Comes apart
Jason carried his frustration everywhere. It bled into everything. He became harsher at home, quicker to snap. His temper, now felt unpredictable, short, jagged. Nico watched it happen in real time: the way Jason would aggressively correct his wife, the way his voice would rise over small things, the way irritation seemed to sit just under his skin, waiting for an excuse.
His wife grew tired of it, fast. She’d often retreat to their bedroom, slamming the door behind her, leaving him alone to stew.
Henry was also tired of it, and started finding reasons to be out of the house more often—anything to avoid being around his Dad.
Occasionally, Jason snapped at him directly.
“What are you doing here?”
“You’re always here.”
“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”
The words came sharp, edged with something more than annoyance. Something unsettled. But Henry never let it stand. He’d step in, quick and firm, defending Nico without hesitation, reminding his Dad that his friend was welcome anytime, that he belonged there.
That only made it worse.
Nico could tell that Henry thought he was protecting him, giving him space. But Nico wondered if Henry would feel differently if he knew the truth—if he understood just how much Nico’s presence got under Jason’s skin.
Time passed. He let Jason settle. Let him convince himself that things were normal again. Let the tension sink deeper, quieter. But Nico didn’t let him forget. Not completely.
Sometimes, he’d linger. Just to see what Jason would do. Started with small, subtle actions that were easy to dismiss if you weren’t looking too closely. He wore tighter shirts that clung just enough to show the work he and Henry had put in at the gym. Crop tops that showed his abs, Jeans that fit a little too well, deliberate in the way they drew the eye. And Jason noticed. Nico made sure of it.
Nico kept up a quiet pressure that Jason couldn’t escape and couldn’t acknowledge. Nothing he could call out. Nothing he could confront without saying too much. A look that held just a fraction too long. Standing a little too close than necessary. Letting his hand brush Jason’s shoulder, light, fleeting … but never quite accidental.
Each time, Jason’s body would go rigid for a split second. His jaw tightened; he’d immediately create distance, grabbing something, moving somewhere else, anywhere else. Letting the silence stretch until it turned heavy, until Jason had to say something, anything, to break it.
“You need something?” Jason would snap, not even looking at him. “Don’t you have a job to go to?” Nico wouldn't answer; he would just smile. Slow. Knowing.
That look, that tone, got under his skin every time. Jason tried to push back. Nico saw that too. He’d square his shoulders, lower his voice, and try to reassert control. Step back into the role he saw himself in, the father, husband, man of the house. Like if he played it convincingly enough, it would drown out everything else.
“Go find Henry,” he’d say, sharper than necessary. “That’s why you’re here, right?” But it didn’t land the way it used to. Because Nico didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Sometimes, instead, he’d step closer. Close enough to make it obvious. Close enough that Jason had to look at him, or very deliberately not look at him.
And that’s when Nico would drop it, quietly, almost casually. “You seem tense.” Just enough to make it clear. Just enough to remind him.
Jason’s reaction was always immediate. A flash of anger. Real anger. The kind that came too fast, too strong, because it wasn’t just about the moment. “Watch it,” he’d mutter, low, controlled, like he was holding something back with effort. But he never said more than that. Never crossed that line.
Nico knew why. Because every time Jason snapped, every time he tried to shut it down, there was something else underneath it. Something he couldn’t bury, no matter how hard he tried. It showed in the hesitation. In the way his eyes lingered a second too long, just enough to give himself away, before he forced himself to look elsewhere.
Nico saw it. The desire behind the anger. And that hit like a drug. He craved it.
Watching Jason fight himself, watching him strain to hold the line, to stay in control, not give in, that was what fueled Nico. What made his pulse spike, What made him feel powerful in a way he hadn’t expected… and couldn’t let go of.
So he kept pressing. Careful. Controlled. Never enough to expose anything outright. But always enough to make Jason feel it. And Jason did what he always did. He doubled down. Like discipline could fix it. Like an order could choke it out. Fighting something that wasn’t going anywhere. And the harder Jason fought it… the more Nico him.
But slowly, this careful, controlled tension wasn’t enough anymore. He didn’t want to just see the crack. He wanted to break it open. Push him further. Harder. Past the point where he could pretend this was nothing.
Nico waited until an opportunity presented itself.
Henry and Nico had just come back from drinks after work. The plan was simple: they'd get changed, head out, forget the world for a while. But the second they walked in, something felt off.
Jason was at the kitchen table. Plates pushed aside, the meal long finished. A half-empty beer sat in his hand.
Henry paused. “Where’s Mom?”
Jason didn’t answer right away.
He just looked at him—hard. That cold, unfocused stare of someone who’d had too much. His eyes were glassy, but the anger in them was sharp. “She went to bed,” he muttered. “Got pissed because I didn’t like the steak. Told her maybe she should pay closer attention next time.”
Henry’s jaw tightened. “Why do you do that? Why can’t you just—be grateful for once?”
Jason let out a short, humourless laugh. “Yeah? I’m supposed to take advice from you?” he snapped. “Some kid who has no direction in his life?”
That was the end of it. Henry shook his head, already done, already walking away. No point pushing it further. Nico followed—but not before glancing back.
Jason was still watching. Not Henry. Him. The look lingered a second too long. Something underneath the anger, something he couldn’t hide, no matter how much he drank. Nico smiled. Jason’s expression hardened instantly, like he’d been caught, but it was too late.
Upstairs, they got ready in silence, fresh clothes, quick movements. Henry was restless, eager to get out, to put distance between himself and his father. Nico moved slower. Thinking. Watching the opportunity take shape. Jason was drunk. His wife was in bed. The house was tense, fractured, and about to be empty. It was almost too easy.
They headed back downstairs. Jason had moved to the living room, slouched deep in his recliner. A cigar burned lazily between his fingers, smoke curling into the dim light. A glass of whiskey rested on the table beside him, fresh pour, already half gone. The TV flickered, ignored. He looked like a man trying to settle himself. Trying to hold onto something solid.
Henry didn’t even look at him. “Let’s go.”
Outside, Henry was already heading for his car. Nico slowed.
“Hey… I might not stay out long tonight,” he said casually. “Not really feeling it.” Henry barely reacted—just nodded, distracted. “Yeah, do whatever. I just need to get out of here.” He climbed into his Camaro, engine roaring to life, and pulled away without another thought.
Nico stood there, watching until the car disappeared around the corner. Then he turned. And walked back toward the house.
Inside, the house had gone still. The glow from the living room spilled faintly into the hallway. Nico moved toward it, slow and silent.
Jason was still there. Slumped back in the recliner, head tilted, breathing heavy. The cigar burned low in his hand, forgotten. The glass sat untouched now.
He was asleep. Or close enough.
Nico stepped inside and made his way to Jason. Took his time.
Up close, Jason still looked solid—imposing, even like this. Muscles relaxed but present, chest rising and falling slowly and steadily.
Nico reached down. Carefully. He took the cigar from Jason’s hand. The tip was still warm. Damp from his lips. Nico paused for just a second—then brought it to his own. He inhaled slowly, deliberately, eyes never leaving Jason’s face. Smoke filled his mouth, sharp and unfamiliar. He exhaled just as slowly, letting it curl between them. He felt more confident. Like he was claiming something that wasn’t his. Jason shifted slightly in his sleep—but didn’t wake. Nico watched him.
Nico took one last drag from the cigar, slow and deliberate, before setting it down. He knew. This was the moment.
Carefully, he reached up and slipped the scarf from around his own neck. Jason didn’t stir. Not when Nico took his hands. Not when he brought them together. Not even when the fabric tightened around his wrists, binding them firmly in place.
Nico paused, watching him. Surprisingly, Jason still did not move; clearly, he was more drunk than he realised.
A faint smile touched his lips. He stepped closer, kneeling down in front of the recliner—close enough now to feel the heat coming off him. For a second, he just looked. Taking him in.
Nico’s hand moved, slow and deliberate—testing, pressing just enough to get a reaction. Jason’s groin was inches from his face. Nico slowly ran his hands over the mound in his jeans. He could feel the weight of his cock under his touch—the heat building as it stirred and grew. Nico was going to get what he’d been craving. What he had started to think of as his.
He reached for the belt, undoing the buckle and pushing it aside. Then, slowly, he popped the button on Jason’s jeans and lowered the zipper, opening them up. To his surprise, Jason was wearing a jockstrap. Not what he expected.
Nico leaned in, bringing his nose closer, breathing in the thick, musky scent of sweat and dried piss. He let it linger, then dragged his tongue along the edge of the fabric, tasting him—his sweat, his rawness.
Savouring it, he leaned back slightly and hooked his fingers under the elastic, lifting it up and over, freeing his dick. The effect was immediate. Jason’s cock sprang free, heavy and warm. Nico wrapped his hand around it, gripping firmly, appreciating the weight, the heat, the way it responded even now. Slowly, deliberately, he guided it upward—bringing it toward his mouth.
At first, he just breathed against it, letting the heat and scent wash over him. His tongue traced along the underside, then up toward the head, circling it, learning it again. He lingered there, dragging it across his lips, savouring the moment. Then, finally, he opened his mouth and took him in.
Jason begins to move a little. A shift. Subtle. Instinctive. Jason’s body clearly responded to Nico's mouth on his cock. Nico felt Jason's dick expanding even more in his mouth. Nico stretches his lips to accommodate the full girth. He had forgotten how big it was, it made him more excited by what was to come as he sucked down on his cock. Nico worked it up and down, looking occasionally at Jason to see if he was waking. Jason stirred again—more this time. A low sound in his throat. His body tensed, caught somewhere between sleep and awareness.
Nico didn’t stop. Didn’t pull back. He wanted him there for this. This was about a power shift and he's going to make sure he knows it. With cock firmly between his lips he brought his hand down to his balls. Grabbed them firmly. They, like his cock were large and heavy. He could feel Jason was almost awake, he could feel it he could powerfully pull on his balls giving a huge yank, rubbing them between his fingers with his mouth still on the cock. This brought Jason awake.
Jason’s eyes finally cracked open—unfocused at first, confused. Then sharpening. Then locking onto him. The realisation hit fast.
A sharp inhale. A sudden pull against the restraint. “What the fuck—”
“Careful,” Nico cut in, calm and steady. Not loud. “You don’t want to wake the house.”
That did it. Jason froze.
Then he started to squirm, trying to pull away, to free himself—but he couldn’t. His hands were bound. Nico was holding his legs. Panic flickered across his face as it all clicked into place. “What the fuck are you doing?” he hissed.
Nico just smiled.
“You know your wife’s upstairs,” he said quietly. “If you’re a little too loud… you know what happens.” Jason stilled. He understood. She was close. Too close. And everything could come crashing down if she walked in.
So he went quiet.
The weight of it settled over him—the anger, the confusion… and something else underneath. Something he’d been trying to bury for weeks. Nico saw it surface. And this time, there was no looking away.
“Yeah,” Nico said softly, leaning in just a fraction closer. “That’s what I thought.”
Jason tested the restraint again, slower now. Breathing heavier. Trying to find his control, something solid to hold onto. But it wasn’t there.
Nico continued to work his cock. Jason started to lean into it. The tension didn’t disappear—but it changed. His movements slowed. His breathing deepened. His focus slipped, pulled back toward sensation despite himself. He focused on Nico's mouth, the pleasure, the enjoyment. His bound hands lifted, above Nico’s head, hesitating for a moment, before settling on Nico, guiding, adjusting, falling into the rhythm. Leaning into it. Nico let it happen.
Nico, right in front of him—calm, steady… completely unshaken, didn’t stop. Slow, deliberate, controlled—he kept the pressure there, forcing Jason to feel it, to stay in it.
And gradually… Jason shifted. Once he could feel that Jason was relaxed, almost enjoying the moment, he released his cock from his mouth. It slapped against Jason's stomach as Nico stood up.
The sudden absence hit just as hard, leaving Jason tense, breathing uneven, caught between frustration and something he couldn’t name. Nico stood slowly, meeting his eyes. And for a second, neither of them moved. Nico let the silence stretch.
Then, without breaking eye contact, Nico reached over and picked up Jason’s cigar. He brought it to his lips, flicked the lighter, and relit it. They both watched the flame catch—small, bright, steady. Nico took a long drag, held it, then exhaled slowly, smoke curling thick between them.
Jason could only stare.
Nico looked… completely at ease. Confident. In control. Sexy in a way that felt deliberate. A shift had settled into the room—clear, undeniable—and Jason felt it hit him all at once.
He didn’t know what to do with it.
He sat there, bound, exposed, watching Nico through the haze. Watching the way the cigar rested between his lips. Watching the way Nico watched him back.
Jason felt it then—something unfamiliar. Vulnerability.
Nico stepped closer.
He reached down, grabbed Jason’s bound wrists, and lifted them higher, stretching his arms up over the back of the chair. It opened him up completely—chest exposed, body pulled taut.
Nico didn’t rush.
With the cigar still between his lips, he leaned in and began undoing the buttons of Jason’s shirt—slowly, one at a time. Jason didn’t move. Didn’t resist. Just watched, unsure what he was supposed to do… or if he even wanted to.
Nico’s fingers brushed over his chest as each button came free. One hand working the fabric, the other exploring—gliding over firm muscle, feeling the heat beneath his skin.
By the time the last button slipped loose, the shirt fell open completely.
Jason sat there, bare-chested, breathing heavier now. Arms stretched above him. Muscles tight. Exposed in a way that felt almost dangerous—because he knew, under any other circumstances, he could overpower Nico in seconds.
But not now.
Now Nico had control.
Nico took another slow drag from the cigar, then pulled it from his lips and exhaled the smoke directly over Jason’s face before setting it back between his lips.
He went back to Jason—fingers finding his chest again, more deliberate now. Testing reactions. Learning what made him tense, what made him give. Jason’s eyes shut despite himself, his body betraying him as sensation started to override resistance.
Nico stayed close—close enough that Jason could feel the heat of him, the steady confidence in every movement.
Every time Nico’s hand drifted lower, Jason’s body reacted instantly. A twitch. A tightening. Anticipation was building whether he wanted it to or not.
Nico noticed.
Of course he did.
But he didn’t rush it. Didn’t give in to it yet.
Instead, he dragged his hands back up—over Jason’s abs, his chest, his arms—taking him in like he was studying him, like he was learning the shape and strength of him with his hands alone.
Until Nico was ready to change things up.
He pulled the cigar from his lips and, without warning, pressed it between Jason’s. Jason instinctively held it there, unable to do anything else, forced to breathe around it, to taste the smoke.
Helpless.
Nico stepped back just enough to start unbuttoning his own pants, never breaking eye contact. Jason watched—couldn’t look away—as Nico slowly pushed them down.
There was no hesitation in him. No uncertainty.
Just intention. Nico stood fully exposed now, looking at Jason like he already knew the answer.
“You wanted this,” he said quietly. “Don’t pretend you didn’t.”
Jason tried to respond, but the cigar between his lips turned it into nothing more than a muffled sound.
Nico just smiled.
Then he stepped forward again, lifting one leg and settling himself onto Jason’s lap. He adjusted just enough, positioning Jason's cock against his arse. Jason could feel the pressure, the heat, the friction between them.
Nico stayed there for a moment, steady, grounded, before starting to move—slow, controlled, deliberate. Massaging Jason's cock with his arse cheeks, feeling it rub against his hole.
Nico made that beast tease his hole, feeling the pre-cum leak out all over his taint and ass. Watching Jason intently as he teased him.
One hand reached up, taking the cigar back from Jason’s mouth. The other came back to Jason’s chest, fingers playing idly again as if he had all the time in the world.
Smoke curled between them again as Nico leaned in, close enough that Jason couldn’t escape any of it—the heat, the scent, the control.
This wasn’t just physical anymore. This was about control. About hierarchy.
Nico pulled back. He took the cigar from his lips and set it carefully into the ashtray, like he had all the time in the world—like nothing here was out of his control. Then his attention dropped back to Jason.
Round two.
Nico reached down and wrapped his hand firmly around Jason's cock, holding him steady, feeling the weight and heat of him. His grip wasn’t rushed—it was deliberate. Grounding.
Then Nico shifted his weight.
He lifted himself slightly, positioning Jason's cock carefully over his hole, guiding himself back. There was no hesitation now—but there was patience. He knew rushing this would ruin it. Jason was bigger than most guys he had, and this would take time
He had prepared for this. He had practised with butt plugs and a dildo ready for this moment. Still… this was different.
Nico reached back, adjusting, lining himself up. He exhaled slowly, steadying himself, then began to lower—just a fraction at a time. He felt the huge head of his dick slowly spread open his hole.
His body resisted immediately.
He stilled, jaw tightening, breath catching for a second before forcing himself to relax again. Slow. Controlled. Exactly how it had to be.
His free hand tightened around Jason’s bound wrists above his head, anchoring both of them.
Then he leaned forward.
Their lips met—sudden, firm, intentional. It wasn’t soft. Nico used it—used the contact, the distraction—as he pressed down further, taking another inch, forcing himself to stay steady through the stretch. The tension in his body was obvious now, but he didn’t stop.
Jason didn’t fight. That was the shift. Nico felt it.
He broke the kiss just long enough to breathe, then dipped his head again, this time on Jason's shoulder, as he strained and worked himself lower. Every inch was deliberate, every movement controlled despite the strain it put on him.
The burn hit hard. Sharp. Demanding.
Nico inhaled through his nose, exhaling slowly onto Jason's neck as he adjusted again, letting his body give in rather than fight it. His grip on Jason tightened briefly—not panic, just focus.
Then—
He sank further.
A low sound slipped out of him before he could stop it, breath catching as his body finally started to yield. He paused there, letting himself adjust, letting the tension ease just enough before continuing.
Down. Slowly. Taking more. Until finally he settled fully, seated, his body tense around it, chest rising and falling with controlled, measured breaths.
For a moment, he didn’t move. Just felt it. The stretch. The pressure. The reality of it. It wasn’t easy—but that wasn’t the point.
Nico lifted his head, looking down at Jason, a faint smile pulling at his mouth despite the strain still visible in his body.
Jason was different now, too. Less defiant. Less certain. “What are you doing…” Jason muttered, his voice rough, unsteady. “You need to stop.”
Nico just looked at him.
Smiled.
“Do I?” he said quietly.
There was something sharper behind it now. Knowing.
Jason didn’t answer.
Couldn’t.
Nico shifted slightly—just enough to prove the point. Jason’s reaction was immediate, his composure cracking for a split second before he caught it again.
That was all Nico needed.
He rose slowly, lifting himself partway—measured, controlled—then pressed back down again, setting a rhythm that was unhurried but undeniable. He rode Jason with intention. Never breaking eye contact.
Jason’s head tipped back slightly, his control slipping in ways he clearly wasn’t used to. Nico leaned forward again, close to his face, voice low.
“Do you want me to stop?”
Jason didn’t answer.
Didn’t move. Just a faint, involuntary reaction—enough.
Nico’s smile deepened. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Didn’t think so.”
And he kept going—slow, controlled, completely in charge.
Jason began to lose himself in it—low, restrained sounds slipping out despite his effort to stay composed. Nico noticed immediately. Of course he did.
Feeling empowered, Nico reached for Jason's cigar again, lifting it to his lips and drawing in slowly until the tip burned bright. Head leaning back, to position Jason's cock deeper into his arse, and took a deep inhale. Revelling in the power he felt in that moment. He then leaned forward and exhaled, allowing smoke to fill the gap between them.
He then guided the cigar back toward Jason’s mouth. “Focus on this”, Nico murmured. “I don’t need you getting loud.” Jason obeyed without thinking, lips closing around it as he tried to The next few times he saw Jason, it was clear to Nico that he made him nervous. The balance wasn’t the same anymore; something had shifted.
Jason leaned harder into his routine, into the church, into the image of himself he was trying to hold together. Now wasn’t the time to push. Not yet. Nico wasn’t in a rush.
steady his breathing.
But his body wasn’t listening anymore.
Nico kept moving—slow, controlled, deliberate. He had already pushed Jason to the edge. He could feel it in every reaction, every tightening shift beneath him.
Jason was close.
And Nico knew it.
Still, he held the pace exactly where he wanted it, his hips grinding on Jason's cock — not rushing, not giving him release too easily. Control wasn’t just about taking—it was about deciding when.
Jason’s restraint started to crack. His breathing grew heavier, uneven, the cigar doing little now to keep him grounded.
Nico leaned in closer, voice low, almost a whisper against him. “Go on,” he said. “Give me all you got.”
That was all it took.
Jason broke—his control slipping completely as the tension finally snapped. His body went rigid for a moment, then gave way, the release hitting hard enough to leave him breathless.
The first load went deep, forceful. Then he shot his second load. Nico stayed steady through it, holding him there, riding out every second of it without losing that same calm control. Even as Jason started to go slack beneath him.
Nico slowed, then stilled, watching him—taking in the way Jason had gone from tense and defiant to spent and quiet. A faint, satisfied smile crossed his face.
He shifted carefully, easing back, giving himself a moment to recover before fully pulling away. An audible pop as his arse released his cock from his hole. The intensity lingered in his expression, but his movements were calm again, composed.
Back in control, Nico leaned in one last time, pressing a brief kiss to Jason’s lips—less forceful now, but still deliberate.
Then he pulled away and stood. He took his time getting dressed, not rushing, adjusting his clothes while watching Jason, who sat there—head back, chest rising and falling, completely drained.
“Good job, you did well”, Nico said quietly.
There was a pause before he added, more pointed now. “Next time, I don’t want to have to force it.”
Jason didn’t answer. He barely seemed able to.
Nico stepped closer just long enough to straighten part of Jason’s shirt, almost casually. He then unbound his hands, grabbed his cigar, brought it to his lips and said: “Get yourself together before you go upstairs.”
Then Nico turned, gathered his things, and walked out—leaving Jason exactly where he was. The smoke from the cigar left a trail as he exited. He strutted out the door, heading back home, aware that something had shifted.
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