Inciting Incident
A little less than 8 years ago...
November was here, the trees nearly completely naked, save for the stubborn conifers. The Lovegood house was still a bit messy from Peter's birthday party. Only one more year and he could officially drink alcohol! Not that he really cared about that - one bad experience with the devil's brew was enough.
His new plumbing business was booming, but he had already fixed most problems in town, which meant a quiet day was on the horizon. Nothing he could complain about as a noise woke him up - his eyes were still bleary from the little sleep he managed to get. He nevertheless sat up on his bed, the old springs creaking. Dad had wanted to buy him something newer, maybe splurge on one of those premium mattresses, but he had refused. They needed to save money for more important things.
It's not as if they were particularly poor, but Henry had struggled for years to bring them the comfort they were able to have now. Peter would not start getting all wasteful just because he had a source of income too. Even if it had already been 2 years since his first venture into the working world.
With a limp hand, he reached for his alarm clock, squinting through his blurry vision. Oh fuck, he had overslept. Dad would already be leaving. With newfound life, he got onto his feet at the speed of light, rushing out of his room and down the stairs. He had noticed dad's room was already opened and empty. Shit.
Thankfully, the wanted man was only just about to leave. The soft thuds of socks on wood accelerated as Peter grabbed his dad's hand at the exact moment when the handle got gripped.
"Pa... Did ya... did ya eat? Need me to make ya somethin'?" Peter asked, trying to catch his breath.
Henry smiled gently as the skin around his eyes crinkled. He brought a hand up and squeezed his son's shoulder with it.
"I ate, don'tcha worry. And why aren't ya sleepin'? Ya went to bed way late last night! Not even - ya went to bed today! Go back and get some rest, sonny." Henry chastised ever so softly.
"Ya went to bed later than me! Besides, I'm already up, might as well stay up. Ya coulda woken me up! Coulda cooked ya somethin' proper..." Peter's face dropped.
"Humbug, son. My birthday boy oughtta get his rest! Yar old man can take care of himself, don'tcha worry! Now, I'm off to work. Go and sleep, aight?" Henry concluded the discussion.
He didn't give Peter a chance to reply as he simply ruffled his son's bedhead and closed the door firmly behind him after stepping out. The silence of the house descended upon the remaining man.
Yeah, right. Peter wasn't about to laze around in bed like some bum while dad worked his ass off! He quickly scanned the entrance hall. Squeaky clean. Of course. Dad must have remained up, tidying up after the party when Peter had already fallen asleep. Wait, but he had helped clean too. And then he had wanted to rest his eyes on the couch a bit... and then darkness. The next memory was that of this morning. Fuck, had dad carried him up to bed too?
A frustrated huff escaped his mouth as he combed through his messy hair. His shoulders slumped. But he wasn't about to give up - he started looking through the rest of the house. Kitchen? Clean. Living Room? Clean. Yard? Clean. Everything was clean! Annoying, but expected. How long had dad even stayed up, that madman?
Dropping onto the couch with a dissatisfied grumble, he huffed and looked around, his mind wandering. Was there anything left to do around the house? The fridge was fully stocked, despite the party - Dad's foresight in action. Nothing was broken. Then his eyes happened upon the potted plant sitting silently on the windowsill. He walked over and put his finger into the soil. Dry. Dry! Yes, dad must've forgotten to water the plants!
Not wasting a single second, Peter ran off into the kitchen and filled an old bottle with tap water. Hauling it around with him, he wandered through the entire house, properly taking care of every single speck of vegetation he could. But that wasn't enough. It barely took half an hour!
He started brainstorming again. This time, it was easier. Tons of little chores came into his mind, giving him an agenda to fill the rest of his day with. Making his bed; changing their sheets; fluffing dad's pillows; mowing the still-short grass on their yard; preparing ingredients for lunch and more.
Truly, he got into the groove of things and was more than happy to be able to keep busy. By the time he got onto the couch again, he was all sticky and a bit exhausted. The lack of proper sleep did not help. But he'd keep going. Dad was still not home. And Henry had it a lot harder than him - since winter was coming, dad would be working in his office a lot more. Pa hated working indoors. And yet he kept doing it.
Every time Henry returned home, a smile was plastered on his lips, all cheery and sunny. Even when his legs were shaking from exertion or when his stomach growled like a chainsaw, he would always first ask about Peter. Annoying. All of that was so annoying. But also so utterly warm and kind. Peter couldn't help but smile at the memories.
Yet that was one more reason to get up and work some more. Laundry was still waiting for him. Not as much as it would usually take for them to fire up the washing machine, but still sizable. He went upstairs and brought the dirty rags from the bathroom into the laundry. First would be sorting them all into neat piles based on color. Though he also liked to take his time with each item and properly inspect it. Reminisce.
Most of the clothes were his, so nothing too special. Run-of-the-mill shirts and jeans, some dirtier than the others. But then he came to dad's articles. First was a wide, yet somehow still stretched-out plaid flannel shirt. It was damp all over, probably from a day working in the rain. The colors were already all bleached out, but dad insisted on wearing this one until it crumbled to dust - saying a new shirt would just be a waste of money. With a sigh and gentle smile, he set it aside to its appropriate pile.
Then came an undershirt. A small speck of blood adorned the top of it. Peter could precisely remember where it came from, considering it had happened only two days ago. Dad had been shaving - well, more like trimming his beard to appear more classy - and had nipped his skin a bit. Peter absentmindedly rubbed his own stubble. He was so glad he sprouted some facial hair - finally. He had always been so dejected at not being able to grow a beard, to the point where he had almost jumped to the ceiling when he had seen the first follicles push out. He could finally be just like dad. The undershirts was set down with a wide grin on his face.
Next, a pair of cargo pants. The pockets were a nightmare to check, but Peter was a thorough person, so he would not rest until he explored each nook and cranny. And he was in luck - while most of the search yielded nothing, one pocket had some chestnuts in it... These were from Peter. He had given them to dad around the start of October, mainly because they looked really pretty and round. He hadn't known dad still had them. Gently setting them aside, he sorted the pants as well.
Finally came a pair of khaki boxers. They were quite clean, mostly just a bit damp where they had rested in dad's crevices, especially around the stretched out fabric on the backside. How was even here the waistband stretched out? He knew his dad was a big man, but this huge? Honestly, pa put most men in the cities Peter visited to shame.
Not that it was a particularly hard feat to do. From the two years that Peter had traveled to various cities, he found out people over there are a lot more open to 'experimentation'. And while he had had some nice fucks, his hookups were all terrible matches. Visually some came close to dad, but personality-wise? No chance. They were all either greedy or stuck-up or cowardly or selfish or... the list went on and on. Dad was none of those. Sure, he had his issues, but he was a stand-up and virtuous man! The same sadly couldn't be said about Peter himself.
As was tradition with laundry when dad wasn't home, instead of setting the boxers down, he pocketed them. He would simply add them into the hamper next time or just wash them individually. One of the piles started its cycle as he left the remaining clothes on the floor, walking back to his room and slowly starting to pick out the piece of worn underwear again.
Did he feel guilty? Maybe. But he couldn't help himself. The bed springs groaned another time on that day as he inspected the cloth in his hands. It was clearly very worn-out, but for dirty laundry, it was still quite clean. At least to the eye, there was only dampness to be seen. Peter's nose told him another story, though.
The smell of sweat wafted from the fabric - nothing but a testament of dad's hard work. That man never stopped moving. Be it at home or at his job, everyone relied on him. And as much as Peter hated to admit it, even he himself relied on dad so much. He was still finding his bearings as a freelancer, be it with the law or business practices. Dad had always supported him, be it through knowledge or just by providing a safety net.
And that is exactly what Henry's sweat smelt like to him. A reminder of his dad's kindness and diligence. He blushed a bit as he imagined his father. So handsome. Broad, strong shoulders. Tall like a mountain - second tallest person he had seen in his life. Covered in a forest of hair, an epitome of manliness. Soft contours around his chest and belly. Thick, robust thighs that could probably crush melons if they wanted to. Calloused, but somehow gentle hands. Wide feet with similar callouses, which were usually covered because dad was a bit ashamed of how they looked.
All of that and more was Henry... his most beloved dad. How could anyone even compare to him? Every time Peter had fucked or gotten fucked, his partner would inevitably get judged based on Henry. And how could they not? Near perfection was hard to forget.
Peter brought the underwear to his nose slowly. He inhaled. Heaven. Dad's musk was extremely unique in its smell. Tangy, slightly sour, but so warm and overpowering. Faint traces of soap and other products were also in the mix. In his current state, Peter simply reached down with his free hand and pulled his dick out, which was already erect.
The cinema in his mind started playing. He imagined Henry on the couch on a particularly hot summer day, only clad in his boxers. They were all soaked from sweat and left nothing up to interpretation. Granted, he had never seen dad's dick, but it must have been big. Maybe a ten-inch monster, thick like a beer can? Fuck, dad probably would pack something like that down there. Sadly, Peter had never managed to catch a glimpse, not once! The tragedy. Oh well, his fantasy would have to do.
Dad would be manspreading in the living room, giving Peter access to see whatever his eye could reach. And he would - in this daydream, he'd actually have the balls and would kneel down in front of dad. He'd press his face firmly into the pouch so tantalizingly presented to him.
And dad would smile. He'd simply smile and push his boxers away, letting his cock - now erect and comically proportioned - slap against Peter's forehead. Fuck, it'd be so leaky and wet and hard and... so fucking delicious. Peter stroked himself harder, his fist reaching the base of his penis as his precum resounded with wet squelches.
When he would be kneeling there, dad's leaking behemoth on his face, maybe Henry would smile. What if he had a cocky smile? Maybe he'd know just what a cocksucking slut Peter really wanted to be for him. Sadly, dad was too nice to actually act like this in reality, but a man could dream.
He wouldn't even ask - Henry would just position his leaking dick lower and push it past Peter's lips, not waiting for permission. And the youngster would take it - he'd open his throat as wide as he could just for dad to skullfuck him from his comfy couch. Henry wouldn't even look at him, just keep watching TV. Peter's breathing would cut off at times from how dad's thick anaconda fully filled out his esophagus. His insides would be working, gulping around the rod, desperately trying to swallow as dad would pummel away. Dad probably had a fat nutsack as well. Maybe it would slap against his chin as he took as much of the battering ram into his throat as he could.
Fuck, Peter couldn't hold it anymore. His hips started bucking on his bed and his dick was leaking copious amounts of liquid. His hand was shaky as was his breath. Then, the climax approached as his toes curled, his ass instinctively clenching and his back arching into the air.
In his fantasy, he had to conclude it, he had to. He was so fucking close. And all it took was for Henry's eyes to soften and one sentence to escape from his lips.
"Come for me, son."
That was it. That was the key to Peter's orgasm. His eyes glazed over and his mouth went agape. Breathing was suddenly impossible as rope after rope of his own searing cum painted his clothes.
His lungs relaxed after a bit, causing him to inhale sharply and deeply - directly filling his insides with the smell of dad's underwear. This only helped prolong his orgasm as in his newfound climax, he couldn't help but shout.
"I'm comin', pops! I'm comin' for ya! Pa!" he screamed into the emptiness of the room.
"Pete!?" fantasy Henry exclaimed.
Wait... that wasn't fantasy Henry. That was coming from his actual room, which apparently wasn't as empty as he had thought. Panicked, he looked down, removing the underwear from his face.
Sure enough, dad was there in the door, his eyes wide and mouth just as open as Peter's was earlier. His throat worked and multiple times he had inhaled, only for no words to come out. Peter was similarly speechless, more so from fear. Fuck, what now? Dad should have never known. This wasn't part of the fantasy.
But there was no hint of anger on Henry's features, just surprise and confusion. Slowly, Peter could see his dad's face morph. Guilt and pity seemed to join the mixture as a gentle voice drifted from the room's entrance.
"Ah, uh... I... Sorry, I shoulda knocked. I came home to fetch somethin' and just heard yar bed creakin' and stuff... thought ya was in trouble. Uh... I'll leave ya to it." Henry's smile didn't reach his eyes as he nearly closed the door.
"Wait up! I mean... Is that it? Don't ya... Don't ya have anythin' more to say?" Peter sat up on his bed, unsure of what was even happening.
"I mean... I figured ya were... battin' for that team. Didn't think I'd confirm it like this... I sure as hell didn't. But it's aight. I won't tell, don't worry." dad gave him an unconvincing wink.
"No, I mean..." Peter stammered.
Dad was ignoring the elephant in the room. This was his underwear. He had to have known this. Peter wore boxer-shorts, not boxers and this was clearly something that belonged to Henry. But what even was the question that Peter wanted to ask? Thankfully, he didn't have to formulate it.
"I... I know... Don't worry, I know it's just... there must not be a lot of strappin' lads in the area, I know. Ya probably had to resort to... to my... y'know. It's okay, I understand. We all need our fix." Henry shrugged.
But they both knew that this cleared up nothing. Peter did not believe Henry and even Henry did not believe Henry. A heavy sight came from the door as it closed even more, leaving behind a single crack.
"Listen, it's fine. I ain't mad or anythin'... let's just not speak of it again. I ain't known for speakin' well - ya know that already. That was more yar ma. So I'll just... we'll just pretend this didn't happen, aight? I'll know to knock in the future. Sorry. Again." Henry rambled off and finally shut the door fully.
Quick footsteps echoed through the house as dad rushed down the stairs - entrance door slamming behind him. And that was it. Peter had been caught red-handed. But he couldn't just ignore this. Who could? They had to have some sort of talk about what had just occurred, no matter how much he hated the idea.
---
How was Henry even supposed to go inside? He had been standing in front of the entrance door for a good five minutes now, swaying from leg to leg. Many times he had reached for the handle, and many times he had let his hand fall. What was there even left to say? Was he supposed to act in any special way? Maybe just pretend it hadn't happened? Truly, no amount of parental advice from his peers had prepared him for this. Maybe Caroline would have known what to do in a situation like this... She had always been good at defusing any pickle she had found herself in.
But now was not the time to grieve. Peter must have been in a troubled state as well. He had been spotted with his father's underwear by said father. Henry couldn't even begin to imagine how his son must have felt in that moment.
Yet the most troubling part of all of this was Henry's own reaction. Why the fuck had he gotten aroused by the sight? What more than fifteen years without an outlet did to a man... He had barely managed to cover his bulge with the door. Fuck... hopefully Peter hadn't seen it. It would have made this entire situation even more awkward to wade through.
Henry inhaled. He would be alright. Exhale. He could do this. If not him, then who? Nobody. He slapped his cheeks a bit, giving them a rose tint, as he steeled himself for the inevitable confrontation.
The door opened. Peter was marching around in the hallway. His eyes locked directly onto Henry's frame, as a determined look radiated from them. Oh fuck, this was happening a lot faster than the ill-prepared father had anticipated.
"Where have ya been, pa? It's been half an hour since ya were supposed to get home." Peter questioned with a fiery gaze.
"I got delayed a bit on the way... a bit of an inconvenience." Henry said, not wanting to outright lie.
"I could see ya come home, y'know? Ya were standin' there, at the door, for a good half an hour, pops." Peter said, crossing his arms.
Had it really been for that long? Henry could've sworn it was a lot shorter.
"Well, uh..." the old man was stumped.
"Yer avoidin' me, aren't ya? 'Cause of what ya saw."
Fucking hell, Peter really had to go for the jugular like that, huh? Oh well, as uncomfortable as this was, at least they'd get it over with soon. Henry closed the door behind him and fully turned to face his son.
"Well... kinda? A bit? Look, sonny, I'm just a bit afraid of what I'm gonna say, that's all."
"Don't be. We're gonna say what we're gonna say. It's best this happens now, yea?" Peter fixed him with a steadfast glare.
"Right... So... I know ya like fellas. Not sure if ya like gals too, but ya definitely like the lads. I gathered that much." Henry starts, speaking slowly.
"Yea. Sorry for not telling ya earlier. Just never felt like it was a good time for talkin' 'bout it, y'know?" Peter shrugged, looking away for the first time.
"That's aight, son. I've had a fella or two in my young'un years as well, no worries."
Henry smiled reassuringly at Peter. Maybe this would turn out to be easier than he had thought.
"Damn. I didn't know that. But... the fella I want to have is ya, pops."
Fuck.
"Listen, I'm sure ya mean it well and I appreciate the compliment, but ya oughtta find a proper lad for yaself. Yer confused 'cause ya probably don't have any lads in the area who ya like. But it's okay, give it time to make the right choice. And no, yar old man is definitely not the correct choice." Henry frowned.
"No, pops, ya don't understand. I've been with plenty of guys in the city. But none are like ya. Not even in the same league, pops." Peter shook his head.
"Pete. Do ya hear yaself? Yer pinin' for yar old man here. Most likely, yer just thankful and are confusin' it. Don't worry, it'll pass. Ya'll see." Henry gave his best reassuring smile and closed the distance between them to place his steady hand onto Peter's shoulder.
Peter took it a step further and embraced his dad in a tight hug. Henry was a tad startled, but bounced back quickly, embracing his son in a similar manner.
"It's not just me bein' thankful. Don't get me wrong, I am. But I just think yer... yer really handsome, pops. People would've gone to war for ya back in the day. And yer really friggin' strong too. I know ya don't think I notice, but I know ya've been tryin' to cut down on sweets and pastries. I saw the look ya give yaself in the mirror. It shows, and ya do look great now, but ya looked just as great before too, pops." Peter confessed.
A hint of red covered Henry's cheeks as he struggled with a response. It had been a while since someone had complimented him - earnestly complimented him, not just because he was up for marriage and some woman was lonely. It felt nice to be recognized... to have his efforts appreciated. But he had to push back somehow, this was not just innocent flattery.
"Sonny, I know ya mean well. And yer handsome too. But ya'll find an even better boy, I know ya will." Henry whispered.
"No! I won't! I ain't leavin' ya behind! Besides, there's no one better than ya, pops! And it's unfair that ya don't have anyone to remind ya. Have ya seen Harold? He can barely lift his arse from the couch without pissin' himself from the amount of alcohol in his veins, yet he still has a wife and daughter that stay by his side. So why don't ya, hm? Ya deserve someone. Someone to be with ya through thick or thin." Peter's shouts abated into a quiet ministration as he was talking.
"Pete... Ya know nobody could replace yar ma. None of 'em gals out there come near her in any way. And besides, yer already my partner, no? Ya cook for me and ya clean for me. Don't think I didn't see the house all tidy. Ya are the only one who I need. And when yer ready to leave the nest, I'll be there too, ready to let ya go. And if ya ever need yar pops, I'll be here. And I'll be fine on my own."
"No, ya won't! And again - I'm not leavin', no sir! If I hadn't been here, who woulda bandaged your hands when yar callouses were all bloody? Yar palms were red from all the work ya'd done, pops! I've never heard of that happen before. Who's gonna make sure ya make it home? Who's gonna have warm food ready for ya? I'm not leavin' ya!" Peter stomped his foot into the ground for effect.
"Sonny..." was all Henry could muster.
"Pops. Pa. Ya deserve someone to take care of ya. To pamper and spoil ya. Besides, yer a grown man. A man has his needs. Ya have 'em too, no? And yet I've never heard ya jerk it! Not once! Not any suspicious tissues or socks or rags or anythin'! Never even a moan or a gasp! Ya can't just go 'round bein' pent-up like this!" Peter protested.
Henry stayed silent. Peter was wrong - dad did indeed masturbate. But it was mostly mechanical. Just another chore. Rubbing one out, cleaning up and going about his day. But it would be a lie if he said he didn't desire sex... It had been so fucking long since he last felt the intimate warmth of another. And as much as he hated to admit it... his son was a fine looking stud. A proper man in his youthful prime. But this was wrong! He shouldn't have had thoughts like this! Before his internal self-admonishment could continue, Peter somehow pressed himself even closer - a knee in-between Henry's thighs.
"Pa... I can't force ya to do anythin' or want anythin'. But I ain't gonna lie - I do like ya. And I love ya. And... I wanna sleep with ya. What ya do with that information is up to ya... But tell me, does it really bother ya that much that I'm into ya?"
"I..." Henry started, but never finished.
He didn't want to lie. Not to Peter. Never to Peter. But he couldn't just say the truth and admit that... he liked it. That it made him feel desired and wanted and... aroused. Fucking hell, he had to stop!
"Pops. I'm gonna go to bed. And I ain't gonna stop pinin' for ya. G'night."
Peter disentangled himself from his dad and proceeded to brashly walk up the stairs. The door to his room slammed shut.
Henry remained standing on the spot. His hands clenched into tight fists as he processed what all had happened. He had to digest his own feelings too. Peter ought to have let it go - be a bit ashamed maybe, yet let it go. But no, the bugger was more stubborn than anyone he knew.
This discussion wasn't over. It couldn't be. Henry ran up the steps himself, yanking open the door to Peter's room. The son turned around from his bed, slightly startled. They looked at each other for a bit, both unsure of what was to happen.
"Pete... Do ya enjoy tormentin' yar old man?" Henry asked, frowning.
The very same frown soon appeared on the other man's face too as Henry moved over to Peter's bed, sitting on it. Being face to face with his only son, the unresolved conversation swirling around in the air weighed them down.
"Pops, there ain't anythin' to talk about. We've both said our piece. I won't stop lovin' ya. I'm sorry ya had to see it this way, but I'm not ashamed of havin' the hots for my pa. Not when my pa is ya."
"Sonny... is there really no way for ya to reconsider? Nothin' that I can do to finally get through that stubborn head of yars? Tell me, boy. I really wanna help ya through this."
"Help me through this, huh? Well, pops, I honestly don't think there's anythin' to be done. I can't think of a single thin' that would help."
"Then we oughtta think harder, boy. I ain't just gonna leave this be." Henry shook his head.
"'F course ya won't... But... I guess... ya know, I have heard a couple of times that it's the thrill of the forbidden that makes some lads pine. And after they get what they want, they ain't interested no more. It's not my case, I don't think. But it certainly is the only thing I can think of right now." Peter shrugged.
Get what they want? As in... as in Henry was just supposed to go along with this? Wouldn't that make things worse?
But... maybe it was worth a shot.
"Aight." Henry nodded solemnly.
"Aight? Wait, ya mean it?" Peter asked, perplexed.
"Yea... I mean, it's worth a shot. If that gets me outta yar head, then I'll do it."
Henry had further questions, but those stayed lodged in his throat ever since Peter got onto his knees immediately, positioning his head in-between dad's thick thighs. With deft movements, he started undoing the fly on the cargo pants.
"Whoa, uh... yer fast with it, Pete." Henry stammered out.
"Well, yea. If I take my time, ya could change yar mind. I ain't gonna let this chance pass me by."
Saying that, Peter took out his dad's cock from its underwear hideaway, through the fly, out into the air. It was already somewhat stiff, slowly gaining in mass. The young man stopped, his eyes full of wonder and honest admiration as he took in the sight. So much smaller than his fantasies, yet somehow even more alluring. Henry really wished to see just what his son was seeing while he was nearly dying of shame at the gesture. He was getting hard... for his son. His own flesh and blood. If anyone found out, that'd be the end of them. They'd have to move away immediately. He looked out of the window, paranoia kicking in as he tried to spot any wayward pair of eyes somehow looking onto the intimate scene.
His focus was shattered immediately the moment he felt a pair of practiced lips roll over his shaft, his long-neglected head now enveloped in Peter's velvety cushion of a mouth. He nearly doubled over at the sensation. How he had forgotten just how good it felt to fuck...
Peter released the prick from his mouth with a pop, licking the precum dribbles coming out of the slit. His hand was already in his pants, rummaging around and playing with himself - squeezing, fondling and stroking. He looked like he was in utter bliss. No worries to be seen.
"I always imagined what ya'd taste like, pops. And ya did not disappoint. Ya never do. This is better than any daydream or hookup."
With a smack of his lips, Peter delved in again, surrounding the growing length once more in his orifice. His tongue pressed into and danced all around the flesh, tasting all the years of jerking off and the sweat of the current day. Henry finally understood just how much his son got around these days. One did not develop this skill overnight.
Soft moans escaped from his throat as he could feel his balls already filling, ready to shoot. He had missed this so much. He hated how much he was enjoying it, but it felt too good to stop now. A low groan followed by a hidden twitch of his hefty sack. He shifted his legs open as much as he could, trying to give his nuts some breathing room inside of his suddenly-small pants.
Meanwhile, Peter was going at it the best he could. While he hated that he couldn't get the entire length in fully - or rather, the girth - he tried to make sure and use everything he had learned during his escapades. Saliva coated the skin on the old man's fuck stick, some of it even leaking out of his mouth as Peter bobbed his head back and forth.
Henry's hands slowly found their way into his son's hair. It was an involuntary reaction - one that made him feel even worse about the whole ordeal. But he felt the need to connect with his son... his cocksucking son. He tried pushing the head in his crotch away.
"Pete... Pete... I ain't gonna last. Yar old man's gonna blow soon. Let go." Henry whispered with a shuddering exhale.
Peter's response was not verbal, yet somehow louder than any words could be. His free hand gripped at dad's thighs, pulling himself forward ever more, taking as much as he could. He felt a gag come up, and suppressed it deftly. Picking up his pace, the wet squelches echoed through his room.
"Pete! Let go or I'm gonna-" Henry warned, but it was too late.
With what sounded like a pained groan, his legs pressed together - Peter's head trapped in his warm crotch - and his balls finally emptied. For the first time in over a decade, he felt fully aroused, blowing his entire load. It took a long time until all the creamy ropes landed in Peter's willing mouth, the young man greedily swallowing up all of his father's swimmers.
They remained locked in the same position for a good minute until Henry's nutsack twitched and pulsed on an empty tank. Every ounce was pushed out in that moment and he felt truly... satisfied. In a way that his hand had never fulfilled him. That no one had ever fulfilled him... not even his late wife.
As the last movements abated, Peter pulled away with one final gulp, opening his mouth to catch his breath properly, a few pubic hairs stuck to his face from the sweat they had worked up. His hand was still moving, chasing his own release with a newfound vigor after feeling his dad's nut slide down into his stomach.
But Henry's satisfaction soon turned to horror as the full weight of what he had done settled in. He could only look at Peter - listen to his soft moans and whimpers as he pleasured himself. This was never about getting over anything. This was never going to help. Peter had known that very well... and Henry had too. As much as he hated to admit it, he had known damn well this would not help the situation. And yet he still went along with it anyway. He had used his son's affections for his own gain. Like a sick and twisted pervert, he took advantage of his most treasured person's feelings for him. This and other rueful thoughts sprouted in his mind like weeds, growing rampantly. He had to turn away. He couldn't even look at Peter after what they had done - after what he had willingly agreed to.
"I... I..." Henry faced his son again as he searched for something - anything to say.
His words were cut short by Peter's own climax. His boy hadn't even bothered pulling his dick out. Didn't need to. A wet stain appeared on the front of his pants and started expanding rapidly. But his expression was somehow even more gleeful than before. Enraptured and reverent as his eyes were locked onto Henry's face. Fuck, this was really serious, wasn't it? Henry was in way over his head. The old man could only look on and witness as his own son removed his hand from his pants, sticky with a glistening white substance. The droplets started trailing down his fingers as he simply brought it to his mouth and licked it off. That image alone was enough to make Henry's crotch tingle again. He felt his cock jerk a bit, waking up for round two.
No! Enough! Too much! He stood up rapidly, hoisting his pants up and closing his fly. He rushed out of the room.
"G'night, Pete." he said over his shoulder as he ran over to his bedroom.
The door shut behind him with a similar slam as Peter's had before. He was alone. All alone except for his thoughts. And many a picture of Caroline gazing upon him. Lovingly. Fucking hell, he couldn't look at even one of them. Not after what he had done to her son - their son. Not after today. What had he been thinking? How could he have let this happen? But it was too late. He had crossed a line from which there was no retreat. No respite.
He collapsed onto his bed and buried his face into his pillow. He didn't bother changing as he simply crawled under the covers in his current attire. Hopefully Peter would be alright. Hopefully he'd forgive him. Hopefully they'd get over this together one day... But Henry knew that would not happen any time soon. Especially since... since he liked what had happened. He had enjoyed the act fully and desired more. Craved more of Peter's touch - of his expertise.
Back in his days, a suck or, dare-he-say, a little buttfuck were considered the peak of sodomy - the ultimate depravity one could indulge in. But Peter had opened his eyes to skills that he had no idea existed. With his tongue alone that is. Henry wasn't supposed to explore sex at this old an age... He was supposed to be all settled down and happy in the monotony and routine of life. Not fucking his son.
With what sounded suspiciously like a sob, he pressed his head further into the pillow. This evening, he had tasted a forbidden fruit so sweet, he wasn't sure what to do with himself. Everything in his body was telling him to continue. He longed to return to Peter's room and finish what they had started - explore everything there was to experience. His morals? The unflinching attitude he had entered the discussion with? Gone. Replaced by a new, alien desire. It all gave away so easily... he hadn't even noticed when he had become lost in the feeling - craved more. And that scared him more than anything else.
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