family-reunion-5

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Ass

Subject: Family Reunion – Ch. 5 Family Reunion by RJ Meyers This story is about a married father who takes in his younger brother after a five-year separation. If you are offended by themes of incest (and, eventually, adult/youth), do not read. If you have any questions or comments about this piece, want to know about any of my other works, or just want to reach out, please don’t hesitate to email me. If you would like to be added to a mailing list for this story (or all stories) and receive emails about any updates, let me know. A list of my works, including links and descriptions, can be found here: https://bit.ly/2S5IYDI Please also consider donating to Nifty if you fty/donate.html. Any amount helps. ~ Chapter 5 ~ That’s what Parker sent to Cliff, at 2:08 AM, last Thursday, after our unexpected conversation. Even though Parker seemed to respect me even more after he, David, and I all enjoyed a nice, (relatively) open discussion about our experiences growing up, seeing that text message on his phone gave me a surge of validation. Since that night, Parker has come to me more and more lately, and he’s proven himself to be more openminded than I originally gave him credit for. He was never weirded out by the few things I allowed David to disclose and took in the information with maturity. Hell, he even looks at me differently — in a more positive light. Clearly, my “past” relationship with my brother has made an impression on my son, which gives me this all-too-delightful lightness in my chest. But David, fucking David, sweet, well-intentioned, but dumbass David nearly fucks it up for me. I’d given it a lot of thought and had decided Parker was right: David would be a good fit for the gallery. Specifically, he’d be a good fit for *me* — and only after having a moment of feeling completely overwhelmed this morning by gallery-related shenanigans did I realize that I needed him. So I hired him. I was in the middle of breaking some things down for David when Parker came in, fresh out of bed, a couple hours before today’s meet. He busied himself with grabbing some cereal when he overheard our conversation and caught on the context. “You hired Uncle Dave?” he asked. In response, David grinned. “Hell yeah, he did.” “Niiice!” Parker said with a laugh, and they effortlessly ran through a handshake they came up with themselves. “Congrats!” “Thanks, bud. Just hoping it’s not too… stuffy,” David teased with a grin towards me. That’s how he generally sees artists: as “stuffy” elitists. Frankly, there are plenty of them, so I get it. “It is,” Parker murmured — but as they both laughed, I could tell they were just having a bit of fun at my expense, so I let them have it. “I told Dad you’d make it cool, anyway.” David chuckled. “Nah, give him some credit. He’s… how’d you put it?” David asked Parker. “‘Cooler than you think he is’?” Granted, it’s not David’s fault that he reiterated Parker’s text nearly verbatim. All I had told David was that Parker had said I was cooler than he originally thought. I didn’t tell him that I had read that in the boy’s private texts to his coach. I haven’t told David that, excluding the time when I discovered Parker’s affair, I’ve snooped… twice. I don’t know why I did it, either. It’s a harsh invasion of privacy, but I couldn’t stop myself. The first time, I just *had* to see Parker’s cock again. The second time, I texted his pictures to myself (and some of Cliff’s). I know. I’m a scumbag. But I figured no one would find out. No harm done. But now, seeing Parker’s confusion makes me want to punch both David and myself. My son glances at his uncle before his attention shifts towards me, hitting me with an inquisitive expression. And me? I’m frozen. I don’t know what to say, or how to rework this in a way that doesn’t implicate me as a total creep of a dad. For a moment, I’m sure my silence and my inability to keep a straight face is going to give it all away. Thankfully, like a saving fucking angel, Eve enters the room yawning and throwing her hair up into a messy bun. She still looks a bit tired from her bout of flu last week, but she’s back on her feet now. Already, she’s in mother-mode, because she pauses at the sight of Parker only in pajamas. “Why aren’t you ready?” she asks. “I have, like, two hours,” he says. “You have *one* hour,” she says, pointing towards the clock on the oven. “We were late last time. Can’t have that again.” “I’ll be ready,” he says, guiding a spoonful of cereal to his mouth. “Just humor me and shower so we’re not waiting on you again,” she says, heading straight for the coffee machine. “I will, I will,” Parker murmurs, shaking his head and focusing on his cereal for a moment. He quickly scarfs down the last few spoonfuls, drinks the milk, and then sets his bowl in the sink before giving his mother a kiss on the cheek and then half-jogging to the staircase. “Probably means you should get ready, too,” I tell David with a little smile, glancing at his sleep clothes and unshowered body. He nods a bit. “We can talk about this later, then?” “Yeah,” I tell him. “Maybe later we can go to the gallery and I’ll show you the ins and outs.” “Perfect. Thanks, bro,” he says before standing up and adjusting his shirt. “See you two in a bit.” Then, David takes his leave. As soon as he’s out of earshot, Eve’s voice appears from behind me. “What’s he talking about?” I turn towards her, pausing before my coffee mug touches my lips. “Huh?” “David,” she says, gesturing towards the exit my brother disappeared through. “You two were talking about the gallery.” “Oh,” I say before nodding. “Yeah. I hired him.” She looks surprised for a moment, as well as… affronted? I’m not sure. “You did?” she asks. “Yeah,” I say. Not sure why, but I feel my body gearing up for a fight. Maybe it’s the way she’s cocking her hip, or narrowing her eyes. “And you didn’t think to ask me?” Now it’s my turn to squint. “You told me to hire someone. So I did.” “But your *brother*?” “What’s the problem here?” I ask, not appreciating the tone she’s using. I’m about to go into protective-brother mode if she doesn’t tread lightly. She just eyes me once before shaking her head. “Forget it,” she murmurs, turning her back to me and searching for a mug to pour coffee into. “No. What’s wrong?” I hear her expel a sharp breath through her nose before she turns to me again as if rounding on me. “This doesn’t feel like our thing anymore,” she explains. “It feels like *your* thing.” “But you’re mad because I hired David,” I point out. She wouldn’t be saying this had I hired some random college student. I can feel it. This seems more personal somehow. She pretends to look scandalized before shaking her head as if I’m being ridiculous. “That’s not it.” I can tell this argument is going nowhere, and yet, we keep fighting in circles. I keep accusing her of harboring some sort of animosity towards David, and she just keeps denying me, claiming I’m misunderstanding but not giving me any other insight. In all fairness, it’s a soft argument, but there’s such a sudden bitterness emanating from her that I’m wondering how long she’s been sitting on these feelings. Eventually, though, I realize there’s no use in trying to get anything out of her right now. Besides, I have to get ready for a call. I have a Skype call with a client at eleven, so everyone gets ready and heads over to the high school without me so that they don’t miss the meet. Turns out I could have skipped the entire meeting, though. I thought this new client would be some stellar, up-and-coming artist, but holy fuck, his art is shit. During the call, part of me is tempted to tell him he has no talent because he’s so impersonable, but I merely say that his art will not fit the aesthetics of the gallery. When I hang up, I see that only ten minutes have passed, which irritates me. I could have just gone over with everyone else, it seems. Sighing heavily, I shut my laptop and get my shoes on, nearly ready to head to Parker’s school. Then, just as I’m gathering my keys and wallet, Parker calls me. “Hello?” I ask. “Dad! Hey, sorry. I thought you were in a meeting,” he says. “I was just gonna leave a voicemail.” “Meeting was a dud,” I tell him bitterly. “What’s up?” “Oh. Well, quick favor then. Did you leave the house yet?” “I’m about to,” I say, twirling my keys around my finger. “Why?” “The singlet I brought is kinda dirty. Can you bring me my spare red one?” he asks. “It’s the one with the white stripes on the straps, not the fully-red one.” “Uhhh… I guess so,” I say. “Where do you keep them?” “In my dresser. Bottom drawer, left-hand side.” “You have enough time, right?” I ask, already starting to head up the stairs. “Oh yeah,” he says. “Match doesn’t start for another hour so you’re good. Take your time,” he adds before saying that he has to go, hanging up. I pocket my phone and start to head up the stairs, going straight şişli travesti for Parker’s room. My goal is to grab the singlet and head right over to the high school, but when I enter my son’s bedroom, I’m suddenly distracted by the presence of Parker’s MacBook. The sight of it always gives me pause, because I’m always curious to know what sorts of secrets are hidden in that machine, secrets that are merely a click away from my reach considering it’s always unlocked. But it’s not the MacBook itself that stops me in my tracks: it’s the way it’s positioned. It’s on his bed, plugged in, screen on, showcasing what looks to be a paused video. I get a weird sensation in my stomach. Foreboding? Never have I come across Parker’s laptop as if it were… presented to me. Is that what it is? Did Parker leave this for me? He’s a relatively smart boy. He must have known exactly what his uncle was referring to when David accidentally outed me. Then, a thought sparks: “It’s a trap.” He must want to confirm that I was indeed snooping somehow. Parker’s probably more technologically advanced than I am. He probably has ways of checking if I will snoop again — maybe some discreet alert system or something. Then again… For a boy who doesn’t even lock his own computer, maybe I’m giving him too much credit. But none of that really matters in my head right now, because I start to realize what I’m seeing on screen: a bare chest. *Parker’s* bare chest, to be precise. I’d recognize that torso anywhere, in any line-up, considering how often that boy is shirtless even in winter months. It’s taking up the entire screen aside from brief glimpses of a room I don’t recognize peeking through under his arms. Again, that thought keeps playing in my head: “It’s a trap.” But curiosity trumps any sense of caution, and I find myself stepping towards the bed, reaching for the touchpad, and pressing play. Parker steps away from the camera, grinning as he reveals that he’s fully naked, before hopping onto a bed. Fuck. This must be Cliff’s room — I recognize my son’s coach’s jacket hanging on one of the bedposts. What’s he doing? Setting up a hidden camera? The edges of the screen are blocked by something textured, almost like a vignette filter. Maybe books? Did he situate the camera on a cluttered desk to keep it hidden? Just as I’m wondering what’s about to happen, Cliff enters the bedroom, and he pauses at the sight of Parker in his bed before laughing. “You’re naked already?” “Did you wanna do the honors?” Parker asks coyly. Cliff grins a bit. “Kinda. But it’s fine, I’ll live,” he says, rubbing his hands together. This is the first time I’ve seen Cliff shirtless. I’ve always wondered what he looked like underneath those tight shirts of his — not that his choice in apparel ever left much to the imagination, but still, it’s a whole other thing to see nothing but skin. Goddamn, Cliff is a jock of all jocks. Tall, wide, ripped. He’s a mass of pale muscle, fully equipped with bulging pecs, militant arms, and a core that looks like it doesn’t have an ounce of fat on it — nor a single hair. I start to wonder if he’s that smooth all over until I look a little more closely and see a few reddish hairs poking out from the waistband of his low-rise sweats. “Take those off,” Parker murmurs. Yes, Cliff. Take them off. Let us see. He chuckles again before untying the drawstrings and letting his sweats sag even more. More of his pubes come into view as he wiggles his hips and lets his sweats fall right to his ankles. I only get a brief view of those thick fucking quads before I’m distracted by what’s going on in between them. I feel myself leaning in closer to better take in the sight of Cliff’s manhood: thick, pale pink, with low-hanging fruit underneath. Goddamn. It’s like Cliff’s the kind of kid who takes care of his body *all* over — and it shows. “Much better,” Parker says with a laugh. I turn my attention to my son and see that he’s palming his cock at the sight of his lover, and I bite my lip as I watch it grow to hardness like it’s in real time. Goddamn, it impresses me every time I see it. Subtly thick, lengthy, proudly protruding from his lean physique… What a fuckin’ stud this boy is. I’m a little mesmerized watching him stroke himself to full hardness, thinking about how I made that. I made this boy. Every inch of him. My eyes shift when Cliff starts moving towards the bed, gripping his soft cock and tugging on it with a reverse grip. He only manages to lift one knee onto the mattress with the intention of climbing on — but Parker moves too quickly. The boy spins around, shifting onto his stomach, with his face close to Cliff’s groin. I feel something thick get caught in my throat. Suddenly, my eyes burn because I need to blink, but I can’t look away. Not for a second. Parker reaches out and replaces Cliff’s hand with his own on his coach’s cock. At first, he just rests that heavy appendage in his palm like he’s testing the weight before lifting it up, parting his lips, and guiding his coach’s cock to his mouth. Jesus Christ. Jesus fucking Christ. I’m watching my son suck cock right now — and suck it *well*. He gobbles up Cliff’s steadily hardening shaft, moaning lightly, and I notice a thick drip of slobber hanging from his chin as he works. Cliff strokes his fingers through my son’s curls, gripping tenderly, sighing softly through his open mouth. I wonder if he’s the one who taught Parker what to do, because as Cliff gets to full mast, Parker’s working nearly every inch quite well. It seems he can’t guide the man into his throat easily, but what he *can* get his lips around he treats with fluid motions that look great to the viewer. Porno quality, even. “Lemme do you,” Cliff suddenly says, looking down. At first I’m disappointed, because I want to keep watching Parker gobble up his coach’s cock. My son, who pulls off with a playful sigh, looks up at Cliff. I can’t see his face at this angle, but I’m sure he has a mischievous little grin as he murmurs, “Do me where?” Cliff laughs a little, getting redder. “Show me that big ass cock of yours.” “This ol’ thing?” Parker teases. Here, he rolls over onto his back. He lazily toys with his cock, which is rock solid — and I feel a weird sensation coursing through my torso. Admiration? No, it’s more than that… It’s pride. I look at my boy, at how hung he is for his age, and feel this odd version of paternal pride. I can’t help but smile slightly and murmur to myself, “That’s my boy.” “Yeah, that ol’ thing,” Cliff says with a smirk before leaning right over and taking Parker down nearly to the hilt. It’s so sudden and smooth that my eyebrows raise. Yup. Cliff definitely taught Parker what he knows. Parker grunts, his hand going right to the back of his coach’s head. His thighs tense at first before he laughs and relaxes, closing his eyes and lying completely flat on his back. Jesus. Am I really watching this? Part of me is simply amazed watching Cliff work my boy over like he was born to it. It’s almost effortless the way he swallows nearly every inch every time he goes down. And Parker, he’s got a happy smile on his face, fingers curled into his coach’s hair as he rocks his hips up in pace. Cliff’s large hands first settle on the boy’s thighs before gripping the hips as he grunts with each thrust. I find myself waiting with bated breath for when Cliff will take a break. Eventually, Parker proves too much for the big guy, and Cliff chokes and coughs, thick drool hanging from his lips and coating Parker’s cock as he resists my son’s hold and pulls off. “G-goddamn it,” he grunts between coughs, doing his best to clear his airway. “C’mon, you’re better than that,” Parker teases, giving Cliff a playful tap on his cheek. Cliff swats the boy’s hand away, looking redder than ever. “Fuck off.” “After you make me cum,” Parker decides, which makes his coach laugh despite being barely able to breathe. Once he catches his breath, Cliff sniffles and gives my boy a few loose strokes and then looks up at him. “Wanna do me?” Parker grins and nods before patting his chest. “Flip around.” It’s intriguing to see how effortlessly and confidently commanding Parker is. Even though his tone isn’t strict and errs more on the playful side, Cliff doesn’t seem to even *think* to protest. Everything Parker does just reinforces his young studliness. I watch as Cliff spins himself around, straddling my son’s chest while ensuring his face is still close to Parker’s hard and spit-soaked cock. Without missing a beat, he continues gobbling him up. My view of Parker’s face is lost behind one of Cliff’s powerful thighs but I can see Parker’s hand fish around before, suddenly, Cliff moans around Parker’s cock. He must have gotten his lips around it. Fuck, I wish I could see that right now. Not that the clip would be that long anyway, since only after a minute, Parker shifts back, placing both hands on beylikdüzü travesti Cliff’s meaty ass and pressing his face between those cheeks. Now Parker’s moans, muffled by his coach, make their way to my ears as I watch my son hug Cliff’s waist to ensure he can’t let up. He’s hungry, my boy is, feasting on his coach’s hole like a starved man. I can tell it’s intense because even Cliff, skilled as he is at sucking cock, can barely focus on the task at hand. At times, he stops altogether, just moaning against Parker’s wet shaft. Soon, Parker pulls his face from between Cliff’s cheeks and pants, “I want to fuck you.” Cliff in turn licks his lips, giving the head of Parker’s cock a quick suck before turning towards his favorite student athlete. “How you wanna do it this time?” “Doggy style,” Parker responds, making Cliff chuckle. “What? You look hot like that.” “Typical high schooler,” Cliff mutters, causing Parker to slap his ass in response. He grunts and then sighs, his eyes fluttering for a moment. “Come on, then,” he says, kissing Parker’s balls before sliding away from him. As Cliff shifts onto his hands and knees in the middle of the bed, Parker hops to the floor. At first I’m confused as to his intentions until I realize he’s grabbing a necessary item: lube. He pulls it out of Cliff’s nightstand and immediately applies some to his cock, squirting out a line of lube onto his shaft and slowly working it in with his other hand as he climbs back onto the bed. His eyes are fixed on what his coach is currently presenting to him. Tenderly, it seems, Parker applies lube to Cliff’s hole. From this angle, I just see a wide-shot of Cliff’s side. Hell, I’ll barely be able to see Parker’s penetration from here, but it gives me an opportunity to study other things: Cliff’s face, his cock, Parker’s overall technique… All of those things come into play with a good fuck vid, — and this one doesn’t disappoint. Once they’re both prepped, Parker asks his coach if the man is ready. Cliff nods and closes his eyes, taking a deep breath as Parker positions himself behind his coach and then slowly pushes forward. I can tell my boy has breached his coach by the way Cliff’s eyebrows furrow and the way his fingers clutch the sheets tighter. He grunts and then lets out a soft groan before swearing under his breath. I don’t think it hurts much, though — because even from this distance, I can see his cock pulse and a thick string of precum leak from the tip onto the bed. Parker buries himself in his lover and then grabs the man’s hips before slowly starting to thrust. The pace quickens gradually, starting off gentle and working his way up to a harder rhythm. It’s something I’d expect from a young buck like Parker, especially considering the way he starts talking. “You want it?” the boy asks. “I want it,” Cliff groans. Parker grins, leaning over slightly. “You gonna take it?” “I’m gonna fuckin’ take it,” Cliff says, hanging his head. Parker slides his hands up to Cliff’s shoulders and grips tightly. “Just like you taught me, yeah?” “Unf. Just like I trained you, Park,” Cliff replies, pushing back to meet Parker’s thrusts. Christ, I’m warm all over. I watch as Park settles into what he clearly wanted: a good, hard fuck. His hips go wild and skin slaps together loudly, with sharp “Smack!” sounds nearly making the audio clip. What impresses me is that his movements seem pretty consistent and practiced. I’m sure we didn’t look this good when my brother and I first started fooling around… but then again, I don’t know how recent this video is. It could be fresh material. Parker could be an amateur pornstar at this point for all I know — he’s that hot. David was right, too: he could pass for legal… Just thinking of all the men unknowingly stroking off to my fourteen-year-old son pounding out his coach makes my dick ache. I grip it through my jeans, sighing. I watch them really go at it for a few minutes, but, like the spritely teenaged boy he is, Parker cums pretty fast. He grunts before burying himself deep in his coach and unloading what is sure to be a healthy amount of cum. Cliff, who’s panting, stops tensing his muscles and takes a moment to catch his breath before he starts laughing. “Another quickie,” he mutters. Parker doesn’t seem embarrassed at all. In fact, he joins in on the laughter. “Can’t help it,” the boy says, breathing out heavily. “You feel too good, Coach.” “Don’t pull out,” Cliff says, shifting one hand between his legs to grab his own cock. Slowly, he starts stroking himself, the wet sounds practically echoing out of the speakers. Jesus, his cock sounds soaked with precum. “Let me,” Parker suggests, trying to reach around to take over. Cliff slaps the boy’s hand away though. “I got it. Just stay still.” “Oh come on. I’ll do it right this time.” “You’re a hot fuck, kid,” Cliff says with a grin, “but you know I don’t like handjobs.” “That’s ’cause you don’t lemme practice!” Parker says, still trying to paw at Cliff’s groin. “Can you just–” But Cliff’s words get cut off as the two of them start to duke it out. It’s playful of course, and they’re both laughing as Cliff tries to fend off Parker’s advances. Eventually, Parker slips out of his coach’s ass as they wrestle each other for– Wrestle. Fuck. Shit, I almost forgot why I came up here: the singlet. I quickly pause the video, suddenly hyperaware of my heartbeat. How long did I spend up here watching this video and half-stroking off through my jeans? I’m gonna be fucking late. You’re an idiot, Emiliano. I return the video to its starting point and ensure I leave the bed as I found it before I rummage through his drawer and find the singlet he requested. I quickly stuff it into a small, spare athletic bag he has near his bed. Then, after readjusting my hard-on for what feels like the fifth time in the past thirty seconds, I rush out, feeling so flustered that I doubt I’ll feel normal for the remainder of the day. When I get to the high school, bag in hand, I make my way into the gym and start looking around for Parker. I see Parker’s team all congregating at the base of the bleachers, but I see no sign of my son. I end up stopping some random kid I recognize from his team to ask him if he’s seen Parker. The pimply high schooler just shrugs and says, “I think I saw him head into the locker room.” Locker room it is. Maybe he’s waiting for me so that he can change? I’m unsure. Regardless, I make my way out of the back exit of the gym that leads to the locker rooms. It seems empty at first before I hear voices deeper in — and when I turn a corner, I stop in my tracks at the sight of familiar flesh: Parker in only his underwear, and Cliff in sweatpants and a shirt that hugs the contours of his muscles. They’re standing close, but not suspiciously so — just close enough where it’s clear they’re sharing a conversation. How intimate a conversation was it, I wonder, before I interrupted? Both of them turn their heads at the sight of me, and Parker smiles. “Hey, Dad!” “Hey,” I say, but I choke for a moment and have to clear my throat and force myself to think of anything else besides the video. I hold up his athletic bag. “Got your singlet for you.” “Perfect timing,” he says, coming over to me to take the bag. He’s smiling, but there’s something odd there. An extra bit of brightness, perhaps. Accidentally, I make quick eye contact with Cliff. He doesn’t look at me strangely, but I still feel awkward about being in their presence like this, so I quickly shift my gaze. “It’s the one you wanted, right?” I ask, realizing I hadn’t even checked to make sure I grabbed the proper red one. That sex tape was clouding my judgement. “Uhhh…” He pulls it out of his bag and nods. “Yep! Thanks.” Then, without missing a beat, he tosses his bag to the floor and drops his underwear to his ankles. By the look on Cliff’s face, I can tell we’re both thinking the same thing: whoa, Nelly. Both of us clearly make efforts to look away when my son strips in front of us and takes his time getting his singlet on. Fuck, this is so strange. Is Parker doing this on purpose? He must know I saw the video. He *must* have left it for me… which means he must know I’ve seen the texts. There’s no other explanation, or possibility. Otherwise he wouldn’t be so brazen. “Should I… go?” I ask, half glancing at Cliff. He looks uncomfortable too, looking around purposefully. “If you want,” Parker says coolly, readjusting his goods within the singlet. “I think Mom and Uncle Dave are on the left side of the gym.” “Alright, thanks,” I murmur, stealing my eyes away from my son’s body. I take one more glance at Cliff and endure another accidental second of awkward eye contact before I leave the locker room. When I leave that enclosed space, it’s like getting a blast of fresh air, sweet relief from that uncomfortable (and uncomfortably arousing) situation. What’s Parker istanbul travesti thinking, I wonder? Or planning…? And what’s on Cliff’s mind? He didn’t seem to be “in” on anything, because he seemed just as off as I was. Oh Parker… Please don’t torture me. I make my way up to the bleachers after locating David and Eve. They’re chatting away, and Eve’s the first to notice me come up. She waves a bit as I enter the aisle, and in his curiosity, David quickly turns before smiling at me as I take a seat beside him. “There you are,” he says with a small chuckle. Before I even respond, Eve leans over a bit. “I saved you a seat here,” she says, patting the empty space next to her. I just shrug. “I sat down already,” I tell her — and immediately I know I said the wrong thing. Granted, I didn’t mean anything by it, and if she wanted me to sit next to her, she should have just asked that specifically, but still, she looks momentarily pissed before completely turning her attention to the gym floor. Great. Now I have issues with *her*, too. Is David next? Any enjoyment watching the meet is ruined by Eve’s animosity and the worry and residual discomfort concerning the situation with Parker. I just feel antsy. Dave’s presence is a calming one to some degree, but I just keep getting flashes of my wife arguing with me about my brother and my son rough-fucking his Coach. There’s too much going on in my head right now. Part of me wants to be angry, and part of me wants to make a quick trip to the bathroom and jerk the fuck out of my cock. I do neither of those things. I sit and mindlessly watch out of fear of going in one direction. If I don’t fight with Eve, things won’t get worse, right? And if I don’t stroke off to the memory of that video, I won’t add substance to those tickling feelings I’m having… right? It seems I’ve hit more than one nerve with Eve, because even during an at-home, celebratory dinner, she doesn’t even look at me. If she does address me, she keeps it brief and cutting, never once making eye contact. She even sets her plate down in front of me hard enough for grains of rice to spill out on the table. I decide to ignore it as best as I can. We can talk about it in private later on — but frankly, I’m too confused and too tired and too distracted to initiate such dialogue. One thing at a time, and my first concern is Parker. He acts fairly normal at dinner. Frankly, I haven’t sensed anything out of the ordinary since his nude display in the locker room. When it’s time for dessert, Eve stays long enough for the coffee to brew before retiring upstairs, leaving me, my son, and my brother alone with some homemade frosted pound cake. Of course, she bids farewell to the two of them and not me. When she’s out of earshot, I glance over at Parker, talking in a quieter voice. “Has your mom said anything to you?” I ask, taking a sip of my coffee. He looks confused as he chews his cake, shaking his head. “About what?” “I think she’s mad at me.” “Really?” he asks, looking genuinely surprised. “Why?” Am I the only one who notices? I give him a light shrug before saying, “I hired David and didn’t tell her.” “Wait, does she hate me now?” David interjects, looking worried. Even though I’m unsure how she’s feeling (and even though my gut tells me, to some degree, “yes”), I just shake my head to ease his anxiety. “No, it’s not you,” I tell him. I know David will take it too personally if I tell him the truth. “We’ve been arguing about the gallery for a while now.” “You sure?” he asks, biting his lip. “I don’t want to cause trouble–” “You’re not causing trouble,” I insist. “So shut up and eat your cake.” He grins a bit before nodding, going back to eating all the frosting first before he even gets to the cake. Even Parker laughs. “Why do you always do that?” It takes a second for David to realize that his nephew is addressing him, and he looks up from his plate, eyes both of us, and murmurs, “What?” “Eat all the frosting first.” “Oh,” David says before laughing slightly. For a moment he looks embarrassed, which just makes me chuckle. “I don’t know.” “It’s something he’s always done,” I comment. “Cakes, cupcakes, sundaes… The toppings always go first.” “Don’t make fun of me,” David says boyishly, laughing. “I have a process.” “I know you do,” I say, smiling warmly at him. There’s a moment where David and I just hold gaze for a moment, and I forget about the tension between me and Eve, or the uncertainty concerning my son. I just feel calm and collected. Hell, my astute son must notice because he speaks up after a second. “Do you guys ever… miss it?” Both David and I smile lightly, even if we’re both a little red in the cheeks. Never would I thought I’d be talking about this with someone, let alone my damn son, but it feels good to be open — or *mostly* open, at least. David and I have told Parker about how we grew up close, explored together, found our sexuality together, felt real love between us… We’ve essentially divulged everything up until the point where I turned eighteen and moved to the US. Everything after that (as in, everything that’s currently happening) is a mystery to Parker. It’s not that I don’t trust my son, necessarily. But I’m worried it will do more harm than good, depending on how he takes the fact that I’m no longer faithful to his mother. Those two have always been close, after all. “Sure, yeah,” I say. David grins a bit as he gnaws on the spokes of his fork. “You were a good kisser,” he admits. That makes Parker laugh, and I look over at my boy, smirking too. “Somethin’ funny?” He just shakes his head. “Just picturing you two kissing, is all.” I feel myself getting hot in the face, but luckily, David plays it off nicely. “Too bad Cliff isn’t here,” he says, effectively shifting the subject and being playful. “Could have some kissing competitions.” “Oh, fuck off,” Parker murmurs with a shy grin. I just chuckle slightly as I take a sip of my coffee before addressing Parker. “How’s he doing, by the way?” “Pretty good!” Parker says. He mentions how his coach has been thinking about going back to school, starting in the summer. “He wants to be a vet, of all things.” That brawny young fucker’s an animal lover, huh? “Guess there’s a lot I don’t know about this guy,” I say, leaning back in my chair. I give my jaw a scratch before suggesting we have Cliff over for dinner one night. Parker looks surprised by my suggestion. “Really?” “Yeah,” I say with a small smile. “Maybe when, y’know, your mom’s not home.” Instead of being excited like I expected him to be, he looks more… curious than anything. “Why?” I blink before laughing shortly. “Don’t I have a right to know who my boy is dating?” Then, to *my* surprise, Parker just smirks a bit. “Is that the only reason you want him over?” Christ, I feel like I’m getting hot flashes. I can tell David is glancing between us, as if he’s unsure what that tone implied, or what the shift in the air was. But that’s not what I’m focused on. I’m focused on Parker. This, right here, is when I know with absolute certainty that Parker knows I was snooping, that he left the video up for me on purpose. He wanted me to see it. It’s all in his look. He ends up relieving me of the need to respond, though, quickly finishing the last bite of his slice of cake and then pushing his chair back to stand up. “Anyway, I should get some homework done,” he says nonchalantly. “Alright,” David murmurs, but he’s looking at me. At first, I wonder if he’s about to ask questions, but I don’t see any curiosity in his eyes. Just plain old David — especially when he asks, “Want me to get the movie set up?” Right. The movie. He wants to watch some documentary about deep sea exploration. I just clear my throat and nod. “Sure thing.” “Sweet,” he says, taking his plate and heading out of the kitchen. Now it’s just me and Parker, and I feel that tension arise again. I realize it’s completely internal, though. Parker’s so casual that I doubt anything I’ve said or done has affected him that much. I sip my coffee as I watch him rinse off his plate in the sink, trying to figure out how I want to start a proper conversation but am distracted by the sight of those perfectly sculpted globes in his sweatpants. He’s humming to himself slightly, and I busy my lips with my coffee until Parker sets his plate and fork in the dishwasher and starts to come back towards the table. He smiles at me as he’s getting ready to leave, but I stop him. “Wait,” I murmur. He raises his eyebrows. “What?” My heart starts to pound as I look at him square in the eye. Just gotta spit it out. Rip the Band-Aid off — but be vague enough to allow me some room to escape this conversation if need be. “You left that for me. Didn’t you?” And Parker, my boy, my son, he just smiles at me — innocently at first. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, before his smile turns more into a grin. Then, he waves at me, starting to step away. “‘Night, Dad. Love you.” And I just watch as Parker disappears around the corner, leaving me with an odd sensation in the pit of my stomach. Oh, Parker. Torture it is, I guess. – End of Chapter 5 –

Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32