Quillon's Covert (9 page)

Martin woke, yet again, to his son’s incessant grinding. It was the third time since they’d lain down that he’d been jarred out of sleep by the jabbing of a hard cock into his thigh.

Leaning in, Martin kissed the top of Marty’s head and tried to extricate himself from the boy’s firm hold. Grinning, he thought if Marty were still a
boy
, he’d have no reason to try to move him, nor would he be struggling to pry the
man’s
entrapping arm from his body.

Realizing defeat, he shook his sleeping son’s shoulder. “Marty? Marty, wake up.”

“Uuuhhh?”

Marty’s sleepy response was no more out of his mouth before the soft snoring and grinding resumed.

Martin chuckled at the absurdity of it. “Marty,” he said more firmly. “You’re grinding again.”

“Dad,” Marty husked in sleepy irritation. Not lifting his head from Martin’s chest, his grip cemented even further around Martin’s torso. “Goddammit…suh-suh-stop…waking me…up. Gooo to sleeeep…”

Quite obviously Marty was still asleep, otherwise he would’ve never spoke to his dad that way. Beyond anything he could control, Martin barked out a laugh.

Marty, only slightly more awake, brought a hand up to rub his eye, then curled it around Martin’s stomach, and laid his head back down. “Dad? What’s going on?”

Martin smiled up at the ceiling. “Your cock is hurting me, that’s what. And I have to pee.”

“Oh. Go back to sl….”

And, just like that, Marty was nearly out again. Yet the grinding resumed, and before Martin realized exactly what the movement of his son’s hand meant, Marty had clasped Martin’s dick, stroked it fully and seemed to fall completely back to sleep while holding it.

Both Martin’s mind and heart raced. He lay there, stock-still. When Marty’s fingers tightened slightly, Martin’s cock bobbed and twitched involuntarily. What the fuck? Why hadn’t he tossed Marty’s ass onto the floor yet? Or, at the very least, woken his son up? Why was he still lying there with his son’s hand wrapped around his dick and doing nothing about it?

His throat popped loudly as he swallowed, trying to get some moisture into it, when Marty’s hand tentatively slid up his shaft and back down again. On the second down stroke, Martin covered his son’s hand with his own and stilled them both.

There was no question Marty was awake.

“Son. This can’t happen,” Martin whispered firmly.

Marty gently forced his hand down and back up his dad’s length. “Buh-buh-but what if I wuh-wuh-want it to?” he asked just as quietly.

“Okay, for one thing…” Martin started, but then had to swallow again as Marty forced another stroke. As if it were something physical, he had to overpower the completely insane desire to thrust into his son’s grip. “…this sorta thing isn’t only about what one person wants. And I know I don’t have to explain that concept to you.” Regaining a bit of his composure, he continued. “For another, I’m…your dad. I’m also firmly in the heterosexual camp. Then there’s the fact that you’re still a minor, and—”

“I’m only a minor in some states,” Marty said firmly.

“Marty, I will not argue about why you need to take your hand off my cock.”

His son’s hand slid down Martin’s shaft again, and within seconds Martin had flipped them both. He held Marty’s hands above his head and pinned the younger man down with his much heavier body. Instantly he realized his mistake as he caught his son’s moonlit eyes and recognized the unmistakable desire that filled them. The look took him aback; no one—not even Allie, his wife and soul mate—had ever looked at him that way.

Marty jutted his hips up, rubbing their hard cocks against one another, and whimpered. “Puh-puh-please. I…want this, Dad. I want
you
.”

The desperate, earnest plea—combined with over a year devoid of Marty’s touch—shot foreign feelings, confusing feelings, strange feelings through Martin’s entire being.

“Stop,” he said firmly as his head swam. He wasn’t unkind, but he knew he had to put an end to this before it got out of hand, before things were said or done that neither of them could undo or unsay.

Marty wrapped his legs around Martin’s waist, locked his ankles at the small of his back, and pulled their pelvises together. He stilled, but his heated gaze didn’t waver. “Be hon-nuh-nest with muh-muh-me? You wuh-wuh-ant this tuh-tuh-too, right? I cuh-cuh-can feel you a-a-against me.”

Should he lie? If the man beneath him were anyone other than his son, would he be putting a stop to it? He may have never thought of another man in a sexual way—hadn’t looked at his son that way, until this very moment—yet here he was, more than a little aroused by the male body he held pinned down and the hard cock rubbing alongside his. And this was Marty. His Marty.

Marty rolled his hips and Martin innately ground his cock into his son’s.

“Daaad,” Marty hissed.

Right there,
that
single hissed word was the absolute killer—Marty was
his son
. And Martin was married. And, perhaps most importantly, at least at this very moment, Marty was only seventeen.

He made a decision he hoped would stop whatever was happening, and also one he hoped he wouldn’t regret.

“Listen to me very carefully, okay?” He paused, waiting for a response. He had to know Marty was hearing his words.

When his son nodded, he continued. “No, you’re not…entirely wrong…” When Marty opened his mouth to speak, Martin hurried on. “But this will not happen, Martin Junior. It will not. Not…now. If you feel the same way next year, we’ll… We might talk about it.”

He started to release his hold on Marty’s wrists, started to lift his body from his son’s, but the sight of Marty’s parted lips stilled him. The pause seemed all the encouragement Marty needed. In a heartbeat, Marty strained forward and brushed his lips against Martin’s. When Martin didn’t immediately break the contact, Marty pressed their lips more firmly together. Martin allowed the kiss to linger for a few moments before finally pulling away.

He left Marty lying lengthwise on the mattress, while he pushed his back up against the wall crosswise.
What the fuck just happened
‽
He bent his knees, rested his elbows on them, and then took a deep breath trying to calm his shaking hands.

The cabin had cooled off and the air conditioner’s chilly breeze blew across both of them. Goose bumps formed on Marty’s torso as deep breaths were drawn in by each of them. Marty’s—filled with excitement—contrasting against Martin’s, who tried to force calm, to force ease.

“Fuck,” Marty murmured and ran a hand through his hair. His fingers caught and he simply held them there. “That was… Wow!” His other hand snaked down his abdomen and took hold of his hard dick. “I’m gonna jerk off.” Marty held his stare. “Will you watch me? Please, Dad?”

Every parental instinct to run and leave Marty alone cried out, told him to back away, but Marty’s questioning gaze pinned him, and mixed in with the obvious desire was the unmistakable ache of a young man who just needed his dad…

Maybe it was the father in him that answered. Maybe it wasn’t. But Martin found himself doing the only thing he could in that moment…he nodded.
Maybe just this once
.

Chapter 5 – The First Time

Martin / 38

They got out of the truck, closed their respective doors, and when Martin pulled the truck’s tailgate down, they each unexpectedly took a seat. Everything felt wrong. Neither of them had stripped out of their clothing, like they usually did, when their feet hit the Quillon’s Covert ground; neither of them had talked, like they usually did, on the drive up; and neither of them met the other’s eyes, which was completely unusual.

Sure, the weeks following last year’s visit had been slightly strained, but as those weeks turned into months, things had slowly gotten back to normal. Or as normal as Martin had suspected they’d ever get. It wasn’t everyday your son tried to seduce you. And, that wasn’t even entirely accurate. Sure, Marty had instigated things, and even though Martin had put a stop to full-on sex, he’d allowed—hell, participated in—watching his son masturbate. For all intents and purposes, they’d had sex.

Again, as the weeks had turned into months, Martin had hoped the memory would fade, but it hadn’t. If anything it had grown stronger. He had no doubt the current mood was being set by him.

“So…” he started, but then didn’t know where to go from there.

Marty chuckled softly. “Yeah, it’s pretty fucked up, huh?”

When Martin lifted an eyebrow, Marty asked, “Does the profanity really bother you that much?”

Martin offered him a small smile. “Not even a little. You should hear the way the boys and I talk at work.” He looked back toward the woods. “I was just…tryin’ to be a good dad, Marty.”

Their hands rested side-by-side on the tailgate, each gripping its edge, and Marty slid his over to cover Martin’s. “Well, you succeeded. I honestly couldn’t have asked for a better father.”

He pulled Martin’s hand free and entwined their fingers. “I love you, Dad.”

The hair on Martin’s neck stood on end and his face flushed. He knew he shouldn’t ask, but he had to know.

He didn’t look at his son, but rather kept his gaze firmly pointed toward the woods. “I get the feeling that means…something much different than it used to.”

Marty seemed to be interested in the same far off spot in the woods. “It means I count myself very lucky.”

The warm fingers around Martin’s hand squeezed briefly and then released. Marty hopped off the tailgate, stripped his clothes off, and gave Martin’s shoulder a playful punch. “Come on, Old Man, the truck’s not gonna unload its own damn self.”

Martin sighed and grabbed two bottles of beer out of the fridge, and a Strawberry Crush. It was day six and he and Marty had barely spoken. Not that they weren’t talking, they were, they just weren’t saying anything real to one another. No, they were acting like strangers.

The sound of a line being cast out brought his gaze out the window and down to the dock. They’d been fishing most of the morning in an uncomfortable silence. Marty wasn’t ignoring him, the same way he wasn’t ignoring Marty; they just didn’t seem to know what to say to one another. He and his son, the person who he loved more than anyone on the planet, couldn’t find two words to say to each other. And then there was the fact that Marty had slept on the sofa the first night and every night since.

Martin made his way back down to the dock and noticed a few more fish in the bucket. They’d be eating well tonight.

“I fetched you a soda, or a beer, whichever.”

“Oh cool. Thanks.”

Marty had just finished reeling in his line again and put the pole aside as Martin set the drinks down, when they both raised up at the same time. “I’m gonna grab some more bait. This lake is full of thieves.”

Martin reached out and took his son’s wrist, but then didn’t know what to say.

“Dad?”

Martin looked out over the water. When he finally spoke, he couldn’t keep the melancholy from his voice. “I miss you, Marty.”

Marty’s response cut him to the quick. “I’m not goin’ anywhere, Old Man.” It wasn’t the words themselves, but rather the way they were delivered. Like Marty was talking to an acquaintance, or a friend, not to him. It held none of the familiarity, none of the closeness, none of the love Martin had enjoyed the entirety of his son’s life. He was losing the Marty he knew.

Prickling behind his eyes caused him to release Marty’s wrist, and when he turned to face his son, Marty’s smile faded.

“No, Marty,
I miss you
.”

Martin watched as his son’s kind, emotion-filled eyes suddenly blinked back the same tears he was trying to hold at bay.

“I’m suh-suh-sorry—”

Martin raised a finger to his son’s lips and held it there.

“I love you Marty, more than anything. I don’t want to lose you. To lose us.”

Marty’s head shook. “Dad, I promise you, you’re not. I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I just don’t know…how you want me to act. I think it’s pretty clear what I’d…what I’d hoped for.”

He bent down, picked up both bottles of beer, handed one to Martin, and then sucked down half of his own.

“Look, Dad, I don’t want you to think… Fuck, why aren’t the words coming out ruh-ruh-right?”

He tipped the bottle back up, drained it, and started again.

“I’m just trying to come to terms with a new reality, is all. I’d hoped for something, and when I finally accepted it wasn’t going to happen, I… Yeah, I just don’t know how to act right now. And, I’m embarrassed. And, I’m hurting. And I…fuck, to be honest I just wanna huddle up somewhere on my own and mourn.” His lips curled in a self-conscious grimace. “How’s that for honesty?”

Martin thought for a moment, swallowed hard, and bowed his head. “Who says it’s not gonna happen?”

He knew what he was saying, knew what it meant, and knew that if he put it out there he couldn’t back down. No, if he said something like that, something this important, he’d have to stand by it.

Marty shook his head. “What? I’m not sure what that means.”

“It means that maybe you’re not the only one who’s embarrassed and hurting and who feels like mourning. I’m totally out of my element here and I’m fucking petrified.”