Epilogue
Summer settled over the Thompson house like a warm, sticky blanket.
Jack had been home for almost two weeks. The dorm room — and everything that had happened inside it — already felt like something that had happened to someone else. The beds had been stripped, the carpet professionally cleaned (though Michael still joked he’d never get the full deposit back), and the three of them had slipped back into something that almost resembled normal life.
Almost.
Michael still went to work most days. Ryan was on leave until August. And Jack… Jack spent his days drifting between the kitchen, the couch, and his father’s bed like he’d always belonged there.
They didn’t talk much about what had happened at school. They didn’t need to. The truth lived in the small, ordinary things: the way Ryan would pull Jack into his lap without warning while they watched TV, the way Michael would come home from work, kiss both his sons like it was the most natural thing in the world, and then disappear upstairs with whichever one caught his eye first that evening. Sometimes both.
One night in late June, the three of them lay tangled together in Michael’s bed, the windows open, the air thick and humid. Jack was on his back between them, flushed and glowing, cum still leaking slowly from his well-used hole. Ryan was half-asleep with his face pressed against Jack’s neck. Michael lay on his side, one heavy hand resting possessively on Jack’s stomach.
“You know,” Michael said quietly, voice rough from hours of use, “I used to worry about you two. About what would happen when you left for college.”
Jack turned his head, those big blue eyes soft and sleepy. “And now?”
Michael gave a low, tired laugh and pressed a kiss to Jack’s temple.
“Now I’m just glad you came home.” He paused, then added, “But you can’t spend the whole summer doing nothing, Jack. You need a job. Something to keep you busy.”
Jack made a small, noncommittal sound and nuzzled closer to his father’s chest. He already knew this conversation was coming. Michael had been dropping hints for days.
Ryan stirred beside him, voice thick with sleep. “He’s right. You can’t just sit around all summer.”
Jack huffed a quiet laugh but didn’t argue. Deep down, he knew they were right. He’d been meaning to take the car in for an oil change anyway — the light had been on for weeks. Maybe he’d do that tomorrow. Get out of the house for a bit. Do something productive, like his dad kept saying.
Michael’s hand slid slowly down Jack’s stomach, fingers brushing over the mess still drying on his skin.
“Besides,” Michael murmured, voice dropping lower, “I’ve got a feeling this summer’s gonna be interesting.”
Jack smiled faintly in the dark, the same sweet, innocent smile he’d always had.
He had no idea how right his father was.
END
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