All the characters in this story are over 18 years old.
He lay in the center of his bed, soaked in a sheen of sweat, as though the noonday sun had perched its flaming throne directly above him. His skin shimmered, damp and flushed, the sheets twisted and clinging to the curves of his body. A weight pressed down on him—not heavy at first, just noticeable, like a phantom hand on his shoulder. It grew with each breath, until it felt as if marble had been laid across his chest, suffocating in its presence, yet… he did not fight it.
His lashes fluttered apart, eyes slow to obey. The world beyond the veil was haze and heat and something ancient in the air.
Blue.
That was the first thing he saw, the first color he could name. Blue like a frozen river at dusk—those eyes staring down at him. Familiar. Intimate. Sinful.
The shape above him was moving, rhythmically, slowly.
He studied it, HIM, slowly.
The slack jaw, the soft pink of parted lips.
Tan skin shimmering with sweat.
And lust swirling in burning eyes.
He felt pressure, tightness...friction.
His own body betrayed him, hips rising instinctively to meet each sway. Pleasure bloomed sharp and fast, forming low in his belly like molten gold cracking through stone.
His hands—when had they moved?—slid up to grasp the other’s waist, fingers digging in as if to anchor himself to the world unraveling around them.
There were no words, not in this place. Only breath. Only motion. Only need. The thrusts grew harder, desperate.
He arched beneath the marvel, ashes fluttering, mouth falling open as a whimper escaped into the shadow-soaked room. Each movement sang a hymn as if to some god of ecstasy who watched with eyes like burning suns.
And then—it came, a crashing wave, a storm unleashed inside his chest and spine and soul.
He moaned, body stiffening, a shudder racing through him like lightning in water.
His breath faltered.
One last exhale, ragged and trembling, left his lips in a whisper full of longing and unspoken truths. "Fuck Dad yes!"
His eyes snapped open as wetness trickled down his bare thighs.
For a moment, he couldn't breathe. The ceiling loomed above him like a stone tablet, unmoving and impossibly still, while the silence in the room screamed louder than any storm.
He took a moment to gather himself, chest heaving like a ship just come through storm. Sweat clung to him like second skin, and he swallowed hard, throat dry, raw, sore—as if he'd screamed, though he remembered no sound. A trembling hand drifted to his chest, feeling the rapid thrum of his heart, the damp sheen over his skin, the ghost of fingers that were never there.
The room spun slightly. He forced himself still.
A throat cleared.
He jolted, practically leapt off the mattress. His head snapped to the side, heart plummeting as swiftly as a stone in deep water.
By the headboard, silent and far too real, stood his father.
The man was staring very pointedly at the curtains, at the wall, at anything that wasn't his son’s flushed, bare, glistening form. His hands were buried in the pockets of his faded robe, knuckles tight, expression carved from stone, save for a single twitch of his brow that betrayed far more than he likely meant to.
It was only then the boy became fully aware of himself—of his state.
Naked.
Completely.
The pyjamas he’d fallen asleep in had vanished. The blanket, likewise. He was bare as the day he’d first entered the world, the cool air of morning biting against skin still fevered from a dream that now felt like a memory engraved in muscle. The damp between his thighs had grown tacky, the shame just as sticky.
And then, horror curled cold in his gut.
He remembered what he’d said. Whispered, really. No louder than a breath. But—
The word echoed in his mind like a bell's toll.
He swallowed again, wishing for the earth to split open beneath him, to be swallowed whole.
His father—stoic, uncomfortable, composed—took a slow breath, as if preparing for war. He straightened his back, summoned what he seemed to hope passed for a smile yet it did not quite reach his eyes.
“Your mom’s been calling you down for breakfast,” he said, voice forced through a sieve of politeness, thick with avoidance. “You weren’t answering, so I—”
A pause. A beat too long. Something unsaid, heavy as stone.
He looked away again.
The boy’s breath caught. His fingers clenched the edge of the mattress.
“Ah, yeah… thanks,” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep and shame. “I’ll be down.”
It came out cracked, uneven—barely holding itself together. He didn’t meet his father’s gaze. Couldn’t. His hand reached instinctively for a corner of the sheet, pulling it across his lap with a fumbling urgency that felt far too slow. The silence between them stretched, brittle and suffocating. Even the air seemed to flinch.
His father gave a curt nod, lips thinning, eyes still locked on the distant wall as though it might offer salvation. “Alright then.”
The door shut with a soft click, but it echoed like thunder in the boy’s ears.
He collapsed back onto the mattress with a groan, the shame spreading through him like wildfire. He ran both hands down his face, the heat from his cheeks scorching. Fuck.
“Isaiah.”
His brows furrowed. He blinked blearily through the haze still clouding his mind, confusion bleeding slowly into caution.
The door creaked open and his father entered.
Stood still by the door, watching.
The man wore a smile now. Wide, white, and strangely serene. The stiff discomfort, the awkward stiffness from before was gone.
As though it had never existed at all.
The man let his eyes drag—slow, deliberate—over the boy’s tangled form, the tousled sheets, the damp gleam still clinging to his skin like an offering.
And then he smiled with his gaze, all soft mischief and coiled intent. His lips parted, his eyes pinched at the corners with amusement.
“Someone had a fun night,” he said, chuckling low, smooth as warmed wine.
The sound slithered through the room like silk, like shadow. It coiled around the boy’s ribs and made the hairs on his arms rise.
"Dad?" Isaiah couldn't help but question blinking dumbly at his father.
The man's smile only widened.
He spread his arms with easy, languid grace.
“Who else could it be, silly,” he murmured, almost lovingly. The words curled from his lips like incense, soft and cloying.
His gaze didn’t waver. It pierced.
Watched Isaiah not as a father might a son, but as a predator studies a shivering creature caught in moonlight—curious, indulgent, thrilled by its vulnerability.
Isaiah’s body reacted before his mind could string a thought together. Instinct seized him and he scrambled, hands flying to cover himself, palms pressed tightly over the heat that still lingered between his thighs.
Another laugh. Velvet-wrapped mockery.
“Don’t be shy,” he said, voice syrupy and warm. “We’re both men here, right? And besides…” His eyes swept down again, unhurried, unkind. “That’s just a natural bodily reaction. You don’t need to be embarrassed.”
He stepped closer. The air thickened. The boy felt it, like something crawling beneath his skin—desire, shame, fear, all churning in that confusing place dreams liked to call home.
Eyes not once straying from the man, Isaiah licked his lips.
“I—” he began, throat still rough. “I thought you’d left.”
The man chuckled. “Did I?” His smile didn’t move. His eyes didn’t blink.
He seemed to think it over before shrugging. "Well, I'm back."
Silent, Isaiah watched him.
Slowly the man moved forward.
“I know what you want, Isaiah.”
“What?” Isaiah’s voice cracked like thin ice beneath a sudden weight. His eyes widened, trembling as they tried to make sense of the shifting world around him—this dream, this waking thing, this unreality wrapped in the shape of his father.
The man—the thing wearing his father’s smile—tilted his head slowly. “I know what you need,” he said, voice hushed as a prayer, laced with warmth and ruin.
Then, without shame, he undid the knot at his robe with a deliberate flick of his fingers. The silk whispered to the floor, pooling at his feet like shadow. He stood bare, tall and impossible, carved like an idol in some forbidden temple—divine in his stillness, obscene in his knowing.
Isaiah didn’t breathe.
His throat locked. His lungs stuttered. His mind screamed for clarity, for answers, for escape—but his body... his body betrayed him. It remembered the dream. It remembered the blue eyes. The weight. The pleasure.
“Stop,” he whispered.
The man smiled. "Why? Don't you want this, you cried out to me so sweet, why now do you reject me?"
"I-"
His father grinned.
Isaiah’s heart thundered, fists clenching the sheet to his chest, but his arms shook. The heat hadn’t left. It pulsed between shame and hunger, between denial and something dangerously close to longing.
“This is a dream,” he said, almost pleading.
“Is it?” His father whispered, kneeling again by the bed, eyes level with Isaiah’s. “Then wake up.”
But he couldn’t.
And that was the cruelest part.
The man reached forward, his touch deliberate, almost reverential Isaiah's legs shifted, muscles tense, but he did not resist. A silent power moved between them, unseen but undeniable, like the pull of the moon on the tide.
As his father's hand slid slowly up his inner thigh, Isaiah let out a shaky breath, his skin prickling with goosebumps. He couldn't tear his gaze away from those intense blue eyes, burning with unspoken desires. "Dad, I... we shouldn't..."
The man's fingers danced teasingly over the sensitive skin, tracing patterns that made Isaiah's cock twitch with interest. "Shh, just relax," his father coaxed in a low purr. "I know you want this. I can see it in your eyes."
His hand crept higher, brushing against the swell of Isaiah's bare ass. The boy gasped at the contact, his hole clenching involuntarily. His father's smile widened, knowing and wicked.
"I've seen the way you look at me sometimes, when you think I don't notice," he continued, voice like velvet sin. "The hungry glances, the way your breath catches when I get close..." His fingers dipped between Isaiah's cheeks, circling his entrance with a maddening gentleness. "Don't try to deny it, son. I know what you need."
Panting now, Isaiah could only stare up at him with wide, unblinking eyes as his father's words washed over him. He felt exposed, vulnerable, but also achingly aroused. The forbidden nature of it all only seemed to heighten his desire.
The man's touch grew bolder, his finger pushing inside the tight heat of Isaiah's ass. The boy whimpered at the intrusion, his muscles clenching around the digit. His father just chuckled darkly, adding a second finger and scissoring them gently.
"So tight," he murmured appreciatively. "I bet you'd feel amazing wrapped around my cock." He started thrusting his fingers, slowly building a rhythm as he crooked them just right to brush against Isaiah's prostate.
"Ah, fuck!" The obscene pleasure made the boy cry out, his hips bucking up to meet the delicious friction. His own hard length slapped against his stomach, leaving a sticky trail of precum on his skin.
His father looked on hungrily, working him open with expert strokes. "That's it, let me hear you," he encouraged, pumping his fingers faster. "I want to hear all those pretty sounds you make when you're stuffed full of my dick."
Isaiah could only moan and whimper in response, lost to the sensations consuming him. The room seemed to spin around him, filled with the lewd wet sounds of his father fingering his ass and the harsh pants of their mingled breaths.
When his father deemed him ready, he withdrew his fingers and grabbed a bottle of lube from the nightstand. With slick hands, he stroked his own throbbing erection, pausing to rub the head against Isaiah's slick hole.
"Please," the boy whispered, hardly knowing what he was begging for anymore. "I need..."
"I know," his father soothed, pressing forward slowly until the tip popped inside. They both groaned at the sensation, savoring the perfect slide of skin on skin. "I've got you, son. Gonna fill you up so good."
Isaiah could only nod frantically, pushing back against him in desperate need. His father started thrusting shallowly, inch by delicious inch until he was fully sheathed. The stretch was immense but not painful, quickly giving way to the most exquisite fullness.
"Fuck, you feel incredible," his father grunted, beginning to move in earnest. His hips snapped forward, driving into Isaiah's tight heat with deep, powerful strokes. The wet squelch of lube and the rhythmic slap of skin filled the air.
Isaiah could only cling to him, nails scoring down his back as he lost himself to the driving pleasure. Each thrust seemed to hit him right in that perfect spot, making him see stars. His own cock bobbed untouched between them, leaking a steady stream of pre-cum.
"Gonna come," he gasped out after a few minutes, the pressure in his balls growing unbearable. "Dad, I'm gonna... ah!"
With a final hard snap of his hips, his father pushed Isaiah over the edge. The boy came with a wordless shout, his vision whiting out as ropes of pearly seed painted his chest and stomach. His ass clenched around the thick cock buried inside him, milking it for all he was worth.
"Fuck yes, take it!" his father growled, pounding into him relentlessly as his own orgasm approached. "Gonna fill this sweet hole..." His rhythm grew erratic, hips stuttering as he chased his pleasure.
Isaiah could only whimper and shudder through the aftershocks, feeling himself stretched impossibly further as his father's cock swelled and pulsed inside him. With a guttural groan, the man came hard, flooding Isaiah's insides with thick spurts of hot cum.
After they had basked in the afterglow for a moment, the father's expression turned playful. He gave Isaiah a wicked grin and a mischievous wink. "What do you say we turn the tables a bit, son?" he asked in a teasing lilt.
Isaiah blinked at him in confusion, his post-orgasmic haze still fogging his mind. "What do you mean?" he asked, voice slightly raspy.
The man chuckled, nuzzling against his neck and placing a soft kiss on his pulse point. "I think it's time for you to show daddy what you can do," he purred, reaching down to give his half-hard cock a gentle squeeze.
A shudder ran through Isaiah's body at the touch, his own spent member twitching with renewed interest. "You want me to fuck you?" he asked, surprise coloring his tone.
"Mmm, I do," his father confirmed, trailing his lips up to capture Isaiah's in a searing kiss. "I want to feel that perfect cock buried deep in my ass while you make me scream your name."
Isaiah could feel himself getting hard again at the filthy words, his earlier reservations evaporating in the face of his father's obvious desire. He rolled them over so that the man was pinned beneath him, staring up at him with hooded eyes.
"I'll make you feel so good, Dad," he promised, voice dripping with lust. He leaned down to capture a dusky nipple between his teeth, giving it a gentle tug before soothing the sting with his tongue.
His father moaned, arching up into the touch. "Yes, baby boy," he encouraged breathlessly. "Show me what that tongue can do."
With a smirk, Isaiah began kissing his way down the man's chest, over his taut stomach, until he reached the treasure trail leading to his groin. He looked up at him through his lashes, savoring the moment before diving in.
He dragged his tongue up the length of his father's shaft, from base to tip, swirling it around the leaking head and lapping up the salty essence gathering there. The man let out a throaty groan, one hand fisting in Isaiah's hair as he continued to work him over with lips and tongue.
After thoroughly wetting his cock, Isaiah moved lower, spreading his father's cheeks to expose his tight pink hole. He licked a broad stripe over it, making him jerk and whimper. He repeated the motion a few times before spearing his tongue inside, fucking him open with broad strokes.
"Oh fuck, yes!" his father cried out, rocking back against his face. "Get me ready for that big cock, baby. Wanna feel you splitting me open."
Isaiah could only moan in response, the filthy words spurring him on. He worked two slick fingers inside alongside his tongue, scissoring and stretching until he was sure his father was ready.
Positioning himself at his entrance, he pressed forward slowly, gasping as the tight ring of muscle resisted before finally giving way. They both moaned as he bottomed out, reveling in the exquisite fullness.
"I knew you'd feel amazing," Isaiah panted, giving a shallow thrust. "Gonna make you come so hard."
And with that promise, he set a hard, fast pace, pounding into his father's willing body with abandon. The wet slap of skin and their mutual cries of pleasure echoed off the walls as he drove them closer and closer to the edge.
It didn't take long for the stimulation to become too much, his father's channel clenching and fluttering around him like a vice. "I'm close," he gasped out, nails raking down Isaiah's back hard enough to leave marks. "Fuck, don't stop!"
"Not gonna," Isaiah grunted, sweat dripping down his face as he redoubled his efforts. "Come for me, Dad. Wanna feel you milk my cock."
The man let out a keening wail as he came untouched, his ass spasming around Isaiah as he painted his chest with thick spurts of cum.
The sensation triggered Isaiah's own orgasm and he buried himself deep one final time, emptying himself into his father's welcoming heat with a hoarse shout.
They collapsed together in a sticky tangle of limbs, both panting harshly as they came down from their high. In the aftermath, they held each other close, hands wandering and soft kisses pressed to sweat-slicked skin.
