Chapter 6: Morning Worship
Ryan padded back from the bathroom, a glass of water in his hand that he'd never actually taken a sip from. His body was still humming, a low electric current of need that hadn't dimmed since the moment he'd opened his father's bedroom door. He stopped in the doorway, watching Shane sprawled across the bed, that impossibly thick body barely contained by the mattress beneath him.
Morning light had begun to bleed through the curtains, turning the room a soft gold. Shane lay on his side, one massive arm tucked under the pillow, his face slack with sleep, those work-roughened features softened into something almost boyish. The black thong was a dark slash against his tan skin, the fabric crusted with the evidence of everything they'd done. His legs were slightly parted, giving Ryan a view of the heavy swell of his thigh, the dark thatch of hair at the base of his cock visible where the thong had shifted. He was beautiful. That was the only word for it. Beautiful in a way that had nothing to do with convention or appropriateness and everything to do with the raw, undeniable fact of his body.
Ryan set the glass down on the dresser, leaving it there, and moved to the edge of the bed. He slid in behind his father, pressing his chest against the broad expanse of Shane's back, his cock hardening instantly as it rested against the cleft of his father's ass.
Yesterday morning, he thought, his mind drifting as he breathed in the scent of Shane's skin. Yesterday morning I was wishing I could wake up next to a beautiful man. The thought was almost laughable now. He'd been standing in his mirror, cataloging his flaws, dreaming of that faceless, handsome stranger who would make everything feel right. He'd imagined coffee together, lazy mornings, the simple domestic fantasy of another body beside him.
And now here he was. Wrapped around his father, his nose buried in the crook of Shane's shoulder, the reality of his deepest, most secret desires made flesh. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to cry. He did neither. He just breathed. And then he moved closer.
Ryan pressed his lips to the warm skin at the base of Shane's neck, tasting salt and the faint, lingering musk of sweat. He trailed upward, over the ridge of the trapezius, the skin there rough and warm, before reaching the soft, vulnerable hollow behind Shane's ear.
"I love you," he whispered. "I love you so much, Dad."
Shane slept on. A low, rumbling snore escaped his lips. The rise and fall of his chest was slow and deep, his body utterly at peace. Ryan watched the pulse beating in his father's throat, the way his lips parted slightly, the fan of his eyelashes against his cheek. He looked so vulnerable in sleep. So trusting. So utterly at his son's mercy.
Something shifted in Ryan's chest. The guilt was still there, a dull ache he'd grown accustomed to. But it was being drowned out, moment by moment, by a deeper, more primal certainty. This was not wrong. It wasn't. It was the most honest thing he'd ever done. He was giving himself to his father, and his father was giving himself back.
Ryan's hand drifted down, over the hard plane of Shane's stomach, the coarse hair beneath his palm. He felt the band of the thong, the silky fabric warm from Shane's body. He let his fingers trace the edge of the waistband, dipping just beneath, feeling the heat radiating from his father's skin. "You're so beautiful," Ryan murmured, the words muffled by Shane's flesh as he trailed more kisses down his spine.
Shane stirred under his touch, a soft sound escaping him—not quite a moan, not quite a sigh. His hips shifted almost involuntarily, pressing his ass back against Ryan's groin. The movement was pure instinct, a body responding to pleasure before the mind can catch up. Ryan slid his hand lower, his fingers finding the thatch of coarse hair at the base of Shane's cock, the silk of the thong damp against his knuckles. He pulled back, just enough to inhale deeply. The scent hit him like a drug. The raw, musky, animal smell of a man who'd been sweating and coming for hours. The smell of his dad.
It was the smell of home.
Unable to stop himself, Ryan lifted Shane's heavy arm, draping it across the pillow above his head. The pit beneath was exposed, a dark, shadowed pocket of thick hair and dried, glossy sweat, shimmering in the early morning light. He didn't think. He didn't reason. He just pressed his face straight in, his nose and mouth mashing into the fragrant, intimate fuzz. He inhaled. Deep. He held it. Released. He swallowed a moan that scraped his dry throat raw, his entire body lurching, a full-body shudder rippling from his scalp to his toes.
Shane shifted again, a low sound of pleasure rumbling from his chest as Ryan's tongue lapped broad and flat across the bed of hair, dragging the taste of it—the salt, the musk, the pure dad—into his mouth. He could feel the coarse hair tickling his lips, the skin beneath slick with sweat. He ground the swell of his erection against Shane's thick thigh, desperate for friction, a needy. feral rumbling starting in his chest. He was lost. Completely and utterly lost in the scent and taste and feel of his father.
"Mmm..." A low rumble vibrated against him. Shane's voice was thick with sleep. "That's it, buddy. That's my boy. Be selfish."
The words sent a jolt through Ryan. He froze for a second, his face still buried, his mind racing. Shane wasn't awake. Not really. He was lost in that hazy state between sleep and waking, speaking from pure instinct. But the permission, the encouragement, it was all still there. It was always there. Ryan pulled his face out of Shane's pit, licking his lips, tasting salt. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Shane's forehead. "I love you, Dad," he said again, his voice rough.
Shane's eyes fluttered open, groggy and unfocused. A slow, pleased smile spread across his face. "Hey, bud. You sleep okay?"
"I slept perfect."
Ryan watched the way his father's eyes roamed his face, the lazy warmth in them. Shane's voice was still rough with sleep, so deep it seemed to vibrate in the air between them. "You want to try something?" Ryan asked.
"Anything," Shane breathed. "Anything for you."
Ryan's heart hammered against his ribs. "I want to tell you something. About the way I think about men. About the way I think about you." He hesitated, the words catching in his throat. But Shane waited, patient and open. "The smell. The way you smell. It's the first thing I notice. It's the thing that makes me want to get closer."
He could feel Shane's gaze on him, warm and unwavering. "Smell?"
"Not just perfume or soap. The real smell. The one that means a man. Sweat. Muscles. The heat that comes off a body when it's been working. When it's been... wanting." Ryan's voice was barely a whisper now. "That smell is the thing that unlocks everything else."
Shane's smile widened. A slow, dawning understanding. "That so?"
"Yeah." Ryan swallowed. "That's why I used to take things. From the locker room. At the gym." He felt the shame rise, hot and prickly, but it was weaker now. It was being burned away by the truth of his own confession. "Jockstraps. Used underwear. Sometimes just sweat-soaked towels. I'd stuff them in my gym bag, take them home, and just... breathe them in."
He paused, waiting for the disgust. Waiting for the rejection. But what he saw in his father's face was softness. Was acceptance. Of course it was. "You don't have to do that anymore," Shane said simply, his voice low and certain. "You don't have to steal from other people. You could have just asked me."
The words hit Ryan like a physical blow, a swell of relief and gratitude so intense it made his eyes sting. He pressed his face into the curve of his father's neck, breathing him in, overwhelmed. "Make up for lost time then," he managed, his voice hoarse. "Give me your scent. All of it."
He was already moving, following his instinct, sliding down and down. The black thong was crusted and damp, the fabric clinging to Shane's heavy package. The sight of that straining, soaked pouch made Ryan's mouth water. He pressed his face against the thin nylon, pushing his nose against the outline of his dad's balls. The scent that hit him was staggering—the thick, salty, fertile odor of Shane's crotch, amplified by hours of contained heat. It was rank and wonderful and purely male. Ryan's eyes rolled back in his head.
"That's what I'm talking about, buddy," Shane rumbled above him. "Take it. Take whatever you want."
Ryan made a sound, something between a sob and a moan, and shoved his nose harder against the pouch, inhaling so deep he felt dizzy. He was making out with the fabric bulging over his dad's balls—mouth open, tongue pressing, leaving slick, desperate kisses against the wet nylon. He could feel the heat through the fabric, the solid, heavy mass of Shane's cock and balls contained within.
The pouch was soaked through. The combination of Ryan's saliva and Shane's pre-cum had made the fabric almost transparent, revealing even more of the shape and dark skin beneath. Ryan licked at the wet spot, tasting his dad through the fabric, the sharp bitter essence making him moan out loud. He couldn't get enough. He grabbed the pouch in his hand and pressed his whole mouth against the heavy outline of the cock, sucking, pulling the fabric tight against the hard, veined shaft.
"Oh, fuck... That's my good boy..."
Ryan looked up, his mouth still pressed to his dad's bulge, and saw Shane's expression. His head was tilted back, his eyes half closed, his lips parted. He was being devoured, and he looked like he was in heaven. And Ryan knew. He knew that he had to have more. He had to have the real thing.
He pulled the fabric aside.
The cock sprang free, thick and dark and heavy. It was slick with pre-cum, the head a deep, angry purple, long enough to brush Ryan's chin. Ryan looked at it. It was the source of so much of what he was. His dad's cock. He could smell it, the powerful, heady musk that rose from the straining flesh, the scent of a man on the verge of. He sank his mouth onto that thick shaft. He didn't take his time. He didn't try to be gentle. He just swallowed it down as far as he could go, gagging only slightly as the head hit the back of his throat. He didn't focus on his throat. He focused on his nose. He pressed his face deeper into the coarse, sweat-soaked hair at the base, inhaling the scent.
Shane's hips bucked involuntarily, a cry caught in his throat. But Ryan pushed them back down, forcing himself to be still. He pulled off the cock with a wet, obscene pop, his lips slick and swollen, and he didn't stop there. He dragged his mouth lower, leaving a trail of saliva across the heavy sac, the warm, wrinkled skin of his dad's balls. And lower still. He nudged his nose between Shane's spread cheeks, his dad's ass positioned as if in silent offering.
He pressed his face deep into the crack, rubbing his nose up and down the musky, sweaty cleft. The scent was beyond potent; it was primal. The smell of his father's ass after a long night. He could taste it on the tip of his tongue without even touching. He spread the cheeks with his hands, exposing his target.
What he saw made his cock throb painfully.
Shane's hole was... ruined. Gloriously, obscenely ruined. It was puffy and swollen, slick with lube and sweat, the muscle dark and well-used. It winked at him. It beckoned.
"Oh, Christ," Ryan breathed.
"Eat it," Shane grunted, his voice a low, savage command. There was no other way to describe it. The gentle, supportive father was gone, replaced by a man who wanted what he wanted, exactly how he wanted it. The guttural authority in his father's tone sent a surge of heat through Ryan's entire body. "Eat my hole, baby. Tongue-fuck me deep like you did in your dreams. Do it."
And Ryan did.
He pressed his mouth to his dad's hole and kissed it like it was the last thing he'd ever taste. He licked up and down the slick crack, drinking in the taste and smell, before pressing the flat of his tongue against the ring of muscle. He lapped at the smooth, puffy, swollen rugae, savoring the texture, the warmth, the yielding give as he pushed his tongue against the tight entrance. Then he was plunging his tongue inside his dad's hole as deep as he could go. He fucked his tongue in him, over and over, with a rhythm that was sloppy and desperate and utterly devoted.
His dad's moans vibrated through his bones. "Oh, fuck, just like that... Fuck my pussy with your tongue. You love it, don't you? You love my stink and my hole and the taste of it." There was only the wet, messy, obscene sound of his father's ass being eaten. Shane's hands found the back of Ryan's head, not pushing, but caressing, petting, praising. "That's it, my good little boy, just like that."
Ryan came up for air, gulping, slick from mouth to chin. "Turn over. On your back," he managed.
Shane rolled over in an instant, presenting his ass to the ceiling. Ryan's saliva and lube dripped from the wreck of his hole. Ryan took him by the calves and pushed his legs up and back, spreading his dad wide. Then he dove back in, face-first, burying his nose and mouth in Shane's hole at the same time. He shoved his tongue in as deep as he could, lapping the length of the inner walls. He was grunting, moaning, completely possessed, revelling in the submission. He pushed his nose into the hole, the whole space, muffled, smothered, suffocating. He could feel his dad's hole clench around the tip of his nose, strong, desperate, an involuntary gape. He was beyond thought. Beyond shame. There was only this, only the wet hot depths of his father's body.
"That's it, baby," Shane grunted, his whole tale shaking. "I'm gonna cum, buddy. I'm gonna cum so hard all over myself... Do it. Do it!" And he did.
His whole body convulsed. Ryan felt the cracking clench of his dad's hole, the desperate ripple of the muscle around his buried nose, the shuddering of the massive thighs bracketing his head. A potent orgasm tearing through him. His own cock, untouched, burst with a thick, hot load against the inside of Shane's thigh, the result was overwhelming. He was submerged, his entire face buried in his dad's ass as Shane's body clenched and released and clenched again, riding out the longest, hardest orgasm of his life. Ryan kept his face buried, kept his mouth working, until the last tremor had passed. Only then did he pull his face out, gasping and cum-drunk, to see the mess he'd made. There was a pool of thick, white liquid spreading through the black mesh of the thong.
"That was for you. All for you," Shane slurred, still blinking.
Ryan looked from the cum to his father's cum-dusted face, his own body still shaking, and he felt a surge of possessive, overwhelming devotion. Without a word, he lowered his head and pressed his mouth to the soaked pouch. He suckled. He sucked hard, drawing the thick, warm liquid through the fabric and into his mouth. He sucked until the fabric was almost dry, tasting his dad's release, the most intimate thing he'd ever had. He sucked and then he crawled up his dad's body, his mouth full, his eyes locked. Shane's eyes widened as he approached, understanding. He opened his mouth, accepting. Their lips met. The kiss was sloppy and wet, tongues tangling, as the thick, familiar taste of Shane's cum flooded back into his own mouth. They shared it, snowballing it back and forth, swallowing and tasting until there was nothing left but the lingering musk of his father between their lips.
When they finally broke apart, panting, staring into each other's eyes. Shane was smiling, soft and real. "How'd you know?" he asked.
Ryan let out a wet, broken laugh. "Because you're mine, Dad. And I'm yours."
Shane's smile didn't waver. He traced a thumb along Ryan's jawline, fresh tears on his cheeks, the expression on his face one of total adoration. He opened his mouth to speak, but the sound that came out was utterly ordinary. "I love you, Ryan."
"I know, Dad." Ryan pressed a kiss to his father's chin. "I know."
He settled into the crook of Shane's arm, their bodies entwined, the silence between them golden. There was no shame. There was no regret. There was only a father and son, tangled together in the morning light, their secrets finally spoken.