowly peels off the condom and runs the rag up and down my balls and dick. It feels nice and from the smug smile on his face, I'd guess he knows it.

"None of that shit while Lucas is here. Ok? I just want this weekend to be normal," I say. "And can you unlock these?"

Paolo gives me a look that could freeze magma. "Do you think I want to fuck things up with you and your son? For what reason? Don't be a dick, Joel. I'll behave."

"You? Behave? I'll have to see it to believe it."

Paolo reaches up above my head and it looks like he's going for the handcuffs, but he moves past them and clicks off the table side lamp.

"Night, Joel."

"Oh no you fucking don't. Uncuff me, Paolo. I'm serious. Paolo, don't you fucking—"

He pretends to fall asleep so I kick him in the ass. Six or seven times. Hard kicks. That gets his attention.

◾️

I've never understood why Lucas and I don't get along. He seems to get along with everyone. He has the kind of breezy ease, sun-bleached curls, and perpetual smile that one would sooner expect from a kid raised by Bohemians on some commune than from two middle class squares in the burbs. But I guess the same qualities that have long made him magnetic to strangers and the grasping hands of babies also made him hard to trust with responsibility, prone to vanity, and sometimes incredibly selfish.

I tried my earnest best to break those habits, but if the kid inherited anything from me I'd guess it was my stubbornness.

He arrives on Friday afternoon and climbs out of the ride-share car with his mouth wide open; he's in the middle of a deep, genuine laugh. The driver is doubled over the steering wheel, also cracking up. Lucas clasps hands with guy and they exchange a few words before the driver backs down the driveway still shaking his head and Lucas walks up toward the house. He looks like a Gap commercial with his duffel bag slung over his shoulder, tailored denim, and fashionable boots that won't survive winter.

"You beat the storm," I tell him.

"Looks like I did," Lucas says. Always Lucas, never Luke. He looks me over, adds, "Where's the spare tire?"

Lucas has a big smile on his face when he slaps my mid-section with his leather gloves. "New boyfriend, new body?"

I pat my stomach a little self-consciously. "Get back to me when you're pushing fifty, kid. Sometimes you have to switch shit up. At least if I want to live to see what happens when your metabolism outruns you."

I try to make it sound jokey and easy, but Lucas just gives me a glassy smile: pleasant, polite, distant.

"So where's the boy toy? Mom says he looks like a freshman," he says, and laughs.

I smile back. Nearly hard enough to shatter my teeth.

Considering how our initial meeting has gone my expectations are low enough that I feel justified hovering around as Lucas and Paolo start to interact. It feels like introducing two stray cats, hoping they don't claw each others eyes out. Even toward the end of dinner, while I'm tapping my leg because I'm bursting to piss, I'm loathe to leave them alone for even a moment.

But unexpectedly, impossibly, they're getting along. Lucas seems to jibe with Paolo's dry humor and aside from the early cracks about the age gap, Lucas is behaving himself: his natural charm is oozing out.

We talk about politics, about climate change, music, and bad sushi. Dinner stretches past two bottles of wine as the snow begins falling in slow drifts.

It's just after one in the morning when Lucas starts to nod off at the table. He pushes back from the table, stands, and calls it.

"Alright, gentlemen. Thank you for the hospitality. I think I'm gonna' head to bed. You guys be good," Lucas says. "Oh, and Paolo, you're a hell of a cook."

There are hugs all around and Lucas goes down to the guest room so Paolo and I head up to bed. After our ablutions, we're lying next to each other in the dark and Paolo is stroking my chest.

"Maybe it's because I can see the resemblance, but…isn't Lucas kind of hot," Paolo says.

"C'mon, man. We're not doing this."

"Doing what? I can't appreciate a hot guy?"

"You're a pervert. He's my son. He's younger than you are."

"But he's hot," Paolo argues. I can feel the bed moving slightly. Subtly. But any guy can diagnose that rhythm in an instant.

"Are you fucking jerking off to my kid?"

"It's harmless. Who cares? He's straight, right? Nothing would ever happen. Still, I have eyes, don't I? Or should I turn them in for the weekend?"

As disgusting as he's being, when Paolo's hand wraps around my cock it responds. He's not just a damn fine cook, but as mentioned, he's a hot piece of ass. My dick leaps at the opportunity to be anywhere near him.

"Just knock it off," I say. I'm instantly undermined by a groan.

"Make me," Paolo replies.

It doesn't take much for me to roll over and find his hole. It's already wet and pliable. I try not to think about what it means that my boyfriend is primed for a fuck as he drools over my son's good looks. Besides, what needs to be said once my cock is hard? I hastily don a condom and quickly move to stretching his hole. We're trying to be quiet, but Paolo's fingers are pressed hard into my back and his breathing is rabbit quick. I'm deep inside him, deeper with each stroke, and his mouth is pressed up against my ear.

"Does he have a cock like yours?"

"Paolo. Shut the fuck up. Seriously."

"Make me," he says again.

I put my hand around his throat and he tilts his head back into the pillow, horny, yielding. I make him.

Saturday

In the morning I wake in any empty bed. One look out the window confirms that we're good and snowed-in. The world is blanketed in white and we're not going anywhere. Thoughts of hiking down by the lake or hitting up a museum immediately effervesce. As much of the thought as entertaining Lucas inside for a whole weekend makes my head ache, I'm somewhat relieved that the responsibility of planning outings with him has been forcibly removed from my hands.

I head downstairs and find Lucas and Paolo sitting at the breakfast bar, having coffee together. They're leaning toward each other and talking low like co-conspirators. Only Lucas's short, sharp laugh punctures their whispered tête-à-tête. As I enter, Lucas greets me with a grin and slides his still steaming coffee across the island at me when I sit.

He's drunk it exactly the same way as me he was in high school: two teaspoons of sugar and a splash of cream. I pick it up and take a sip without asking any questions. I recognize it for what it is: a peace offering.

"Your dude's got a mean streak, Joel," Lucas says with a mischievous smile. It's been nearly a decade since he's called me dad. A youthful indulgence I caved on and regretted almost immediately, but I have to admit that dad coming from his lips would seem strange these days. Lucas continues, "He's been bitching about the plastic molded yoga moms roving around your neighborhood. Anytime you guys want to pretend to be urban sophisticates, you should come visit me in Brooklyn. My place mostly sucks, but there's a second bedroom."

Paolo has his head propped up in his hands on the island, giving Lucas his full attention. It makes my blood itch a little to see him coiled around my son's finger, but I work to shut down the irrational, cave-dwelling part of my mind.

"I'm sure we'd be up for a visit. Maybe in the spring?" I ask.

Lucas shrugs. "Whenever. I'll make myself open."

Breakfast goes like that: we adopt a tenuous rhythm, dancing between guarded politeness and bursts of genuine amusement. Paolo's flirting percolates until he disappears for a few minutes then returns to announce: "The hot tub is ready. We're saved!"

It's something to do, so I agree pretty quickly. I don't regret it until I'm walking around the living room in swim trunks and Paolo enters in a speedo.

"Really? Are you late for a circuit party?" I say flatly.

"What? They don't fit?" Paolo asks. He fucking knows it does. His swimsuit shows off the ample curve of his ass and hug his junk like cling film. I chub up despite myself.

Lucas walks in wearing a pair of cotton boxer briefs. I can trace the cartoon dotted line in the air from Paolo's eyes to my son's bulge. I whisper 'Jesus Christ' under my breath.

"Didn't think to bring swim trunks," Lucas says.

"I can loan you something," I tell him. "I've got plenty and we're pretty close in size these days."

"Oh, I bet you are," Paolo comments. I shoot him a withering glare, but he seems unaffected.

"No need. Unless you guys mind…" Lucas replies.

Paolo, naturally, is quick to point of that he most definitely does not mind. I'm slower to agree, but I think of the tangled part of myself that I'm trying to grow out of like an oak from black soil.

"No problem. Let me grab towels and let's head out," I say.

The three settle into the bubbling, steaming water. The tension of the morning leeches out of me. With a feeling of generosity and in the spirit of being an evolved human, I casually compliment Lucas's fit body, though I gently rib him about his fuckboy haircut. His hand goes up to the close shaved sides.

"Yeah, it's a little 'I complain about liberals on reddit', isn't it? I'm thinking about growing it out. I don't want people in bars to think I'm armed with GHB," Lucas says. His arms are stretched across one side of the hot tub while Paolo and I lean snuggly together on the other side. We both laugh at him poking fun at himself, but Paolo's head ticks to one side like a dog that's scented something delightful.

"People in bars?" Paolo asks.

"Quit tilting at windmills," I say, groaning.

But Lucas just gives a shit-eating grin. Radiating from the attention like a spoiled cat. "Women in bars," he corrects. "Mostly."

Paolo's eyebrow lodges itself in his hairline. "Interesting. Elaborate?"

Lucas shrugs. "I'm no prude. I've downloaded an app or two when I'm between something serious. It doesn't last, usually."

"Why's that?" Paolo asks.

"I must bore easily."

"Maybe you haven't found the right person to keep your interest. Or the right people," Paolo replies.

Lucas shifts in the water. I try not to read anything into it. "People, huh?" He considers this as he looks up at the sky. "Maybe, you're right."

We spend another half hour or so in the hot tub and thankfully the conversation drifts into less fraught territory. We chat about recent movies and unsurprisingly, Lucas has lapped us both. When the conversation dries up we climb out of the tub and dry off, but not before I catch sight of the way Lucas's soaked boxer briefs cling to his ass and crotch. His cock hangs more than halfway down the leg of his underwear. The fabric lies flush against his round, athletic backside.

I don't even try to keep Paolo's jaw off the floor.

◾️

Lunch is just some sandwiches and then everybody breaks off until dinner: I get some work done while Paolo plays an online game and Lucas reads, curled up by a window like he's twelve again. I feel a burst of affection for the kid. I feel compelled to walk up to him and put my hand on his shoulder and say something fatherly. But I don't know what that would be. I can't even imagine it. So I leave him to his reading.

Later, dinner is also blessedly uneventful. Beforehand I try to talk to Paolo about the overt thirsting over my kid, but I drop it after he makes it clear that he's just flirtatious by nature, which I can certainly vouch for. But Paolo notes that my cock stiffening up during the conversation and I barely manage to stop things before they get weird again.

But weirdness seems to be the order of the day.

We're a few minutes into some dumb action flick after dinner when Lucas pulls a vape out of his pocket and informs us that it's full of some sort of marijuana oil. "Mind if I indulge?" he asks.

It's been a million years since the last time I smoked up, but I wave him on. "I don't know if I'll smoke myself, but you're more than welcome."

I've never been the sanctimonious type, though I wasn't the 'cool' dad who bought Lucas his first beer either. I enforced the curfew, but didn't set it. I once froze a pack of cigarettes I found in Lucas's room in a huge block of ice and left it on a tarp in our dining room, slowly melting over several days, but I never said a word to him about it. I never found another pack or smelled smoke on him. He either knocked it off or got better at hiding it. I did what I thought was right; the distance between us grew anyway.

Lucas breathes out a few plumes of sweet smelling smoke before offering the vape to Paolo, who takes what strikes me as a huge hit without so much as a cough. They pass it back and forth a few times before Lucas offers it to me again. I take it this time and Paolo, with his arm around my neck, shows me how to do it.

The smoke is harsher than I remember and I respond with a wracking cough that forces us to pause the movie. I'm ready to swear off the damn thing, but instead I giggle a little. The vape goes around again and when it comes back to me, I've changed my mind. More smoke rises up out of me.

I'm beginning to see the ridiculousness of the movie. It concerns some spy, working hard for country, or crown, or something. But he seems like a major asshole. Why are all the cool guys complete assholes? It's almost like we require it in our heroes.

The vape goes around and around.

I'm having trouble putting thoughts together. I turn.

Lucas is filling his mouth with smoke and he reaches out to hand Paolo the vape, but when Paolo reaches for it, Lucas snaps his hand back. Instead, my son reaches over and presses his lips to my boyfriend's lips and when Paolo pulls away there's smoke streaming out of his nose. Lucas has his mother's lips: full and dangerous. He didn't know her when she was a hellion, but he's so much like she was in those days. I want to tell him this. I want to connect him to the soil he grew out of, but he's already so far away. And I'm so, so high.

And hard.

I'm so, so hard.

The vape comes back to me and I take a huge hit, because why not. The world is covered in snow and there's no out for a while. Not until the snow plows roll through. Not until we shovel ourselves a path to the road. In here, there's only the three of us and whatever rules we decide on. I look over to pass the vape back and Lucas's lips are on Paolo's again. I look down at my hand and find the vape still in it. I look back up.

Lucas's hand is under Paolo's shirt, resting on his stomach, and they're kissing. Paolo's head is tilted back, throat bared like an animal tendering his submission. Paolo is making the softest noises. Noises I thought only I could elicit. My cock throbs in my sweats.

"Hey," I say. My voice sounds weird, like I've been swimming. So I clear my throat. It doesn't help. "Hey."

Lucas looks over. He looks me in the eyes, and says, "Hush."

Sunday

I wake up with my face stuck to the couch in the living room. I've been drooling and my head feels like it's been stuffed with cotton. No one else is around. I muddle my way upstairs and find Lucas sitting at dining table reading a book. When I enter the room, he dog-ears a page and closes it: Dune. It's one of the first books I ever gave him, I'd recognize the battered cover anywhere.

I sit across from him and he slides me his coffee. Still hot. Perfect.

"Morning, sunshine. You missed the big dig," Lucas says.

I look outside. The driveway's been dug out.

"Shit. You guys should have woke me. Paolo?" I ask.

"Should be back soon. Went to get breakfast stuff. Enjoy the movie last night?"

"Yeah. Well… I think the weed gave me a weird dream." I scratch my head. "Nightmare, actually."

"About?" Lucas asks, seeming genuinely curious, but not at all guilty. I decide I must have imagined everything between him and Paolo. He continues, "I've read a few dream books. I might be able to interpret."

I give him a skeptical glance. "You told me that Santa didn't exist when you were seven. I somehow find a turn to the mystical unlikely."

He shrugs. "An ex was into it. I did a bit of reading to make him happy."

Him. I feel something in my stomach, but don't address it. "I see. Well, my dream was nothing. Just silly bullshit. You having a good time?"

"Yeah. I think so. You and Paolo are inviting. Your boyfriend's a riot."

"He can be. You seem to be hitting it off. I'd worried about that."

Lucas laughs. "Maybe you ought to be worried I'll take him off your hands."

I frown. "That's not funny."

"Was I joking?"

"Lucas, that's inappropriate. You're a guest in my—"

Lucas stares me down. His eyes seem suddenly full of the chaos I've tried to contain my whole life. "Does he belong to you, Joel?" He leans closer, just a little. It feels like yards. "Do I?"

I remember that look from when he was a kid. I think of him with a scissor in one hand and tufts of his own jaggedly cut hair. It was just before his sixth birthday and he was standing in our doorway, challenging us. Same look: eyes flat as glass. It was unnerving then. Now, it makes me shiver.

Paolo arrives through the backdoor at that moment and the tension fractures. He's all smiles and has arms full of reusable grocery bags. "The roads are garbage, by the way. I wouldn't recommend another sojourn out there for a while yet. What'd I miss?"

"Nothing, just chatting over coffee. Here, lemme help," Lucas says just before I can.

We both stand up and start milling about the kitchen. Paolo is the chef, so it's his show. He wields his power ruthlessly. He orders things put away in exactly the right spot and Lucas and I execute his will. But there's something going on between them. Lucas passes behind Paolo in the modestly sized kitchen yet puts a hand on his waist as he passes. Paolo touches his shoulder to instruct him on where to put the garbage bags. After everything is cleared away, Lucas ends up standing behind Paolo rubbing his shoulders. As I look on, Lucas leans down and kisses Paolo once on the neck.

"Thanks for having me," Lucas says. His voice is low.

Paolo melts under Lucas's touch. His eyes are barely open. I open my mouth to say something, but instead I feel the rage bubbling up and my head gets light.

"Whatever the fuck is going on here, right now, I can't do it," I say. My voice breaking. "Fuck this."

I storm out of the kitchen and head into up to the bedroom but not before swiping a bottle off of the bar. I sequester myself and pour a series of inadvisable scotches at ten a.m. Not my finest hour, but this was certainly not the Sunday morning I'd expected.

I was a jealous person with my ex wife. I worried about what she was doing and who she was doing it with. I'd put my fists through several walls when I was alone and seething. But I remind myself that I'm not that person anymore. I don't have to be. My son is openly coming on to my boyfriend, but we're all adults. I drain another few fingers of scotch so I don't have to consider this further. My hand is shaking, but not from anger: I think it's because I should be angrier than I am.

I thought I would be different with Paolo, who was so open that the idea of holding on that tightly seemed like a product of my own shit. But here comes Lucas and everything feels different in the span of two days. I try to unpack my feelings, but every time I come close, the sinking feeling threatens to swallow me up; the terrible thing that I can't admit.

"Joel?" Paolo's voice enters the room before he does.

"Yeah," I reply, hating how drunk I sound already.

He emerges looking handsome and vulnerable. "I didn't expect that. I'm sorry. Are you OK?" He crosses the room and puts a hand on my shoulder. I'm beset with a feeling of…something. Not lust, not fury, but something adjacent to both those things. I reach for his belt and he pulls away out of surprise, but when I continue he lets me. I put my hands in his underwear and he's already getting hard. I push him onto the bed.

He smells a little sweaty, a little sour, probably from the shoveling earlier, but I don't mind. It's hotter if he's a little filthy. I push his underwear and jeans down enough that his cock flops out and I put my mouth around it.

"Joel…" his voice is uncertain.

I undo the cinched waist of my sweats and kick them off before I can start to think. I'm all action right now. Since I'm not wearing underwear, my cock flops out. Paolo reaches down and tries to massage life into my soft penis.

"We don't have to," he whispers. I remain soft in his hand and the room spins a little. He repeats, "We don't have to."

Maybe it's because I'm drunk that I don't sense the other presence in the room until the weight on the bed shifts. Paolo is breathing softly and I can smell the scotch on my own breath. I look over and Lucas is beside me, naked and young and strong. His cock is thrust before him as he sits on his knees. He reaches over, takes Paolo's hand and puts it on his cock. No one says anything, but Paolo looks at me with the question in his eyes.

"It's ok," I say. I'm not sure who I'm addressing. All of us maybe. "It's all right."

Slowly my cock gets harder as I watch Paolo jerking off my son.

"I'm gonna fuck him, Joel. I was always gonna fuck him," Lucas says. He's calm. Matter of fact. "Since I first hugged him, I could feel the need for it building in him like it's been building in me. I'm gonna fuck your boyfriend raw and leave my seed in him. You can leave, but I hope you stay…watch."

I expect panic or rage or discomfort at least, but it's like this is happening to someone else. Lucas climbs down on top of Paolo and they kiss. Lucas's hand slips between Paolo's legs and my kid's fingers slide into my boyfriend's sweaty crack. Paolo moans, Lucas whispers something to him and he moans even harder.

And I jerk my dick to it. I'm not proud, but this is beyond pride. As Paolo writhes against Lucas's fingers, I feel a sense of inevitability settle over me. I think of my own father, the drill sergeant, the hardass. It was always his way, his rules: no argument, no question. There's something of him in Lucas right now: it's in the methodical pump of his fingers in and out of Paolo's hole, how Paolo moves his body to his whispered commands, but mostly it's how I make room for him on the bed without question.

He gets Paolo up on his hands and knees then he opens the bedside table drawer where we keep the lube. Like he already knows where it was, like he'd planned all this. The room spins a little faster. Paolo looks up at me for moment, but the eye contact breaks off once Lucas's fingers go back inside him. I watch Lucas oil up his cock. It's about as long as mine, but thicker. Paolo is going to love it. He's going to love my son ramming his young dick inside him. There's no question. My boyfriend's cock is dripping down onto our sheets in anticipation.

Without further negotiation, Lucas pushes the head of his cock into Paolo and both of them make noises: Lucas grunts, Paolo swears under his breath. I can only guess at how my son's bare dick feels inside my boyfriend; Paolo's always insisted on condoms, but here he is taking raw cock on our bed while I watch. My dick pulses in my hands and I have to take my hand away, finding myself suddenly close to cumming.

"He's not so tight, is he Joel? At least you broke him in for me. Don't worry, I'll treat his pussy right. Don't you think, baby?" my son says. He laughs a bit then shoves forward, inserting more of himself.

Lucas hated being naked as a kid, but now he's reveling in it. His flat stomach and bulging biceps are on full display. Taut is the word I keep tripping over. His abs are fully engaged as he grips Paolo's ass and slams it back to receive him. Paolo looks up at me with a look of helpless, guilty pleasure as if he's apologizing for loving every inch of Lucas's cock. He can't help himself. His eyes focus and unfocus as Lucas uses him hard and fast.

I rub Paolo's face with one hand and go back to stroking myself with the other. "It's ok. It's alright."

"Tell him you love my cock. Tell my dad I'm a better fuck than he is," Lucas says. He's grinning like a madman. The low light makes the soft planes of his face harder. "Say it."

"I love your cock," Paolo groans. The rest goes unsaid.

"Call me daddy. Tell me you love daddy's big cock. Bigger than Joel's, right? Thicker? Does he fuck you from behind, baby? I bet you love being fucked from behind. He has no idea what a good fuck his has on his hands. He doesn't fuck you rough enough, does he? Let's show him what you really are. Tell him this is turning you on."

When Paolo doesn't speak, Lucas fucks him harder. Paolo grunts turn ugly, he paws at himself, yanks at his own balls. My boyfriend is a mess. I find my own fingers circling my asshole. In this debauched space, I wonder how Lucas's cock feels inside him. I wonder how Lucas's hole would feel opening up for me. My asshole twitches as my finger penetrates it.

"Your big dick feels good, daddy. Fuck me hard. Make me yours," Paolo says.

"This is how it's done, Joel. Don't look away. Look at me. Look at me!" I look at him. I watch his face closely as I play with my hole and jerk my cock. For a moment Paolo disappears: he's just grunts and dirty talk and a hole to use. But Lucas is my boy and there's sweat dripping down from his soggy crown of curls and he's joyous, he's as happy as I've ever seen him. He seems suddenly younger than his twenty-four years. And I'm driven to give him something, a gift that only I can give him.

"Cum for me, son."

He looks weightless and blissed out, but his hips are jack-hammering his cock into Paolo's wrecked hole. He roars when he cums. I feel it in my chest. Paolo makes a mess on the bed beneath him. I imagine his hole fluttering against Lucas's orgasming cock, massaging it as it delivers its milky payload direct into his fucking guts. Lucas keeps fucking him through both of their seismic orgasms. I keep stroking my cock.

"Come on, dad. Join us. Do it for me," Lucas says.

It's enough. I shoot my load in a big arc that catches Paolo's cheek, but also goes up over his shoulder and onto his back. My hole clamps down hard on my finger and drives out more cum in big, messy spurts. I shoot until my knees weaken and I threaten to topple, still drunk, and clumsy. My hand continues to stroke until I'm well and truly empty. Lucas swipes two fingers into the errant jizz spray on Paolo's back and lifts it to his lips.

"Sweet," Lucas opines.

My dick twitches.

MONDAY

I'm sitting at the island reading the paper when Lucas comes downstairs. I don't comment on the fact that he smells like a locker room or that he's wearing Paolo's underwear: a pair of tight white trunks that show off his bulge and his tight young ass. Instead, when he sits down I slide my half-drunk cup of coffee across to him. He takes a sip.

"Perfect," he says.

"Did I get it right this time?" I joke.

He laughs, tousles his own hair. But then he turns serious. "I hope… I know things went a little far last night. I don't want to make things difficult. I just, well, I think lost control."

Last night, Lucas slept in our bed. He was on my right with one arm slung over my chest and snoring while Paolo slept like a cat curled up against me. I barely slept a wink. It was as if I'd accidentally fallen into a world that was always meant for me. It didn't require me to push or argue or fight. I just lay there and it happened to me.

Paolo and Lucas had fucked again and again before the three of us collapsed exhausted in the bed. I went down a prepared dinner, realizing suddenly just how many hours had passed. I came back with food to find them cuddling together. Then they broke apart and made space for me in the center.

I woke up in that same spot and climbed out of bed without waking either of them. I picked up the dirty dishes strewn about the room and came down to the quiet of the kitchen to make coffee and clear my head. I examined my actions and everyone else's. I searched my feelings and made some decisions about what I wanted to happen next. And then I waited for Lucas to come down so I could tell him how I felt.

Sitting across from him now, I forced myself to swallow the bit of fear keeping me from opening my mouth and speaking.

"I'm still your father, Lucas. And I love you. I should say that more," I say.

"Joel…"

"Dad," I correct. He falls silent. "I want you to know you can talk to me about anything, Lucas. If things aren't working out in Brooklyn, if you're having any money issues…"

Lucas looks confused. "Money issues? I'm not—"

I continue, bulldozing past his incomprehension. "There's space here for you if you have to move home for a while and figure things out. I'll explain it to your mother. Stay for six months, a year even. Get back on your feet. Rent free. I'd love to have you. Paolo…well, I say he already thinks of you as family."

I reach over and put my hand over Lucas's on the mug of coffee and then take it from him.

I upend the cup and drain the rest of the warm brew. He's right, it is perfect. Lucas just looks at me for a long time without expression. Then he grins, slow as the sunrise.

"I appreciate the help. I guess I could use a soft place to land. Thanks…Dad."

My chest feels full in a way that I'm not used to. I feel overwhelmed with adoration. I grin as well.

"Of course, son. Of course."

BENJI BRIGHT © 2022.

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