Quillon's Covert (4 page)

Their relationship was something many of Marty’s friends didn’t understand, but yet envied. It was sad to see the distance between his friends and their fathers. They didn’t have the easy rapport with their dads he had with Martin.

Marty adjusted the angle of his head slightly to catch a glimpse of his father out of the corner of his eye. Lots of the girls he hung out with commented on how hot his dad was. And although Martin had always been his hero, he’d never really paid much attention to the way he looked. Taking him in now, Marty had to admit Martin was pretty fit, in a way that said he’d spent far more time outside playing sports than sitting inside with an Xbox controller in hand. Maybe the reason he’d never really given it too much thought before was because all Quillons looked like his dad.

Yet lately…

A soft snore came from his father’s direction, and Marty smiled. It never failed; a few beers and as many minutes in the sun and Martin was out.

Marty sat forward and grabbed the sunscreen his dad always somehow forgot. It seemed he’d been coating his sleeping father with sunblock as long as he could remember. If it weren’t for him, Martin would roast like a marshmallow and then be in agony their entire trip. Marty squirted a blob on his palm and rubbed his hands together.

As always, he started at his dad’s ankles and worked the coconut cream up one hairy leg to a beefy thigh. He stopped just where the thigh creased with the hip, and then started at the other ankle. When he reached the top again, his hand brushed Martin’s sack. Jeez, even his dad’s nuts felt hard and solid. He shook his head, felt the butterflies in his stomach come to life, and peeked up at his dad to make sure he was still asleep.

Squirting out another blob of the fragrant sunblock, he worked upward from his dad’s navel, rubbing the cream over his flat abs. When he reached Martin’s hairy chest, he paused. Dad had a total nipple hardon, and Marty had the urge to touch one of them. Like always, his dad hadn’t stirred while Marty rubbed him down, and his chest continued to rise and fall in peaceful motions as he slept under the hot sun. But even if things hadn’t changed for Martin, Marty was definitely seeing his dad differently than he ever had before. Instead of Martin simply being the dad he had grown up with, the person he had played endless hours of video games with, and the guy who had taught him how to ride a skateboard, Marty was now starting to see the man his girlfriends did.

Suddenly, the memory of how close his fingers had been to Martin’s dick caused the butterflies to completely lose their minds. Not being able to help himself, he brought his fingers to his nose and sniffed, only to be disappointed when all he could smell was coconuts. It wasn’t like he hadn’t touched his dad’s dick countless times over the years—mostly while roughhousing in the shower, or wrestling at night before bed—and he’d never thought much of it. Yet here he was, bent over his dad, inches away from his hard nipples, sniffing his fingers and feeling light-headed.

When Martin started to stretch lazily in his sleep, Marty quickly backed off. In his haste he knocked over the empty Strawberry Crush bottle, sent the uncapped sunscreen flying against the side of the cabin, and ended up with his ass sprawled awkwardly on the deck floor.

Martin woke, looked over at him, lifted his shades, and rubbed a hand across his mouth while surveying the scene silently. “You okay?”

“Yuh-yuh-yeah.”

Marty got up and rubbed his butt. He wanted to run inside, or go dive in the lake, or do anything to hide his embarrassment. Do anything to give himself some time to sort through his crazy thoughts. But it’d look weird leaving just after his dad woke up. Wouldn’t it? Instead, he walked over to one of the deck loungers, sank down on it, kicked his feet up, and leaned against its upright back.

His father swiped a hand over his belly and brought it to his nose.

“I ruh-ruh-rubbed some lotion on you, whuh-whuh-while you were asleep. Didn’t want you to get sunbuh-buh-burned.”

Martin turned his head in Marty’s direction and smiled at him from behind his shades. “Thanks, Biscuit Pants. Don’t know what I’d do without you looking after me.”

“I don’t know either.” In an attempt to lighten the mood and to get the easiness back with his dad, he smiled and added, “Luckily you don’t have to find out.”

Martin’s smile grew even wider at the increasingly rare, toothy grin Marty treated him with. It had been a long time since Marty’d felt the desire to smile like that. Even with all the crazy thoughts running through his mind, he couldn’t deny that the cabin had a nice effect on them both.

Martin sat forward and brought a leg up. He ran his hand up and down a few times, then lowered the leg and worked his thigh over.

“Didn’t I get it all?” Marty asked.

“It’s only in a few places,” his dad said getting up. “I’ll just rub it in a bit more, no worries.”

Martin repeated the same action with the other leg, and then scooped some of the splattered coconut cream off the wall and rubbed it on his chest. Bending down, he picked up the bottle and cap, and walked over to Marty.

“Sit up straight. You’ve taken care of me, but you’re already red…you should’ve done yourself first.”

Marty froze for a second, then brought his feet down on either side of the lounger and sat forward. How many times had his dad rubbed sunscreen on him? More times than he could ever count. So why was he so nervous now? Marty told himself that all he had to do was keep his mouth closed, because if he tried to talk, his annoying stutter would be a dead giveaway.

His dad lifted a leg behind Marty’s back and over the chair. After Martin settled in behind him, the insides of Martin’s hairy thighs hugged the outside of Marty’s. He heard a blob of cream squirting out of the bottle and his dad’s hands rubbing together. “Lean forward a bit, rest your arms on your knees.” Marty did and was acutely aware of how close his dad was—his pubes actually pressing into Marty’s butt. With slow, dexterous motions, Martin started at the base of his spine and worked his way up Marty’s tight back. Despite the damn butterflies, which had somehow turned into small birds, he couldn’t help but relax under the firm touch.

Martin laughed as Marty groaned when he hit his shoulder blades. “Jeez, you’re so tense. Relax, Bubba.”

Marty laughed but didn’t dare speak. When Martin finished up with his neck, Marty had in fact relaxed. Martin stood, adjusted the back of the lounger down flat, and walked around to Marty’s front.

“Lay down, Stinky,” Martin quipped.

Marty ripped off a few paper towels from the roll on the small table between their chairs, and wiped the sweat off his forehead and from under his pits. “Real fu-fu-funny.”

Marty laid back and Martin straddled the lounger. It wasn’t like Marty hadn’t had massages before. It seemed Mr. Williams, the baseball coach’s assistant, was always rubbing cramps from Marty’s thighs or calves. Martin lifted first one of Marty’s legs and then the other, so the backs of his thighs rested on the top of his dad’s. Deftly, his dad massaged the cream into his skin. Martin didn’t spend as much time on Marty’s chest as he had on his back, but when his strong, slick fingers traveled past Marty’s stomach and reached his thighs, he thought he might just throw up from his stomach’s endless somersaulting. Then, just to seal the deal, the worst possible thing that could’ve happened did happen.

He popped a bone.

Not his usual kind either. This was a full-on, clear fluid already bubbling out of the tip, woody. Marty curled his toes and ground his teeth. His dad didn’t let up or slow down. When he was done with the left thigh, he moved to the right one. Martin started at the knee and worked his way up just like before.

Marty knew there was no way to hide his raging hardon, so he finally mumbled, “Suh-suh-sorry.”

Martin looked up at him and shrugged good-naturedly. “Hey, you’re fifteen, if you weren’t popping wood every time the wind blew, I’d be concerned. And you’re a Quillon on top of it, we’re a horny bunch.” Martin squeezed both of his thighs, got up, and ducked into the cabin.

He was back with more drinks and handed one to Marty before settling in the lounge chair next to him.

After taking a swig of beer, he asked, “Feel better? More relaxed?”

Marty only nodded, using his Strawberry Crush as an excuse not to form a response right away. When he was relatively certain he could speak without his voice cracking, he said, “Yeah. Thanks.” He licked his lips and lowered the soda to his crotch, the cold contrast of the bottle against his burning dick nearly caused him to double over from the shock. It worked though, his boner finally started to die down.

Actually, once he’d gotten over the initial shock, the bottle’s coolness pressing into his balls felt nice. Martin pulling the bill of his cap down to shade his eyes caught Marty’s attention. He glanced over at his dad and wondered if he’d sprout wood every time Martin looked at him now. And, just that quick, Marty was hard as a rock again.

Martin / 35

Fighting to keep still on the sofa, Marty chuckled again, and Martin quickly scolded him. “Every time you laugh, my fingers lose their spot.”

Marty’s mischievous eyes darted up from where his head lay on Martin’s lap, but his dad ignored the look and concentrated on the task at hand.

“You know, most folks would find this super gross.”

Martin merely grunted in response, grabbed another Kleenex, and delivered the next admonishment. “I said be still.” His fingers squeezed and he sighed with satisfaction. With a quick swipe of the tissue, he dabbed a spot of blood off Marty’s chin, and then refocused his gaze back to his son’s lower jaw. The intent determination at which he studied Marty’s face provoked another chuckle from his son.

He flipped the used Kleenex onto the table where it joined a pile of others. “Okay, I’m done, then. If you’re not gonna be still—”

Marty grinned with relief. “Jeez! Thank God! I thought you were gonna keep going until there was nothing left of my face.”

Martin grabbed for his son’s ear, intending to give it a hard tug, but Marty laughed and turned his face toward his dad’s stomach. However, the position he’d been lying in on the sofa, his neck supported on one of Martin’s thighs, found his turned face nearly buried in Martin’s crotch.

“I bite,” Marty started to warn wickedly, but it came out as more of a loud yelp when Martin managed to get hold of his other ear and gave it a firm yank. “You cheat!”

“Yeah, like threatening to bite my bits is playing fair,” Martin shot back. “Get off me, you Choad,” he said as he pushed his son aside. After grabbing the pile of tissues, he walked toward the kitchenette. “I gotta wash your blood off my hands. You think you’d be more grateful to someone who just spent the last twenty-five minutes popping your nasty zits.”

Marty laughed. “You
like
popping my zits. Don’t even try to pretend like you don’t. It’s always your idea to start this.”

Martin flipped the tap on and soaped his hands. “I never said I didn’t like it. I said you oughta be more appreciative, ya Sod!” He snatched a few paper towels and dried his hands. “And me
liking it
is my cross to bear…you just worry about your own problems, Sonny.” He balled up the paper towels and lobbed them towards Marty.

“Whoa! That’s three nicknames in a row…you’re on a roll tonight. I’m still tryin’ to figure out what the first one means.” Marty raised his eyebrows. “Choad?”

“Look it up on your internet when we get home,” Martin said, retaking his seat.

“My internet?” Marty lay his head back down on his dad’s thigh and stretched his legs out across the length of the sofa. “The internet is
all mine
now, huh? Like
the entire
thing?”

Martin picked up the tattered paperback laying on the coffee table. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d read
Interview with the Vampire
, but each time was just as good as the last.

“You keep goading me, Bathroom Singer, and I’ll let you deal with that wasp’s nest out by the dock tomorrow on your own.”

Marty’s chest shook in mirth. “For your information, I tear up Dolly Parton’s
Jolene
in the shower and you know it. Hating on my voice is just—”

Martin threaded fingers through his son’s sandy-blond curls, letting them catch briefly before pulling free. “I’ll show you hate. Now shut it. We’re reading tonight, right?”

With that, Martin watched as an amused Marty reached over, grabbed his tablet, and ‘opened’ book fifty-seven in some Boy Wizard series.

“Yeah, yeah. We’re readin’ tonight, Old Man.” As Marty settled in, Martin flipped to his dog-eared page. “Chocolate later, right?”

During his own adolescence, Martin had acquired his lifelong taste for sweets, and he grunted now. “Yep. Dark chocolate Dove bites.”

“Schweet! Gotta love the Dove!”

They relaxed on the sofa, each quietly lost in their respective fictional worlds. Martin with his feet kicked up on the coffee table, and Marty still resting his head on his dad’s thigh. Martin held his book in one hand while the other rested on Marty’s torso—his thumb absently brushing small circles at the center of his son’s chest.