Standing before his friend John’s house, Mike felt a sharp knot of anxiety tighten in his stomach. As John reached for the door, Mike’s heart hammered—not out of fear, but because of the delicious, agonizing anticipation of who was waiting on the other side. Guilt gnawed at him; he was betraying his best friend. But then again, it was John’s father who had started it all, that first time he flirted with him in the kitchen.
Sure enough, there was Bill—John’s father—standing behind the door, nursing a beer. He was fifty, a man’s man with a thick beard and a rugged, hair-dusted chest. When Bill’s eyes met his, Mike’s cheeks burned crimson, though he tried his best to maintain his composure. Bill, casually flipping through a newspaper, offered a low greeting.
"Hey there, Mike."
"Hello, Mr. Bill. How are you? I hope you’re having a good day."
Bill shot him a look that could only be described as predatory—a gaze that pierced through Mike’s skin, making him feel like a block of ice melting under intense heat. They sat for breakfast, John grumbling about his failing grades. Bill’s booming, playful charm eventually calmed his son down, but Mike was barely listening.
He was waiting. He could feel Bill’s eyes on him the entire time, peeling away his clothes, layer by layer. The moment finally came when John stood up to use the bathroom. Mike rose gracefully to clear the plates, but before he could move, Bill’s hand shot out, gripping Mike’s blonde hair. The pull was painful, but it was the kind of pain Mike craved.
"Oh, Bill, wait... John is right there!"
"I’ve waited long enough," Bill growled, his voice a coarse rasp.
He grabbed Mike by the neck and hauled him onto his lap.
Mike (with a shy smile and wide, shimmering eyes, feeling the heat of Bill’s hand on his throat): "Mmm... your hand is so warm... but you’re hurting me, baby."
Bill (staring at him with the knowing eyes of a master): "Funny. A week ago, when I had you in cuffs, you loved it so much you cried in my arms, didn't you?"
Mike (murmuring, tilting his head back, surrendering to the sense of safety Bill provided—like a spoiled, cherished child): "Too much... I feel like... I’m melting."
Bill (his smirk widening): "That’s the idea."
Mike (looking up, his face flushed): "You’re... you’re so strong, Bill. I don’t even know what to call you. Bill? Or my friend’s father?"
Bill (squeezing his neck gently): "We’ll stick to formalities in public. Our little play is better kept in the shadows."
Mike (giggling breathlessly): "Oh, stop! You’re making my head spin."
Bill (whispering into Mike’s ear, his hand still tangled in his hair): "Tell me... will you be able to hide those shallow breaths when John comes back? Or do you want me to tell him exactly what we’re doing?"
Mike (trembling, his heart racing, his voice a broken whisper): "No... please... Bill, John wouldn't understand. The shock would make him hate me... he’d hate you too."
Bill (chuckling darkly, tightening his grip to force Mike’s face upward): "Do you think I’m a fool? I love my son; I’d never do that. But... God, you’re his age, yet you’re just a beautiful toy that fell into the hands of a man who knows how to break your pride. Look at you... playing the innocent for John. That must sting."
Mike (his pulse skyrocketing as Bill pulled his head down so his beard brushed his cheeks; a single tear escaped as he closed his eyes in submission): "I’m not innocent with you... I love being weak like this. And yes, it hurts... but I love you. I love how you look at me like I’m your second son... like I’m family. My own father hasn't looked at me in fifteen years, and my mother is too busy with her new husband."
Bill (releasing his hair abruptly, his massive hand stroking Mike’s flushed, weary cheek): "Then I’ll be your father. But with a privilege. You call me 'Daddy' from now on. Now, get back to your seat before John comes out. I want to see you sitting there, pretending to be calm, while I find an excuse to get him out of the house."
Mike (panting, trying to straighten his clothes with shaking hands): "I’ll try... Bill..."
Bill (snatching him by the hair again, his hand pressing firmly against Mike's throat, making his heart leap in terror): "What did I tell you to call me?"
Mike (struggling, finding a twisted joy under that heavy, calloused hand): "D-D... Dad... cough... dy..."
Just then, the sound of the bathroom door clicking open echoed through the hall. Bill let go, and Mike took a sharp, gasping breath as he scrambled back to his seat.
But not before Bill leaned in for one last whisper: "There’s a punishment waiting for you for that delay."
