Quillon's Covert (17 page)

Marty pulled up behind the cabin and put the four-door truck into park. His dad sat on the dock, casting lines into the lake, and the familiar sense of excitement that only Quillon’s Covert could ignite nearly overwhelmed him. M would grow up with that excitement too. He’d know the absolute and unconditional love of a father, because Martin had given that to Marty, and, in doing so, had taught Marty how to give it to his own son.

M squirmed in his seat, impatient to be let out so he could roam free and explore his exotic new playground for the next week. Marty involuntarily squinted his eyes while his shoulders rose when his son hit the ground and ran toward his granddad. Martin’s face lit up despite the excited high-pitched squeals pouring from M.

His dad set down the fishing rod and met an already stripped down M halfway. In an effortless swoop, he pulled M’s pudgy body into a tight hug. M laughed and laid his cheek against Martin’s strong chest. Marty knew from experience there was no safer place in the world than that furry chest.

“Astrojack,” Martin said in greeting as Marty approached. His father’s face beamed and it was slightly difficult to be satisfied with the familial peck on the cheek instead of the deep kiss Marty yearned for.

Martin’s eyes followed the trail of M’s discarded clothes. “Well that didn’t take long,”

“Nope, you know how he is; it’s a constant fight to keep him from getting naked.”

“A real Quillon, he is.”

M demanded all of Martin’s attention while Marty unloaded the truck. His dad dutifully listened to his grandson’s excited, disjointed chatter about butterflies and toy trucks and desserts. After a few hours of being cooped up in the cab together, Marty was more than happy to unload the truck by himself and let M focus his hyper attention on his granddad.

He took a long shower and washed the day’s sweat off, and then absently reached for a pair of underwear after toweling off, only to remember he didn’t need any.

“Feel better?” Martin asked when Marty joined them in the cabin. M sat near Martin’s feet at the couch, hitting the table with gusto, and saving the world from some unknown, unseen destruction. Yet, in spite of all the noise, Martin looked more relaxed than Marty had seen him in months.

“I gottcha some Mike’s Hard Lemonade…it’s in the fridge.”

“And Funyuns?”

Martin grimaced. “And Funyons. Though I’m not sure how you eat those. They’re just…nasty!”

“Whatevs,” Marty said pulling open the refrigerator. “Like you’ve got room to talk with some of the things you indiscriminately shove in your mouth.”

“Jealous much?” his dad quipped with a grin.

Martin knew full well there were foods Marty really wanted to eat, but couldn’t—not with his completely fucked up choking phobia—and his father rarely passed up and opportunity to rib him about it.

“Nah, I stopped being jealous of Mom years ago,” Marty retorted while popping the cap on his adult Lemonade.

Martin barked out a laugh and pointed a finger in his direction. “You, my boy, have one twisted sense of humor.”

Joining him in the kitchenette, Martin pulled another beer out as Marty poured the Funyons into a bowl. “How was the drive up?”

“It was long,” Marty said, “but I think it was just my eagerness to get here. Hey, did you see the Henderson's are selling? There's a big sign down at the intersection at the bottom of the hill.”

“Yeah, I had to chase two potential buyers off this afternoon, before you got here, who couldn’t seem to read the directions on that big ass sign.”

Marty leaned his ass against the counter and sized up his dad.

Martin took a long swig of beer and smacked his lips. “Like what you see?”

Marty reached up and ran a hand through the graying hair at Martin’s temple. “It only gets better with age.” Marty winked.

Martin winked back at him over the rim of his bottle. He noticed his father’s bobbing Adam’s apple, that was already covered with a half day’s stubble, as the liquid spilled down his throat. Twelve months ago, almost to the day, that Adam’s apple had bobbed with another liquid traveling down.

“What are you thinking?” Martin asked innocently.

“Nuh-nuh-nothing,” Marty said guiltily and tore his gaze to the coffee table where M was trying to stack Matchbox cars on top of one another. It was the first time he’d joined them on their annual breakaway, and Marty didn’t know how they’d handle the new dynamic. It had always only been Marty and Martin.

Marty leaned against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest. Martin closed the single step separating them and snaked his fingers into the arm lock, pulling them free. “No doubt it’ll be different with the tyke here, but we’ll get time alone.”

Marty nodded and then a corner of his mouth quirked up. “Not even two minutes into the summer and you’re already trying to jump my bones.”

Martin pyramided his brows and Marty saw the mischief in his eyes. “I’m fine, it’s you,” he said with a nod to Marty’s growing cock, “who’s threatening to poke someone’s eye out with that angry bastard.”

Martin pulled the refrigerator door open and backed Marty into it, effectively blocking their bodies from M’s view. He grabbed Marty’s hard dick and pulled lasciviously. Marty’s whole body rocked with pleasured shock and he had to catch his breath before pushing his dad’s arm away.

Marty bared his teeth in a dangerous looking grin. “You know, your cuh-cuh-cock-teasing is gonna get you in trouble. M’ll go to sleep at some point, and then your ass’ll be mine!”

Martin laughed, raised his hands in surrender, and took a step back. “Um, I believe it’s gonna be the other way around, but I get your point.”

“Whatevs. Get outta my way so I can get the barbecue going.”

As he bent over to grab a few logs of firewood, a familiar finger traced his crack, from the bottom of his balls to the top of his ass, Marty jumped, dropped the wood, and straightened, bumping his head on the counter.
“Yeeouch! Fuck!”

Martin’s arms surrounded him and he was smashed against his dad’s chest. Martin rubbed his head, but Marty felt the unmistakable shake of his dad’s body as he tried to hold back a laugh.

“Dad, if you’re laughing at me, I swear to—”

“Huh-huh-hugs,” M cooed from the coffee table. “Huh-huh-hugs are good!”

“See,” Martin said, successfully quelling the snicker, though the mirth was still evident in his voice, “I’m doing a good thing. Hugs are good.”

Marty pressed his face into his father’s warm chest and allowed Martin to pet him for a moment. Even when his dad was being a teasing pain in the ass, there was no way Marty could stay peeved when Martin held him like this.

Martin kissed the crown of Marty’s head, let go of him, and then smacked his ass. “That fire isn’t gonna light itself. Stop loafin’. I’ll help in a minute.”

Martin stepped back quickly, narrowly avoiding what would’ve been a painful jab to his ribs.

Marty bent over, grabbed a few logs, and muttered, “Yeah, your ass is mine, Quillon!” Pointing a chunk of wood at Martin, he warned, “And
help
better mean more than just carrying cold beer from the kitchen to the deck, Old Man.”

“Is he out?”

“Like a light.” Marty settled into his seat next to the bonfire. “He really enjoyed the roasted marshmallows.”

A rare cool breeze flitted through the air and whipped around them, making the flames dance along with it and sending small embers flying. Marty shut his eyes and let the smell of burning oak, and the company of his dad under an open sky, wash over him.

They sat together in companionable silence for a long time, just enjoying each other’s presence. They didn’t get much time alone these days; work, and spouses, and children, and real-life always seemed to intrude. Being alone together was a rare privilege neither of them had ever taken for granted.

“You’ve been embezzling my underwear again, haven’t you?” Martin asked, interrupting the silence.

Marty’s jaw dropped and he scrambled for something to say.

“I swear, after every one of your visits, I have to make a trip to JC Penny before Mom notices my tighty-whities are missing. The least you can do is wash and return them after you’re done. You know, swap clean ones out for my freshly spunked-up ones.”

“Jesus, Dad. Sh-sh-shut the fuck up,” Marty said and ducked his chin.

Martin chuckled at Marty’s obvious mortification. “Hey, I’m kinda flattered, Scout.” His father leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Sometimes I wear the same pair for a couple of days when I know you’re about to visit.”

“What? Why?”

He brought the coffee cup he’d been sipping on up to his lips, and then offered an abashed shoulder shrug. “I don’t know…I guess…” Marty watched with curiosity as Martin stared into the fire, his features growing more serious. “I just know you enjoy it, and I wanna give you something to…ya know, hold you over until we get up here again.”

Marty smiled at the ruggedly attractive man opposite him.

“Sometimes it feels like a lifetime between trips,” Martin added.

Several years back they’d talked about breaking the annual two-week trip into two one-week trips. And although they both liked the idea, something always seemed to get in the way of them actually doing it. This year would be the first year they put the new schedule in place.

Marty pulled his chair closer to his dad’s and settled at an angle that was just adjacent to Martin’s chair. He held out his hand, palm up, in an invitation for his dad to take it. Martin entwined their fingers and, once again, they fell into a comfortable quietude.

Marty tipped the bottle up, drained the last of his Lemonade, and tucked the empty under his chair. He brought his dad’s hand up and placed a soft kiss to the rough knuckles before releasing it and easing to the ground. Kneeling between Martin’s spread legs, he rested his head in his dad’s lap. God, he loved doing this. Sure, he wanted to do more, but just being here, his cheek pressing into the soft fur of Martin’s groin, felt like home. “You’ve given me a lifetime of irreplaceable memories, D. The best.”

He pressed in farther; intent on putting the entire year’s pent up desire into what he was doing. Into making his dad feel good. Into conveying how much he loved the man. Heat radiated from Martin’s center and Marty wrapped practiced fingers around the familiar girth while beginning to stroke, and play, and lick.

Martin hissed as Marty slid his tongue deeper between his dad’s foreskin and head. When Marty held his open mouth just above Martin’s shaft, allowing drool to fall from his parted lips, and then slowly worked his fist up and down, his father’s back arched in pleasure. “Jeez, sooo good, Marty.”

He continued the slow strokes as he looked up into Martin’s heated gaze. “You like that, Dad?”

Martin swallowed and then gave a jerky nod. “Feels
real
nice!”

Marty leaned in and licked the slick shaft again and groaned. The distinctive taste was all Martin. He loved his husband, God knew he did, but this, right here, nothing could ever compare to it. Most people would never be able to understand the relationship Marty and his dad shared, and he accepted that. The important thing was he and Martin understood it. Marty ran his tongue up and down the underside, feeling each ridge and vein, and then delved back and pressed his nose against Martin’s pubes.

He inhaled deeply and smothered his senses in Martin’s scent. Again disappointment flitted at the edges of his mind for not being able to actually swallow Martin’s cock, or Andrew’s for that matter. What he wouldn’t do to break through that mental barrier, to get over his fear of choking, and give his dad the blowjob he longed to. He was grateful, however, that neither of the men in his life ever made him feel ashamed or inadequate about it.

He brought a hand to his lips, gathered more saliva, and jacked his dad’s shaft, while licking the precum off of the swollen cockhead, letting Martin’s essence fill him completely. Of all the intimate acts they shared, this was Marty’s favorite.

Martin’s fingers wrapped into Marty’s curls and his eyes were pulled up to his dad’s.

“I want inside you, Son…been too damn long.”

Marty eagerly nodded and then pushed up. He couldn’t have agreed more. Straddling Martin’s waist, he wrapped his arms around his dad’s strong neck and brought their lips together. Martin’s dick pressed against Marty’s ass persistently. He knew the generous coating of spit he’d slathered onto Martin’s dick, along with his dad’s continual ooze of precum, would be plenty of lubrication. But, nonetheless, as he arched his back and sank down, he did so with wavering patience. God, he wanted this, wanted to feel the first dick he’d ever known inside him again. He bucked and wiggled as his father’s wet, hard warmth found its way home.

Marty tilted his head back as Martin softly kissed and nibbled his neck, and gazed at the glittering star-lit sky. They often fucked, which Marty unquestionably enjoyed, but tonight wasn’t that. It wasn’t rushed, or frantic, or urgent. Instead it was a homecoming of two men who shared an immense history, a deep respect for one another, and an inexplicable amount of love for each other. Tonight they were father and son, they were friends, they were brothers and soul mates, and they were lovers.