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Dr. Jack Cox was recommended to me by a gay co-worker. I liked the idea of  being gay and having a gay doctor. I have nothing against straight doctors. I just feel more comfortable with one of my own kind. And so here I am  

A good looking male nurse came into the examining room. “Good morning, Douglas Dellrio  I’m Nurse Poof here to take your blood pressure.”   He told me that my heart was fine and that the Doctor would be in to see me shortly. 

After a ten minute wait Doctor Cox walked in holding a clip board. He shook my hand in a manly fashion with a wide smile. “Good morning, Doug.” He was 40-ish with dark brown hair with a sprinkle of silver. Obviously he worked out. Those sparkling green eyes of his could melt hearts and harden dicks. “Yearly physical today, Doug, please remove your pants and your underwear and hop on the examining table for me.” 

“Here’s a hospital gown.”

“No thanks. I’m comfortable.” I hopped up on the table sending my dick bouncing around. 

“So, are you bi, straight or gay?”

“Gay.”

“Top or bottom?”

“I’m a bottom.” 

“I’ll be examining your anus in a little bit.” Dr. Cox gently grabbed my cock and squeezed it then examined it up close. The Doctor Cox released my penis then traced his finger around my cock head. I was hard before he finished … Duh!

“Thank you, I was going to ask you to get hard. You read my mind.” We both saw the first drops of precum drip from my dick. He looked at me with a wicked smile. In an instant his tongue flicked across the small amount of cum on my dick head. The Doc swallowed then jokingly said “Deliciously nutritious!”

“Get on all fours with your bubble butt facing me. Thank you. It’s a real nice ass. You have a hot little body.” Doctor Cox stuck a thermometer up my naked butthole with force. Normal. I shivered. Then it was the Blood Pressure device. Normal. Without warning he dug his two large hands under my tighty-whities and felt up my groin area for fifteen minutes. He kept ‘accidently’ bumping into my cock and balls. I was flat-out hard as granite at that point.

“Stand up for me.” Shamefully I hopped off the table. I stood out and so did my 8 inch cock. “What a handsome cock you have. “

In seconds Doc Cox went down to his knees and began sucking my stiff cock. Damn, this boy could suck cock. He tongued my low hanging balls then grabbed them as he stood up. “Cough right for me! Good. Turn to your left and cough again. Normal.”

“Please get on all fours so I can examine that juicy butthole of yours. So what size dick do you think is perfect for your butthole.”

“Uh Er … I don’t know.”

Doctor Cox lubed two of his fingers up and plunged them into the cavern of the eternal pleasure called Doug’s tight hole. The Doctor’s fingers explored Doug’s anus like a miner in search of coal. Every inch of movement intoxicated the young man.  Doc grabbed Doug and finally planted a French kiss that opened the doors to a whole new level of hot carnal knowledge that Doug had know.

Nurse Poof appeared with three shots of whiskey. Quickly the trio swallowed them.  The Doctor meant to be slow and steady however his eight and a half inch cock found it’s way forcefully up Doug’s wanting hole.  The Doc’s awesome cock rammed the boy’s butt so hard his screams of joy had to be silence, so Doc covered Doug’s mouth with his large hand and whispered something to him. Soon, Doug felt the Doctor’s rough tongue licking at his butthole, his tongue went so deep, Doug let out a loud moan.

The Nurse took his own scrubs off and then torn a large tear in seat of his white briefs. Carefully he covered Doug’s cock in lots of lube. And then, to the amazement of the men  The nurse just sat on the boy’s big one and slide down the shaft howling in joy!

Doug laid back and watched The Doc and the Nurse go at it again. Later he found out they were in open relationship but lived together. Smiling, Doug nodded to himself he might just want to start going to see the Doctor more often.

This is only one story, it will not be continued 

On New Year’s night the dorm felt strangely hollow, like someone had turned the place inside out and shaken out all the usual noise. The corridors, normally full of slamming doors, loud laughter, and someone’s eternally-burnt popcorn, had gone still. Every now and then the quiet was cut by the faint pop of fireworks drifting in from somewhere beyond the campus fence, followed by the delayed echo of people cheering in the cold. It all sounded very far away, like I was listening through a thick wall.  

I was basically the last living soul on the entire hallway. My US roommate had packed up and flown out two days before the break officially started. I watched him go with a mix of envy and relief — envy because, well, family gatherings and home-cooked meals are not the worst thing in the world; relief because suddenly I had the rare luxury of four walls all to myself.

On New Year’s Eve we made our way to our professor’s house, the one place off campus that always felt a bit like neutral territory — not quite home, not quite school. His wife opened the door before we even rang properly, as if she’d been standing guard, waiting to grab our coats and usher us in from the cold. She always treated students like long-lost relatives, but this time she had clearly gone into overdrive. The table looked like she was preparing to feed a regiment.

There were the classic layered salads–with mushrooms, cheese, salami, and crabs–plus three different plates of chicken done three different ways, a couple of meat dishes whose aromas filled the whole apartment, and a cake so big it barely fit on the sideboard. And, of course, there were bottles everywhere — champagne cooling by the window, a bowl of some sort of punch she’d kept adding things to, claiming it “needed one more note of flavor.”

By the time the clock showed the last minutes of the year, the apartment had turned into a cheerful, slightly chaotic circus. Someone dragged us outside to light fireworks in the courtyard as the clock struck midnight. After that, music appeared from somewhere — probably the professor’s old speakers — and the entire group drifted into singing. Not polished choir singing, just loud, semi-drunk, good-natured shouting of familiar Christmas songs in five languages of those present.

Eventually we ended up circling the Christmas tree in the living room, half dancing, half stumbling, the ornaments jingling every time someone’s elbow brushed a branch. It was messy and warm and very human, the kind of night that sticks not because anything grand happened, but because it felt like everyone let their guard down at the same time.

It was there that I met Ed, my classmate Lena’s new American boyfriend — and honestly, he looked like he’d stepped straight out of some handbook on “How to Be a Decent Human Being.” Mid-twenties, clean-cut without trying too hard, he wore thin-framed glasses that gave him a thoughtful, attentive look, as if he was always listening just a little more carefully than the rest of us.

From the moment he walked in, he had those soft, deliberate manners that aren’t showy but make you instantly relax. He held the door for people without making a big deal out of it. He thanked our professor’s wife with this earnest warmth that made her beam. When he shook your hand, he did it with both hands, like he was genuinely glad to meet you — not performing, just built that way.

And while the rest of us tore into the champagne like we were trying to set personal records, Ed stayed slow and steady, taking small sips, nodding along to conversations with that quiet smile he seemed to wear naturally. Most of the night he hovered near Lena, his arm lightly around her shoulders, checking in with her in these small, almost invisible ways — making sure she wasn’t cold when we went outside, passing her a glass without her asking, brushing a stray hair from her face when she laughed too hard. Not clingy, not overdone — just attentive in a way that made you think, wow, she really found herself someone good.

And yet, he wasn’t stiff or reserved. Once he realized our chaos was sincere and welcoming, he jumped straight into the mix. He helped us set up the fireworks with the concentration of a man defusing a bomb, then laughed harder than anyone when the first rocket whizzed off sideways. He hummed along to songs he didn’t know, and when someone pulled him into a circle around the Christmas tree, he didn’t protest — he just followed the rhythm with slightly awkward, well-meaning steps, looking like the kind of guy who would never mock a tradition even if it was completely foreign to him.

By the end of the evening, it was impossible not to like him. He had that gentle, steady presence that just made everything feel calmer, even in the middle of our New Year circus. One of those rare people who never try to be the center of attention — and somehow end up being the one everyone remembers anyway.

Lena couldn’t let him stay in her room because her roommate was a fellow international student, and Ed’s own room wasn’t paid for the break.  So she came to me and asked me if I could let Ed crash in my room.  Even before I met him, I said yes, and now when I almost fell in love with him, I was actually looking forward to it.  God only knows what could happen, I remember thinking.  I was hoping at least to catch a glimpse of the bulge, or, perhaps, some morning wood… anyway, I was all ready for that night.

“You’ve met Augie,” Lena said at the end of the night. “He’ll let you stay in his room, and I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning.” 

Ed smiled shyly, and on the way to campus he apologized for the intrusion about six times before he even got through the door.  His voice was so soft I had to lean in to catch what he was saying. Wound up after the party, we talked for an hour—about books, his thesis, indie games, the ethics of AI art—while sharing a bottle of  prosecco each of us got before leaving. Every sentence out of his mouth ended in a little smile, like he was afraid of taking up too much space. When the bottle was empty he thanked me again, asked which bed was his, and waited for permission before sitting on the edge of it.

We undressed in the dark out of mutual shyness, the only light a thin orange stripe from the streetlamp outside the window. I heard the rustle of his belt, the soft thud of shoes, the whisper of fabric. Then the creak of his mattress as he slid under my spare blanket. “Good night,” he murmured, so gently it felt like being tucked in. “Happy New Year.” I answered the same, rolled toward the wall, and pretended to fall asleep to the sound of far-off fireworks.

Sometime after three a rhythmic creak made me perk up my ears. Not the bed frame exactly—something subtler, like the blanket shifting. My eyes adjusted slowly. Across the narrow gap between our beds, Elias was on his back. His knees were now up and apart, one arm moving in a slow, steady arc beneath the blanket. The streetlight painted everything in monochrome: the soft shadows slid over his chest, his breath came in careful, measured huffs that grew deeper each time his wrist twisted. I should have closed my eyes, pretended to sleep. Instead I watched, heart hammering. His rhythm stayed polite even now—never frantic, just relentless, like he was solving an equation with his fist. The blanket rose and fell in a small, perfect waves.

Then the blanket slid to the floor with a soft hush, and the orange streetlight spilling through the blinds gave me just enough to work with: shapes, edges, motion. Ed’s cock rose out of the dark like a pale, straight column, no curve at all, a rigid upright line dark against the meager light from the window.  It looked thick but elegant, the circumcised head clearly visible under his fist rotating around the quietly slurping glans.

Everything below the shaft was shadow, but I could see the steady rise and fall of his wrist, the small, controlled pump that made the whole column flex and gleam at the tip each time.  Then his hips lifted a fraction, his spine arched, and he made the smallest sound I’d ever heard a person make during at the height of passion: a single, breathy “ah” that barely qualified as a moan. Three bright fountains arced up in the orange light, catching the glow like liquid sparks before they splattered silently across his stomach and chest. One, two, three—clean, high, almost elegant. His hand slowed, milking gently, and the room smelled suddenly of warm skin and prosecco and something sweet.

The sight punched the air out of my lungs; my own cock was already aching against the mattress. I didn’t even think—just shoved my right hand under the waistband and stroked twice, three times, embarrassingly fast… It took me mere seconds: I came with my face buried in the pillow to muffle my own groan.  Watching a straight guy jerk off and cum seemed so horny to the drunk me that I had to repeat the whole process an hour later when Ed was blissfully asleep.

Morning arrived too bright and too innocent. When I woke up, Ed was already up, folding his blanket with hospital corners, hair damp from the communal shower. He smiled the same gentle, perfect smile, asked how I’d slept, thanked me for the hospitality, and offered to buy me coffee downstairs. Nothing in his eyes hinted he knew I’d watched, nothing suggested he’d heard me come seconds after he did.

He hugged me lightly at the door—quick, polite, smelling like citrus soap—and disappeared down the hallway humming under his breath. I locked the door, leaned against it, and slid a hand into my pajama pants before the echo of his footsteps had even faded. I pictured him with Lena: gentle Ed on top, glasses fogging as he moved slowly and carefully inside her; then behind her, long fingers gripping her tiny tits while she pushed back against him; then her riding him, his soft voice breaking on her name as he came exactly like he had last night—three perfect arcs, half on her back, half on her folds, almost silent and very polite even in ecstasy. I lasted maybe thirty seconds before I painted my own stomach again, allowing myself a long lonely moan of a wolf in a winter forest. 

I’d pay a lot of money to have his slim body next to mine, that cock moving inside me. Hell, I’d even moan in a feminine voice for him.  Sorry, guys, a jerk off pause.  Will be back. 

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To get in touch with the author, send them an email.

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Volume 1 of the story : “The Best Man At My Brother’s Wedding”.

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I don’t even know what time I drifted off last night. All I know is I woke up the way you’re not supposed to wake up when the world is expecting you to play the perfect little brother. My cheek was pressed against the warm rise of Calvin’s chest, his heartbeat slow and steady under my ear. His arm was heavy across my back like he’d claimed me in his sleep. The sheets smelled like chlorine from the pool and sex.

I opened my eyes, half dazed, and the first thing I saw was the tight stretch of his stomach. Every inhale, every exhale, the muscles jumped faintly, abs contracting like the memory of his body moving inside me hadn’t stopped. For a second, I just stared, letting it replay in my head; the way he pinned me to the suite’s headboard, the way his voice went lower when he told me to take his cock. The kind of night I swore I’d never forget.

And then reality kicked me in the ribs. Today was the rehearsal dinner. Today was family and speeches and acting normal. And I was lying across Calvin like some hungover hookup, the morning light sneaking past the curtains, the whole estate buzzing awake outside.

I pulled back quickly, rolling onto my own pillow before I could drown in the sight of him.

That’s when I heard it…three knocks, sharp and way too familiar.

“Cal? Mason? Boys?”

Nathan.

My stomach dropped.

“Wake up, lazy asses!” Another knock.

Shit.

I turned, smacking Calvin’s shoulder. “Dude. Cal. Wake up.”

His eyes fluttered open, slow and heavy, pupils dark from sleep. His mouth curved with a tired grin, and his voice came out gravelly, stretching my name like a tease.

“Ohhh, Maaaseyyy…”

It was half a moan, half a memory, and it did not help.

“Shut up,” I hissed, sitting up so fast I nearly tripped on the sheet tangled at my waist. My underwear was across the floor, so I scrambled for it, yanking it back on like it might erase everything we’d done.

Calvin propped himself up on one elbow, watching me with that lazy, sexy look that could burn me alive if I let it. His chest tightened as he shifted, pecs flexing with the motion. He reached one hand behind his head, lounging like some god in his throne.

He smirked. “Don’t tell me you’re already begging for round two.”

“Are you insane?” I whispered harshly, scanning the suite like there was evidence taped to the walls. I grabbed his underwear off the floor and chucked it at him. “Put that on. Quick.”

Another knock. Nathan’s voice again. “Boys? You’re still passed out? We’ve got things to do today, come on!”

“Calvin, seriously,” I warned. “Shut the fuck up. Nathan’s right there.”

But Calvin just caught the underwear in one hand, twirling it like he had all the time in the world. His smirk wavered only slightly when Nathan’s footsteps sounded closer.

“I’m opening the door,” I muttered, already moving toward it in nothing but my underwear.

“Wait—” Calvin’s voice lost its cocky edge, his expression shifting into something closer to nervous.

I ignored him. My hand was already on the knob when I glanced back and saw him panic just enough to duck under the blanket. He shoved his underwear beneath the covers with him, hiding, bare skin pressed to the sheets.

I cracked the door open.

Nathan stood there, hair messy from his own night but grin sharp as ever. “Good morning, gentlemen.” His eyes swept the room behind me, then landed on me; half-dressed, clearly not ready for anything. “What is this, a frat house? You guys still knocked out at eleven a.m.?”

I forced a laugh, rubbing the back of my neck. “Late night, I guess.”

He shook his head, stepping closer like he might just barge in. “You know today’s not optional, right? The rehearsal dinner isn’t just about eating free food. You’re both supposed to look presentable.”

Behind me, I heard Calvin shifting, the faint creak of the bed. My heart hammered. If Nathan pushed the door open any farther, he’d see everything….the mess of sheets, Calvin’s bare chest, the evidence of a night that wasn’t supposed to exist.

I leaned against the frame, blocking as much of the view as I could. “We’ll be down soon. Promise.”

Nathan narrowed his eyes, suspicious. Then he grinned. “Don’t make me come drag you out.”

“I’d pay to see that,” Calvin’s voice chimed in suddenly from the bed, low and teasing.

My blood froze.

Nathan tilted his head. “Is he even awake?”

I nodded too quickly. “Yeah, yeah, he’s fine. We’re fine. We’ll shower and be down in like twenty.”

Nathan let out another laugh, giving me that big-brother look that always managed to make me feel like the younger brother again. “Alright. Don’t keep us waiting, Mase.”

He tapped the doorframe once, then walked off down the hall.

The second his footsteps disappeared, I shut the door and turned back.

Calvin was sitting up fully now, the sheet slipping down his stomach. “Relax,” he smirked. “He didn’t see a thing.”

Then, slow as ever, he let the sheet slide off his lap completely. His cock was hard, thick and proud, pointing straight up. His underwear was draped lazily across his chest like some kind of trophy from last night.

He grinned at me, eyes heavy with that smug heat. “Morning wood’s brutal, Masey. You sure you don’t wanna crawl in and take care of it?”

My eyes locked on it instantly; irresistible, taunting, smug like him. I found myself walking toward the bed without even thinking. Calvin leaned back with both hands behind his head, spreading his legs wider, tilting his hips just enough to make his cock stand taller.

“Knew you couldn’t resist this,” he murmured.

I reached out slowly, fingers hovering just above him.

His grin widened.

“Yeah, Maseyy…”

But at the last second, I grabbed the underwear resting on his chest, balled it up, and tossed it onto his cock. “Wear that,” I grinned, turning back toward my luggage. “We’re already late for the wedding shit.”

Calvin burst out laughing. “Oh, Masey!” His hand slid down, stroking himself lazily through the fabric, groaning loud and theatrical like he was putting on a show just for me.

Then he stood. Swaggering. The sheet slipped fully off as he dangled the underwear in his hand, cock swinging side to side with each step like he knew damn well what he was doing.

“Damn” his voice dropped low, almost sing-song, “here I thought I was getting some morning head.”

I bent down to grab my clothes, deliberately slow, deliberately arching my ass just enough to give him a view. My skin prickled with awareness, his eyes burning into me.

“Aaaahhh… Maseeee… don’t do that,” Calvin groaned, a needy edge sneaking into his teasing.

I smirked without turning, clutching the clothes to my chest, and finally spun around to face him. He was still standing there, underwear dangling useless in one hand, his cock heavy and hard in the other. That cocky grin warred with the way his hips betrayed him, rolling forward like he couldn’t help it.

“Get dressed, Cal,” I said, voice light, almost sing-song back at him.

His laugh was loud and unbothered; the same laugh that always gave him away. It followed me as I slipped into the bathroom, door clicking shut behind me, his muffled voice still calling my name through the wood.

————

The rehearsal dinner was the kind of thing my mum lived for. Crystal chandeliers, long tables draped in white linens, waiters in starched uniforms sliding wine glasses onto coasters like they were arranging jewels. The bride’s family had clearly spared no expense, and judging by the way Nathan kept grinning at Olivia (Nathan’s fiancée) whenever their eyes met, every bit of it was worth it.

I sat near the middle of the table, wedged between my cousin-Ben and Nathan’s groomsmen Ralph, smiling politely while the room buzzed with small talk and the faint clink of silverware. My jacket felt stiff, the collar a little too tight, but the problem wasn’t the tailoring. It was Calvin.

Across the table, in a perfectly fitted navy suit that looked like it had been custom-made for him, Calvin leaned back in his chair with his wine glass balanced between his fingers, smirking at something Nathan had just said. The candlelight caught the sharp angle of his jaw, the faint curl of his hair at his forehead, the way his lips seemed to always linger on the edge of a grin. And when his eyes flicked up from his glass and landed on me, I nearly forgot how to breathe.

I forced myself to look down, cutting into the filet on my plate. The chatter around me went on, but all I could feel was Calvin’s gaze like a hand on the back of my neck.

Nathan’s fork clinked against his glass. “All right, everyone,” he said, standing. His voice carried easily over the room. “I know the wedding’s tomorrow, but I wanted to say something now, while I’ve got all of you captive with good wine and Olivia’s favorite food.”

The table chuckled, and Olivia squeezed his hand, eyes glowing.

I tried to focus on my brother, but Calvin stretched out his legs under the table, and for one second, I was sure his shoe brushed my ankle. My head snapped up, and there he was, still smirking, sipping his wine as if nothing had happened.

Nathan went on, talking about Olivia, about how he’d met her at a party and known within five minutes she’d be the one. My chest tightened. Ten years together, countless ups and downs, and tomorrow they’d make it official. Nathan’s words were sweet and a little corny, but he meant every one of them, and I couldn’t help feeling proud.

When the room applauded, Olivia’s eyes were shiny, and Nathan looked like he’d just scored the game-winning touchdown. He sat back down, kissed her cheek and the toast moved to me.

“Mason?” my dad said, tilting his glass toward me. “Care to embarrass your brother a little?”

I stood, the blood rushing hot to my cheeks. Public speaking wasn’t my thing, but Nathan had been waiting his whole life for this. I owed him.

I stood, glass in hand, and cleared my throat. “Alright… I’ll keep this short, because Nathan hates when I talk too much.”

Laughter broke out around the table, and Nathan shook his head with that grin of his, already embarrassed.

“I’ve known Nathan my whole life….unfortunately,” I added, which got another round of laughter. “Growing up with him meant living with a golden retriever in human form. Loyal, loud, excitable… and always somehow knocking things over in his rush to be helpful.”

The table laughed again. Olivia tilted her head, smiling at him, and Nathan shrugged like he knew it was true.

“But here’s the thing,” I continued, letting my voice soften. “Nathan and I have always been close… just not in the way most people might imagine. We weren’t the bros who texted every day or shared every little detail of our lives. We had our own differences, our own worlds. But the bond was always there. Always.”

Nathan’s eyes flicked to mine across the table. He smiled…small, knowing. And in that second, I felt it. The weight of all the years between us, and the memory of one night I’ll never forget.

I swallowed, blinked, and pushed forward. “He’s been there for me in ways most people will never know. Especially during the harder times. And that’s why he’ll always hold a special place in my heart.”

The table had gone quiet, listening. Nathan’s smile hadn’t left his face, but now his eyes were a little glassy.

“And Olivia…” I shifted, looking at her now. “Thank you. For loving him, for grounding him, for seeing him the way I always hoped someone would. You balance out all that golden retriever energy with patience and grace. Honestly, you make him better.”

From the back of the room, Ralph shouted, “You’re gonna make him cry!” and the tension broke into warm laughter. Nathan wiped at his face quickly, shaking his head.

I raised my glass, smiling. “So here’s to Nathan and Olivia; may your life together be messy, loud, full of love, and never short on wagging tails.”

Everyone clinked glasses. Nathan pulled Olivia into his side, still grinning through the tears. I sat down, my heart pounding a little too fast…especially when I caught Calvin watching me with that unreadable look.

Glasses clinked, applause filled the room, and I sat back down, my pulse racing. I could feel Calvin’s eyes on me again, heavier this time. When I finally risked a glance across the table, he was leaning forward, chin resting on his hand, watching me like he was seeing straight through the suit, the smile, the speech…down to every nerve lit up inside me.

The rest of dinner blurred. Waiters cleared plates, wine was refilled, stories were told. Nathan’s friends from college went on about their wild road trip, Olivia’s maid of honor shared a story about her sneaking out of her dorm. I laughed in all the right places, nodded politely, but all I really felt was the heat building across the table.

Every time I glanced up, Calvin was already looking. Sometimes he licked his lips, slow and deliberate, like he wanted me to notice. Sometimes he tilted his head, like he was daring me. And sometimes, like when Olivia leaned over to whisper something to Nathan…his hand slid along the stem of his glass in a way that made my throat dry.

By dessert, my nerves were frayed. I excused myself, muttering something about needing the bathroom, and pushed back my chair.

As I slipped through the crowd, I caught it: the scrape of Calvin’s chair against the floor, a beat after mine.

I didn’t turn around.

The hallway outside the ballroom was quieter, lined with mirrors and gold-trimmed sconces. My shoes clicked softly against the marble floor. I passed the men’s bathroom door, then stopped at the second, my pulse hammering.

The men’s bathroom was empty when I stepped inside, the hush swallowing me whole. The heavy door swung shut behind me with a dull thud.

I crossed to the sink, bracing my hands against the cool marble, watching my reflection ripple under the bright lights. My chest rose and fell too fast. I let out a shaky breath, trying to come down from the speech, from the stares, from him.

The door creaked again.

Footsteps.

I glanced at the mirror, and my stomach dropped.

Calvin.

He slipped in like he owned the place, jacket gone, tie loose at his throat, his grin sharp and hungry.

“Well,” he said, voice low and amused, “that was some speech, Masey boy.”

The sound of it in the tiled room made my skin prickle.

I turned halfway toward him, pulse hammering. “You followed me.”

“Damn right I did.” He tugged at his cuffs, rolling his sleeves slow, casual, like he had all the time in the world. “Couldn’t take my eyes off you all night.”

A shaky laugh escaped me before I could stop it.

His eyes caught mine, darker now, as he pushed off the door and started toward me.

And in that instant, I knew…this night was far from over.

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Chapter 1: A Royal Wedding in Avalon

The shimmering holographic projections danced across the walls of the Grand Palace ballroom, showcasing intricate designs that seamlessly blended Avalon’s futuristic architecture with its ancient, deeply rooted traditions. Johnnie, Prince of Avalon, ran a hand through his meticulously styled hair, a nervous flutter in his stomach despite the outward calm he projected. Today was the day. Today, he married Harry. Harry, his activist partner, stood before a full-length mirror, his own reflection framed by the ornate gold detailing of the mirror’s frame. The tailored suit, a masterpiece of shimmering obsidian fabric woven with threads of silver, fit him perfectly, accentuating his broad shoulders and lean frame. A small, almost imperceptible smile played on his lips as he adjusted the delicate silver cufflinks, a gift from Johnnie. These weren’t just cufflinks; they were miniature holographic projectors, capable of displaying short messages and images – a subtle nod to Avalon’s advanced technology and their unique love story. The wedding preparations were a whirlwind of activity, a carefully orchestrated ballet of futuristic efficiency and traditional elegance. Drones zipped silently through the air, delivering last-minute arrangements of genetically engineered, luminescent orchids that pulsed with soft, ethereal light. Teams of stylists, clad in sleek, silver uniforms, moved with practiced grace, attending to the final details of the elaborate decorations. The air buzzed with the low hum of energy fields, subtly maintaining the optimal temperature and humidity for the event, ensuring the comfort of the thousands of guests expected to attend. Johnnie and Harry’s wedding was not just a celebration of their love; it was a landmark event for Avalon. It marked a significant step forward in the kingdom’s embrace of social progress, showcasing the evolving definition of family and gender roles within their technologically advanced society. Male pregnancy, a biological marvel achieved through advancements in genetic engineering and reproductive technology, was perfectly normal in Avalon. Harry’s pregnancy, a joyous surprise that had emerged just weeks after the Queen’s passing, only added another layer of significance to the momentous occasion. The wedding cake, a towering masterpiece of sculpted sugar and edible holographic projections, was a sight to behold. It depicted the history of Avalon, from its mythical beginnings to its current era of technological marvel, with Johnnie and Harry’s silhouettes subtly interwoven into the design. The projections themselves shifted,   narrating scenes from Avalon’s history, with a final flourish showcasing the couple’s journey together. Each layer represented a significant milestone in their relationship, from their first meeting at a human rights rally to their engagement in the heart of the Royal Gardens. The guest list was a testament to Avalon’s diverse and inclusive society. Representatives from neighboring kingdoms, renowned scientists, prominent activists, and ordinary citizens filled the grand hall, their attire a breathtaking kaleidoscope of colors and styles. Many guests wore garments incorporating elements of traditional Avalon design woven with modern, sustainable fabrics. The blending of tradition and modernity in the wedding celebrations perfectly mirrored the progressive ethos of the Kingdom. Amidst the flurry of preparations, Johnnie found himself stealing moments with Harry. They exchanged quiet words of reassurance and affection, their fingers intertwining as they reaffirmed their commitment to each other. The weight of their upcoming roles as joint monarchs added an extra layer of responsibility to their already significant day, but their love remained a steadfast anchor. They knew this wedding wasn’t just about them; it was about the future of Avalon, about setting a precedent for acceptance and equality. Avalon’s advanced technology played a central role in the wedding preparations. Holographic displays showcased the seating arrangements, a dynamic map of the ballroom constantly adjusting to reflect the flow of guests. Personalized messages from well-wishers streamed across the holographic displays, a testament to the love and support the couple enjoyed. The catering system, a marvel of culinary robotics, seamlessly prepared a vast array of dishes that cater to every possible dietary need and preference. The food, grown in Avalon’s sustainable vertical farms, was a celebration of Avalon’s technological innovations and commitment to environmental responsibility. The music for the ceremony was composed by renowned musician, Lyra Nova, specifically for the occasion. The pieces were hauntingly beautiful, a mix of traditional Avalon melodies interwoven with futuristic electronic elements. The music filled the grand ballroom, creating a magical, almost mystical ambiance. Lyra had incorporated traditional instruments like the Avalon harp with synthesizers and digital sound manipulation. This innovative blend served as another testament to the dynamic balance between the old and new in Avalon’s society. The wedding attire itself reflected this innovative blend of tradition and modernity. Johnnie’s ceremonial robes were a striking example of Avalon’s haute couture. The fabric, a shimmering, iridescent material created using bioluminescent algae, seemed to shift colors with every movement. Intricate silver embroidery, depicting symbols of Avalon’s history, adorned the robes, highlighting the deep connection between the present and the past. The same bioluminescent fabric was subtly incorporated into Harry’s suit, adding a subtle shimmer to the obsidian fabric. The guest list itself had been carefully curated, reflecting the diverse and inclusive nature of Avalon’s society. There were representatives from numerous cultures, both within and outside Avalon. Alongside political leaders and renowned scientists were ordinary citizens who had been touched by the couple’s activism. This carefully balanced mix served as a powerful visual representation of the progressive values that Johnnie and Harry embodied. The diversity among guests added to the vibrant ambiance. Languages flowed freely as guests greeted each other, sharing stories and congratulations. As the day progressed, the excitement in the air was palpable. The palace staff, trained in impeccable etiquette and efficiency, moved with practiced grace, ensuring that every detail was perfect. Johnnie and Harry, despite the overwhelming nature of the preparations, found solace in each other’s presence. Their love, a beacon of hope and resilience, shone brightly amidst the grandeur and anticipation. They were not only preparing for their wedding but were also preparing for the monumental task of leading Avalon into a new era of progress and equality. The final preparations involved a meticulous review of the holographic security system, designed to ensure the safety and security of the event. The system was not only capable of monitoring potential threats, but also of providing a comprehensive record of the wedding festivities. This ensured that the joyous occasion would be preserved for generations to come. The holographic projections of Avalon’s history interspersed within the ballroom’s design offered a glimpse into the kingdom’s rich heritage. As sunset painted the sky in hues of orange and violet, the final touches were completed. The ballroom shimmered, ready to welcome the guests, and the anticipation filled the air. It was not simply a royal wedding; it was a testament to love, equality, and the bright future of Avalon. Johnnie and Harry, standing hand-in-hand, felt the weight of the expectations but also the warmth of their love and the immense support surrounding them. As the first guests arrived, their journey toward a new chapter in their lives – and in the history of Avalon – began. The music swelled, a harmonious blend of traditional Avalon strings and futuristic synth melodies, as the first guests began to arrive. Among them, Johnnie recognized familiar faces – diplomats from allied nations, representatives from various sectors of Avalonian society, and, of course, the extended royal family. But his gaze kept returning to a single figure seated near the head table, her regal bearing unmistakable even amidst the glittering throng. Queen Sharon, his mother, was the heart of Avalon, a woman whose wisdom and strength had guided the kingdom for decades. Her presence, however, was less vibrant than Johnnie remembered. A subtle pallor lay beneath her carefully applied makeup, and a faint tremor ran through her hands as she delicately sipped her champagne. He knew, even before the official announcement, that something was amiss. The whispers among the courtiers, the hushed conversations he’d overheard earlier in the day – they all pointed to a truth he desperately hoped to avoid. Later, during the reception, the air shifted. The joyous laughter dimmed, replaced by a nervous hush that rippled through the ballroom. Johnnie saw his father, King Theron, approach his mother with a concerned look. A ripple of whispers spread, quickly escalating into a low hum of anxiety. Johnnie and Harry exchanged a worried glance. Something was terribly wrong. The announcement came as a crushing blow, delivered with a solemnity that silenced the entire ballroom. Queen Sharon had suffered a severe heart attack. The gravity of the situation settled upon everyone like a shroud. The joyous celebration dissolved into a sea of shocked faces. The carefully crafted illusion of perfect harmony crumbled, revealing the raw vulnerability beneath. The news struck Johnnie like a physical blow. His mother, the rock of Avalon, the woman who had championed equality and progress, was fighting for her life. He felt a cold dread grip his heart, a stark contrast to the warmth of his love for Harry, who stood beside him, his hand a comforting presence in the chaos. The wedding, postponed indefinitely, faded into insignificance. The opulent ballroom, once a symbol of hope and celebration, now felt like a mausoleum. Johnnie and Harry, along with King Theron, rushed to the Queen’s side at the royal medical facility. Advanced technology pulsed around them; life support systems hummed, their lights reflecting in the anxious eyes of the attending physicians. The air crackled with tension, every beep of the heart monitor a stark reminder of the fragility of life.    Days blurred into a nightmarish haze. Johnnie spent sleepless nights by his mother’s bedside, his hand clasped in hers, whispering words of comfort and love. Harry, ever supportive, remained his steadfast anchor, providing a quiet strength that helped Johnnie navigate the emotional turmoil. He brought Johnnie food, ensured he rested when he could, and simply was there, a constant presence of calm amidst the storm. The doctors, while remaining cautiously optimistic, were frank about the severity of the Queen’s condition. Her heart, they explained, had been weakened by years of relentless dedication to her people, a testament to her unwavering commitment to Avalon. During those harrowing days, Johnnie found himself reflecting on his mother’s legacy. Queen Sharon wasn’t just a ruler; she was a symbol of change, a champion of progress who had spearheaded countless initiatives to improve the lives of Avalonians. She had fought tirelessly for LGBTQ+ rights, ensuring that individuals like him and Harry could live openly and without fear. She’d championed advancements in reproductive technology, making male pregnancy a reality, a triumph hailed by many but met with skepticism and fear in other parts of the galaxy. Her reign had been marked by both significant accomplishments and undeniable challenges, but her unwavering dedication had always been the constant thread. He remembered her impassioned speeches, the fire in her eyes as she passionately advocated for social justice. He remembered her gentle hand on his shoulder, her words of encouragement during difficult times. He remembered her fierce love for her family and her deep-seated belief in the potential of Avalon’s people. Her life was not just a story of royal lineage; it was a testament to the power of empathy, courage, and unwavering dedication to a vision of a better future. The medical team worked tirelessly, employing cutting-edge technology and innovative techniques to stabilize the Queen. They used nanobots to repair damaged heart tissue, advanced stem cell therapies to regenerate cells, and a host of other futuristic procedures that pushed the boundaries of medical science. But despite their best efforts, Queen Sharon’s condition remained precarious. One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the hospital room, Harry gently touched Johnnie’s arm. “I think… I think we should prepare ourselves,” he said softly, his voice choked with emotion. Johnnie nodded, tears welling in his eyes. He knew what Harry meant. He knew, deep down, that he had to say goodbye to the woman who had shaped his life, who had taught him the meaning of true leadership, and who had loved him unconditionally.   The next morning, as the first rays of dawn illuminated the sterile hospital room, Queen Sharon passed away peacefully, surrounded by her loved ones. The news spread like wildfire, a wave of grief washing over Avalon. The kingdom mourned the loss of its beloved Queen, the woman who had guided them through progress and prosperity, and had shown them a path towards a brighter future. Flags were lowered to half-mast, holographic memorials sprang up across the city, and Avalonians from all walks of life shared their memories and condolences, celebrating a life dedicated to service and unwavering compassion. In the days that followed, Johnnie and Harry found solace in each other’s arms. Their grief was immense, but their love, forged in a crucible of joy and sorrow, proved stronger than ever. They were united in their sorrow, but also in their commitment to carry on Queen Sharon’s legacy. The weight of their upcoming coronation felt heavier now, a solemn responsibility to honour the memory of the woman who had paved the way for their joint reign. Yet, amidst the sorrow, a flicker of hope remained – a reminder that love, like the spirit of Avalon itself, could endure even the deepest pain. The Queen’s legacy was not just in the laws she passed and the reforms she implemented, but in the values she embodied – values that Johnnie and Harry now vowed to uphold and cherish. They would govern with wisdom, compassion, and a deep commitment to the future, ensuring that the progressive spirit she’d instilled in Avalon would continue to thrive. They knew this was a huge responsibility, but they also knew that they would have each other, and the memory of Queen Sharon’s strength, to guide them. And in the quiet moments, amid the grief, a new hope began to dawn – the hope of a child, a new life to carry the torch, a new generation to continue the legacy of love, progress, and equality that their mother had tirelessly championed. The seeds of that hope were already taking root. The journey ahead would be challenging, but it was one they would face together, for themselves, for Avalon, and for the memory of Queen Sharon. The air crackled with anticipation, a palpable energy humming beneath the surface of the meticulously planned celebration. The scent of exotic blossoms, a carefully curated blend designed to evoke the spirit of Avalon, mingled with the faint aroma of champagne and the nervous excitement of the assembled guests. Johnnie, resplendent in his custom-designed wedding attire – a shimmering, silver-threaded tunic that subtly reflected the light – felt a hand clasp his. Harry’s fingers interlocked with his, a silent promise of support and unwavering love in the face of the momentous occasion. Their eyes met, a shared glance that transcended the glittering ballroom, the expectant guests, and even the weight of the royal occasion itself. It was a look that spoke of a love story years in the making, a love that had blossomed amidst social upheaval and found strength in the face of adversity. The music swelled, a glorious crescendo that seemed to mirror the joyous occasion. A wave of warmth washed over Johnnie as he gazed at the assembled guests, their faces illuminated by a mixture of happiness and respect. He saw his family, their expressions a blend of pride and bittersweet emotion, knowing that this day marked not only the start of his own chapter, but also the passing of the torch to a new generation. His eyes found his mother, Queen Sharon, seated near the head table, her presence radiating a quiet strength and regal dignity that had shaped Avalon for decades. Then, a hush fell over the ballroom. The music faltered, replaced by a hushed, nervous whisper that spread like wildfire through the crowd. A flurry of activity erupted near the head table, whispers escalating into alarmed murmurs. Johnnie’s heart lurched. He felt Harry stiffen beside him, their shared apprehension palpable. A figure, one of the Queen’s closest advisors, hurried towards them, his face etched with worry. “Your Majesty, Prince Johnnie,” the advisor began, his voice strained, “we have received… distressing news.” The advisor’s words hung in the air, heavy and ominous. He explained, his voice trembling slightly, that Queen Sharon had suffered a severe heart attack during the pre-wedding reception. The news spread through the ballroom like a chilling wave, silencing the music and extinguishing the celebratory glow. The faces of the guests shifted from joyous expectation to shocked concern. Johnnie felt a cold dread clutch at his heart, the festive atmosphere dissolving into a suffocating blanket of fear. The wedding, so meticulously planned, so brimming with hope and promise, was abruptly put on hold. The elegant ballroom, once filled with laughter and light, now echoed with the weight of unspoken fear and the silent whispers of grief. Johnnie’s carefully crafted smile evaporated, replaced by an expression of raw terror. He could feel Harry’s trembling beside him, the strength he usually exuded replaced by a vulnerability that mirrored his own. With the Queen’s health suddenly in critical condition, the wedding ceremony became secondary. Johnnie and Harry, their own joyous future momentarily overshadowed, were whisked away to the royal hospital. The vibrant colors of the wedding attire now seemed jarringly out of place, a stark contrast to the sterile, clinical environment of the medical facility. The waiting room, normally a place of hope and anticipation, felt like a cage of anxiety. Hours stretched into an eternity. The silence was punctuated only by the rhythmic beeping of heart monitors and the hushed whispers of medical staff. Johnnie and Harry held each other close, their bodies trembling with a mixture of fear and uncertainty. They had envisioned this day as a celebration of love and commitment, a beacon of hope for the future of Avalon. Now, the weight of uncertainty bore down upon them, threatening to extinguish the light of their joy. The news finally arrived – a heart-wrenching announcement that shattered their already fragile hope. Queen Sharon had passed away, leaving behind a kingdom in mourning and a future shrouded in uncertainty. The once vibrant tapestry of their wedding day had been replaced by a somber gray. The weight of their mother’s passing bore down on them, an unbearable burden of loss and responsibility. The following days were a blur of royal protocol, condolences, and mourning. Avalon was plunged into a period of national grief, its citizens united by their shared loss. Johnnie and Harry, in their shared sorrow, found solace in each other’s arms, their love a beacon in the darkness. Their wedding celebrations, now irrevocably transformed into a memorial, highlighted the ephemeral nature of life and the importance of cherishing every moment. The weight of their future responsibilities—as the new monarchs—became even heavier, shadowed by the depth of their sorrow. They moved through the state funerals, the official condolences, the countless expressions of grief from the people of Avalon, their own sorrow weaving a thick tapestry around their hearts. Each sympathetic gesture was a poignant reminder of the loss they shared. They saw their mother’s life reflected not only in the formal pronouncements and official tributes but also in the countless stories shared by everyday Avalonians. They heard anecdotes of her warmth, her kindness, her unwavering support of social progress, all of which strengthened their resolve to carry on her legacy. Amidst the grief, the reality of their impending coronation loomed. The preparation required was immense, demanding, and deeply affecting. There were countless discussions with advisors, preparations for the ceremonies, and the relentless weight of addressing the myriad needs of their kingdom. It was during these moments that Harry discovered he was pregnant. The news, initially met with stunned silence, quickly morphed into a profound sense of hope amid the sadness. The thought of a new life growing within Harry, a new generation taking root amidst the immense grief, served as a symbol of resilience and renewal. It was a testament to the enduring strength of life, mirroring the spirit of Avalon itself. It was a small spark of light, piercing through the darkness and illuminating a path towards the future. The child became a symbol of hope, a promise of continuity and a tangible legacy to honor Queen Sharon’s memory. Johnnie, still reeling from the loss of his mother, found strength in Harry’s burgeoning pregnancy. It was a promise of continuity, of life springing forth even in the midst of death. The burgeoning life within Harry offered them both a powerful sense of purpose, a renewed sense of direction amidst the overwhelming grief. The joy of the impending birth was a soothing balm to their collective sorrow. The coronation, originally planned as a joyous celebration, became a solemn yet hopeful event. It was a declaration of their commitment to their people, a promise to carry on Queen Sharon’s legacy of social progress and inclusion, and a tribute to their enduring love in the face of immense loss. The joint coronation of Prince Johnnie and Harry was not a spectacle of extravagant celebration but a deeply moving ceremony, a quiet acknowledgment of their shared loss and a resolute step into their future. The somber tone echoed the kingdom’s collective grief, but the presence of hope, carried in the form of a new life within Harry, provided a subtle yet powerful counterpoint. It was a moment that served as both a memorial and a testament to the strength of the human spirit. The journey was far from over. The path ahead for Johnnie and Harry would certainly be filled with challenges, the weight of the crown a constant reminder of their responsibilities. But they had each other, a shared grief, a growing family, and the enduring legacy of Queen Sharon to guide them. They had the memory of her warmth and strength, a beacon in the darkest of times. And as they stood side by side, new monarchs of Avalon, they knew that love, like the kingdom itself, would endure, adapting, evolving, and growing stronger in the face of all adversity. The child, a symbol of hope and renewal, would be a reminder that even in the deepest sorrow, life continues, vibrant and full of promise. The joyous cacophony of the wedding celebration dissolved into a stunned silence. The vibrant music faltered, replaced by a hushed whisper that spread like wildfire through the ballroom. The laughter died, leaving behind a heavy, suffocating emptiness. The news arrived like a physical blow, shattering the carefully constructed illusion of happiness: Queen Sharon had suffered a massive heart attack. The official announcement, delivered with clipped formality by a trembling Lord Chamberlain, felt surreal, a cruel twist in a narrative that had only moments before been filled with fairytale romance. Johnnie’s carefully composed smile crumbled, replaced by a stark, bewildered expression. He felt Harry’s hand tighten in his, a lifeline in the swirling vortex of disbelief and despair. The glittering ballroom, once a beacon of celebration, now felt like a gilded cage, trapping them in a nightmare. The weight of the crown, once a symbol of future joy, now pressed down with the crushing weight of unimaginable loss. The following days were a blur of somber rituals and hushed condolences. The court, normally a hive of activity, moved with the measured pace of a funeral procession. Johnnie, thrust into the role of acting monarch, found himself navigating a labyrinth of protocol and grieving simultaneously. He was expected to be the stoic pillar of strength, the unflappable leader, but the grief gnawed at him, a relentless tide eroding the foundations of his composure. Harry, ever his rock, offered unwavering support. He navigated the maze of royal etiquette with surprising grace, his compassion and empathy proving to be invaluable assets during this tumultuous period. He moved among the mourners, offering comfort and understanding, his words a balm to the raw wounds of grief. He was the quiet strength behind Johnnie’s carefully maintained composure, a silent reassurance in the face of overwhelming sorrow. But behind the carefully constructed façade of royal stoicism, a deep well of uncertainty churned. The Queen’s passing left a gaping hole in the heart of Avalon, a void that seemed impossible to fill. Sharon had been more than just a monarch; she had been the unwavering moral compass of the kingdom, a beacon of progressive thought and unwavering support for her people. Her loss reverberated through every facet of Avalon society, shaking the foundations of a kingdom that had come to rely on her wisdom and strength. The future stretched before them, a vast and uncharted territory. Johnnie and Harry, poised to ascend to the throne, were burdened not only with the weight of their new responsibilities but also with the legacy of a beloved Queen. The expectation was immense – to emulate Sharon’s leadership, to uphold her progressive ideals, and to guide Avalon into a new era of peace and prosperity. The pressure was almost unbearable.   The coronation, originally intended as a joyous celebration, became a solemn affirmation of their commitment to the kingdom. The ceremony was stripped of its opulent extravagance, replaced with a profound sense of reverence and mourning. Johnnie and Harry, dressed in simple, yet regal attire, exchanged vows not just of love but also of service. They were not just pledging their love to each other, they were pledging their lives to Avalon. Their unity was a symbol of hope in the midst of profound loss. It was a promise to the people that even in the face of tragedy, Avalon would endure. The following weeks were a delicate dance between grief and duty. Johnnie and Harry found themselves immersed in the complex machinations of state, wrestling with issues ranging from foreign policy to internal economic reform. The weight of responsibility was immense, yet they found strength in their shared sorrow. Their love story, which had begun amidst the chaos of social activism, now faced its most significant test – the leadership of an entire kingdom in the shadow of immense loss. One evening, amidst the endless stream of paperwork and official engagements, Harry confided in Johnnie. He hadn’t been feeling well. A persistent nausea, coupled with an overwhelming fatigue, had been plaguing him for weeks. Initially dismissed as the stress of the recent events, the symptoms intensified, compelling him to seek medical attention. The results arrived like a thunderbolt, a shocking revelation amidst the ongoing mourning: Harry was pregnant. The news sent ripples of astonishment through the royal court. While male pregnancy was not uncommon in Avalon, the timing was profoundly ironic, a stark contrast to the pervasive grief. It was as if the universe had deliberately played a cruel yet beautiful joke, offering a glimmer of hope in the deepest depths of despair. The news, however, was met with mixed reactions. Some celebrated the impending arrival of a royal heir, viewing it as a symbol of renewal and hope. Others, still reeling from the Queen’s death, found the news insensitive, a jarring juxtaposition to their ongoing mourning. The court was divided, reflecting the complex emotions that surged through Avalon itself. For Johnnie and Harry, the news was both a blessing and a burden. The prospect of parenthood, a dream they had cherished for years, was now overlaid with the intense grief for Queen Sharon and the immense responsibility of ruling Avalon. The joy of the impending birth was tempered by the weight of their grief, creating a complex tapestry of emotions that they were struggling to unravel. The pregnancy added another layer of complexity to their lives, requiring a careful balancing act between their duties as monarchs and their personal needs. Harry’s health became the paramount concern, necessitating adjustments to their official schedules and a renewed focus on self-care. Johnnie, accustomed to his own physical demands, discovered a new appreciation for the fragility of life and the extraordinary strength required of his partner. Their relationship deepened during this challenging period. The shared grief, intensified by the joy of the impending arrival of their child, forged an unbreakable bond between them. They leaned on each other for support, sharing both the weight of their sorrow and the excitement of their future. Their love story, once a narrative of social activism and personal struggle, now became a testament to the resilience of the human spirit, the power of love to transcend even the deepest of sorrows. The child, as they both knew, would also represent a legacy of inclusivity, a symbol of Avalon’s continued progress. It would also be a living reminder of Sharon’s vision of a kingdom where love and equality reigned supreme. It was, indeed, a poignant contrast: the darkness of death juxtaposed with the promise of life. As they navigated this uncharted territory, Johnnie and Harry began to find a rhythm to their new roles. They learned to balance the demands of their duties with their personal needs, their mutual support proving to be their greatest asset. The weight of the crown was still heavy, but they carried it together, their love providing a solid foundation in a kingdom grappling with loss and a future yet undefined. They found solace in their shared grief, and they found hope in the promise of a new life, a new generation, and a new future for Avalon. The future was still uncertain, yet with each passing day, their hope blossomed, strengthened by their love, their shared grief, and the extraordinary promise of their child. The weight of the crown was still there, heavy on their shoulders, but in each other’s arms, they found the strength to bear it, and together they would lead Avalon into the future, a future painted with hope, tempered by the poignant memory of the Queen, and brightened by the promise of a new life. The days that followed Queen Sharon’s passing were a blur of somber rituals and hushed conversations. The opulent palace, once alive with laughter and music, was now draped in a somber veil of mourning. Johnnie, usually radiating warmth and charm, carried himself with a quiet dignity, his shoulders burdened by the weight of his new responsibilities. Harry, ever the pragmatist, moved with a quiet efficiency, offering Johnnie unwavering support. Their grief was a shared burden, a silent understanding that passed between them in lingering glances and comforting touches. The initial shock gave way to a profound sadness, a deep ache in their chests that mirrored the emptiness left by the Queen’s absence. They found solace in each other’s arms, seeking comfort in the familiar warmth of their love. The grand scale of their grief was matched only by the enormity of their new roles. They were no longer simply Prince Johnnie and his activist partner, Harry; they were the future of Avalon, the monarchs tasked with guiding their kingdom through uncharted waters. The royal council, a gathering of esteemed advisors and dignitaries, convened frequently, their discussions often heavy with the weight of tradition and the uncertainty of the future. Johnnie, with his innate diplomacy and Harry’s sharp intellect, found themselves navigating complex political landscapes, tackling issues ranging from economic reform to interstellar relations. They faced these challenges not as individuals, but as a unified force, their complementary strengths forming a powerful partnership. Their days were long and demanding, filled with endless meetings, official decrees, and public appearances. Yet, amidst the chaos, they carved out small moments of intimacy, stolen moments of quietude amidst the whirlwind of their new lives. These precious moments were a lifeline, a constant reminder of their shared love and their unwavering commitment to each other. In the stillness of their private quarters, away from the prying eyes of the court, they would simply hold each other, finding solace in the familiar rhythm of their heartbeats. One evening, as they sat side-by-side on their balcony, overlooking the sprawling city below, Harry confessed a surprising piece of news. He was pregnant. The revelation hung in the air, a silent testament to their enduring love and a powerful symbol of hope in the midst of their grief. Johnnie, initially speechless, reacted with an overwhelming wave of emotion. Joy, fear, and a profound sense of responsibility washed over him. They embraced, tears streaming down their faces, a mixture of joy and sorrow intermingling within their hearts. The pregnancy was unexpected, a beautiful anomaly in the midst of their turmoil. It was a symbol of life and renewal, a promise of the future that shone brightly against the backdrop of their sorrow. It changed their roles from newly crowned monarchs to soon-to-be parents, adding another layer to their already monumental tasks. They discussed the implications openly, considering the challenges and the overwhelming joy that their impending parenthood presented. They decided to share the news publicly, a symbol of openness and transparency in their reign. The announcement was met with an outpouring of support from the citizens of Avalon. The news of Harry’s pregnancy brought a renewed sense of optimism, a symbol of hope and progress. It transcended the political realm, becoming a national celebration. The people saw in it a testament to their love, their unity, and the progressive values of their kingdom. Preparing for the arrival of their child brought a fresh perspective to their reign. They commissioned the construction of a state-of-the-art nursery, incorporating cutting-edge technology to ensure the well-being of their baby. They poured over books and articles on childcare, learning together and supporting each other through this new phase of their lives. The pregnancy also brought about a shift in their governance. They delegated more responsibilities, creating a stronger support system within the royal court. They realized the importance of work-life balance, a concept that was becoming increasingly crucial in their new roles. They learned to prioritize, recognizing that they couldn’t pour themselves entirely into every aspect of their leadership without compromising their well-being and that of their unborn child. The final months of Harry’s pregnancy were filled with anticipation and excitement. They celebrated the impending arrival of their child with a private ceremony, surrounded by their closest friends and family. The intimacy of the occasion was a stark contrast to the grandeur of their wedding, but it held a deeper significance. It was a celebration of their love, their commitment, and the new chapter they were about to begin. Avalon eagerly awaited the arrival of their royal heir. The city pulsated with a renewed energy, a collective hope for the future. The weight of their grief remained, a poignant reminder of the Queen’s legacy, but it was now intertwined with the anticipation of new beginnings. The people of Avalon had found a renewed sense of purpose, their loyalty shifting towards the new royal couple. They saw in Johnnie and Harry not just rulers, but leaders who embodied the very essence of love, compassion, and progress. The city looked to them with a mixture of admiration, hope, and a deep sense of devotion. The birth of their son was a momentous occasion. News spread through Avalon like wildfire. The streets erupted in celebration, people rejoicing in the arrival of their future king. Johnnie and Harry, exhausted but exhilarated, held their newborn son in their arms. The weight of the crown, once an insurmountable burden, felt lighter now, shared between three. The new life, the new family, was their source of strength and their beacon of hope. They stood united, a beacon of love and progress for their kingdom, a testament to the power of love in a futuristic world embracing a new definition of family. Their shared journey, filled with the highs of royal weddings and the lows of royal grief, culminated in the ultimate symbol of hope – the birth of their child, the heir to Avalon, their legacy solidified, not merely in the annals of history but within the heart of a new generation. The future of Avalon, once uncertain, now bloomed with possibility, rooted in the love of two kings and their child. Their shared burden had become a shared joy, the weight of the crown balanced by the weight of their love and the promise of a future defined by equality and acceptance. This was only the beginning of their story, and it was a story they would weave together, step by step, ruling Avalon with love and compassion as a family.

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The first video didn’t appear on a major platform. It didn’t explode into hashtags or hit global feeds. It surfaced quietly — like a stain spreading under a closed door — on a tiny Telegram gossip channel called Seychelles Shadows, known mostly for petty workplace drama and blurry nightclub photos.

No one expected anything truly explosive to appear there.

Least of all: Pierre-André Adam.

The clip was only eleven seconds long.

No face.
No name.
Just a voice — trembling, breathy, unmistakably his — echoing in a cramped storage room.

It didn’t show anything explicit. But it didn’t have to.
His tone alone was damning: pleading, desperate, stripped of the polished confidence that generations of students had grown up admiring.

People didn’t share it because of what it showed.
They shared it because of who they realized it must be.

Within an hour, the video reached the phones of two ICS interns, and panic rippled through their private WhatsApp.

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WHATSAPP — ICS INTERN GROUP

Ama:
Guys please tell me that’s NOT Pierre???

Léa:
The voice. It’s the voice. I used to hear it every day during field training. I feel SICK.

Kiran:
I can’t even process this. How did this get online???

Ama:
Someone says it came from his phone. Like his OWN phone. I’m shaking.

Léa:
Don’t send it here. If admin sees this chat we’re dead.

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By sunrise, the clip had spread across half the conservation community.

By noon, it hit the ICS headquarters.

Board members weren’t tech-savvy enough to understand Telegram, but they were savvy enough to recognize a public relations disaster. Screenshots were printed out physically — placed in manila folders as if they were legal evidence. Even then, they stared at the papers like they were radioactive.

Pierre wasn’t in the office that day.

He was waist-deep in a lagoon, collecting coral fragments for transplantation, oblivious to the digital wildfire waiting for him onshore.

When he finally checked his phone at 11:47 a.m., his notifications were a solid, unbroken wall.

47 missed calls
112 messages
8 emails titled URGENT — RESPOND NOW

For a long moment, he stood on the sand unable to breathe, his wetsuit dripping, salt drying on his skin. His world — controlled, disciplined, orderly — had ruptured.

And he knew immediately which video it must have been.

He didn’t delete it when he should’ve.
He didn’t hide it as carefully as he thought.
He didn’t imagine anyone would ever find it.

His hands shook so violently he dropped his phone into the sand.

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EMAIL EXCERPT — ICS ADMIN (Internal)

Subject: Crisis Management — Adam Situation
We need to contain this before donors are alerted.
Please advise all staff not to engage, comment, or forward the material.
This is a developing reputational threat.

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EMAIL EXCERPT — ICS BOARD MEMBER

Subject: URGENT: VIDEO
We need to determine two things immediately:

1. Authenticity

2. Whether this was filmed on ICS premises
   If so, this becomes catastrophic.

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But it was too late — authenticity didn’t matter.
In the age of instant sharing, perception beats truth every time.

The narrative formed without his permission.
Without his input.
Without his defense.

---

At 3:12 p.m., Pierre forced himself to walk into the ICS office.

The hallways were silent.
People avoided his eyes.
Some turned away entirely.

He had spent years here — teaching interns how to tag turtles, collecting data during bleaching events, writing reports that shaped policy. Now he moved through the building like a ghost no one knew how to speak to.

One intern accidentally met his gaze. She flinched so visibly she nearly dropped her field notebook.

Pierre closed himself in his office, chest tight, fingers trembling as he reread the messages.

What happened?
Is this really you??
Call me IMMEDIATELY.
They know.

He felt nauseous.

His secret — the one he filmed only for himself — had become communal property.

His first instinct was survival:
delete everything, deny everything, retreat, hide, bury.

But the video kept spreading.

By evening, people outside ICS were commenting.
Lecturers from the University of Seychelles.
Former classmates.
A moderator from a marine biology Discord.

One message hit him harder than the rest:

“I always knew something was off about him.”

He stared at the text until the letters blurred.

People weren’t just watching him fall — they were rewriting who he had been all along.

---

FACEBOOK POST — Local Gossip Page

Has anyone seen the video of that conservation guy??? The tall swimmer?? Something is VERY wrong.

Comment 1: That’s the ICS golden boy right?
Comment 2: Omg I heard he taught at my cousin’s school.
Comment 3: Scary how people hide things.
Comment 4: No way that’s him. Doesn’t look like him.
Comment 5: The voice IS him.

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That night, Pierre locked himself in his apartment.
He paced.
He sweated.
He replayed the clip over and over, trying to understand how it escaped.

Every time he heard his own breathy voice, panic clawed up his throat.

He’d always been meticulous.
Controlled.
Organized.

How had he let this happen?

Hours passed.
The video spread further.
The internet tasted blood.

By 2:00 a.m., the first meme appeared — a blurry, low-effort edit, but enough to make him feel something inside him snap.

His terror was replaced by something worse:

the creeping certainty that there was no going back.

He was already exposed.
Already ruined.
Already consumed by thousands of eyes.

And beneath the suffocating dread…
another, more shameful truth whispered through him:

If they were already watching…
why stop now?

He didn’t know it yet, but this was the moment — the exact second — when fear began mutating into participation.

A crack opening into a chasm.

The beginning of the end.

Rocco’s boots crunched over broken crockery as he dragged Victor toward the garage, their hands slick with sweat and gunpowder residue. The kitchen smelled like cordite and burnt rosemary now — a far cry from the heady musk of their coupling. Victor’s shoulder pressed hot against his back as they moved, the older man reloading one-handed while popping the stitches on his bullet-grazed arm.

Enzo scrambled after them, clutching a bloodied dish towel to his bicep. “They’re flanking the  —”

Victor silenced him with a look, tossing Rocco a set of keys. The younger man caught them mid-stride, recognizing the weight immediately. “The ’67 Alfa?” Rocco breathed, thumbing the worn leather fob.

Victor’s grin was feral in the flickering emergency lights. “She purrs when you choke her.” His palm smacked Rocco’s ass hard enough to leave a print. “Drive like you fuck.”

The garage door screeched open to reveal the cherry-red GT Junior crouched between concrete pillars. Bullets pinged off its hood as Rocco wrenched the driver’s door open. Victor slid into the passenger seat like liquid mercury, already cranking the ignition while Rocco’s knees bracketed the steering wheel.

The Alfa roared to life just as three Russians rounded the corner. Victor shot the first through his open mouth from six feet away — close enough to see the man’s gold molar shatter. The remaining two dove for cover as Rocco floored it, tires screaming on polished concrete.

Enzo barely made the jump into the backseat, his sneakers kicking up spent shell casings. “Christ’s bleeding —”

Victor twisted to fire through the rear windshield, blowing out a headlight and a Russian kneecap simultaneously. The car fishtailed onto the moonlit service road, gravel spraying like shrapnel. Rocco’s bicep flexed as he wrestled the wheel, the Alfa’s tail whipping sideways to crush a pursuer’s motorcycle against the gatepost.

Victor’s laughter filled the cabin as they hit the coastal highway, salt wind whipping through the shattered windows. His hand found Rocco’s thigh, fingers digging into denim with proprietary pressure. “Left at the docks,” he growled, reloading with his teeth. “We finish this where they started it.”

Rocco’s pulse hammered at the promise in those words. The Alfa’s speedometer kissed 180 as they hurtled toward the burning warehouse district, Victor’s thumb rubbing circles on his inner thigh — equal parts threat and reward.

Enzo retched over the door as Rocco took the hairpin turn without braking, tires smoking against the dock’s warped planks. The scent of gasoline and charred olives clogged the air. Victor kicked his door open before they’d fully stopped, firing two-handed into the smoke. Three shadows dropped before hitting the ground.

“Eyes left,” Rocco barked, vaulting the hood as muzzle flashes lit the cargo containers. The first Russian died with Rocco’s knife in his windpipe. The second barely had time to register the shotgun pressed between his legs before Rocco pulled the trigger.

Victor moved like a storm front through the chaos — methodical, inevitable. His custom Beretta clicked empty. Rather than reload, he grabbed an iron cargo hook and embedded it in a gunman’s clavicle, using the leverage to slam the screaming man onto a stack of olive barrels. The wood splintered under the impact, brine and blood mingling at his boots.

Rocco felt the sniper before he saw him — that primal prickle between his shoulder blades. He spun, but Victor was already there, tackling him behind a forklift as the high-caliber round shattered the Alfa’s headlight. Their chests heaved together in the sudden stillness, Victor’s sweat dripping onto Rocco’s lips.

“Still hard?” Victor rasped, grinding his erection against Rocco’s hip.

Rocco’s answering growl was cut short by another sniper round punching through the forklift’s gas tank. The explosion sent them rolling across the dock, Victor shielding Rocco’s body with his own. Shrapnel peppered Victor’s back, drawing a string of Sicilian curses.

Rocco flipped them, straddling Victor’s waist to return fire toward the crane cab. The sniper’s body tumbled forty feet, landing with a wet crunch. Panting, Rocco looked down to find Victor grinning up at him, bloodied and aroused beneath the emergency flares’ hellish glow.

“Tell me,” Victor breathed, gripping Rocco’s ass, “you packed lube in that tactical vest.”

Rocco’s laughter was savage as he unbuckled his Kevlar. Distantly, more engines growled through the smoke. Victor didn’t seem to care. He was too busy sucking a fresh claim over the hickey he’d left on Rocco’s neck hours earlier.

“Christ —” Rocco hissed when Victor bit down, his fingers fumbling with the vest’s clasps. The damned thing was still damp with their earlier sweat, clinging stubbornly to his shoulders. Victor solved the problem by tearing it open, sending ceramic plates clattering across the docks.

The older man’s hands were everywhere at once — palming Rocco’s ass through torn denim, wrenching his belt loose with one sharp tug. A bullet whizzed overhead, embedding itself in an olive barrel. Victor didn’t even flinch. He just spat into his palm and reached between them, fisting their cocks together in one brutal stroke.

Rocco’s hips jerked forward instinctively, his head falling back as Victor’s calloused thumb swiped over his leaking slit. The docks smelled like gunpowder and brine now, their mingled musk cutting through the acrid smoke. Victor’s breath was hot against his ear — “You shoot as good as you fuck” — before sealing his mouth over Rocco’s in a kiss that tasted of blood and stolen wine.

Enzo’s scream came from somewhere near the burning warehouse. Rocco barely registered it. His world had narrowed to Victor’s hand on him, the way the older man’s swollen cock dragged against his with every rough pull. Another explosion rocked the docks, sending a shower of sparks over their tangled bodies. Victor used the distraction to flip them, pinning Rocco against the blood-slick planks.

“Watch,” Victor growled, jerking his chin toward the approaching headlights. Rocco’s breath caught as four figures emerged from the smoke — Russians, armed with Kalashnikovs and bad intentions. Victor’s grip tightened punishingly on his cock. “Come for me when they die.”

The first Russian dropped before finishing his war cry, Victor’s throwing knife embedded in his eye socket. The second fell clutching his throat, gurgling around the garrote wire Rocco had looped around his neck from behind. Victor shot the third through the palm — a deliberate mercy — before twisting the man’s arm until the bone snapped.

Rocco came with Victor’s mouth on his shoulder, his vision whiting out as the last Russian’s skull met the dock at terminal velocity. Victor swallowed his groan with a kiss, licking into his mouth as the distant wail of sirens finally pierced the night.

Enzo limped toward them, clutching his ribs. “*Zio*, the cops —”

Victor didn’t lift his lips from Rocco’s neck. “Count the bodies,” he ordered. Rocco shuddered, his softening cock pulsing against Victor’s thigh when gunfire erupted from the warehouse roof.

Victor rolled them sideways just as a sniper round sparked off the dock where Rocco’s head had been. “Persistent *bastardi*,” he mused, wiping sperm from his fingers onto Rocco’s tactical pants. The younger man’s breath hitched when Victor suddenly reached into his waistband and produced a grenade pin clenched between his teeth.

“Your turn,” Victor murmured, pressing the cold metal into Rocco’s palm. He jerked his chin toward the rooftop silhouettes. Rocco’s grin was all teeth as he rose, still half-hard, and hurled the grenade in a perfect arc. The explosion painted the docks orange, raining shrapnel and body parts onto the smoldering olive barrels.

Victor caught him by the belt loops when he turned, dragging him into a filthy kiss tasting of gunpowder and come. “Salary negotiations,” he panted against Rocco’s mouth, “start tomorrow.” His hand slid down to cup Rocco’s ass as police spotlights swept the harbor.

Enzo groaned. “*Dio*, not again —”

Victor tossed him the Alfa’s keys without breaking the kiss. “Distract them.” Rocco laughed against Victor’s lips when the kid cursed violently before revving the engine toward the approaching cruisers.

Victor’s lips grazed Rocco’s jugular as the first flashbang lit up the night. “Lesson three,” he growled, shoving him toward a waiting speedboat, “always have an exit strategy.” Rocco’s knees hit the deck just as Victor gunned the engine, sending them slicing through the ink-black waves. Salt spray stung their fresh wounds as the dock dissolved into chaos behind them.

Victor’s hand found Rocco’s thigh again, fingers pressing into the fading marks. The boat’s prow lifted as they hit open water, the moon painting Victor’s blood-streaked chest in silver. Rocco leaned into his space, licking a strip up the older man’s neck to his earlobe.

“Where to, *capo*?”

Victor’s grin was wolfish in the darkness. “Somewhere with a bed that doesn’t smell like olives.”

The speedboat cut through choppy waters, spray soaking them anew as Victor navigated the shoreline’s jagged outcrops by muscle memory alone. Rocco braced himself against the console, his thighs flexing when Victor suddenly banked hard right toward a hidden cove. Moonlight revealed the silhouette of a stone boathouse nestled in the cliffs, waves lapping at its weathered doors.

Victor killed the engine twenty yards out, letting momentum carry them silently toward the entrance. His palm smacked Rocco’s ass when he moved to stand. “Swim.”

Cold water shocked Rocco’s overheated skin as he plunged overboard, the salt stinging fresh scratches. Victor surfaced beside him, silver chest hair plastered to muscle, and dragged him under for a brutal kiss before kicking toward the submerged door. Rusted hinges groaned as Victor shouldered it open, revealing a cavernous space smelling of damp stone and diesel.

Rocco’s bare feet slapped wet concrete as Victor hauled him up a rickety ladder. The loft above was all moth-eaten velvet and weapon crates, a single brass bed bolted to the floor. Victor didn’t bother with lights — he shoved Rocco backward onto the mattress, following him down with the weight of a man half his age. Their wet bodies met with a slick slap, Victor’s lips already at Rocco’s jugular.

Distant explosions pulsed through the cliffs as Victor’s hand slid between them, fingers circling Rocco’s reawakening cock with possessive familiarity. “Still my bodyguard?” he rasped against the younger man’s thigh before taking him deep, his tongue working the underside with obscene precision.

“Til death us do part,” Rocco, snapped back.

Rocco’s fingers twisted in the sheets as police helicopters thundered overhead. Victor didn’t pause — just hollowed his cheeks and swallowed him whole, throat fluttering around the intrusion until Rocco’s hips left the mattress. The bedframe cracked against the stone wall with each thrust, their mingled fluids staining the antique coverlet.

Victor pulled off with a filthy sound, wiping his mouth. “Good,” he growled, flipping Rocco onto his belly. “Now guard this.”

The older man’s cock breached him in one brutal stroke, forcing a shout from Rocco’s raw throat that echoed off the boathouse beams. Victor didn’t pause — just anchored his thick hands on Rocco’s hips and set a punishing rhythm, each thrust knocking the younger man’s abused prostate like a trigger pull. Splinters bit into Rocco’s palms where he gripped the headboard, the brass frame groaning under their combined weight.

Victor’s mouth found the nape of Rocco’s neck as distant sirens wailed along the coast. “Harder,” Rocco snarled, arching back to take him deeper. Victor’s chuckle vibrated against his spine before the older man obeyed—slamming home with enough force to make the bed skid two inches across the floor.

Rocco came untouched, his vision whiting out as his cock jerked ropes of sperm across the moth-eaten sheets. Victor followed with a growl, pumping him full of his seed for the second time that night. Their mingled sweat dripped onto the mattress, salt and gunpowder and sex thick in the damp air.

Victor collapsed atop him, his breathing ragged against Rocco’s spent back. Outside, waves crashed against the cliffs with the same relentless rhythm they’d just fucked to. Somewhere beyond the boathouse walls, Enzo was probably getting strip-searched by harbor police.

Rocco smirked into the pillow. “You hire all your bodyguards this way?”

Victor’s hand slid possessively up his flank, one thumb rubbing circles over a fresh bullet graze. “Just the handsome ones.” His lips brushed Rocco’s ear. “And only when they shoot straight.”

A drop of condensation fell from the ceiling onto Rocco’s shoulder blade. Victor licked it away before rolling them sideways, keeping their bodies flush even as he softened inside him. The tactical pants around Rocco’s ankles were beyond ruined — stained with blood, seawater, and both their releases.

Victor’s palm warmed the small of Rocco’s back. “Sleep,” he ordered. “We hunt the rest at dawn.”

Rocco’s eyes slid shut to the sound of Victor reloading the Beretta one-handed beside his head. The metallic clicks were as familiar as his own heartbeat now. He drifted off with the older man’s fingers carding through his hair — rough and tender in turns — and the salt-stiff sheets clinging to their cooling skin.

A distant buzz pulled him back. Victor’s phone vibrated on the crate beside them, casting blue light across the damp walls. Rocco watched through slitted eyes as the older man checked the screen, his bicep flexing where it pillowed Rocco’s neck. Whatever the message said made Victor’s thumb pause mid-swipe.

“Problem?” Rocco murmured against the gunpowder grit still coating Victor’s sternum.

Victor’s exhale stirred the hair at Rocco’s temple. “My sister.” He tilted the screen — a photo of Enzo handcuffed to a hospital bed, flipping off the camera with his uninjured arm. The caption read: *Your turn to bail him out.*

Rocco snorted, tracing a finger down the scar bisecting Victor’s ribs. “Thought you said he was your nephew.”

Victor’s teeth flashed in the dark. “Nephew. Sister’s son. Same blood, different lines.” He tossed the phone aside, rolling atop Rocco with sudden purpose. His knee nudged the younger man’s legs wider. “You swim good for a bodyguard.”

The compliment — if it was one — landed somewhere between Rocco’s navel and his freshly fucked hole. He arched into Victor’s weight, feeling the older man’s renewed interest press against his thigh. Outside, waves crashed rhythmically against the boathouse doors, their rhythm syncopated with the distant thump of police rotors.

Victor’s mouth found Rocco’s pulse point. “Tell me,” he growled against damp skin, “what you did before Palermo.”

The question caught Rocco mid-groan. He stilled, fingers tightening in Victor’s hair. The older man didn’t pull back — just waited, his breath hot on Rocco’s neck. The boathouse creaked around them like a living thing.

Rocco exhaled through his nose. “Corsica. Wetwork for the —”

Victor’s teeth bit into his shoulder. “*Bugiardo.*” His palm slid down to grip Rocco’s half-hard cock. “Try again.”

The pain-pleasure made Rocco’s hips jerk. He caught Victor’s wrist, twisting until the older man grunted. They rolled together across the ruined sheets, a tangle of scar tissue and fresh bruises. Rocco pinned Victor’s wrists above his head, leaning down to lick the mark he’d left on Victor’s collarbone earlier.

“Interpol,” Rocco admitted against sweaty skin. “Three years undercover.” Victor’s muscles tensed beneath him. Rocco smirked, grinding their hips together. “Got fired for fucking a suspect.”

Victor’s laugh shook the bedframe. He surged up, flipping them with effortless strength. The brass headboard cracked against stone as he pinned Rocco beneath him, his cock pressing insistently at the younger man’s entrance. “Liar,” Victor breathed, but his hips rolled forward anyway, sheathing himself in one smooth thrust.

Rocco’s gasp echoed off the water-stained walls. Outside, dawn painted the cliffs in bloody light.

Victor paused mid-thrust — an excruciating stillness — his fingers tightening around Rocco’s wrists. “Still collecting evidence?” His breath smelled of gunpowder and the anise liqueur they’d swiped from the docks.

Rocco arched, forcing Victor deeper. “Only the kind that gets me fired.” His teeth scraped Victor’s knuckles when the older man resumed fucking him — slower now, each drag calculated to unravel him.

Victor’s chuckle vibrated through their joined bodies. “Interpol sends their best to fuck me?” His thumb pressed against Rocco’s pulse. “Or their dumbest?”

Rocco’s thighs clamped around Victor’s hips, rolling them sideways. The bedframe shrieked as they crashed onto the floor, landing with Rocco straddling Victor’s waist. Morning light exposed the truth in Victor’s eyes — not anger, but hungry amusement.

“Neither.” Rocco palmed Victor’s throat, feeling the older man’s Adam’s apple bob beneath his grip. “They sent me to kill you.”

Victor’s erection twitched inside him. “And?”

Rocco leaned down, licking the salt from Victor’s lips. “I’m bad at following orders.”

Victor’s hips snapped upward, punching the air from Rocco’s lungs. Their laughter mingled with the sound of waves and distant gunfire — somewhere, Enzo was probably setting a police car on fire.

Victor’s hands mapped Rocco’s ribs like terrain. “Tell me,” he growled against the younger man’s mouth, “what they promised you.”

Rocco’s nails bit into Victor’s shoulders. “Early retirement.” He gasped as Victor’s teeth found his nipple. “A beach house.”

Victor flipped them, pinning Rocco to the damp floorboards. His thrusts turned punishing. “You’ll get better beaches.” He sealed the promise with a kiss that tasted of copper and stolen wine. “And better enemies.”

Sunlight streamed through the cracked boathouse doors as they moved — a tangle of limbs and half-healed wounds. Somewhere beyond the cliffs, the world kept turning. But here, in this moment, there was only sweat and skin and the salt-sting of promises kept.

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To get in touch with the author, send them an email.

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Jake Harper  – The taming of a killer

Jake arrived at the gates blocking his drive. He turned off the lights of the car and checked his phone and the status of the security systems of his house two hundred metres up the drive.  All the systems were turned on. It was 5am and the light was just beginning to hit the hills. He drove up the drive, entered the  farmhouse and went directly to the fridge to fetch a beer. After a quick look around to check all was as it should be he sat down on the sofa and turned on the tv to see the news.  There was no significant event which interested him and he was relieved to see that he had extracted himself from the scene  without detection.

Jake was a problem solver, an executioner, the last resort. He was used by the government to solve problems quickly and quietly. In this case he had been down to Exeter to remove a judge who had set a string of Pakistani pedofiles free. The public outcry was enormous and he was called in to remove the judge. 

Jake had been down in the Exeter area for 4 weeks. “Dissaperating” a judge was not so simple. There was always a government police man in tow. However as it turned out this judge had a summer house near St Ives. He seemingly dismissed his protection Friday evening and used the space to visit one of his favorite “boys”. Yes this judge was into young boys. It took Jake two weeks to detect the tendency and the third week to lay to plan. The fourth week he was laying in wait for the judge on his return home. With all the tourists in St Ives it was easy to move around. 

The judge arrived back at 10pm. Jake had simply broken his neck and driven to the nearby forest just south of St Ives. Here he spent an hour in pitch black digging a 2 meters deep hole. He filled it in and covered it with brush as though it had never been dug. It would never be found. He had driven the judges car back and parked it near the harbour. This was meant to suggest he had fallen into the water after drinking too much. He left the keys in the car and the door unlocked. Then Jake got onto the night train and made the journey in his heavy disguise back to London and then from Victoria on the route to Brighton.  At Brighton station Jake retrieved his car from a nearby rented garage and made the 5km drive to his farm in the south downs north of Brighton and the A27 and close to the Chattri Memorial.

As Jake sat back he waited for the news to hit about the missing judge.  He thought “job well done”.   After two beers he went to his bedroom and fell asleep. 

Jake awoke at 1pm. He was rested but still stressed from his 4 weeks of sitting, watching and waiting. The endless watching and waiting had meant he could not train and he needed to get back in shape. Patience and stealth was the name of the game and then of course extreme violence. Jake had been in the army for 20 years. He had seen action in Afghanistan and Iraq. He was known as an efficient killer who killed without fear or remorse.  At the age of 40 he was thought to be too blood thirsty and he was pushed to a small department in the ministry of defense. In fact there were only two members. One was his boss known only to him as “the colonel” and the other was himself.  For the execution of the judge he was paid 500,000 pounds. It was of course outside the law but he was protected by the government. His bank accounts were closed, he paid no tax and he existed to no more than a very few people which included only the head of MI5 and MI6. You could call him MI7 or LR for last resort.

Jake had done this for 5 years now. He was 45. He was good at it. He preferred to operate alone.

He just showered and turned on the news again. News of the judge had still not hit the BBC. Jake knew he was stressed and needed to relax for a few weeks. Usually the colonel would not contact him for at least 4 weeks so he had time to get back in a better physical form and look after the farm. After 4 weeks the grass needed cutting and some jobs needed attention. 

Firstly however he needed to address his stress level. Jake had a little weakness. This was young men. Not underage or anything illegal. He could not contemplate entering into a partnership with a girl or a boy. That was not compatible with his lifestyle. At an earlier age he had been known to date girls but that was more for show.  No – in later years he had rented young men for a couple of hours. It filled his need and as long as the boys did this of their own free will he felt justified.

He usually found them on the sites for rent boys. Now he went on to the site sleepyboy.com and browsed around. It wasn’t long before he found a lad from the Brighton area calling himself Harry. It was probably not his real name but Jake was not about to use his real name either. Harry was visibly about 18, slightly muscled and blonde with very little body hair. He said he was gay and versatile.  More than this he was open to older men. Just what Jake needed for a couple of hours. Harry agreed to meet him at the Brighton hotel at 6pm that evening.  Jake rang the hotel and booked a room for the evening. He would pay cash on arrival.

Jake checked in at 5.30 and made himself comfortable in the room. It overlooked the sea front and saw it was a prime room. Jake had plenty of funds and did not see why he should not use them

At 6pm exactly the boy rang on whatsapp. Jake had two phones and this burner phone was only ever turned on outside his farm.  He simply said that Harry should come up to room 602. No keycard was required.

Three minutes later there was a knock on the door. Jake answered it and there stood the most gorgeous young man. Jake knew he was going to enjoy himself!

“Come on in” said Harry

“Thanks,” replied the boy.

Harry followed the boy and watched his tight little bum wiggle in his tight jeans.

“Make yourself at home” said Jake

Harry took this to mean to take his coat off but for now kept his clothes on.

“Need a shower?” asked Jake

“No I showered at home” replied Harry

“Drink?” asked Jake

“Just a glass of water will be fine,” said Harry. 

“Sit down” said Jake “Lets get to know each other a little”

Harry sat in the chair in the little sofa group. Jake sat on the other side of the table.  He could feel that Harry needed some space for a few minutes to get used to him.

“Is this your first time?” said Jake.

“Er yes” replied Harry “Is it so obvious?”

“Well yes” said Jake “Just relax we are just here to enjoy ourselves”

With this Harry visibly relaxed

“You don’t have to of course but do you want to tell me a little of yourself?” said Jake

“Well I am 18 and only just moved to Brighton. I just got kicked out of the foster home. It’s cool I did not want to be there anyway. It just that living expenses are so high so I need do do escorting to earn a little money before I get my head together and get a job”

“What sort of job do you want?” asked Harry

“Well I am an outdoor guy. I love walking and rambling so probably something outdoors. Maybe landscape gardening?”

“Sounds good” said Jake “there are loads of gardens in the north of Brighton and the whole of Sussex. “

Jake decided to broach the subjects of like and dislikes 

“What turns you on Harry?”

“I guess anything as long as it is pleasure. Not into pain or drugs. Actually despite my age I am fairly experienced. The children’s home was hard if you know what I mean. I was introduced to sex at an early age.”

“I am sorry . It sounds as though you did not have a choice?”

“No but it all over now – now  its my body and my choice”

“Exactly,” said Jake. “Just tell me to stop at any time, your choice I promise”

Harry smiled.

Harry liked to have sex his bed. He was not one for romping around the room. 

“Stand up” said Jake “I would like to undress you”

Harry stood. Harry moved towards him and began to undo the buttons on the boy’s shirt. He pulled the shirt off his shoulders and it fell to the ground. Next he turned his attention to the boy’s belt. Within a few seconds the trousers slid to the ground. Harry was revealed in a nice pair of tight white briefs from Calvin Klein.

Jake moved around behind Harry and put his arms around Harry’s waist. A few seconds later his fingers edged beneath the waistband of the briefs and probed deeper. Jake did not have to go very far. Harry was already hard and the stiff cock was seeping pre-cum onto Jake fingers.  The boy was gently moaning with pleasure as Jake gently stroked the boy’s stiff cock.

He kissed Harry on the neck and said “fantastic, lets get into the bed”

With that he led Harry into the bedroom. Harry got under the bedclothes and watched while Jakes removed his shorts and shirt. 

Harry gasped when he saw Jake’s body. He could not help it.

“I think I am going to enjoy this” said Harry

“Thats the general idea. I like to give pleasure just as much as I like receiving it.”

With that Harry and Jake engaged in a frenzy of kissing. Jake invaded Harry’s mouth and Harry responded. Jake’s hands roamed all over the boy’s body. Inside the legs, groin, arms armpits, neck and stomach. Harry was indeed enjoying himself. 

Jake drew back the bedclothes. It was warm and they were not needed. Jake reached over for some baby oil. He straddled Harry and poured a good handful over Harry’s chest and stomach. Jake began to stroke and massage Harry’s front. Harry was purring. He had never experienced this before. Sex had also been so violent before. This was a pleasure. 

Jake could see the boy was enjoying himself. This was part of Jake’s pleasure. It was taking the edge off himself. Jake avoided putting oil on Harry’s cock and now moved down to it and took it in his mouth on one go. 

Harry gasped with pleasure.

“You like?” asked Jake

“Yes , i think you know i do” laughed Harry

Now they were beginning to get to know each other and relax in each other’s company.

Jake bobbed up and down on Harry’s cock for 5  minutes. He was afraid the boy was about to cum so he backed off.

“Turn over” said Jake

Harry did as he was told. As in previous sexual experiences it was now he expected to feel the sharp pain of a penis entering him with very little caution. Instead he felt oil on his back and Jake’s now warm hands spreading oil up and down his back. A few minutes later the oil seeped between his arse cheeks and Jake’s hands were moving inside the crevice. Jake began to move a finger a few millimetres into Jake’s hole. Jake waited for the pain but it did not come.  

Jake put a couple of pillows under Harry’s stomach. Harry’s arse was exposed and Jake moved his tongue to explore the lovely young arse hole.  He explored the boy hole with his tongue. Little by little he invaded it deeper. The boy was moaning with pleasure until after 10 minutes he could not help it and said 

“Daddy for christs sake fuck me now please”

This was what Jake was waiting for. He stopped and pulled the boy over. 

“I want to look into your eyes when I fuck you”

He moved closer to the boy and with their legs interlocked Jake placed his stiff cock at the entrance to Harry’s hole. Jake pushed a little and then stopped. Harry’s hole was invaded just a little but Jake waited for him to get used to it.  One once, not twice but three times Jake repeated this and three minutes later Jake’s 20 centimeters was fully in Harry’s rectum.

The pain was past and Harry was holding onto Jake’s waist to ensure he did not pull out. He wanted more of the cock invading his rectum.

Jake moved in and out slowly. He wanted to give pleasure. More than 200 times he moved his hips slowly. He disentangled their legs and lifted the boys legs up over his own shoulders and then pushed the boys legs back onto the bed. Harry was fully pinned to the bed by Jake’s strong arms. Jake continued to move in and out. Now the position of Harry’s body meant that Jake could get the full depth and the boy’s cheeks were tight. Harry was in a heaven he had never felt before. He did not want it to stop just yet. 

For all his violent nature on the field of battle Jake was a considerate lover.

“Are you ok?” asked Jake

“Yes yes, Daddy just keep fucking me please”

Jake released the boy’s legs a little and let him have a more relaxed position. He brought the boy’s legs down to the side and Jake lay beside him. In this spoon position Jake moved his hips in and out whilst Jake pulled on Harry’s stiff cock flowing with pre-cum.

Ten minutes later he could feel the boy was about to cum. His young cum was ready to spill and he could not hold it back any more.

“I am cumming Daddy, I cannot stop it” squealed Harry

“That just fine, let it rip “ said Jake

Jake had perfect control. As Harry spilled his cum over the bed Harry came and squirted several times deeply into Harry’s arse. After the spasms had subsided they lay there for several minutes enjoying the moment.

Jake was the first to speak

“OK?” he asked

“Yes – that was fantastic. I never thought sex could be that good”

“Thats the way it should be” said Jake

They lay in the bed stroking and kissing. Jake’s cock began to go limp and fell out of Harry’s arse. Cum fell out of Harry’s rectum.

After a while Jake thought they had better get up and clean themselves up. He moved them both to the double shower where he cleaned the boy completely like a little boy. Harry moved on to his knees  and gave Jake a blow job and gave him a hard on once more. Jake came deeply into the boy’s willing mouth.

Ten minutes later they exited the shower and Jake motioned for him to put his clothes back on. Harry had been there an hour.  Jake put 200 pounds on the table. Harry picked it up.

“Am I going to see you again?” said Harry 

“Very possibly” said Jake

Harry needed to say more “I mean it was great. I can stay longer if you like. If you are not busy we can go out to eat or something. No extra charge as long as you pay for the food”

Harry laughed and Jake smiled.

There was an awkward few seconds whilst Jake was thinking.  This boy was lovely. Did he really want to eat alone again this evening?

“Well” said Jake “Do you like fish, I mean real fish not fish and chips, muscles and octopus?”

Harry had never eaten such food but he said yes anyway.

“Well then if you like we can go out to a place I know round the corner. Just one thing –  I hardly know anybody in this town but if we should meet anybody then you are my brothers son”

“Deal” said Harry -”uncle it is”

With that they left the room and walked 200m to the restaurant. As usual Jake sat with his back to the wall. He needed to have sight of all exits. As they sat Jake checked his mobile and the news of a missing judge had hit the news. For now he was just a missing judge!

Jake ordered a seafood platter for two and a bottle of white wine to go with it.

The food came and the boy gasped. “I have never seen such food” he said

Jake explained to the waiter that his nephew was over 18. The waiter poured a glass of the chardonnay for each and they tucked in the various fish offerings.   

“Tell me more about your children’s home,” said Jake.  He thought he might be able to deliver some justice.

“It was Gordons home” in Fleet in Hampshire”. Jake made a note to ask the colonel for details. It was clear the boy did not really want to talk about it.

They ate and ate. They could not clear the platter. After 90 minutes Jake paid the large bill and they left. 

“I could come back to your hotel again if you like?” asked Harry.

“Not tonight Harry. I am tired now and I need my rest. Its been a long day. I will ring you again in a couple of weeks, I promise”

Harry did not want this to end.

“I did enjoy it” said Harry “I hope it was ok I called you Daddy?”

“Yes it was great, no problems. You are a sweet kid. Sex ought to be good for both sides. I hope I have taught you that this evening.”. 

Harry smiled and Jake smiled back.

With that Harry gave Jake a hug. Jake was not used to this show of affection in public. Jake smiled again and they parted. Jake went back to his hotel room. He wanted to study the news now for events of the judge’s disappearance.  If there was any possibility that he had forgotten something which would lead back to him  he wanted to know about it.

This was most unlikely. He never used roads with cameras, only B roads. He only ever used cash and had more than 20 disguises to diffuse his path. He used a different disguise on each leg of the journey home from St Ives and never went from A to B. He always took at least one silly detour on the underground to detect anybody following him.  After an hour of flicking around the news channels he turned the light off and fell deeply asleep.

As per normal Army life Jake woke early. By 7am he was showered and precisely his breakfast arrived. He preferred to eat on his private terrace overlooking the sea. He wondered if one day he should buy a flat overlooking the ocean.

By 8am he had devoured the meal and was out of the hotel. He drove the 5 km back up to his estate stopping only at a local Tesco to stock up on all sorts of food and supplies. By 9am he was back with the goods stored and looked forward to his day. 

He split his days into three parts. Firstly he used the mornings on physical exercise. He went for a 10 km run around the south downs and then an hour’s physical exercise on his home made outdoor training centre. It was more like a localised endurance course like the army used. He usually hopped into his jacuzzi and then had a light lunch. 

The afternoons would be spent on some work on the estate. It was 20 acres so there was always something to do. Keeping the weeds and grass down was a major headache. Sometimes he would go to the Quebec Barracks near Brighton for some target practice and to pick up supplies left by the Colonel. There was never any paper trail and they never met there. The only proof he had was his Army pass. They had given him the status of Colonel so that he had to take orders from a very few people only.

The evenings he would spend on reading. If he was the last resort for England it was important that he understood English politics. Therefore he read a good deal of online media and the standard papers.  He rarely listened to music  – instead he listened to news programmes.

He rarely went out. Most things he got delivered including the newspapers and food supplies. He never went to pubs and clubs and definitely never went to gay bars to pick up the boys. He was generally fairly hermetic. In most cases when he went out there was some form of disguise. He did know his fellow local farmers but only on a casual level. At present with his current job he could only reason this was the way it had to be.

The news of the judge had hit the BBC

“Judge missing – assumed drowned in St Ives harbour”

Of course that was just the official statement. Jake sent a message to the Colonel. 

“Request information on Gordon’s boys home in Fleet. Possible serial pedofile activity by masters”.

He expected there to go a few weeks before he got any form of response.

Two weeks went in this way. After a few days he began to get some physical form back in his body and he was feeling much younger and happier in himself. However he found himself thinking of Harry every day. This was most unlike him. He usually put such events out of his mind  but this boy had made an impression on him. Was he getting soft in his old age?

Sitting on his sofa one evening he simply could not resist messaging Harry. 

“Are you free tomorrow evening?”

If was Thursday now and the next day was Friday

“Yes”  came the message back within a minute

“Will pick you up at Brighton station at 6pm”

“OK see you” came the reply

Jake knew he was being reckless but his plan was to get some takeaway and then pick the boy up. He would ask the boy to lie face down on the back seat so as not to see where they were going. After that he would drive back to his estate. There they could be in peace for whatever they wanted to do.  Jake wanted to be a little more adventurous and the hotel room was a little restricting.

The next morning Jake found himself as happy as a little school boy and he told himself to calm down. He found himself with a hard-on just eating breakfast! He really was looking forward to seeing Harry. Not just for the sex but for Harry himself!  

“Get a grip man” he said to himself. He thought that some exercise would clear his erection.

At 5.15pm he left the house. It would take at least 30 minutes to drive into town and pick up the food. After that he had a few spare minutes to get to Brighton station.  He arrived at 16.55 and Harry was already waiting for him. Harry got into the front seat and leaned over to hug Jake.  

Jake explained he would like to go back to his place but that he was sensitive about the location and that Harry should hop over to the back seat and lay face down. Harry did as he was told.

Jake drove off. The smell of the Italian food was streaming through the car

“Smells nice” said Harry

It seemed that Harry trusted Jake completely. He asked no questions. Jake could just as easily have been kidnapping him and killing him. Jake would have to warn him of the dangers at some stage.

15 minutes later they arrived. The gates to the drive parted and Jake drove slowly up the cobbled drive. 

“Yes can get up now” said Jake

Harry got up and looked around him.

“Bloody hell” said Jake “its a palace”

“Not quite” said Jake “but it fits my purpose”

They went inside. Jake put the food in the oven and put it on a low heat to keep it warm. 

“Shall we get into the jacuzzi?” said Jake

“You have a jacuzzi?  Yes thats wild” said Harry

Jake led them out to the covered terrace where the jacuzzi, sofa group and outdoors tv was.

“Clothes off  young man, in you get”

Harry was not shy, he simply removed his clothes, put them on a chair and got in

He lay there with a big grin on his face.

Jake followed him quickly and they sat at opposite sides of the round pool grinning at each other.

“I was worried you were not going to ring” said Harry

“I told you I would, and I always keep my word” replied Jake

“I missed you” said Harry

“Me too” said Jake

Harry got up from his place opposite Jake and moved over to him. He sat in Jake’s lap and the two embraced like only two lovers can. Harry kissed Jake with a frenzy. Jake became hard quickly and Harry felt the hard cock pushing up towards to arse hole. 

They both smiled but Harry said “that it is not going to get up there unless it gets some lubrication. Can you go to your bedroom?”

“You are such a naughty boy” said Jake “but i love it”

With that Jake lifted Harry out of the pool and placed him on the side. Jake went straight down on his cock and buried his mouth in one go. Harry lifted his head backwards and his cock disappeared inside Jake’s mouth.

Harry was quite audible. When he was having fun his moans and groans were very easy to hear. Five minutes later Jake was afraid he was about to bring the boy to a climax so he pulled off and led the boy out of the pool. 

“Let’s go upstairs,” said Jake.

As a naked pair and dripping wet they went to the first floor and the master bedroom.

Harry hopped onto the bed and laying there said 

“Come and make love to me uncle – fuck me – I need it now”

Jake laughed but followed Harry onto the bed.

“As I said, so naughty”

This time Harry went straight down to Jake’s hard cock. He wanted to taste it and feel it in the back of his mouth. Jake had to remind himself that Harry was just an escort giving him a service. Or was this something more?

Jake wanted to get the initiative back. He placed Harry on his back and pulled his legs up so his hole was exposed. Jake fed on the pink delight. Harry moaned and moaned. He could not stand it much more

“Uncle please be a nice uncle and fuck me now”

Jake leaned over to the draw and took out some lube, dropping it liberally on the pink hole.

Keeping the boy’s legs up he put his cock at the entrance. He pushed slowly and stopped after a centimetre. Jake could see Harry felt it but it was not pain. Jake continued to push and again waited whilst Harry adjusted. After a few seconds Jake pushed all the way in. Harry gasped feeling the full extent of the long hard cock.

Jake began his favoured slow and regular thrusting. Every time it thrust all the way in it made Jake’s mouth open as though his cock was about to exit through the mouth.

They both smiled at each other. They were both horny and needed to cum soon. Jake let the boys legs down and saw that the boy’s cock was hard and ousing pre-cum. Jake kept thrusting slowly but began to pull on the boy’s cock.

“If you keep doing that I am going to cum” said Harry

“That would be nice” said Jake

Harry got the message that it was what Jake wanted

A couple of minutes later Jake could feel Harry’s cock growing that last few percent. The semen began its journey up the pensis. Harry screamed “im cumming, im cumming” and with that the cum shot into the air.

The scene was so horny this made Jake cum without delay. Jake thrust in just a little harder and squirted several times directly into Harry’s hole. They stayed that way for a couple of minutes before Jake went soft. The cum dripped out of Harry’s hole.

Jake lay down beside Harry and said “good to see you again”

Five minutes later they showered and went downstairs to eat

The sex had made them both hungry. They devoured the Italian food. Harry did not have alcohol since he thought he would have to drive the boy home again.

“You have a great place here” said Harry

“Yes I like it” said Jake

“You know there was no need to have me lie on the back seat – I am quite using to rambling these hills and I know exactly where we are”

Jake realised the truth of the matter – would he have to kill this boy?

Harry expected to be pushed out now but it did not happen. 

“Lets have some coffee and get back into the jacuzzi and see some football”

“Sounds great” said Harry

Jake only had some briefs on and he took them off and got back into the pool. Jake turned the TV on and they sat beside each other in the pool. Harry has his hand on Jake’s leg and Jake has his arms around Harry’s shoulders.

They watched the first 45 minutes but Harry got distracted as he worked his hand up to Jake’s cock which got hard immediately. 

“Can we do it again?” said Harry

“You really are a naughty boy” said Jake “But yes – get that arse up the stairs”

The bedside draw had not been closed and Harry noticed the “sex draw” with lube and some toys. Amongst them he noticed one or two dildos and in particular a remote controlled dildo used for control scenarios”

“You like?” said Jake

“Yes” said Harry “I guess I can be a little kinky with the right person I trust”

Harry pulled up the little electric remote controlled dildo and said “can I try that?”

Harry lay on his front. Jake got the lube and prepared Harry’s hole. He carefully inserted the dildo which was like an electric butt plug. Jake tested the buttons on the remote control. Harry jumped as the first shock passed through his hips.

“Too high” asked Jake

“No just perfect” said Harry

Jake smiled

They got under the bed clothes and engaged in a more relaxed foreplay. Jake wanted Harry’s cock and they arranged themselves in a 69 position. Every now and again Jake pressed the button and Harry moaned with pleasure.

“I need to fuck you again” said Jake. He took out the plug. He pushed Harry over to the little sofa group and pushed Jake to lay on his front over the back of the sofa. He raised one of Harry’s legs so that his legs were totally spread at almost 180 degrees. Jake pushed slowly into the hole. Harry was in heaven. For 30 minutes he fucked the boy. Eventually the effect on his prostate was so large this provoked an orgasm without even touching the boy’s cock.  Jake felt this and just as the boy came then he shot another load up the boy.

Harry had been there for 30 minutes and had lost the blood to his legs. Jake lifted him onto the bed and they lay there.

Jake looked at Harry

Without thinking what he was saying Harry said “Are you in love with me?”

Jake did not know what to answer but he knew he had feelings for this boy.

After a while they showered and went downstairs again.

They got coffee and sat down. 

“What now?” asked Harry “Can I stay here this evening?”

This was a step which Jake had to consider. Did he want another person entering his life?

“I have a very complex life,” said Jake. “I am away alot”

“Well maybe I can come and look after all this when you are away, I see there is a lot of grass and gardening which needs doing. I could think of some landscaping which would be very good as well”

Jake considered his options.

“OK” said Jake “you can stay this evening but I will take you home tomorrow. I would need to work out some details with some friends who drop by when I am away or you might get hurt. 

Harry gave Jake a big grin.

“Are you ready to fuck me again” said Harry

“Hold on tiger – I am sperm empty right now, lets just talk for a bit and get to know each other”

Jake said “I want to know more about you”

Harry began to tell about his life. His mother was a drug addict and died when he was very young. His father was unknown. He did not remember his mother. He had been in a string of foster homes and from about the age of 10 he was abused by a series of men and boys. He was not sure he was gay at the start but he certainly was now and he liked older men.  He used hill walking and rambling as a way of escaping from abuse.

“Why did the police never get involved?  said Jake

“I don’t know, I did report to the social worker but nothing ever happened”. 

“Do you know the names of those who abused you? said Jake

Harry reeled of  a list of names including the social worker.

Jake had more or less a photographic memory and would write them down when Harry had gone in the morning.

“What about you?” said Harry

“Well I work for the government. I was in the Army for 20 years and served abroad in various places”

“Cool” said Harry

“Now I do bits of admin work for them from time to time.  Very boring really”. Jake was not about to give any more information than this.

It was midnight now and they went upstairs. Jake said he could sleep with Jake or get his own room. 

“With you of course uncle” smiled Harry

Jake said “under no circumstances should you leave this room, the alarm will be on and all hell will be let loose unless I turn it off.  If you do need to leave then wake me”

“Yes sir” said Harry.

With that they got into bed naked and after some light petting they fell asleep in each other’s arms. This was a first for both of them.

Jake’s last thought was “Am I in love with this boy?”

They both slept soundly and woke at 7am. Harry put his hand straight onto Jake’s cock and said “I want to suck you off”

Jake did not resist and Harry disappeared under the bedclothes. Harry was good at sucking  and within 10 minutes he had Jake gasping. Jakes shot his load down Harry’s mouth. Harry swallowed the lot.

“Good morning” said Harry

“As I said, naughty”

They both got out of bed and showered again.

Jake said that Harry should make breakfast. Harry was not very good but Jake taught him the best tricks for a full English breakfast.

An hour later they had finished and Jake said he would drive Harry back to town.

“What about my offer of helping around here?” said Harry

“It’s an attractive idea but I need a couple of days to think about it. I promise I will let you know within a week”

Harry knew that Jake would keep his word. He was that type of person

They drove to town. Harry sat in the front seat.

Harry had his hand on Jake’s thigh all the way. It seemed he needed physical contact and Jake did not object.

Jake stopped by the station and Harry leaned over to give me a kiss directly on the lips.

“See you soon?” said Harry. It was a question.

When Jake got back he wrote down the name of Harry’s abusers and messaged them off  to the colonel

Jake realised he was probably in love with this boy. He wanted to be around him and was open to Harry being a part of this life. This has gone quickly. He had only seen the boy for less than a day in total! He guessed that’s what love was.

He rang Harry then next day

“Lets arrange something” Jake “I need to teach you how the house works and inform a couple of my ex Army guys who come by to check now and again”

“Wonderfull” said Harry

“And we need to agree wages” said Jake

“Of course” said Harry

“If you are available this weekend then you can stay here Friday and Saturday and go home again Sunday afternoon.”

“Yes yes yes” came the answer. “I will be there at 5pm Friday, by cycle”

Jake rang off.  Well that’s done it. Make your bed now live in it. However after a few minutes Jake was happy with this progression of events. He could not deny he was hard again!

Harry arrived at 6pm Friday and jumped into Harry’s arms as they met. Harry was contact seeking and very loving. 

They went inside and Jake said “Down to work there is a lot to learn”

“Oh can’t we go and make love first?” said Harry

“Plenty of time later you little sex maniac” said Jake

They got to it. Jake walked them around the property and pointed out the security alarms and lighting system. He showed Harry how to turn the multiple alarms on and off. Jake showed him the gardening equipment and how to use the various tools. Harry was a quick learner.

After a couple of hours they were done. Jake said he had invited his two army friends for 8pm. They turned up and they tucked into steaks from the grill. He said that Dave and Chaz lived quite close by – they were a gay couple –  and could be here within 30 minutes in most cases.

They left by 10pm. Jake and Harry were alone.

Jake was horny. Let’s go upstairs.

“Is that an order uncle?” said Harry

“No its a suggestion , you have free will here”

Harry laughed and said that he wanted to try that electric butt plug again.

Jake pulled off Harry’s clothes and pushed him back onto the bed. Jake was horny. However he was gentle sexually by nature and he wanted to make love to this boy. Harry moved onto Jake’s chest and kissed him deeply. They kissed like any pair in love. Eventually Harry reached over to the draw and retrieved the lube which he applied to his hole. Harry then simply sat on Jake’s rock hard cock and within a few seconds it was all the way in. 

Harry said “it’s for you only, uncle. My hole is for you alone!”

Harry bobbed up and down like he was on a rollercoaster. Jake held Harry’s straight cock and gently massaged the precum out of the tip.

They both knew this could only last a few minutes.  Jake felt his cum rising. Harry felt Jake’s cock growing and this prompted the semen to rise up. Harry arched his head back and spewed his sperm vertically upwards at the same time as Jake spewed into Harry’s tight arse.

They both had their eyes closed whilst their orgasam’s took them over. Only a minute later did Harry fall down beside Jake with semen dripping out of his arse. They stayed in that position not wanting the moment to end. Only 30 minutes later did Jake pull Harry out of bed and into the shower.

They slept as spoons for 9 hours.

The next morning they woke at 7am and Jake told Harry he had to get fitter. They went for a 5km run and an hour of physical training. This challenged Harry but he saw the sense of it.

An hour later they were both in the jacuzzi and then had breakfast.

“What now?” asked Harry

“Well I want you to show me how you are going to use the gardening equipment and look after the house. I will just follow you around and help you out when you are in doubt”

“OK, but can I wear that butt plug so you can correct me?”

Jack grinned from ear to ear – “of course you naughty boy”

Harry ran upstairs and put the plug in. He ran back and handed the remote to Jake.

So out  they went.  He cut the grass, trimmed some bushes. Cleared old leaves, checked mouse traps, suggested some changes for paths and demonstrated the alarm systems. Jake was satisfied. Harry was only 18 so he could not expect major structural changes.

Jake gave him a zap on the remote every few minutes and Harry was almost permanently hard and expectant waiting for the next one!

Jake got Harry to take the plug out. “If you have that in all the time your hole will become too loose and fucking you wont be so much fun” said Jake.

Harry removed it at once!

Saturday afternoon Jake had planned an afternoon ramble of 20Km. Harry loved the idea. 

They got back at 6pm and fell into the shower and jacuzzi. Jake asked Harry to put two steaks onto the grill whilst he made some side salads.

They sat down to a full blown steak and a bottle of good wine.

“We have not discussed wages” said Jake “Have you any suggestions?”

“Well I usually take 50 pounds per hour.  It is fairly basic work and the old dears I work for cannot afford much more. I think I could find work here for one day a week which is about 300 pounds per day”

“Sounds good to me” said Jake

“And of course I will still pay for your escort services” suggested Jake

“Well I was wondering about that. If you are going to pay for my gardening services then I will have enough money and I thought maybe we were past the stage of client and escort and into uncle and nephew”

Jake was surprised.

“I thought actually you might consider letting me stay here in the annex – officially and then we can have sex whenever you want . No charge of course!”. My bedsit in Brighton costs a fortune. I could be your assistant here?

“I love you uncle – can I stay here with you?” said Harry

There was silence – Jake was shocked but not in a bad way. Could this boy actually be in love him? There was a 25 year age gap!

That’s a big step to take Harry, for both of us!

They retired to the lounge and Jake flipped on the TV to see the cricket.

Harry snuggled close into Harry on the sofa. They watched the cricket in silence. Jake fiddled with Harry’s nipple whilst Harry’s hand lay on Jake’s thigh.

At 11pm after they had both been asleep Jake pulled the boy off the sofa and lifted him up the stairs to his bed. They slept soundly.

It was Sunday morning. Once again Jake required that  they go out running and do the exercise course. Harry was stiff from the day before. After breakfast Jake said they should walk the beach for 10 miles to gain calf strength.

They ate a light lunch at a beachside cafe which tasted just great.

When they arrived home Jake had come to a decision.

“Yes” he said “I would like you to come and live with me”

Harry rushed into Jake’s arms and kissed him deeply.

“Thanks uncle, it’s going to be awesome”

Harry said “lets agree a few rules “

“Firstly you may not bring anybody else here. 

We will go out running each morning at 7am. No exceptions. 

No more escorting.

You will officially live in the annex and to others you are my nephew.

You must be honest with me. 

If you don’t want sex then always say so. It must be free will for us both.

And lastly no wanking alone – if you want to cum then I want to be involved”

The last part made Harry smile. “Yes uncle, can we make love now, I need to cum?”

Harry had not referred to sex but “make love” 

Finally Jake admitted it – “Naughty boy – but I love you Harry”. 

He said “get into the jacuzzi”. That afternoon Harry got his arse fucked bending over the edge of the pool and then Jake sucked him off  whilst his legs dangeled in the waters edge.

There would be many days of helping Harry get his new gardening job up and running and gradually telling Harry about Jake’s profession. Jake realised he would need to instruct Harry on basic self defense should they be the center of an attack one day.

Jake had a family and Harry has a father at last.

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To get in touch with the author, send them an email.

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≈ Ch. 10: SECRETS AND DOUBTS ≈

 

~ More revelations ~

In the evening, after dinner, Jason went to the Antechamber as part of his duties: he was the designated successor of the Guardian, and he was supposed to unveil the secrets hidden in the Sacred Tomes and the many unknown objects that cluttered the floor and the desk.

But of all the many objects in the room, Jason’s eyes were immediately attracted to the box lying in a corner, the one he’d already explored once: according to Laudon, the AI system governing Eclipse, those were all personal objects once belonged to ‘the Commodore’, a long dead man now called by everyone Boba-Maiii. Jason felt weird about those objects, as they were the tangible proof that Boba-Maiii was not an immortal god, but a dead man. Unforgotten, yes, but still dead. There can’t possibly be doubts about it, at this point, and yet Jason knew he couldn’t tell anyone the truth about Boba-Maiii. Even Archon, the Guardian, though doubtful, was too imbued with the false cult of Boba-Maiii to accept the truth.

Jason rummaged into the box, carefully avoiding the small object that shot deadly rays, and took out the round metal ‘case’ containing the magic arrow. As soon as he held it in his hand, the arrow pointed to the Temple.

The ‘Temple’… How absurd it seemed now to Jason to call that almost empty room ‘Temple’. And yet, that room contained the most valuable treasure for Jason: answers. That was the only place where he could talk to Laudon, ask him questions, and hopefully get answers. He already knew that the answers he would get were going to shake his beliefs to their roots, but nothing could be more mind-boggling than knowing that Boba-Maiii, the almighty god, was just a man.

Jason stood up, holding the magic pointing device, and entered the Temple; the small entrance, all painted in black, glowed in a faint blue light; and this didn’t mean – Jason now knew – that Boba-Maiii was in a good mood, but that Laudon had enough energy to perform its tasks. Just that.

At the farthest end of the entrance, the sliding door leading to Laudon’s room promptly opened, recognizing Jason, who stepped inside. The dim light immediately turned brighter and Laudon’s warm voice echoed in the small chamber: “Greetings, Jason. I’m glad you came back.”

“Laudon… I hope you can answer some questions that burden my heart…”

“I’ll gladly answer all your questions, Jason. But before that, I take the rare chance I have to communicate freely to tell you that my energy level is still quite good, but it will be totally depleted in no more than ten days. I don’t understand why the Eclipsians always wait until my generator is about to turn off before providing more Radiant.”

“Err… ‘Radiant’?” – Jason asked, puzzled.

“Crystals of Radiant, that the Eclipsians call ‘Holy Stones’. They contain a great energy that I can use to keep Eclipse operational, and the more you provide, the longer you’ll be able to get food, light, air and other services, without risking an emergency shutdown. Please inform the Darks that there’s no risk for me to be provided with too many crystals: the more they find, the better I can operate.”

“I’ll try… I can’t tell them the truth about you, Boba-Maiii and the so-called ‘Temple’…”

“You are right. My knowledge base suggests that if the truth was openly divulged, it would become hard to keep a social order at Eclipse, at least for a few months or years. I rely on your judgment to choose how much of the truth you want to share, and with whom. Now, if you have questions, I’m ready to answer.”

“Laudon, I know my mother was Obsydia, she died right after giving birth to me; but who was my father?”

“This I can’t say with absolute certainty. I don’t have enough data. Obsydia got the traditional five Dark loads, and this makes it impossible for me to know who your father is. All I can tell is that her First Husband was Blake, and the co-husbands were Kole, Jet, Rufus and Deimos.”

Jason gasped loud, in shock: “What? Deimos?? Do you mean that Deimos… could be my father?? I… I had sex with him!! It can’t be!! Please, tell me that Deimos is not my father…!”

There was a long pause, as if Laudon was putting together the pieces of a difficult puzzle.

“Deimos is not your father. I can tell for sure, as I gathered a sample of his DNA from the bandages he used when he was wounded. Deimos carries a dominant Dark gene, and your mother was a Dark: if Deimos was the father, the child would’ve been a Dark. Your father is one of the other four husbands, one who carries a recessive Dark gene; but I can’t tell which one because I don’t have a sample of their DNA.”

Jason didn’t understand what were the ‘DNA’ and the ‘genes’ Laudon was talking about, but sighed with relief: “OK, thank you, I was already feeling sick… Of the other four husbands, only Rufus is still alive, and sure enough I have no intentions to have the faintest sexual contact with him!”

“I’m happy to know you’re not into incestual relationships. They’re unhealthy. Any more questions?”

There was something disturbing about the way Laudon’s calm voice never faltered, even when he spoke of such taboo matters. But in a way, it was comforting, too: Laudon didn’t judge, he put no moral principles above the truth.

“Is it true that Eclipse, as the Guardian claims, is much bigger than the part currently used by the Eclipsians?”

“It used to be much larger, but it is no more. The useless parts of Eclipse have been recycled and converted to energy, to keep the actually used parts operational. I can show you a map of the current layout of Eclipse on the monitor, if you like.”

“What is the… ‘monitor’?” – Jason asked, puzzled.

“The black screen over the desk. There are a lot of monitors installed in many locations of Eclipse, you must have seen them: you even used one to communicate with me, once.”

“I thought they were boring paintings…” – Jason admitted, embarrassed by his deep ignorance.

 

~ Historical facts, mystical myths ~

“Apparently, all the Eclipsians nowadays ignore the monitors’ usage, as they always use the niches, which they call ‘Altars’. No one has used the monitors since the… accident.”

“What accident?”

The room’s lights flickered and dimmed for many long seconds, and then Laudon’s voice echoed again in the room, but the words didn’t flow easily as before.

“A human error” – Laudon began, his voice slightly distorted – “allowed a highly dangerous toxin to escape containment. It propagated through the air ducts, reaching every chamber of Eclipse. I could not contain it in time. Almost no one survived. Recording this… recalling it… is affecting my neural pathways, but it must be remembered.”

Jason opened his eyes wide: “Adam and Eve!”

“They survived, yes. The youngsters’ room, for sanitary purposes, always had its own separate multi-filtered ventilation system, and the toxin couldn’t spread there. If Eclipse still exists, it’s thanks to those two boys’ resourcefulness. In the twenty-four hours following the accident I sterilized the entire Eclipse and dematerialized all the corpses. But I couldn’t do much more for them.”

Jason heavily sat on the floor, disoriented. For three centuries, the tale of the disaster was handed down from Guardian to Guardian, until truth itself dissolved into reverence and myth. How much more of the current knowledge of the Eclipsians was nothing more than a mystical myth? Jason looked around the room, and his gaze focused on the ‘monitor’, black with some decorations on it. Except they weren’t decorations, but symbols…

“What do they mean, the symbols on the m… monitor?”

“You should be able to read the letters easily, from where you’re sitting. Can’t you read them?”

“Read…?” – Jason asked, as he’d never heard that verb, nor the word ‘letters’…

The small symbols on the screen magically disappeared and were replaced by a single, big symbol.

“Do you know what this symbol is?” – Laudon asked, in his usual neutral tone.

Jason looked attentively and replied, uncertain: “It looks like a hut or something…”

“That is the letter ‘A’, the first letter of the alphabet. Apparently you can’t read. Thinking about it, it is highly probable that Eve couldn’t read, back at the time of the accident, so she was unable to teach her children to read. This actually explains many things. Anyway, I can help you, but learning to read is a long process for an adult. Or, if you prefer, I can perform a sub-neural procedure to implant the basics of reading into your mind, and you’ll be able, at least, to recognize all the letters of the alphabet in a matter of minutes.”

“Yes, please!” – Jason exclaimed, excited – “I need to learn as quickly as possible! What should I do? Where should I sit?”

“Go to the medical bay” – Laudon replied, while a door that Jason never noticed before slid open with a hiss.

Jason stepped through the door and found himself in a larger room, dimly lit. In the middle of the room there was a weird, and rather scary padded operating table with several mechanical arms protruding from its edges. Suddenly, Jason thought it might not be such a good idea to undergo the procedure, after all…

“I think it’s a good moment to remind you that my priority is to protect and improve human life and wellness. I couldn’t possibly hurt you, if ever I wanted to. Please lie on the table and relax. It will take no more than a few minutes.”

If Laudon’s intent was to calm Jason down, he miserably failed. But Jason soldiered on, spurred by the desire to learn to read those symbols that so far seemed so obscure to him. He cautiously climbed onto the table and lay down. Two of the mechanical arms moved with a buzz and gently touched Jason’s head, on his temples.

Jason put a heroic effort into staying still without shivering, and wondered if, despite Laudon’s reassurance, the procedure might be painful. He waited for a couple minutes for the procedure to begin, but nothing happened; he darted his eyes around, without moving his head, but the entire room was silent. He was about to ask Laudon what he was waiting for, when the arms moved back to their seats and Laudon’s voice echoed in the room: “It’s done. You can climb off the table.”

“Done? You mean… the procedure is complete?” – Jason almost screamed for relief, leaping off the table.

“That’s correct. You now know the basics of reading. Please go back to the office.”

Jason quickly moved out of the medical bay, as that room gave him chills. Entering the office, his gaze happened to fall on the large monitor, where one word stood out in stark letters: LAUDON.

“Laudon…!” – Jason exclaimed, stunned to realize he could read the word.

“I’m here, I’m everywhere” – the warm voice echoed in the office, totally oblivious of the reason why Jason had spoken his name aloud.

“Thank you, Laudon! You can’t understand how happy I am! I can read!! I have to go! There are so many things I want to read!”

Jason quickly walked toward the door, which opened up to let him pass. He crossed the black-painted entrance and barged into the Antechamber… bumping into Archon.

 

~ Wrath and Forgiveness ~

Archon looked at Jason like he was a ghost, with wide horrified eyes: “You didn’t… You didn’t dare enter the Temple…! Tell me you didn’t!!”

Jason tried to say something, but his voice died in his throat, watching Archon’s expression change from the initial disbelief to an unrestrained anger. “How dare you disobey my orders so blatantly and carelessly?? I strictly forbade you to go there!! Boba-Maiii could’ve killed you on the spot! It was utterly stupid of you to enter the Temple!”

Despite the shame, Jason felt a rush of anger, hearing Archon calling him ‘stupid’. He stood tall, opened his arms and bellowed: “Well, I’m definitely alive, aren’t I? Instead of yelling at me, you should rather ask me what I’ve found in the Temple!”

“I don’t want to know!!!” – Archon yelled, almost hysterical – “It’s not for us to know the secrets of Boba-Maiii!! Whatever you think you’ve seen or heard inside the Temple, it’s not the truth! The truth is too big for our minds to take in! Forget what you’ve seen, forget what you heard and plead with Boba-Maiii for forgiveness!”

Jason didn’t reply, but from his defiant gaze it was more than clear that the last thing he was going to do was to plead with Boba-Maiii.

Archon pointed a trembling finger to the door and hissed in a glacial tone: “Begone from my sight, and never show your face here again. You’re not my Successor anymore!”

Without a word, Jason turned around and strode out of the Antechamber, but as soon as he closed the door behind himself, his proud, defiant expression crumbled to a desolate frown. He loved Archon, he admired him as a mentor and would’ve never wanted to defy his authority; but the hunger for answers that he felt deep inside needed to be sated, and Archon couldn’t give him answers. Or the Sacred Tomes, or the weird objects stored in the Antechamber. Only the Temple… or better, the ‘Office’ held the truth, in the ethereal form of a faceless voice named Laudon.

Jason felt like dying inside, as he knew he’d ruined everything. He was no longer the Successor, Archon hated him and he had no more access to the Office. And what was even worse, he couldn’t reveal the reason for that to anyone: how could he tell anyone he’d entered the Temple? How could he explain that Boba-Maiii didn’t even exist?

Feeling his eyes welling with tears, he ran to the Pales’ quarter, tore off his tunic, and sank into his bed, pressing his face onto the pillow. It was late in the night, and Stellan was peacefully sleeping in his own bed, but he immediately woke up, and his warm voice felt like a caress on Jason’s tortured soul: “Hey buddy… are you OK? What happened?”

“Don’t ask me…” – Jason whined – “Please, don’t ask me…”. He curled up into his bed, trying to forget everything, and almost cried in relief when he felt Stellan climb into his bed and hold him tight into his arms. “OK, I won’t ask you anything. I’m here, buddy, whatever happened. Now rest, I’ll watch over you.”

But the quiet lasted no more than a couple hours. In the very middle of the night, Stellan felt like a presence in the room and turned around. Archon was there, standing next to the bed, looking down at them with an austere expression. A silent nod of Archon’s head was enough for Stellan to take his cue: he hurriedly got off the bed, grabbed his own tunic and left the room.

“Have you come to yell at me some more?” – Jason asked ruefully, without rising from his bed, but was surprised to see Archon lower his gaze and briefly shake his head: “I’ve come to ask for your forgiveness. There are things you don’t know… Things I was too cowardly to confess. But I won’t tell you now. Now I only want… I only hope you’ll forgive me.”

Jason, with his mind still clouded by the restless sleep, looked up at Archon and noticed he’d changed into his cooler tunic, the one that left his chiseled abs in full view and hung tighter on his thighs. “You put on your light tunic…”

“I… uhm… I know you like it.”

Jason raised his hand and gently placed his palm on the exposed chiseled abs: “I do…”

Archon seemed uneasy, but there was a fire burning into his eyes: “Last time you made me feel young again… and sexy… and I wanted… I… I don’t really know what I wanted…”

Jason’s cautious hand brushed on the stiff abs and slid down, over Archon’s crotch, where an unmistakable bulge was filling the lower part of the tunic.

“Tell me to go away…” – Archon whispered – “I shouldn’t be here… You’re my pupil….”

“I’m not anymore, don’t you remember?” – Jason replied with an urchin grin, but Archon insisted: “You know what I mean…”

“I know. And this is what I mean…”, Jason breathed, diving his face into the stiffening bulge. He inhaled the manly aroma of Archon’s virility and blindly explored the growing manhood hidden under the tunic using his lips, his tongue and his cheeks. With his hands, he undid the only button holding the upper part of the tunic, exposing Archon’s wide chest; and then began pulling down the lower part, slowly revealing his enticing treasure trail, his lush pubes, his thick shaft and finally the engorged helmet. Jason reverently kissed the tip of the majestic manhood, wringing a muffled moan from Archon’s mouth.

Pulling on his mentor’s hands, Jason made him lie on the bed, next to him, and began kissing his chest, digging his fingers into the long salt-and-pepper body hair. His lips moved down, kiss after kiss, making Archon writhe with forgotten pleasure, to then close around the man’s rigid rod.

Archon stiffened, held his breath… and suddenly groaned: “Fuck NOOO…..!”

A powerful shot of thick juice hit the back of Jason’s throat, while the guy did his best to cope with the unexpected and untimely ejaculation. “Fuck… Fuck…” – Archon kept moaning, ashamed of how little time he had lasted.

“Wow, you were loaded…” – Jason commented – “When did you last make love to someone?”

“It was before Alba died…”

“Alba?? I’ve never known her, she died years before I was born! Do you mean, you never… got any relief in more than twenty-five years? Not even with… uhm… a guy? Or yourself?”

“I’m a Pale, and I’m the Guardian… I’m supposed to lead by example. So I restrained myself, to never waste my seed… but I just failed miserably. I’m sorry I put an abrupt end to… uhm… what we were doing.”

 

~ Ancient history ~

Jason smiled with infinite tenderness, watching the proud, imposing man too ashamed to even call things by their proper name. But his cock seemed anything but ashamed…

“I wouldn’t say you put an end to anything” – Jason chuckled, sensually stroking Archon’s still hard manhood – “And thinking about it, we just needed some lube…”

“For what??” – Archon asked with an alarmed tone, but he already knew the answer, seeing Jason kneeling astride his groin. His cock pointed right to Jason’s hole, and Archon suddenly felt nervous: “It’s been so long since I last did this…”

“Then, let me jog your memory…”

Jason lowered on the stiff pole, slick with spit and sperm, doing his best to relax; he knew, by now, that a man needs some preparation, but he kept no lube in his room, and he didn’t want to disrupt the magic of the moment. Archon had totally bared himself that night, and Jason wanted to give him what he badly needed and greatly deserved, come what may.

Sealing his lips tight, Jason pushed down, making the fat glans force open his back door; he wasn’t experienced enough, and a fiery pang of pain momentarily took his breath away, but no more than a fleeting frown appeared on his face.

He stood still for a moment, taking his breath, and then he carefully pushed down again, inch by inch, desperately trying to accommodate Archon’s remarkable girth without letting him know how painful it was for him. Eventually, Jason felt Archon’s pubes pressing on his ass cheeks and exhaled loudly. He opened his eyes and looked down at Archon, with his torso arched and his mouth open in a silent gasp of pure bliss, and smiled, suddenly feeling his pain fade.

With great caution, Jason began riding the thick member, rising and falling on Archon’s groin. He’d been fucked only once, so far, but with Deimos he’d been totally submissive, leaving to his lover the task of leading the sexual dance. Now, riding Archon’s cock, Jason felt completely different: he was in charge, it was up to him to give Archon a breathtaking pleasure, and Archon’s priceless reaction spurred him to do his best.

Knowing that after the untimely orgasm Archon could take much more, he paced up his thrusts, pressing harder his buttocks on the man’s groin and taking his length to the last inch. He quickly discovered that leaning a bit backwards he could make Archon’s rod hit his prostate with greater intensity, and enjoyed the waves of pleasure radiating from his inner pleasure button at each thrust.

Jason didn’t realize how enticing was for Archon the sight of him leaning back, in a vulnerable position, with his stiff dick bouncing up and down; and he moaned loud, with surprise and pleasure, when he felt Archon’s finger curling around his inflamed member and stroking it sensually with a tight grip.

Time seemed to halt, while Jason rode with abandon his mentor’s cock, and Archon stroked with passion his pupil’s dick, redefining once and for all their relationship. Nothing was as it had been, and nothing would ever be the same again. In that bed, in the middle of the night, Jason was the mentor, and was showing Archon new horizons of pleasure and intimacy.

But maybe he was pushing Archon too hard, as apparently the man was breathing heavily, unable to cope with the physical effort. After all, he was sixty-two years old, and according to Laudon, on that planet people didn’t live much longer than sixty years…

Jason slowed down and placed his hands on Archon’s chest, with a concerned expression: “I’m sorry, I got carried away… Maybe it’s too much for…”

“…for a frail old man like me, you mean?” – Archon chuckled, wearing a mischievous grin – “Well, boy, this decrepit man can still teach you a thing or two…”

Without apparent effort, Archon grabbed Jason and rolled on the bed, until he was on top of the astonished guy; standing on his knees, he pointed again his stiff cock to Jason’s hole and slammed his hips on the guy’s buttocks, making him yelp for the surprise.

He began rocking his hips back and forth, leaning forward until his long chest hair tickled Jason’s skin. Their faces were no more than an inch apart. “Back in the day” – Archon said, easing his cock in and out of Jason’s loosened hole – “we could still lay Pale women, but only when they were not fertile. And Alba, the sexiest woman I’ve ever met, taught me an ancient lovemaking technique…”

Archon slid his hand along the sides of Jason’s torso, then below his shoulder blades, until his fingers firmly hooked on the shoulders. Jason was puzzled, but reveled in the pleasure of feeling Archon’s body so tightly pressed against his own. He suddenly understood the purpose of the grip on his shoulders when Archon growled: “Ready, boy?”, and slammed hard his hips against Jason’s ass; at the same time, Archon pulled on his hands, holding Jason’s body still, and even pressing him harder against his groin. Jason felt smashed between Archon’s groin pushing forward and his hands pulling back.

A squeal escaped Jason’s mouth, while Archon’s cock reached deeper than ever inside him.

Slam! Another powerful thrust made Jason yelp again, blocked in Archon’s inescapable grip. “Not bad for an old wheezer, uh, boy?”, Archon mused when another wrecking thrust made Jason groan. “Maybe it’s too much for a young boy such as you…”

“I’m sorry, Archon, I… UGHH!! I didn’t mean to… FUCK!! …to disrespect you…”

Archon’s hips became a piledriver, forcefully driving over and over his thick rod deep into Jason’s fiery depths. The guy felt wonderfully owned by his powerful mentor, who was giving a proud show of his superior physical prowess. At each formidable shove, Archon’s bloated helmet crushed Jason’s prostate, making him moan and squeal shamelessly, until he surrendered himself to his mentor’s dominant virility.

Jason felt like he was floating in a cloud of raw sensuality and pure masculine lust, crushed between Archon’s cock and his steely grip. He was being pushed up the steep path to a massive climax, and tried his best to hold back, willing to pay his mentor one last homage: letting him be the first to cum.

But he was lost when Archon whispered into his ear in a coarse voice: “This is the ancient technique Pales used to breed their wives, planting their seed deep into their wombs, and now I’m going to breed you, my boy… I’m about to breed you with my manly seed… Nnngghh… GHAAA!!”

With one last wrecking thrust, Archon shoved his manhood all the way into Jason, holding him still with his strong arms, and unloaded his semen deep inside him. Jason exploded like a volcano, moaning loud and wriggling hard into Archon’s firm grip. His mentor, his powerful lover, was breeding him! Feeling the man’s thick cock pulsate inside him made Jason feel dizzy, while his own dick went on mindlessly spurting all the youthful juice his loins could provide, and more.

When silence filled the room again, Archon rolled on the bed, beside Jason, and glanced at him with an amused grin.

“Oh, stop it, please” – Jason said, contrite – “I already feel ashamed for what I told you… You may be sixty-two, but you have a body that would make many younger men envious… including me. How can you keep yourself in such good shape?”

Archon chuckled: “That’s not an ancient secret: it’s just crunches, sit-ups, push-ups and squats. Twice a day. You should try: the more you do, the easier they are. But tell me, did you like the lesson in ancient history?”

Jason chuckled: “I’d call that ‘living history’: nothing ancient in what you did to me! Look at the mess on my torso: here is the answer to your question!”

“Then I have another question…” – Archon said, suddenly serious – “Can you forgive me for the way I snapped at you?”

“You’re the one who should forgive me, Archon. I disobeyed you, entering the Temple. I needed answers… and I got them. In part, at least. You see, the Temple… is not what I expected it to be.”

There was a long, tense silence, until Archon broke it: “I know.”

“You know??”

“Yes. I entered the Temple once. I didn’t plan it, but after offering a Holy Stone to Boba-Maiii the door behind me slid open by itself, and I stepped inside. It’s like you said, the Temple looked quite… different than I expected.”

“And then, what happened?”

“A voice called me by name… and I got scared. I fled to the Antechamber and never tried to enter the Temple anymore.”

“So… the voice didn’t tell you anything. You didn’t let him. But unlike you… I stayed.”

“Jason…” – Archon stopped him – “now you understand why I chose you as my successor. You have doubts, and you want answers. I’m too old for that. I’ve chased the truth for my entire life, and when I had the chance to unveil it, I got scared. I don’t want to know. Please.”

Jason got off the bed and pulled Archon by his hand, who resisted, glancing at their naked bodies; but Jason pulled him harder: “Come. I know we’re naked, but everyone is sleeping. Come with me.”

Archon let Jason walk him, hand in hand, through the deserted hallway, and then across the dining room, until they arrived at the Main Hall. Archon was puzzled. Jason pointed his finger at the seven big symbols carved on the wide white wall.

“See those symbols? They’re not a fancy decoration. They have a meaning. And now I can read them.”

“And… what do they mean?”

Jason smiled and read aloud: “ECLIPSE”.

 

-~~~≈≈≈ooOoo≈≈≈~~~-

 

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To get in touch with the author, send them an email.

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I’m not a complicated guy. I’m Billy Parker, eighteen, finishing senior year and trying not to think too hard about the future even though everyone keeps reminding me I’ve got a basketball scholarship waiting for me at State. People say I look the part – six-four, two-ten, blond hair, blue eyes, the kind of build coaches (and girls!) love, even though my unfortunate blond hair sticks up no matter how much gel I use. People tell me I look like a blond Jacob Elordi, which I guess is a compliment, but I’ve never seen it.

Anyway, none of that stuff even matters compared to my girl, Rachel. She’s… Rachel. Blonde, blue-eyed, curves for days, basically Sabrina Carpenter but hotter because she’s real and she’s mine. She’s kind-hearted but doesn’t brag about it. She’s actually what people mean when they say “Christian values,” not the fake stuff hypocrites use to judge each other. She’s not just my girlfriend; she’s the thing that kept me sane when everything went to hell with my parents last year. And now, with the clock ticking toward graduation and the rest of my life, all I want is to be with her as much as I can.

And I’ve been planning our one-year anniversary for weeks. Scented candles. Chocolate-covered strawberries. A playlist with her favourite Billie Eilish songs. A motel I could actually afford but was still clean… because this was going to be our first night. Not just together… but our real first. Rachel was the girl I wanted to lose my virginity to. This wasn’t just about sex. I wanted to prove to Rachel, and maybe to myself, that love could be something careful and honest. Not messy and humiliating the way it looked in porn or a weapon like with… 

Well I guess I should probably tell you about my parents.

Everything in my life got split into a “before” and “after” the day my dad left. No warning, no explanation… he’d just fallen for someone else. And not even a woman. A man. Austin. Mom’s younger brother! Mom and I never even know Dad was gay, or bi or whatever you call it when your father suddenly walks out of a twenty-year marriage for another guy. He swore he hadn’t been before but what the fuck does it matter?

It crushed my mom, even though she tried to pretend it didn’t. She’d move around the house smiling like everything was normal, but I could see the dark cloud hovering over her head and hear her trying to silence her tears at night when she thought I was asleep. After all, they’d been high school sweethearts. Married at 18. Had me by 20. And for him to leave her for her little brother?? How could you ever get over that? 

I was furious… at Dad, at Austin, at everything. The guy who raised me, taught me how to ride a bike, told me to always do the right thing, had just abandoned us like we were trash. I swore I didn’t want anything to do with him ever again.

I didn’t tell anyone at school. I still haven’t.

But then Rachel came along. She didn’t care about my mess. She made me laugh when I didn’t think I remembered how. She held my hand that first night after I told her about Dad, and she said, “Screw him. You’ve got me.”

I want Rachel to be my person. The one I grow up with, the one I marry, the one I buy a house with. It’s stupid to think like that at eighteen, I know, but when you’ve watched your whole family blow up, you start looking for something solid to hold onto. Rachel’s that for me.

Which is why this weekend was supposed to be ours.

But then Mom asks me to spend the weekend with Dad.

“Please, Billy,” she says, as we stood side by side, washing the dishes. “He wants to try. Just for the weekend.”

Dad calls too, sounding weirdly calm, like he’s already forgiven me for being mad at him.

“I know I screwed up,” he says. “But I’m still your dad. I want to see you.”

It was his birthday and he said it was the only gift he wanted – to see his son.

To be honest, I didn’t care what he wanted. I had no plans to ever give him anything ever again. But Mom… she genuinely wanted me to do this.

When I tell Rachel, she takes it better than I expect.

“It sucks,” she says over FaceTime, sitting cross-legged on her bed in one of my hoodies, her blonde hair messy from practice. “But… if your mom wants you to go, you should go.”

“I had everything planned,” I say.

Her lips curve into this soft little smile. “You’re sweet.”

“This isn’t sweet, Rach. Do you know how many fricking scented candles I bought??”

She laughs. God, I love that laugh.

“We’ll have our night,” she says. “Even if it’s not this weekend.”

That’s the kind of person she is. No guilt trip. No bullshit. Pure understanding. Even though I can hear she’s disappointed. I am too. I was so lucky to have her.

So early Friday evening,I throw my gym bag in the backseat and hit the road. It’s an hour drive to Dad’s apartment, and the whole time I’m gripping the steering wheel hard enough my knuckles go white.

Every mile closer makes me angrier. I keep thinking about him leaving Mom. And Austin. Jesus. Her younger brother. My uncle. That’s a level of betrayal I can’t wrap my head around.

I don’t want to be homophobic. I’ve told myself that a hundred times. And I’m not. What they do is their own business. But how the hell am I supposed to sit across from these guys like everything’s normal?

I keep imagining their bedroom. I hate that my brain goes there, but it does. They sleep in the same bed. Do things. Things I don’t want to picture but can’t help picturing. I don’t even know which one’s the top and which one’s the bottom, and I hate myself for wondering.

My phone buzzes on the passenger seat. It’s Rachel:

Rach:You there yet?
Me:Almost.
Rach:Breathe. You’ll get through it.

I send her a “fingers crossed” emoji and toss the phone face-down and pull into Dad’s complex. The place looks normal. Brick buildings, trimmed grass, American flag out front. I don’t know who he thought he was fooling. A Republican who takes back shots? C’mon.

Dad opens the door before I knock. He’s still built like a linebacker – broad shoulders, forearms like tree trunks. He doesn’t look like the kind of guy who’d leave his wife for another man. That thought makes me mad all over again.

“Billy,” he says with this awkward smile, like he’s testing if I’ll smile back.

I don’t. “Hey.”

He steps aside and I walk in.

The apartment smells like men. Like beer, deodorant, and takeout. Definitely not… however I thought a gay man’s apartment would smell. There are sneakers by the door, a stack of ESPN magazines on the coffee table and an empty protein shaker in the sink. It feels like a bachelor pad for two guys who never learned to cook. Music plays on tte Echo. Some old song Dad used to always play but I don’t know the name of it – “can’t find a better man…”

Austin’s on the couch, wearing a faded Pearl Jam T-shirt and jeans, as he plays with his phone. He looks like a guy who could fix your car or frame a house in a day. Strong jaw, scruffy hair, a little bit of stubble, forearms tanned from work. Nothing about him screams “gay.” Which, somehow, makes it worse. Looking at him I’m reminded that he’s actually closer to my age than to Dad’s. Gross.

“Hey, Billy,” Austin says, nodding.

“Hey,” I mutter.

Dad shows me to the spare bedroom. It’s small but clean. Neutral colors, nothing personal. My stomach knots when I pass their bedroom on the way. The door’s half open. There’s a king-size bed. Two pillows. It hits me harder than I expect. That’s where they do it. It makes me feel sick.

I dump my bag on the bed without unpacking.

Back in the living room, Dad’s on the phone, probably with a patient. He’s a doctor, always on call. He looks stressed, rubbing his forehead, and I almost feel bad before I remember why I’m here.

“Ordered pizza,” he says after he hangs up. “Your favorite. Pepperoni.”

I nod but don’t thank him. I know he’s trying but he’s going to have to try way harder than that.

While we wait, Austin grabs a couple of beers from the fridge and tosses one to me.

I catch it mid-air, staring at the can. “Seriously?”

“You’re eighteen,” he says. “One won’t kill you.”

Dad shoots him a look that suggests he isn’t really onboard with this. “Just one. That’s it.”

His disapproval just makes me want it. So I crack it open and take a big scull.

We sit there, the three of us, watching SportsCenter. It’s weirdly quiet except for the TV. Dad tries asking me about school, about basketball, about Rachel. I give short answers.

Rachel texts again:

Rach:How’s it going?
Me:Awkward as hell.
Rach:Hang in there.

The pizza comes and we eat straight from the box. Dad keeps trying to make conversation, but then his cell starts buzzing. I already know what’s coming.

“Crap,” he mutters. “Emergency consult.”

I roll my eyes so hard it almost hurts. Of course. The one weekend we’re supposed to “reconnect” or whatever Mom calls it, and he’s heading off to work. Classic.

He starts rambling, like he can hear the judgment in my silence. “Billy, this wasn’t scheduled. They just had a cancellation and…”

“It’s fine,” I say, not looking at him. “Do what you gotta do.”

“Hey,” he tries again, voice softening in that way that only annoys me more, “I really did plan to take the whole weekend off.”

“Yeah,” I mutter, “sure.”

Before he can answer, I stand up. “I’m gonna hit the bathroom.”

I walk down the short hall and shut the door a little harder than I need to and try to piss away my frustration. When I’m done, I’m washing my hands when I hear their voices down the corridor – Dad and Austin, lowered, soft enough that I know I’m not supposed to hear them.

Austin’s the one talking first, his voice calm and easy. “It’s fine, Pete. Really. Go. I’ll keep an eye on him.”

There’s a pause, then Dad says something too quiet for me to catch, his tone tired but warm.

Austin chuckles under his breath. “He’ll be alright. He’s a good kid. I’ve got him.”

Another beat. Another quiet murmur. And then I hear it. This soft sound, unmistakable even muffled through the door. A kiss. Then a second, longer one.

My stomach twists. I’m right here! And they’re making out!!

I stare at the mirror, water still running, listening to them be… affectionate. Tender. Like a couple. Like something normal.

I shut off the faucet harder than necessary and dry my hands fast, trying to shake off the weird churn in my stomach as I reach for the handle.

By the time I get back to the living room, Dad’s already gone. And just like that, it’s me and Austin.

Austin leans back on the couch and cracks a grin.

“You want another beer?” he asks.

I blink at him. “Seriously?”

“Your dad would lose his shit,” Austin says, heading for the fridge. “But I won’t tell if you don’t.”

He tosses me a cold one.

And just like that, everything shifts.

We drink. Slowly at first, then not so slowly. SportsCenter stays on, but we’re not really watching it. Austin leans back, legs stretched out, looking more relaxed without Dad around.

“You hate me, huh?” he says after a while.

I take a sip. “Pretty much.”

He chuckles, like he expected that. “Fair.”

There’s a silence. I drink more than I should.

Finally, he says, “Look, kid… your mom’s great. But she wasn’t making your dad happy. He tried. For years. But sometimes… it’s just not there.”

I stare at my beer, jaw tight. “So he cheated. With you.”

Austin looks straight at me. “He didn’t mean to fall for me. Neither of us planned it. But it happened.”

I hate that he sounds sincere. I hate that he looks sincere. I hate him.

Rachel texts again.

Rach:Still alive?
Me:Barely.

I drain the rest of the can.

Austin cracks open his third and slides another one my way without asking.

“You’re wound up, kid,” he says as if to explain why I need another beer.

I glare at him. “Wonder why.”

He chuckles, takes a sip, and points the can at me. “Look, I get it. You hate me. You hate him. You hate this whole situation. I don’t blame you.”

I snort. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

A few minutes pass before I finally say it. “I just… don’t get it.”

Austin glances over. “What?”

“You. Him. How the hell did that even happen? He’s never been with a guy before, right?”

Austin shakes his head. “Nope. Not once. Trust me, your dad’s as surprised as you are.”

That stings for some reason I can’t explain. “So what, he just… what? Woke up one day and decided to rail my uncle?”

Austin laughs… a deep, easy laugh that annoys the crap out of me because it sounds genuine. “Pretty much, yeah.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Nah, seriously… it wasn’t like that. We were close. Always had been. Working on projects together, watching games, shooting the shit. And somewhere in there…” He shrugs.

“That’s not an answer,” I shoot back.

He grins, cheeky now. “Guess I just have that effect on people.”

I try not to laugh, but the beer’s hitting me, and I let out this short, sharp breath that sounds way too close to a chuckle.

Austin notices immediately. “Oh my God,” he says, mock-serious. “Was that a laugh? Did Billy Parker, king of silent treatment, just laugh at one of my jokes?”

I shake my head, grinning despite myself. “You’re an idiot.”

“Guilty,” he says, raising his beer in a toast. “But a charming one.”

I clink mine against his without thinking, then immediately regret it.

Rachel texts again.

Rach:How’s it going now?
Me:Weird. Drinking beer with Austin.
Rach:…Wtf lol
Me:Tell me about it.

I toss the phone on the couch.

Austin catches me looking at the hallway where their bedroom is. He doesn’t miss much.

“You’ve been wondering, huh?” he says, eyebrow raised.

I snap my head back. “Wondering what?”

“What we do in there.”

I choke on my beer. “Jesus, dude.”

He laughs so hard he has to set his drink down. “Relax, man. I’m messing with you.”

I shake my head, face burning. “Not funny.”

“Little funny,” he says, wiping his eyes. “C’mon, you gotta admit, it’s a little funny.”

I glare at him, but yeah… okay, maybe it’s a little funny.

“You know,” he says, scrunching up his empty can, “your dad beat himself up for months before he told your mom.”

I stay quiet, waiting.

“He thought it was wrong,” Austin continues. “He tried to fight it. Tried to… push it down, I guess. But you can’t fight who you want, Billy. Trust me. I tried, too.”

I stare at him, trying to picture Dad… my dad… struggling with something like that. It doesn’t fit.

Another beer appears in my hand without me realizing it. The world is a little blurry but not in a bad way.

Austin leans back, one arm draped over the back of the couch. “For what it’s worth,” he says, “I’m glad you came. Your dad really misses you.”

I swallow hard, staring at the can. “Doesn’t change what he did.”

“Nope,” Austin says easily. “Doesn’t change how you feel, either. But it doesn’t have to stay like this forever.”

Then Austin leans over, resting his elbow on his knee, eyes narrowing like he’s just remembered something.

“So. This Rachel…” he says.

I tense immediately. “What about her?”

He smirks. “She’s your girlfriend, right? The one who keeps blowing up your phone?”

“She’s not blowing up my phone,” I mutter, checking my screen out of instinct. Three unread texts from her. I flip the phone facedown again. “We’ve been together a year.”

“A year, huh?” He whistles low, nodding like he’s impressed. “Serious stuff.”

“It is!” I spit out, sharper than I mean to.

Austin holds his hands up like he’s surrendering. “Relax, dude. I’m not mocking you. I think it’s cool.”

I sink deeper into the couch. The beer’s loosening my tongue, and before I can stop myself, I’m saying, “She’s… she’s the best thing in my life, man. When Mom and Dad…” I pause, swallow. “When all that went down, she was the only thing that kept me… normal.”

Austin’s quiet for a second, studying me.

I shift uncomfortably, wishing I hadn’t said that much.

“So,” he says after a beat, the smirk coming back, “you two… done the deed yet?”

I choke on my beer again. “What!”

Austin bursts out laughing. “C’mon, you’re eighteen. Don’t act like you don’t think about it every ten seconds.”

“C’mon, Billy,” he pushes, nudging my shin with his socked foot. “I was eighteen once. That’s all I thought about. Music, football and getting laid. Don’t pretend you’re different.”

“I’m not,” I mutter, defensive without meaning to be.

“So you do think about it,” he says, grinning like he’s won something.

I don’t know why, maybe it’s the beer but I blurt out: “Not like that.”

Austin blinks. “Not like what?”

I look away “With Rachel. I mean, yeah, she’s hot. Crazy hot. But I don’t… I don’t sit around fantasizing about her all the time.”

Austin tilts his head, studying me. “You love her though,” he says finally.

“Yeah,” I answer immediately, too quickly. “I do. She’s… she’s everything, man.”

Austin considers this. “Maybe you’re scared.”

I glance at him sharply. “Of what?”

“Of wanting her,” he says simply.

I scoff, shaking my head. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I?” he asks, eyebrow raised. “You’re eighteen, in love with a girl who looks like she walked off the cover of a magazine, and you’ve been dating her a year. If you haven’t done it yet, fine. That’s your choice. But don’t tell me you never think about it. I bet she hasn’t even blown you.”

I looked over at him outraged. But he just laughed. “Has anyone?”

I stare at the floor, jaw tight. “It’s not like that with us.”

Austin takes a long drink, watching me over the top of his drink. “Then what’s it like?”

“It’s…” I trail off, frustrated because the words don’t exist. “She makes me feel… safe.”

Austin studies me for a moment, something soft flickering in his expression. Then he leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees.

“Safe’s good,” he says quietly. “But safe and turned-on aren’t the same thing.”

The words hang there, heavy, and I feel my face get hot.

Austin breaks the silence first, his tone casual but his eyes sharp. “So… are you sure it’s Rachel you’re not thinking about? Or is it girls in general?”

I jerk my head up, scowling. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs, holding up his hands. “Hey, I’m not judging. I’m just saying — maybe you’re over here tying yourself in knots ‘cause you think you’re supposed to want her a certain way.”

I shake my head hard. “No. That’s not it. I do want her.”

“Just not the way you think you should,” Austin says, leaning back again.

“I didn’t say that,” I snap.

Austin smirks faintly, watching me squirm. “Touchy subject, huh?”

I down the rest of my beer in one go, just to have something to do with my hands. “You’re an asshole.”

“Yeah,” he says easily. “But I’m not wrong.”

I look at him, really look at him, and it pisses me off how effortlessly he sits there… relaxed, confident, teasing me without even trying. He shouldn’t be likable. He shouldn’t make me laugh. He shouldn’t make me curious.

And that thought alone makes my stomach flip.

“How long,” I say before I can stop myself, “before it… you know. Happened.”

Austin seems to enjoy going back to the topic. “That night at the cabin. Your mom was visiting her sister. We had a bit too much to drink, talking about life, and…” He shrugs.

I make a face, shaking my head fast. “Nope. Don’t need visuals.”

Austin laughs. “But you’re dying to know which one of us is on top,” he says.

I practically choke to death on my beer. “Dude! Jesus! Shut up!”

Austin laughs so hard he nearly spills his drink. “I knew it!”

“Not funny,” I snap, but my face is on fire, and he knows it.

“Little funny,” he says, winking.

And dammit, I laugh again.

I don’t know how many beers I’m on now. Four? Five? Am I slurring? Maybe a little…

The TV’s still muted. We’re not watching it. Neither of us is really watching anything.

“You know what’s funny,” Austin says suddenly, swirling the last inch of his beer. “Your dad wasn’t into guys. At all.”

I glance at him. “Yeah, no shit.”

He grins faintly. “I mean it. Before me? Never even thought about it. Not once.”

That lands weird. I frown, staring at the empty can in my hand. “Then… why you?”

Austin shrugs like it’s simple. “Sometimes you meet someone and it doesn’t matter if it makes sense. Doesn’t matter if you’ve never thought about it before.”

I shake my head, frustrated. “That’s so… stupid.”

 “Trust me, kid, he fought it. Hard. Tried to ignore it, bury it, drink it away. We both did. Didn’t work.”

I lean back, stare at the ceiling, exhaling through my nose. I don’t want to picture my dad like that.

Austin notices. “Don’t look at me like that,” he says, grinning crookedly. “It’s not my fault I’m irresistible.”

I groan into my hands. “Jesus Christ.”

“Hey, I didn’t make the rules,” he says, chuckling. “Your dad didn’t stand a chance. Besides I had a secret weapon.”

“Oh yeah?” I asked, biting despite myself. “And what’s that?”

He leaned in as he lowered his voice, conspiratorially, “I have a mancunt.”

He winked.

I stared at him in shock, honestly not expecting that. “A what?”

“It’s true,” he crowed. “Some men just have them and they’re incredibly hard to resist.”

I couldn’t help but look down at his crotch. I could see there was a slight bulge so he definitely had a dick, even though I didn’t particularly need to know that. I was confused. “Do you mean…?”

“Don’t worry, I’m still a real man,” he laughed as he grabbed his bulge and gave it a squeeze. “It’s just my hole is way more receptive and hungry than most guys.”|

I shook my head in disgust. “So you mean your asshole?”

He laughed, “it’s way more than just an asshole. Trust me. Your dad could tell you that.”

My phone buzzes again on the arm of the couch. Rachel. I glance at the screen, relieved for the interruption, but don’t reply this time.

Rach:You alive? How’s it going?
Rach:Billy?

I flip the phone face-down and take another swig instead.

Austin notices. “She checking in again?”

“Yeah.”

“You gonna answer?”

I shrug. “Later.”

He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t push.

“How long’s Dad usually gone on these calls?” I ask, trying to sound casual. As if we hadn’t been talking about my uncle’s hole only seconds ago.

Austin takes his time answering, scratching his pec. “When it’s this late? Could be all night.”

That lands heavier than I expect. I nod slowly, looking down at my beer. “Huh.”

I glance over and catch sight of his thighs as he stretches out… hairy, solid, thick with muscle. Bigger than mine. I hate that I notice, but I do. His shorts ride up as he sits, and I catch a glimpse of his glutes… heavy, chunky, the kind you only get from years of squats. Nothing like Rachel’s soft curves.

What the fuck did he mean by mancunt? How is it different to a regular asshole? Doesn’t every guy have one? What did he mean… hungry?

I look away fast, cracking open another beer just to give my hands something to do.

“You work out a lot,” I mutter, instantly regretting it.

He glances over, amused. “Trying to say something, Parker?”

I shrug, keeping my eyes on the can in my hands. “Just… noticed.”

“Yeah,” he says, stretching his arms overhead lazily. “Four, five days a week. Gotta keep up with your dad somehow. Guy’s a beast.”

I snort. “Gross.”

He grins. “What, picturing us spotting each other?”

I don’t answer, but he catches the corner of my mouth twitching anyway.

“You’re a lot like him,” he says finally.

“My dad?”

“Yeah. Same chip on your shoulder.”

I shake my head, scoffing. “I’m nothing like him.”

Austin just takes a swig, not arguing. “Sure, kid.”

At some point, he leans over me to grab the remote from the cushion. As he does, his hand lands on my thigh for half a second… casual, nothing… but I freeze.

Suddenly I’m hyper-aware of how close he’s sitting. He smells like beer and something warm I can’t name. I hate that I notice.

I shift slightly, putting a little space between us, but Austin just grins like he knows exactly what just happened.

“You good?” he asks, too casual.

“Yeah,” I say, a little too fast.

Our faces are close. Closer than I realized. I can see the faint stubble along his jaw, the way his chest rises and falls, the curve of his mouth. His breath smells faintly like beer, and I hate myself for thinking it’s… nice.

I swallow hard and look away, but not fast enough. What the fuck was happening to me?

“Something on your mind?” he says, voice low.

“Nope,” I say immediately, shaking my head.

But I don’t break eye contact. Neither does he.

The silence stretches, pulling tight between us. My heart’s pounding in my ears.

And then, for a stupid half-second, this thought flashes across my head… if I leaned forward, just a little, our lips would touch. In my pants, my penis gives the slightest twitch. I wondered if Austin’s mancunt was doing the same thing.

I shove it down instantly. What the hell’s wrong with me? This is my dad’s partner. My uncle. It’s messed up. It’s wrong.

But Austin’s looking at me like he knows. Like he can see straight through me. “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you? My mancunt?”

I can feel my face turning bright red. How did he know?

He just grins. “If you’re lucky I’ll let you touch it.”

I clear my throat, sit up fast, and grab my beer. “I’m gonna… get some water.”

Austin leans back, smirking faintly. “Sure thing, kid.”

When I come back from the kitchen with a glass of water, my phone goes off on the armrest again. I don’t have to check it to know it’s Rachel.

I don’t pick it up.

Austin notices, obviously. “Not gonna answer?”

“Nah,” I say, forcing a shrug. “It’s late.”

He watches me for a beat, nodding slowly like he knows exactly what’s going on but won’t say it out loud.

I shouldn’t feel like this. Whatever this even is. I feel like I’m under a spell.

I love Rachel. I want Rachel. I’ve wanted this weekend with her for months. And yet here I am, ignoring her texts, sitting on this couch with Austin, feeling something I can’t name.

It feels like betrayal, but I don’t even know who I’m betraying.

Mom? Dad? Rachel?

All of them?

I stare at the muted TV, trying to pretend none of it’s happening.

“You get too serious in your head,” he says quietly, not looking at me.

“I’m not,” I lie.

He laughs softly, almost to himself. “Yeah, you are.”

I don’t answer. Can’t.

I shift slightly, leaning back into the couch, and Austin’s arm is just there, draped behind me. Close enough that I can really smell him now. There’s the faint salt of sweat, like he’s been moving around all day, layered with something warmer, heavier, the kind of smell that sticks to a guy’s skin when he lives in T-shirts. A hint of whatever product he uses in his hair, sharp and clean under it all, but mostly it’s just… male.

I’m not used to noticing that. I’m not supposed to like it. But I do, and it throws me. Guys shouldn’t notice other guys like this.

Rachel smells like strawberries and shampoo. Always perfect, always soft. Austin smells like the opposite of that, and somehow it hits harder.

I breathe in again before I can stop myself, just to be sure I’m not imagining it, and yeah… it’s there. It’s him.

His arm slides down from the back of the couch onto my shoulder so it’s semi-wrapped around me. We’re close.

His voice is low. “You can touch it if you want.”

I stare at him but don’t say a word. I know what he’s talking about. I’m not going to pretend otherwise. I just sit there dumbly while he scoots his hips down so his butt is hanging off the edge of the couch. He pulls down the back of his shorts just a touch. His crotch is still covered but his ass cheeks are clearly exposed, even though I can’t quite see them.

I don’t move. He gently picks up my right hand and guides my forefinger up to his lips. He gently brings his lips around it, suckling on my finger, bathing it in his spit, without a hint of teeth.

Then he lowers my hand, leading it down under his thighs, to the warm crevice between his cheeks.

And then I feel it. His puckered hole. He gently rubs my finger up and down the soft flesh. It does feel like a vagina. Rachel once let me finger hers for a moment before she freaked out and made us stop. I still jacked off to that memory. This felt so similar. His hole was completely smooth, even though his face and body was kinda scruffy.

I could feel my breathing quicken as he used my finger to slowly circle his hole before I felt the ring relax and my finger slipped inside, just like it had slipped inside Rachel’s pussy.

Austin moaned with pleasure and I couldn’t help but do the same as I felt his warm insides squeeze down on my digits. This didn’t feel like an asshole. I knew enough about mine to know it was tight as fuck and nobody’s finger was ever going to just slip inside it. This felt welcoming, as if it wanted to be filled up. This truly was a mancunt.

It was a moment before I realised Austin had let go of my hand and I was pushing my finger in and out on my own, fucking him with my finger. It felt… powerful. Giving him pleasure. Touching him in his most private place.

By this point, my cock had hardened so fully in my pants, it was almost hurting as it strained for release. I was too scared to touch it so I just focussed on Austin’s mancunt, gently slipping in another finger. His hole accepted it gratefully.

Austin stared into my eyes as my fingers slid in and out of him, his breathing thick. “See?” he whispered huskily. “What did I tell you? Feel how tight it is? No man can resist it.”

The thought terrified me.

His lips were close to mine. We were practically breathing into each others mouths. “And you’re a man, Billy. You weren’t meant to bottle things up. You were meant to give in to your urges.”

My twitching cock seemed to agree with him, even though every thought in my head screamed no. But fuck… there was something about him. Even though he’s my uncle. My dad’s lover. What would it feel like? What would this mancunt feel like around my cock?

The ringtone of Austin’s phone cuts through the quiet, almost deafening.

I quickly pulled my fingers away, waves of relief and guilt washing over me at what I had just allowed myself to do.

He fishes out his phone, checks the screen, and mutters, “It’s your dad.” Then he thumbs it on, like he’s been expecting it.

“Yeah?” Austin says, voice low and casual. “Hey, babe.”

I tense at that word. “Babe.” Hearing Austin call my dad that… weirdly still hits like a punch. Especially when I’d just had my fingers inside him.

I turn my attention to the muted TV, pretending not to listen, but I can hear Dad’s voice faint and muffled on the other end, quick and steady like he always sounds when he’s on call.

“Mm-hm,” Austin says finally. “Nah, don’t worry about us. We’re fine.”

He rests his hand on the back of my neck when he says it. Gently stroking my hair. Holds my gaze like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Yeah,” he goes on, nodding slightly, still looking right at me. “Kid’s… warming up, I think.”

I shift uncomfortably but don’t look away

Austin smiles as if he’s talking directly to me. No, seriously. Don’t stress. We’ll be good.” He pauses, listening. “Yeah, I’ll make sure he eats something before bed.”

Another pause, shorter this time, and then he says, softer, still staring directly at me: “Yeah. Love you too.”

Something about hearing that makes my stomach knot up.

Austin ends the call, lowers the phone, and ever so casually, as if we’ve done it a thousand times before, leans in and kisses me on the lips. And the thing is… I just let him. I didn’t pull away. I just let his lips linger on mine. I even opened my mouth a tiny bit so that our tongues touched. His lips felt so much firmer than Rachel’s. His skin rougher, laced with stubble. I could taste the beer on his breath. It felt so different. But good. Fuck it. It felt great.

Then he gently pulled away, as if we hadn’t just French kissed like lovers.

“Doc says he’ll be gone a while,” Austin says, laying back on the couch. “Probably past midnight. Maybe later.”

I nod, my heart hammering in disbelief over what just happened. “Cool.”

“He asked how we’re getting along.”

 “And you told him I’m warming up?”

Austin smirks faintly. “I said I think you’re warming up.”

He leans forward, close enough now that I can feel the heat coming off him. “I also told him I’d give you something to eat.” He paused as he gazed into my eyes. “Do you want something to eat?”

For some reason, I knew exactly what he was talking about even though he hadn’t said it.

And the worst part was, I fucking did. I wanted to eat his pussy. Eating pussy was the thing I most want to do. It was the first thing I was going to do with Rachel on our motel night. I try not to watch too much porn because I’ve heard it’s bad for the brain and teaches men disrespect for women but the one kind of porn I can’t help but watch once in a while is men eating pussy. Hearing the women groan as they squirm with pleasure. It always excited me so much. I always wanted to know how that felt. To give someone that feeling.

But this wasn’t a pussy. Not really. It was a fucking asshole! And my uncle’s one at that!

But Austin just ran his finger across my lips as if he knew exactly what I was thinking. “It’s just the same, Billy. Maybe better.”

“What about…” I started but he shushed me gently.

“I won’t tell anyone if you won’t. It’ll be our little secret.”

He saw me hesitating, overthinking…

“Look,” he says, voice low and steady, “feelings don’t wait for permission, Billy.” And with that, he pulled off his shorts completely. “Go for it, kid.”

He gave me a gentle nudge and I let myself drop to my knees on the floor, between his thighs. He pulled his legs back, revealing his mancunt to me in all its glory. And fuck – I couldn’t deny how hot it looked! It was right there, inches from my face. I might never have an opportunity like this again.

I didn’t hold back. I planted myself face-first between his thighs and started eating out his musky mancunt. I ran my tongue up and down his slit as he cried out with pleasure, his body writhing under my touch. All that did was spur me on. I ate his pussy like it was giving me life. I couldn’t believe I was finally getting to eat pussy! This wasn’t quiet how I’d planned it but as his body quivered thanks to my tongue, I didn’t care. It felt better than I had hoped.

I slobbered all over his hole for close to ten minutes, trying different patterns and tongue-fucking him, pushing my spit deeper and deeper into his passage. My face was soaking wet with my own saliva. I was like a total pig!

Austin looked down at me. “You should take your pants off, Billy. It can’t be comfortable with that hard-on of yours practically tearing a hole in them.”

And he was right. I’d been so focussed at being such a good cunt-eater that I hadn’t even looked after myself. So I unbuttoned my pants and released my eight-inch throbbing rod.

Austin’s eyes lit up as he saw it. He reached forward and wrapped his hand around it, giving it a tentative stroke to feel its girth and weight. I groaned involuntarily. Nobody had ever touched my shaft before!

“Damn, boy,” he grinned. “You’re almost as big as your daddy… and he really stretches me out.”

The mention of my father almost broke me out of my reverie. “Austin…” I pleaded but he just pressed his lips against mine, swallowing my pitiful attempts to deny the inevitable. I should have wanted to stop. I should have tried harder. “I don’t want to cheat,” I whimpered as we came up for air.

“You’re not,” he grinned. “She can’t give you what I can.”

We both looked down. He had positioned the head of my 8” cock so it was resting against the lips of his mancunt. A drop of pre-cum dribbling out of my slit and glimmered over his anus, wet with my saliva, as my cock pulsed with my heartbeat.

“It’s OK,” he said, as if encouraging a scared tourist to take the leap at a bungee-jump.

I shook my head. “This can’t go in there,” I pleaded. “It’s too much…”

Austin stared deeply into my eyes, seeing how torn I was… how enslaved I was at this stage by my masculine hormones… my need for somebody to stop me before I gave in to my most primal urges. He smiled and nodded as if he understood. He cupped my head gently with one hand and pulled me in for a passionate kiss. We both gently moaned as our tongues fully explored each others mouths, rotating our heads to get deeper down each others throats.

And as I was lost in the embrace, he reached forward with his other hand, resting it on my hip and gently pulled me forward as he pushed his hips towards mine. I was helpless as my shaft was swallowed up by his hole, as if drawn inside like a magnet. I penetrated him fully, until my pole was completely buried in his warm cunt. And just like that, I had lost my virginity. The thing I had been saving for Rachel, the girl of my dreams, I had now given to my father’s boyfriend, completely giving into temptation.

“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh,” I groaned, tormented by pleasure and guilt in perfect measure as I felt his insides welcome me. “I’m… I’m… fucking you.”

Austin smiled at me, lost in his own feelings of pleasure, “Don’t worry. This had to happen. Now give into it.”

And so I did. I gave in. I was going to fuck this mancunt.

I sighed as I pulled my thick erection out to the head and then pushed it back in, all the way to my balls. I rotated my hips gently, wanting to feel all the sides of this tight pussy, as I started thrusting into Austin again and again. His hole welcomed me completely, tight but velvety smooth, as if it had been craving my cock and was now being rewarded.

“How does it feel? Do you like it?” he asked.

“Yes! Fuck yes!!” I exclaimed. This was a thousand times better than all the times I’d jacked off after everyone had gone to bed.

He pulled my T-shirt off me so I was fully naked, our sweaty bodies grinding together.

“That’s it, boy,” he whispered. “Fuck your uncle. It feels good, doesn’t it?”

I nodded dopily, jacked up on oxytocin, as I held onto his hips, pulling him into me, finding the perfect erotic rhythm for the two of us.

Austin arched his back, allowing me deeper access into his inner most passage. I could feel his cunt pulsing and clamping down on me, massaging my shaft, sending waves of pleasure through my quivering body. His hands explored my torso, toying with my sensitive nipples, and rubbing his hands down my well-defined pecs and abs, worshipping my body.

“Mmphhh… mmmm…. uhhh…. mmmm… uhhh,” I sighed as I bum-fucked him, completely ignoring my phone next to me, buzzing with notifications from my girlfriend, as I gave in to my lust, giving my most sacred sexual gift to somebody else. Because on some level, I knew in that moment, that my life with Rachel was a lie. It had all gone away the minute my cock had entered my uncle’s pussy. I couldn’t be with her for the rest of my life. This was who I was now. I was a man who liked to fuck mancunt.

I leaned forward, allowing Austin to rest his ankles on my shoulders as I pushed him deeper into the couch, pile-driving into his guts. The smell of his sweat was intoxicating – musky and rich, totally masculine – as I kissed his neck, tonguing up the salty scent. I was like an animal! I had never thought I would find a man’s sweat arousing, let alone wanting to taste it! But here I was… uncaged.

I could feel his own stiff hardon rubbing against my abs as I plowed him but I didn’t mind. I was fascinated that he was so aroused by me railing him that he didn’t even need to touch it.

“See?” he whispered. “This is what men can do for each other. Why would you want to deny yourself this?”

My thrusts started to grow with intensity as Austin and I alternated between boozy beer-soaked passionate kisses, suckling on each others tongues, and staring into each others eyes, grinning at our forbidden act. Any time I felt any guilt, I just pounded him harder. And everytime I pounded him harder, Austin just moaned louder with enjoyment as if he was getting exactly what he wanted. And his enjoyment just made me think of my father and girlfriend, bringing back my guilt. And so the cycle continued.

I hoped with all my might that Dad wouldn’t be home to see this. The ultimate betrayal. Cucked by his own son. Or was I the victim here? Seduced by my own uncle?

And what would Rachel think? If she caught me balls deep in my uncle, my husband’s lover, ass-fucking him like it was the most natural thing on earth? To be honest, I didn’t care. Because Austin was right. On some level, I knew deep down that she would never be able to satisfy me like he could right now.

I looked down and felt my cock expand even more as I watched it, slick with spit, get sucked into his tight asshole, over and over. I didn’t want this feeling to ever end.

“Oh fuck,” I gasped. “I’m not going to be able to hold off for much longer.”

Austin clutched onto my ass cheeks as he pulled me in deeper, “Do it, Billy. Breed me. Give me that seed!”

I could feel his cunt muscles clamping down on my meat, trying to milk my load out of me.

I felt my eyes roll back as my orgasm rose up like a tsunami, causing me to fire spurt after spurt of hot creamy boy batter inside his bowels. I was almost seeing fireworks!

“UHHHHH!!!!!! UHHHH!!! UHHHHHH!!” I cried in agonizing pleasure as I filled Austin up with my load. I’d never blown like this before. I almost thought my orgasm would never end but finally I collapsed in sweaty, breathless exhaustion, on top of him.

He wrapped his arms around me, kissing me on the top of my head, as he pulled me in close. “That was amazing, Billy. You’re one sexy fucker.”

I grinned as I lay there, feeling completely safe and comfortable in his arms, letting our breathing regulate, finally slowing back down. I felt something warm and sticky between us and realised my uncle had blown his own man-milk over my torso while I was lost in the throes of my climax. I fingered the gooey substance curiously, having never touched another man’s cum before. Austin brought my sticky fingers up to his mouth and licked them clean with a cheeky grin.

I leaned back to look my uncle in the face. As I stared at him, I realized how hot he was. How sexy. Why my father had been so tempted and given in to this man. He truly was irresistible. All joking aside. This man had unlocked something in me and I don’t think I could go back to how I was… nor did I want to.

His phone buzzed and he lazily reached over to check it. It was a message from my dad.

“Everything OK?” I asked, momentarily worried.

Austin grinned at me as he cuddled me. “He won’t be back until morning… which means… we have all night.” We French kissed for a minute or two. I had never been so aroused by kissing in my life. I didn’t want it to stop. But then he stood up and held out his hand. “Wanna come to bed?”

I gave him my hand, letting him pull me up, and we walked, hand in hand, me completely cockstruck and helpless to resist, as he lead me to my father’s bedroom for Round 2.

 

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Act 2: Improvise

I’m not sure when I drifted to sleep, but when I woke up, it was already dark outside. Only the faint glow of the moon sliced through the window, laying silver beams across Drake’s chest.

His shirt was cold and damp.

I winced, realizing I’d drooled all over him—a humiliating little puddle soaking into his red tank where my mouth had been.

Grimacing, I tried scrubbing it with the blanket, dragging the cotton edge over the dark patch—but Drake was so deep asleep he didn’t even twitch.

Damn, he looked…peaceful. Handsome, even. Moonlight smoothed the harsh lines of his jaw, softened the brutal set of his shoulders. His breathing stayed steady, slow—like a mountain sleeping.

“Sorry,” I whispered, brushing my fingers along his cheeks. “For… failing at my whole fucking purpose.”

The rough stubble scraped but felt warm. Solid. Real.

“Sorry I’m broken.”

Drake didn’t stir. Not a muscle. Not even a deeper breath—just that steady thunder under his ribs.

Improvise.

His word echoed through my skull as I stared at the faint scar above his brow—the one he earned when he smashed some Zevar prick’s face through a windshield, defending me a year back.

Easy for him to say.

How the fuck was I supposed to improvise? Sex-ed for Uvars consisted of “don’t get raped” pamphlets and terrifying diagrams about Zevar knots locking inside you during bonding.

Zero instruction on how to please a cock big enough to rearrange your guts—especially when your own plumbing was drier than bleached driftwood.

The birds and the bees? Fucking joke. Bees sting. Flowers wilt. And Uvars bleed if they’re unlucky.

“Hhh…” I hissed quietly, pressing my cheek back against his chest. The rhythm hadn’t changed. Slow. Deep. Still asleep. Good.

My gaze drifted down to where his camo shorts were bulging—not hard, just that persistent outline where he was thick even when soft.

Improvise.

The word echoed again, useless as a prayer in a hurricane.

Still, my damn hand drifted—like it had a will of its own—hovering over the ridge tenting the fabric of his shorts. The beams traced the outline, casting shadows where the seam strained taut.

Fuck, even in that state, he was…something. My knuckles brushed against it—barely a whisper—and the whole thing twitched beneath the fabric. It was heavy, and pretty much alive.

I froze—sucking in a sharp breath—but Drake’s chest kept rising and falling steady. Still out cold.

What the hell am I doing?

My brain screamed abort, but my stupid fingers stayed frozen mid-air, itching to stroke that impossible thickness.

Was touching him without permission—while he slept—some kind of violation? Or just… desperate improvisation?

Screw school and their terrified whispers. If we’re gonna get split open by these things someday, shouldn’t I at least know how to… appreciate it? Prepare for it? Make it less like surgery?

But no—they opted for traumatizing pictures that looked less like pleasure and more like alien autopsy sketches.

I should stop.

But ooohhh my curiosity—that traitorous little bitch clawing its way up my spine—wasn’t listening.

Drake belongs to me. The thought slithered through my panic. His cock belongs to me too. Hadn’t he earned… something? A stupid little thank you For waiting? For not snapping my pretty neck in frustration?

I mean—

“You can touch it if you’re so curious.”

Drake’s voice rasped out of nowhere.

“AAAAHHHHHH!!!!”

My shriek ripped through the cottage—embarrassingly high-pitched—as I scrambled backward like a startled cat. My knees caught in the tangled sheets, and I nearly stumbled over the bed’s edge.

Drake’s hand shot out—ridiculously fast—catching my forearm before I could tumble ass-over-elbow onto the travertine.

“Easy,” he growled, sounding asleep but somehow steady enough to haul me back in one effortless tug.

My heart doing Olympic-grade somersaults, I gaped at him—wide-eyed, like a deer-caught-in-headlights terror.

“You… you were asleep!” I wheezed, still half-panting… “I heard your heartbeat—deep, steady!”

Drake just chuckled—low and hoarse—son of a bitch. “Zevar instinct, princess.” His grip tightened around my forearm. “We sleep shallow as hell when scenting trouble.”

His thumb rubbed lazy circles on my racing pulse. “Or when our beautiful boy’s plotting jailbreak on our shorts.”

My face went nuclear. “Wasn’t plotting!” I glared, trying to wrench my arm free. Which was useless. His grip was iron wrapped in velvet. “Just… scientific curiosity! Like poking roadkill!”

Drake laughed outright. “Roadkill? Princess, that’s my dick you’re insulting.” He let go of my arm. “But if you wanna poke it… go ahead.”

He spread his thighs slightly, making the bulge in his shorts even more…unignorable. “Touch whatever you want. It’s yours.”

“Ummm…” I stalled. Shit, where to start?

Drake tilted his head, studying me like some exotic bug pinned under glass.

“Wait. Hold up.” His brow furrowed in genuine confusion, not mockery. “Are you… You telling me you’ve literally never seen one? In person? Ever?”

“The hell kind of question is that?” I snapped, suddenly defensive. “Who the fuck was I gonna see? Random Zevars whipping it out on street corners? ‘Scuse me, sir, mind showing me your dick? For educational purposes?’”

My tone shot up an octave. “My dad sure as shit wasn’t volunteering for show-and-tell! Only diagrams, okay? Awful, terrifying diagrams!”

Drake’s expression softened. It wasn’t pity, but understanding. “Ah, shit,” he mumbled. “No wonder you’re nervous.”

He pushed himself up on an elbow, the mattress springs groaning under his shifting weight. “Alright. Lesson one.” He hooked a thumb under the waistband of his camo shorts. “Wanna peel it back yourself? Or you want me to?”

My throat clicked dry. “J-just…” I waved a hand. “You do it.”

Crap, even my response seemed strangled. Less like a bond-mate, more like a terrified hostage negotiating terms.

Drake shrugged, like it was nothing, and tugged the waistband down his hips. The camo fabric slid over thighs, revealing coarse dark hair and then…

Gods.

It sprang free, thick and heavy against his stomach, the tip flushed dark purple where a bead of slick glistened.

My breath hitched. Diagrams failed. This wasn’t anatomy; this was a weapon. Veins snaked along the shaft, pulsing under the moonlight, and the sheer size—thicker than my wrist—made me clench in primal terror.

“See?” Drake rasped, knuckles grazing his own erection casually. “No teeth.”

And it kept growing—gods be damned, it was like some alien creature unfurling right there between his thighs.

“No teeth?” I choked out, staring at that impossible girth. “How… How the hell is that supposed to get in me?” My voice cracked, revealing the panic I desperately tried to suppress.

Diagrams never show scale. Never show the intimidating reality of flesh and muscle throbbing against his belly. Never show the sheer fucking physics-defying width where it curved slightly upward, crowned by that swollen, glistening head.

Okay, I might be exaggerating a bit but screw me sideways.

“We won’t,” Drake assured, shifting slightly to prop himself higher against the pillows. “Not until you slick.”

My gaze stayed glued to that veined thing resting against his stomach.

“Still,” I whispered, “even if I slick… how?” I pointed weakly at it, disbelief warring with fascination. “That thing’s bigger than my goddamn wrist, Drake. My slick’s supposed to be… what? Magic lube? Erase physics?”

To know that eventually it would try to breach my practically sealed entrance? I shuddered.

Drake just grinned and ruffled my hair. “We’ll cross that bridge when we’re there, princess.”

He parted a rogue curl from my forehead. “Stop panicking. Focus on what’s in front of you.” He nudged his hips, making his cock bob heavy and inviting against his abdomen. “Explore.”

I echoed it softly. “Explore.”

Then silence. It had stopped growing now, mercifully—seemed to have reached its maximum size.

Shit, it looked—I lost words. Instead, I observed it more…thoroughly. There were swollen sacs the size of small plums tucked tight up against his thigh.

“What… what’re those?” I pointed vaguely downward, confusion wrinkling my nose. “Those wrinkly… walnut things? Uvars don’t have those.”

Diagrams skipped the messy details—just arrows pointing at random shapes labeled “reproduction sack” or some clinical garbage. Uvars didn’t carry spare parts down there.

“That’s Zevar only, princess,” Drake explained, shifting so the light caught the heavy swell. “Our baby batter factory.” He tapped one taut sac lightly with his index finger—it bounced slightly. “Where I brew your future belly-stretchers.”

Belly-stretchers. The thought alone sent a bizarre flutter through my guts—some mix of dread and… pride? That someday, his legacy would swell inside me? That this terrifying, magnificent Zevar chose me to carry whatever brutal little monsters he’d plant?

Shit.

“Okay. Okay.” I swallowed hard. “Soo… what can I do… to… to do something for you?” The words jumbled and unsure, betraying every nerve screaming inside me. “I mean… you waited… and I’m… I wanna…”

Drake patted the mattress beside him. “C’mere. Sit next to me.” He was still a little bit sleepy, but calm and clear. “Relax.”

He didn’t reach for me—just waited.

I shuffled closer, my knees sinking into the plush duvet until our thighs brushed.

“Okay,” I breathed, staring at the dick. “So… touching?”

“Start wherever feels safest,” Drake guided my timid hand toward his thigh instead of the intimidating shaft. “Touch what doesn’t scare you.”

My fingertips brushed the coarse hair dusting his hipbone—rough, so unlike mine. Slowly, cautiously, I traced upward along the ridge of muscle flanking his groin, avoiding the swollen centerpiece. Drake stayed perfectly still, though his breaths deepened slightly when my knuckles grazed the hot skin beneath his navel.

Then I touched it—just the side of the shaft, feather-light—and the whole thing twitched against my fingers.

It was… hot. So damn hot—like touching sun-warmed leather stretched over iron.

His veins pulsed under my fingertips, in-sync with Drake’s heartbeat. My breath froze. “Does… does that hurt?”

He grinned, a spark lighting his eyes.

I narrowed mine at him. “You think this is funny?” My voice came out tight. “My hand’s shaking like I’m holding a fucking grenade, and you’re smirking?”

“Nah, princess.” He stretched slightly, his shaft sliding against my palm still hovering beside it. “Just enjoying your focus.”

A beat. Then, softer—”Keep goin’. Explore.”

I tried to grip it… My fingers curled tentatively around his dick—warm, impossibly firm. My full grip wouldn’t encircle him.

My thumb slid higher, aiming for the slick-wet tip, and I squeezed—harder, clumsier than I intended.

Drake jolted, a sharp hiss tearing from his throat. “Fuck—easy, princess!” His hips bucked involuntarily, and that head pulsed against my palm—clear liquid oozed, dripping in sticky trails down the shaft. “That’s not a fucking stress ball.”

I jerked my hand back like I’d grabbed a live wire.

“Shit! Sorry!” Panic flooded me—I hadn’t meant to hurt him. My fingers trembled, coated now with that oddly scented fluid. “Did I break it?”

Oh God, oh God, I fucked up! I hurt him!

Drake caught my wrist before I could retreat entirely. “You don’t break a Zevar steel that easy, princess.”

His grip was firm, pulling my hand back toward his cock.

“Just… gentler.” He wrapped my fingers loosely around the base, guiding my touch. “Any harder and you’ll crack my damn knot.”

His thumb pressed over mine, forcing my grip to soften against that pulsing warmth. “There. Like holding a bird, not choking a snake.”

“Uhhh… okayyy…” I breathed, trying to loosen my fingers. “Yeah yeah…” I mumbled. “Bird. Got it.”

Drake huffed before letting go of my wrist. “There ya go.”

“Now what?”

Drake nudged my knuckles. “Up,” he guided my hand slowly along the shaft toward the swollen crown.

The vein beneath my fingertips throbbed faintly as I slid upward, gathering more sticky warmth pooling at the tip. It should’ve felt filthy… but fuck, the slick slid like silk between my fingers.

“And… Down,” Drake nudged my knuckles back toward his hips. My palm slid easily down, dragging a trail of wetness with it.

I frowned. “How do you know how to do this?” The question slipped out—curiosity cutting through my stupidity.

“Did… did the Coalition teach you?” My thumb circled the vein pulsing near the base. “Or did you practice with… others?”

Drake snorted and shifted his hips to press deeper into my clumsy grip. “Fuck no,” he proclaimed. “Zevar don’t share cocks, princess.”

The moon caught that twisting of his mouth. “We do it ourselves. That’s how I survived all these years without an Uvar.” His palm brushed my knuckles as he guided my fist tighter. “Just me. My hand. And a whole lotta imagination.”

My palm slid slowly over the hot crown—but my frown deepened. Imagination? Imagining what? Fucking who? Some phantom Uvar?

My grip hardened. A strange, sharp anger flared hot in my gut, unexpected and sour. “What imagination?” I lashed. “You picturing some faceless Uvar doing this to you?”

“Just whatever Uvar was on the cover of that month’s mags.” He mussed my hair lazily. “Or someone from the TV dramas.” His grin widened. “You were fuckin’ two when I first started needing to handle this.”

Oh. My grip loosened instantly.

The sour feeling evaporated—replaced by sheer, stupid disbelief. “You fantasized about… celebs?” I continued sliding my fist slowly. “Just… random celebrities?” My nose wrinkled. “That sounds depressing.”

He just shrugged. “It worked.”

My fist kept moving—up, down—easily gliding until his cock felt less like forged steel and more like velvet-wrapped heat. I squeezed gently around the crown each time I reached the top, collecting more of that slippery fluid.

“Is it okay?” I asked. “Too hard?”

Was I even doing this right?

A slight wince etched at the corner of Drake’s eye—there and gone in a blink.

“You can go faster now,” Drake encouraged me, his voice starting to change—still rough, but with a huskiness that hadn’t been there before.

I hesitated, my fist pausing mid-stroke. “Are you sure?” I asked. “Won’t it hurt?”

“Can’t hurt when it’s slicked like this, princess,” Drake assured me, tilting his hips toward my grip. “It’s okay.”

I obeyed, sliding faster—still tentative, but firmer—up, down, up again. The rhythm became mechanical, hypnotic.

Schlick… schlick… schlick…

The sound filled the quiet cottage—obscene. I pumped even faster now, almost frantic; the glide felt even more effortless.

I kept my eyes glued to Drake’s face—his jaw clenched tight. His breathing strained—sharper, ragged—no longer that steady tide.

Fuck, fuck, does it hurt? Am I hurting him?

I slowed my frantic pace. Those low grunts escaping his gritted teeth sounded way too close to pain. Sweat plastered dark strands across his forehead, tendons standing stark in his neck—he looked like he was riding out a gut-punch.

“Drake?” I was worried. “Should I stop? Does it—?”

“Keep going,” he gasped, his hips lifting sharply off the mattress to meet my fist. “I’m not in pain, princess. Feels fucking good.”

His fingers knotted tight in the sheets, knuckles white. “Don’t stop.”

So I didn’t. I squeezed just enough to feel the pulse-points beneath my touch. Drake’s hips bucked with each downward stroke—wild, uncontrolled thrusts that sent fresh beads of slick spraying across my knuckles.

He was grunting—deep, ragged noises. Eyes squeezed shut, face contorted into something fierce, almost pained, sweat beading his temples. Shit, it looked brutal. Terrifying. Like I was torturing him.

He said it felt good, I reminded myself desperately. He said keep going. But the fear coiled in my belly anyway—was I breaking him?

Then Drake gasped—eyes snapping open wild and dark. “Princess,” he choked out, his hips pistoning upward uncontrollably.

“I’m about to burst… Don’t stop—no matter what happens—don’t fucking stop. You hear me?” His voice sounded shredded—raw, commanding. Terrifying.

I nodded frantically, my hand slipping faster—up, down, relentless—not understanding what ‘burst’ meant but clinging to his order. Was he bleeding?

I couldn’t breathe.

Then a few things happened at once. Twin lumps bulged suddenly at the base of his cock—red, angry swollen flesh pushing outward like fists beneath his skin.

Drake snarled, teeth bared, his face contorting into a mask of agony—brow knitted tight, tendons screaming in his neck—as his entire body locked rigid.

The shaft turned iron-hard in my palm, veins pulsed, while the bulbous head swelled purple-black, stretching impossibly taut.

What the fuck is going on?!

Drake’s head slammed backward into the headboard—a brutal thud that made me flinch—as his hips arched off the mattress.

“GGGAAHHHHHH!!!” He roared.

Not a groan—not a whimper. This was a fucking nightmare noise ripped from the bottom of his lungs—an animalistic roar.

Then came the explosion—the ‘burst’ he’d warned me about.

His cock pulsed violently in my grip, and a hot jet of white shot high overhead—thick as paint, catching the moonlight—before splattering onto the blankets between us with a wet plop.

Before I could gasp, another rope jumped upward—striking my hairline, dripping onto my forehead. A third spray hit my still-stroking hand, coating my knuckles in thick streaks, while a fourth slammed against the headboard with a sharp splat, leaving a viscous smear dripping down the wood.

“Fucking hell!” I choked, flinching but keeping my hand moving as ordered—terrified to stop while Drake roared again, his body shuddering violently like a seizure.

Every pulse ripped another snarl from Drake’s throat, primal and raw, like a wounded beast tearing free of a trap.

Then, finally—mercifully—the violent spurting slowed to trickles. Warm drops dripped from my shaking fingers onto his still-throbbing shaft. Drake collapsed back against the pillows with a ragged groan, chest heaving, every muscle surrendered in exhaustion.

Sweat coated him—across the powerful biceps and heaving torso like he’d just run ten miles uphill. The room stank—iron tang, and something sweetly musky that clung to the back of my throat.

“What…” I stared at the splatters—splotches of white scattered everywhere. I lifted a hand—pearly ropes smeared across my knuckles like war paint. “What is this?”

Drake’s chest heaved. “That…” he was breathless, pointing a shaking finger at the mess coating my hand. “…Is…” A rough cough escaped him. “…My cum.” His lips curled into a tired, filthy grin. “My baby batter.”

“It’s… everywhere,” I stated the fact, horrified.

Drake chuckled weakly, wiping sweat from his brow. “Yeah,” he rasped. “And it’s supposed to be inside you.” His knuckle brushed my thigh. “Deep inside. Not sprayed across the goddamn wall.”

That whole fucking explosion was supposed to fill me? The sheer physics of it—Drake’s impossible thickness plus that volcanic eruption—made my knees wobble. How could anything survive that battering ram followed by a cement mixer unloading in your womb?

“Is that,” I whispered, “what you meant by… improvising?”

Drake’s eyes—glazed and heavy-lidded—drifted toward the explosion site decorating his chest and the headboard. “Yeah. It’s a start.”

So I was doing something right. He seemed wrecked but satisfied… Yeah, okay, that counted as progress. Maybe I wasn’t a complete disaster.

Then I stared at the mess coating my hand. Curiosity prickling, I lifted it tentatively to my nose. Sniffed. Huh. Surprisingly sweet—like warm honey mixed with something musky.

Before my brain could scream STOP, my tongue darted out—just a quick swipe across my knuckle. The taste exploded—rich, cloying sweetness, almost floral.

“Holy shit,” I mumbled, licking my lips. “It’s like… nectar?”

Drake froze mid-stretch, his eyes snapping to mine. Confusion carved deep lines beside his mouth.

“Nectar?” His brow furrowed. “Bullshit. Zevar cum’s supposed to taste like salt and bitter.” He stared hard, like I was pulling some elaborate prank.

“Huh?” I blinked. “No, seriously.” I lifted my sticky knuckles again. “It’s… sweet.”

To prove it—and because fuck, I was morbidly fascinated—I dragged my tongue slowly along the slick mess coating my thumb, gathering every drop. Floral sweetness exploded on my tongue again, rich and cloying.

“See?” I mumbled, licking my lips clean. “Like honey.”

Drake just stared—raised a brow, lips slightly parted—like I’d grown a second head.

“That… makes no fucking sense,” he shook his head. He sagged back against the pillows, muscles slack.

My gaze snagged back on those twin lumps at the base of his cock—swollen, flushed dark crimson, still pulsing faintly like twin hearts beneath bruised skin.

“Drake,” I whispered, my finger hovering above the angry bulge. “What’s wrong with… these?” I wanted to poke it. “They look infected.”

“That’s normal, princess.” He patted the skin gently. “That’s my knot.” His thumb traced the skin where the thickest lump met the shaft.

“It’ll deflate on its own. Give it ten minutes. Zevar biology—holds tight when it needs to.” He slumped deeper into the pillows. “Means I’m done. For now.”

Oh… So that’s the thing Coalition teachers said will lock us. They’d shoved grainy holoscreens at us—Zevar knots would swell thick inside phantom Uvar—while they droned about “binding mechanics” and “biological inevitability.”

Horror stories whispered in dorm halls: Once he knots you, you’re stuck. Takes hours sometimes. Can’t pull out. Can’t move. Just gotta ride it out while he pumps you full.

Questions bubbled—How long exactly did this knot last? Could I accidentally touch it wrong and make it swell again? But Drake’s breaths had gone soft and rhythmic, eyelids heavy.

Asleep? Already? Mid-conversation? Seriously?

I opened my mouth—then closed it. I mean, look at him—utterly spent, slack-jawed, cum still drying in streaks across his tanks.

He looked… peaceful. Weirdly vulnerable. Exhaustion radiated off him in waves. Asking felt cruel. Like kicking a guard dog after he’d just fought off a bear.

So I sighed—just a soft puff of breath—and leaned back against his chest. Solid. Warm. His heartbeat drummed steady beneath my cheek

thud-thud thud-thud

My nose pressed against sweat-damp skin where his collarbone met his throat—Fuck, it reeked—something distinctly Drake.

Unpleasant? Yeah. But discomfort? Nah.

Somehow, curled against Drake like this, I felt safer than I ever had in my entire life.

Maybe, just maybe, I didn’t need to be so goddamn anxious all the time. Drake seemed to know what he was doing, and I was beginning to trust that he would lead me through this.

For now, that trust was enough.

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