Dawning on Me
The morning sun shone through the semi-open window, entering the sanctuary of the father and son duo together with a fresh gust of early autumn air. Peter was the only one who noticed, as his eyes shut even tighter, trying to block out the unwelcome light. But he knew he didn't have a choice. Being the busybody that he was, he already had a ton of appointments for today. People booked him weeks in advance for plumbing work - crazy what being the best freelance plumber in a town does to a person. Well, he only had one other person as competition, but still.
He stretched on the bed slightly as he noticed a heavy weight on him - blocking his movement. While he was lying on his back, his dad was laying on the side. A big, furry arm was draped over Peter's belly, while the other was resting prone on the cushion above his head. It was so natural to him, he had to consciously notice that Henry was pressed in close, the heat radiating from his body - loud snores trying to coax him back to sleep.
A smile formed on Peter's lips. He thanked his lucky star that he could wake up to this sight nearly every morning. Dad looked so peaceful. Finally resting. Even the pesky dark circles under his eyes had mostly faded. He was so handsome... Peter wished he could have stayed home longer and just admire nature's most impressive handiwork, but duty called. With slow, gentle movements, he extracted himself from his dad's comfortable embrace.
Throughout the bedroom - a single roaring snore resounded from Henry. His eyebrows furrowed with slight discontent. Luckily, he remained asleep. Peter stood up from the bed - the creak of bed springs had gone unnoticed by the sleeping man. Finally, he was able to stretch to his full height, listening to the satisfying pops in his joints. Looking behind him, he gave his father's frame one last, longing gaze - a soft, warm smile forming on his lips.
Tearing his eyes off with great dismay, he moved to the closet, walking carefully on the precarious wooden flooring as to not make too much noise - a song-and-dance he was very much used to at this point. As was dad. The act of letting each other sleep in was more common than they would have liked to admit. Opening the closet doors presented him with a varied array of clothes - his and his dad's mixed together with no rhyme or reason. But he had no problem identifying which ones belonged to who. If not from the countless years of knowing dad's style, then from the intoxicating smell that no amount of detergent could fully wash away.
His hands reached out and slithered their way around the various articles, picking out a nice outfit for a productive day. Some boxer-briefs, socks and an undershirt - the basics. Then on top of that, an old and worn t-shirt and some bleached jeans. Closing the closet just as silently as he opened it, he started carrying the pile of clothes with him to the bathroom. As he was about to leave the room, he couldn't help himself but give dad's body one final, sad look. The hulking figure on the bed didn't even have to do anything to be extremely seductive. So big and manly and hairy and strong and... safe. So soft and kind... A sigh escaped his lips. This was the actual final longing gaze of the morning.
Crossing the hallway, aiming for the bathroom, he let the door behind him close with a soft click. It wasn't too far of a walk. His bare feet made contact with the cold tiles. He immediately reached out and turned on the light. Depositing his clothes onto the top of the toilet, he started going about his usual morning routine. Brushing his teeth, taking a much-needed leak and then showering.
Hot water hit his naked skin in a relaxing cascade as he felt his muscles relax. All of the hair on his body slicked to his wet form, creating a flow of downward lines all over. He missed this. Just being at home and doing what he did everyday. Especially being around the people he knew and cherished. His thoughts wandered as his limbs went on auto-pilot, foaming up with his usual products and spreading the lather all over his body. He desired a thorough, but quick shower. There was no time to lose.
But as his hand started cleaning his crotch, he lost his train of thought, a moan escaping his lips involuntarily. Fuck, he was so pent-up. The memories from yesterday came back. The kissing, the touching, the sucking. He could still smell his dad - feel the wiry pubes fill his nose and envelop him in a familiar embrace. The heat of the shower was nothing compared to being in-between his dad's thighs. And the taste of the spongy flesh of dad's dick... Fuck, he was so hard.
He gave his dick a few cursory strokes, but he knew he didn't want to jack off. Not when dad had made it two weeks without touching himself, waiting for Peter's return. It just didn't seem fair to him. But the touches he was giving himself were not helping. At this point, he was just edging, which would make the rest of the day a lot more irritating. As he was now, he couldn't wait to be back from work and jumping dad's bones the moment he saw him.
That was for later, though. Currently, he needed to power through. His facial features hardened as he scrubbed his genitals clean - both the dense bush and the sensitive skin - ignoring his raging boner, and moved on with the shower. Soon enough, he was out of the shower booth and stepping into his new set of clothes. Sure, putting on underwear was another torturous task with his hard-on still very stubbornly parading itself around, but he made it through. He was fully clad for a full day spent plumbing.
Walking downstairs, he gazed at the door to their shared bedroom, resisting the urge to get back into bed only with the help of his tough-as-nails work ethic. Not having time for a proper meal, he went straight into the kitchen and pocketed a few light snacks. It would have to do. Before he left the room, he made sure to check the fridge if there would be enough leftovers for dad to eat today.
Sneakers soon adorned his socked feet as he grabbed his keys and went out to the garage. Locking the door behind him, he quickly consulted the daily agenda with his phone. A packed schedule, but he was used to those. And when he would be done? He'd get back and see dad again. He'd bury his nose in that sweet, homely fur and just go boneless... Fucking hell, he was hard again. One glance down and he saw the outline of his boner through his pants. Oh well, he'd survive. It's not like his clients had never seen a dick before.
---
As the sun shone brightly on the zenith, so did Henry's eyes slowly gain light. With tired, slow blinks the crust fell from his eyelids, shapes materializing in his vision. But he knew something was wrong before his sight returned fully. He was cold. Yes, both of them had fallen asleep on the blanket rather than under it, but that isn't what he meant. Rather, there was no body heat on him. No skin to caress with his hands. No hair to nuzzle into and enjoy.
Of course, this wasn't the only time this had happened. Usually, it was Henry who had to leave early - his job as a forester requiring quite an early start to the day. But sometimes, Peter was the early bird between the two. Those days filled him with great irritation and disappointment - aimed at himself, that is. He was supposed to be Peter's dad, yet he couldn't even make sure to wake up before his son? Not only that, but he was supposed to be the experienced lover between the two of them as well. And yet he opted to laze around in bed like a bum instead of taking care of his beloved? His hands clenched into fists.
Hauling himself from the bed, he left the sheets crumpled and slightly stained from where they had slept. Walking downstairs, he checked every nook of the house, but it was clear Peter was out. His keys and shoes were not where they should be, so he was most likely at work.
A self-ruing smile was formed by Henry's slightly cracked lips. He was so proud of his boy's diligence and work ethic. Inherited straight from his old man. Every parent wished for a son like that. But that didn't change the fact he was worried for poor little Pete. He was more prone to neglecting himself than he'd ever admit. All because Henry hadn't been able to step up as a father the way he should have. Because he hadn't balanced the time spent providing and the time spent caring. His body at times simply refusing to work anymore.
Yes, people had pitied him for becoming a single parent when his precious boy was only four, but that didn't change the fact Peter had it way too hard as a kid. Poor thing - had to grow up quickly and be responsible. If only Caroline could have lived longer...
But there was no changing the past anymore and he was not about to get lost in ruminations. He would tackle the day head-on just like any other, despite the dissatisfactory start. Stomping up the stairs, the calloused soles on his bare feet left sweaty imprints on the wooden floor together with his toes.
Opening the bathroom caused a wave of leftover warmth and smell to hit him. The scent of Peter's shampoo... he could recognize it anywhere. He was thankful for the aroma, as it calmed him down a bit, a relaxed sigh escaping from his lips. Unlike the pleasant smell of the shower, his sigh assaulted his nostrils with his own morning breath. His nose wrinkled and he turned away a bit. It was definitely time to get ready for the day.
His routine was simple: teeth, toilet, shower. Efficient. Soon, he too was all cleaned up and prepared. He just had to decide what to do. It would be a long time until Peter got home - he knew his boy's ways. Oh well, he could decide later. First, he had to get changed.
Stray droplets of water, leftovers from poor drying via towel, hung from his body hair, adorning his pecs, belly and back like little gems. He stepped out of the bathroom naked, the cooler air of the hallway wafting over his fresh skin. With his typical heavy style of walking, he made his way over to the bedroom closet, properly covering himself up. Some loose boxers and socks for a start, then an undershirt. As per usual, on top of that was a plaid flannel shirt, paired with chunky cargo pants. A few shakes to properly get situated in the clothes and he was good to go.
He walked back to the ground floor again, aiming for the kitchen. There were still leftovers left from his romantic dinner. Honestly, they'd probably be enough to fully cover today's dishes. At least Peter wouldn't need to volunteer to cook again.
But eating the reheated food made him realize something: had Peter even eaten today? Henry sighed again, kicking himself for not waking up sooner and making the boy get some grub into him. If Peter insisted on neglecting his needs, then Henry had to step up and take care of them... which caused the old man to kick himself again. This wasn't the only need of Peter's left unfulfilled. Like an absolute ass he had blue-balled his lover last night.
His mood soured and so did the taste of the food on his tongue. He shoveled the rest of it down his chute and deposited the plate into the sink. He needed some fresh air. He had to get out for a bit.
Putting on a pair of sturdy boots, he grabbed his keys, pocketing them after locking the door behind him. The early autumn ambiance was just what he had required. A chilly wind, clouds in the sky and the quiet that came with living on the edge of town. Simply beautiful.
He started walking and could hear the sticks and leaves crack beneath his soles, alongside an occasional crunch of gravel. Soon, the pavement was replaced with a dirt road, but even that didn't last long, giving way to the grassy forest ground. With practiced ease he maneuvered his way through the wayward roots and hidden pits. He was used to this forest. Whether it be for work or leisure; alone or with company - he would go here nearly every day.
A single look up and he saw the intricate intermingling of yellowing deciduous leaves and healthy evergreens. The light filtered through them, creating little shiny specks on the ground. Despite having the day off because of a contractor fuck-up, he had still decided to go to the same forest he worked in. He laughed to himself at the realization.
There was no real aim to his walk - just simple meandering. But that didn't last forever. He did want to get somewhere specific. Namely to his best friend and brother-in-everything-but-blood. The only person who knew about his and Peter's nontraditional relationship. Soon enough, his steps became focused and driven - a direct march to a specific point. He didn't need a map or GPS to be able to navigate where he had to, knowing the route by heart just as he did the entire area.
And eventually, there it was - a little wooden hut built on a nice clearing. Deep in the heart of the forest, isolated from civilization. In front of it, next to a stone furnace, was the guy he was looking for - sitting on a wooden log, carving something in his hands.
"Ivan!" Henry exclaimed from a distance, approaching the humble shack.
"Henry." Ivan acknowledged with no surprise, looking his way.
Ivan was a giant of a man - even bigger than Henry, and that was saying something. The short blonde hair on his head shone in the afternoon sun, almost as brightly as his deep blue eyes. The tight line of his mouth was framed by a horseshoe mustache, reaching all the way to the lower edge of his jaw. The corners of his mouth slowly quirked upwards - ever so slightly.
"C'mere, big fella." Henry said, throwing his arms open.
Ivan didn't need much more to stand up and leave his carving behind. Without a word he closed the remaining distance and pulled the black-haired man into a tight embrace. His chin rested on Henry's head, while his arms enveloped the father completely.
While Henry's build was stocky and wide, Ivan was very much muscular and somewhat defined. Being pressed into the giant's neck, the smaller man had a perfect view of just which part of Ivan's was usually clothed - a brownish tan bordering on a pale expanse. Like spring snow. Layers of sweat glistened on his entirely hairless skin, drawing attention to the open collar of his plaid jacket - not unlike Henry's. Well, except for being a lot older and quite damaged.
"What do I thank for the visit?" Ivan asked, his Ukrainian accent even thicker up close.
"What? Can't I wanna see my best man? Well, second best. Right after my boy, 'f course." Henry beamed, creating a bit of a distance between them.
"Of course you can, Henry. And you do almost every day. But you do not seem like yourself today, Henry."
Henry frowned a bit. Was he that easy to read? To Ivan - probably. The blonde looked down at his friend, letting his arms fall to his sides. Then he turned on his heel, going inside. Henry followed, not needing an invitation after decades of friendship.
Taking a seat on a log next to a makeshift iron table, he was facing Ivan who had taken his place on the opposite end. The room was just as he had remembered from the day before. Sparse, but mostly functional. Holes for windows, with a wooden plank for closing. A wooden frame on which a simple, frayed blanket had been laid out. Some cans filled with long-lasting food. Even some cabinets and boxes - mostly for storing clothes, tools or memorabilia. Everything screamed Ivan - mostly because everything had been built by or carried in by Ivan. The sound of the nearby river coming from outside added the finishing touch to the atmosphere.
"I love yar home, Ivan. So nice and quiet around these parts."
Ivan snorted almost imperceptibly.
"You have been here yesterday. And the day before. And the day before that. You know what my home is like, Henry. So stop avoiding the question and out with it. You are here for a reason, yes?" Ivan said, his elbow on the table - hand propping up his chin.
"I can't hide nothin' from ya, huh? Smart sunuf a bitch." Henry laughed, his voice a bit strained.
"No, you cannot. So talk." Ivan insistent patiently, his eyes never leaving Henry's.
"Uh, well... it's 'bout my boy... Don'tcha think someone oughtta be better for Pete rather than his wrinkly old man?" Henry asked with his gaze averted.
"I do not know, Henry. I do not see him as often as you do. Do you think so?"
"Well, yea... Pete's a young'un, y'know? Spry like a spring chicken. Got a head so clever it makes me spin sometime... And his body is strong and sturdy like a mountain. But... how long will I keep up with that, hm? He oughtta have someone more fittin' for him, y'know? Someone more like him, keepin' pace. A nice gal or maybe a good lad."
Let alone the fact that with another person, he could be public about his relationship and not have to hide it like the dirtiest secret imaginable. But Henry didn't say that, choosing to keep it to himself.
"Peter will never be with a woman, and we both know that. And why do you think you are not enough? I will not lie: I do not know what you two have or how it works. Never have. But he seemed very happy with you when I saw him last, no? Did something change?" Ivan inquired.
"Well, he ain't complainin', nah. But this is my boy we're talking 'bout. He'd rather die than hurt his pops, y'know? So I worry that he's with me just 'cause he thinks he can't leave, y'know? But I know I can't keep up. These bones ain't what they used to be." Henry sighed.
"So? I think Peter knew what he was getting into. Keep in mind, you two have been this way for years now. If he could not handle it anymore, he would tell you. But yes, your boy is as stubborn as a mule. Has it from his father." Ivan flashed him a brief grin, the gap in his teeth a welcoming sight.
"Oh, shuddup ya old bastard. I only want the best for Pete. Yer aware of that, I know ya are." Henry smiled sadly.
"I know you do. And I think Peter will tell you if he needs something else from you. Or someone else." Ivan concluded with a shrug.
Henry looked down at the mud-caked floor. Yes, Peter was an honest man and would not shy away from a painful truth... if he let himself admit that truth in the first place. Henry couldn't stop thinking that he had put his own son in a very tough situation when their relationship had evolved into something more.
"I said all I had to say, Henry. But now, do you want to talk about something else, 'pops'? Something a bit happier?" Ivan suggested.
Henry stayed silent for a bit, but nodded, thankful for the distraction.
The two talked about a lot of topics, ranging from something as mundane as the weather to fond memories like their time in high school together. Well, somewhat fond memories. Their conversation was interrupted by loud rustling coming from outside.
"Not again." Ivan said with an annoyed frown.
"What is it, big guy?" Henry asked, standing up.
"I have been having some visitors lately. Every now and then, they come over here. Usually at night. But I have never caught them in the act. I cannot even figure out what animal it is." Ivan said, also moving to leave the hut.
"Well, why not set up a few traps? That oughtta help ya at least a bit, no?" Henry suggested.
"Maybe... but it seems that whatever it is - or they are - it is a very shy animal. Very persistent, though." Ivan mumbled, mostly to himself.
"If it ever do start causin' ya trouble, lemme know. I'll help ya in a jiffy. Can't have ya sleepin' poorly. Ya need that beauty sleep." Henry laughed as he punched Ivan's shoulder.
With another grin Ivan reciprocated the punch before moving to his previous spot at the furnace and retrieving the carving from before.
"Here, take this. Give it to Peter for me, yes?" Ivan requested, presenting it to Henry.
It looked like some sort of man with robotic features. Definitely nothing Henry had seen before. He ran his fingers over the ridges when he took it.
"What's this?" he asked, holding the figure in his hands.
"I do not know. But I saw it on a poster at the cinema. Peter likes movies, no? I thought he would know. Maybe he likes it. It seemed very much for him." Ivan shrugged.
"I'm sure he'll like it. He likes anythin' from 'Uncle Ivan'." Henry smiled softly.
"Thank you. Take care, then. Go home and take care of your boy." Ivan ended their conversation, already moving out to check the nearby shrubs.
Henry gave one last curt nod and went on his way home. Maybe he'd be in luck and Peter was already back. Honestly, he couldn't wait anymore.
---
Henry admired Ivan's handiwork as he was nearly home, rotating it in his hand and inspecting it from every angle. It was a really beautiful gift. A smile had been playing on his lips ever since he had left his friend's forest hut. As he slowly got onto the leaf-covered pavement again, he saw that someone was indeed there. But not Peter.
Instead, it was two of his... acquaintances from childhood. Good old Ryan and Lucas White. Twins. For the longest time, they had made sure to wear the same clothes, get the same haircut and sometimes even speak at the same time. They had even become raging alcoholics at the end of high school together. Truly a twin bond for better or for worse. They had only stopped with the copying once they had found out that dating the same girl did not work out well.
"Eyyyyy, if that ain't my man Henry. Henryyyyy. What's u-" Ryan started talking, but quickly lost his balance and fell.
Henry didn't have to be near them to know just what level of intoxication he was dealing with.
"G'day Ry. Lu. What brings ya two 'ere?" Henry asked.
"Not much, just... y'know. Wanted to see ya... I think." Lucas said, getting slightly confused.
Ryan slowly started collecting himself from the ground. His legs were wobbly, but somehow he had managed to stand up somewhat straight before Henry got to the door.
"Don't listen to that arse. We're here because Pete forgot his wrench at my place." Ryan hiccuped.
"Oh yeeeeah. Now I remember. Wait, I think Pete was at my house too. Don't think he forgot anythin' there though." Lucas laughed.
"Shaddup, ya twat. How could he've been at yars when he was at mine. Use yar brain, stupid." Ryan argued, tapping on his head.
"Gents, gents. Calm down. Gimme that wrench. I'mma give it to him later." Henry said, grabbing the tool and sticking it partially into his pocket.
"Aye, aye, sir Lovegood." Ryan laughed this time around.
"Where is little Pete anyways? It's dark already. Don't he have a curfew?" Lucas asked with genuine curiosity.
"Peter's an adult. A full-grown lad. And it's still evenin', not even night. But I think yar curfews are gettin' closer. Best hurry home, boys." Henry gave a nod down the street.
"I don't have a curfew, but I'm not sure 'bout Ryan here. He strikes me like the lad who would. Henpecked." Lucas laughs, but starts walking first.
"I ain't the one sleepin' on the couch for two weeks straight, am I, ya dimwit?" Ryan said, giving Lucas a push.
Yet neither of the two drunks could keep his balance, so they both just ended up on the street, sprawled out and groaning. Honestly, Henry could only feel pity at the sight. They had been so talented back when they were young. Had had a knack for various crafts and trades, a witty mind and sharp looks. But then they had found the bottle. The fact that they had kids with the first women who had come their way did not help. After they had married, both of them had started frequenting pubs even more. A tragedy.
Henry took the keys out of his pocket and unlocked the front door, setting both the wrench and carving on the top of the shoe rack. Still no sight of Peter. Figures.
Oh well, he didn't have much of an option except keeping himself entertained until his son came home. He prepared leftovers for both of them - he'd only need to reheat them once they were together later. Until then, he opted to kick his feet up onto the coffee table and watch some old movies. A nice classic western sounded fun. Sure, he had seen this specific flick about a dozen times, but he could never grow tired of it.
And so time passed - the clock on the wall ticking away happily. Five minutes before eight and the front door finally clicked open again. Henry, almost having fallen asleep in front of the TV, bolted up from the living room couch, making his way to the door with a pop in his knees.
"Pete! Welcome back, hun." Henry said, getting a proper look at his son.
Tall and strong as always. But he could see the slight slouch, most likely from exhaustion. That boy really took bites that nobody could chew and chewed them anyway. But at what cost?
"Thanks, honeybuns. Missed ya lots..." Peter said, discarding his shoes.
With a pained groan, the younger one bent down to properly place his footwear into the rack, noticing his tool and the mysterious art piece on it.
"I've been lookin' for that everywhere! Where'd ya get it? And what's Iron Man doin' here?" Peter said with poorly disguised wonder.
"Oh, ya left it at Ryan's. And the wood is from Ivan. He sends his regards." Henry said, getting closer.
"Nice! Thanks, pops. Thank Ryan for me next time ya see him. And Uncle Ivan too, 'f course. I need to go visit soon." Peter said, taking the figure into his hands and running his fingers over the intricate work.
"I'mma do that, yea. Now tell me one thing, sonny. Did ya remember to eat before ya went out and worked that handsome arse off?" Henry said with a smile, but he was being dead serious.
"Yea. I packed some snacks before I went out." Peter said, not tearing his eyes away from the gift.
"Like what? A cookie and chocolate bar? C'mon, Pete. Ya know that ain't proper food." Henry frowned.
"I was late, okay? I'mma eat somethin' now." Peter finally put Iron Man down.
"Ya bet yar arse ya are." Henry said, overtaking him on the way to the kitchen.
The older man took the prepared meals and quickly put them into the microwave, one after the other. He set the first plate in front of Peter, of course. He himself could wait for his turn.
"Yum. I loved this yesterday. I bet it's just as good reheated." Peter said, digging in like a starving animal.
"That's it. Eat up, hun. Ya ain't gonna starve on my clock." Henry said, finally sitting down with his own portion.
Peter didn't respond, just huffing a bit with his mouth stuffed. In this moment, Henry couldn't have felt more happy. It never failed to bring a smile to his lips when he saw his boy like this. All nice and taken care of. He slowly suppressed his doubts and pretended he didn't have any. At least for today...
In the blink of an eye, Peter's plate was empty as he brought it up to his face and licked any remaining food on there. He then placed it into the sink. With a nice and satisfied burp, he turned to dad.
"Pops, ya make amazin' food." he said, walking over to Henry's chair and putting his arms around dad's neck.
"I know I do. Who cooked for ya all of those years? Just because ya usually cook now don't mean I unlearned it somehow." Henry puffed out his chest a bit.
But Peter had other plans for their touch rather than a simple hug.
Slowly, his arms draped over his dad's shoulders, connecting on Henry's chest, his fingers dipping into the softer flesh of the supple pecs through the clothes. The older man could only smile at his son's antics, reeling his shoulders back a bit so his chest would stick out more.
"Feelin' touchy, sonny?" Henry asked in a low growl.
"Yea..." Peter said all breathy.
Strong fingers gripped into the flannel, moving into the center and slowly starting to pop open the collar. Dark hair got exposed underneath - inch by inch, until it ended under the undershirt. Henry chuckled a bit as he grabbed his son's wrists gently.
"Let's get somewhere more comfortable, okay? Can't have my boy end at just gropin'." dad said, standing up.
The solitary plate was left on the table as Peter's father stood up to his full height, only an inch or two taller. His own sausage fingers reached out and brushed the hair on the side of Peter's head. He slowly scratched the skin underneath, watching as his son leaned into the touch with his head.
"Pops... I really can't wait anymore. I need it so bad." the younger one whined.
"What do ya need, sonny? Tell me." Henry cooed a bit to tease.
"Don't... I really need it." another whine came.
There was no doubt left in Henry as he could see the thick outline of his son's cock bulge against his pants. He smiled, wrapping his arm around Peter's waist and pulling at him. He aimed straight for the living room, his son obediently following behind him. The movie still played on as they reached the couch. Henry sat down onto the cushion and pulled Peter into his lap.
Being 27 years old, his son was not a light-weight anymore, especially since he seemed to have inherited a very similar body structure to Henry's own. But that didn't matter. He could take it. With gentle, but insistent movements of his hands, he moved Peter so that he was leaning into Henry's body properly. The soft, prominent belly easily stomached all of the weight pressing into it. When the two of them were positioned, Henry's hand started slithering its way down Peter's body, feeling every contour of his muscles and fat. It ended its journey on the most important part of this moment - a very prominent bundle nestled in-between two deliciously thick thighs.
Peter moaned again, this time louder. His head was fully pressed into Henry's shoulder, his back slouched as he held onto the back of the couch, bucking his hips slightly. Henry could feel the need his son was going through, a light pang of guilt coursing through him again. His poor boy was having a hard time resisting. And he shouldn't have had to. Deciding to speed up the process a bit, his sausage-like fingers quickly unbuttoned the jeans and pulled them down slightly, freeing the straining underwear. The boxer-shorts also didn't stay on for very long, as they were pulled aside too.
The more-than-familiar cock jutted out of the thick bush of pubic hair, aiming straight forward, already leaking at the tip. Henry didn't waste any more time before putting his hand around it, enveloping it fully and giving it a few slow, but firm strokes.
"Pops!" Peter moaned out loudly.
"Shhh, it's alright. It'll be alright. Pa's gotcha now. Yer all good. Just relax for your pops." Henry shushed gently.
It wasn't often that Peter allowed himself to be needy and demanding. Usually it was either stubborn and firm, or coquettish and sassy. But his dad was more than happy to entertain these moods. After all, it gave him a chance to indulge in feeling needed again. And as selfish as he was, he relished in this.
"Pa, I'm gonna blow!" Peter warned, but too late.
Even the slow strokes managed to fully milk out a great lot of cum out Peter's balls, landing all over Henry's clothes. Thick spurts came in four waves - rope after rope of hot, white liquid.
"That's it, sonny. There ya go. Let it all out for pops. Must've been mighty pent up, huh? But it's all good now, I gotcha." Henry said.
One last squeeze on Peter's dick, and most of the cum was out, slowly making the cock soften to its flaccid state. Peter himself also seemed to go flaccid. His body went boneless against Henry, who adjusted the hold he had on him, one hand under the full ass on his lap.
"Thank ya, pa. I needed that so bad." Peter breathed out the words.
"I know, I know. Ya don't have to thank me. If anythin', that's kinda my fault, y'know? I didn't take care of ya yesterday." Henry apologized, pulling Peter into him a bit more.
"Nah, it ain't yar fault. Ya warned me, remember? What's one more day waitin'." Peter nuzzled into Henry's beard from below.
A low chuckle rumbled out of the older man's throat, his hand on his son's ass cupping the cheek gently, kneading it a bit through the jeans. A soft kiss was pressed into the top of the hair slick with work-sweat. Only now did he notice the dampness of Peter's shirt and the slight smell coming from his pits. He could only smile.
"Ya worked hard today, son. I'm proud of ya. The best boy anyone could ask for." Henry whispered.
"Thanks. I try. How was yar day, honeybuns?" Peter responded, closing his eyes.
"Thanks to ya lettin' me sleep in, I had a nice rest. Finally, after two weeks I got some good shut-eye." Henry laughed.
Then an unexpected pressure clamped down on his own groin. His back straightened a bit as he looked down. A grin appeared on his face as he saw Peter's hand insistently grabbing around there, trying to open the cargo pants up.
"Cheeky little bugger, aren't ya?" Henry chuckled, settling back against the back of the couch.
Peter didn't even respond, simply freed the cock he had sucked on the night before and started giving it a good tug or two, his hand already a bit sloppy in its movements.
"Here, let me help ya, aight?" Henry said with a few jumps of his waist.
With a deftness belying his stature, Henry positioned Peter directly into the center of the mighty legs below, the spent penis slowly hardening against his dad's. Sure, it had only been a little while since he came, but he could go again soon. Probably for the last time today, as his legs were already wobbly and tired. Two weeks of work followed by another packed day after he had come back really took a toll on him. But he wanted to get at least one more lap out of himself. For dad.
"It's aight, sonny. I'll do the work. Ya just enjoy. I'll take care of it." Henry dropped his voice to a whisper again.
"Yea." Peter said, voice slightly needy.
"That's it. That's my boy." Henry said, angling his body forwards.
He captured Peter's lips in a very gentle kiss, not even pushing his tongue in. Just a simple press of flesh against flesh, utterly tender and grounding. Peter somehow lost even more of his composure, nearly falling to the ground if not for Henry's insistent grip on his ass, arm around his body.
No more words were said as their tools down below pressed together as well. Henry made sure to grind and rub them softly against one another, neither staying on top too long before the other took its place. A harmonious duet of groans and moans echoed off the living room walls, Henry mostly trying to echo Peter's. The movie was long forgotten. Their foreskins moved up and down as the slits on their heads seemed to kiss each other too, spilling and sharing precum. Henry's brownish glans and Peter's pinkish one mingled together, lost in a sticky dance.
Neither of the men would last very long, still pent up from a - from what they were used to - long period of sex drought. But surprisingly enough, it was Peter who started shooting first again, despite having emptied his tank only a short while ago.
"There ya are. Such a good boy. Yer so hot, hun." Henry grunted out.
He picked up the pace, not wanting to lag behind too much, chasing his pleasure with a dead-set focus. Suffice to say, rubbing against his son's slowly softening cock all slick with the sticky essence of his beloved's scrotum was more than enough to get him to come in a matter of second.
Silence stretched out as Henry merely opened his mouth, breath hitched. His balls - twitching underneath the confines of his pants and underwear - pumped out a hefty load. The finishing glazing of the night. As his testicles relaxed, so did his back, pulling Peter with him. Henry rested his son's head fully against his chest, cradling it with his cum-stained hand. He couldn't have cared less and neither could have Peter. They were both too full of bliss to give two shits about cleanliness.
Henry could merely chuckle as soft snores started resounding against his torso. He managed to lull his boy into a, hopefully, restful sleep. Balls empty, belly full. The sight was more beautiful than any painting to dad's eyes - his son, exhausted but satisfied, peacefully laying against his body, so vulnerable and trusting. He couldn't resist but press another kiss into the sweaty hair. A bit of the cum made its way into his mouth, but if anything, that was a bonus.
With a light thud, he shifted them both so that they laid down on the couch. Pulling the hulking body in his arms impossibly close, he put his chin onto the crown of the sleeping head, focusing back on the TV. The movie was still on, and Henry could watch for a few more minutes. Afterwards, he'd carry his son back into bed. Just as he deserved.
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