Gus & Gary

Father & Son share a Saturday morning routine together

The morning sun filtered through the kitchen windows, casting warm rectangles of light across the tile floor where Gus sat at the island, nursing a bowl of cereal. He was nineteen, home from his first year of college, his body having filled out in the months away—broad shoulders, defined arms, the hint of abs beneath his thin sleep shirt. His red hair was tousled from sleep, freckles dusted across his nose and shoulders, remnants of summer sun. The morning was quiet, peaceful, the kind of Saturday that seemed to stretch endlessly with possibility.

He heard his father's footsteps on the stairs before he saw him. Gary entered the kitchen wearing his old college sweatpants, the fabric riding low on his hips, his chest bare and still glistening from a quick shower. At forty-two, he carried himself with the easy confidence of a man comfortable in his own skin—gray threading through his dark hair, a softening around the middle that Gus had always found comforting, like a pillow made flesh. His arms were thick with muscle earned from decades of construction work, his hands scarred and calloused and gentle.

"Morning, kiddo," Gary said, moving to the coffee maker. "Where's your mom?"

"Off at her sister's, I think," Gus replied, spooning another bite. "Said she'd be gone all day. Some kind of emergency with the new baby. Won't be back until tonight."

Gary nodded, stirring his coffee, leaning against the counter. The fabric of his sweatpants shifted, and Gus could see the outline there, the heavy swell of his father's morning arousal barely concealed. "And what about you? Big Saturday plans? Mall? Movies? Hanging with friends?"

Gus shrugged, a smile playing at his lips. He set down his spoon and leaned back on the stool, stretching his arms above his head, his shirt riding up to show a strip of freckled stomach. "Hadn't decided yet. Might go to the mall." He paused, looking up at his father, meeting his eyes with a gaze that was all innocence and invitation. "Why? You got something planned?"

The silence stretched between them, charged, familiar. They'd been here before—first time was Gus's eighteenth birthday, a drunken confession that had led to a sober exploration, a boundary crossed and then obliterated completely. Now, months later, it was as natural as breathing, this dance of glances and pauses, the language of desire spoken fluently between them.

Gary set down his coffee cup. The tent in his sweatpants was already obvious, growing more pronounced as he stepped closer, his bare feet silent on the tile. "Well," he said, his voice dropping to that rough register that made Gus's stomach flip, that made his own cock stir in his shorts. "I was thinking maybe you could suck your old man's cock. Maybe swallow a little cum? It's been a week since I've had your mouth on me, and I'm aching for it, son."

Gus laughed, a low, warm sound that vibrated through his chest. He pushed his cereal bowl aside and slid off the stool, already sinking to his knees on the cool tile with practiced ease. "Heh," he said, looking up at his father with green eyes bright with desire, his lips already parted in anticipation. "Thought you'd never ask. I've been thinking about it too, Dad. Dreaming about it, even."

Gary's hand came to rest in Gus's hair, not pushing, just holding, stroking the red strands back from his forehead with something like reverence. "There's my good boy," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Missed you at school, you know. Missed waking up knowing you were just down the hall. Missed this—your mouth, your enthusiasm, the way you look at me like I'm the only thing you want."

Gus nuzzled against his father's groin, breathing in the scent of him—soap and musk and that particular male smell that was just *Gary*, just *Dad*, the smell of home and safety and desire all mixed together. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of the sweatpants and tugged them down slowly, revealing inch by inch of his father's body, letting the fabric pool at Gary's feet. His father's cock sprang free, already fully erect, thick and veined and beautiful in the morning light.

It was perfect—seven inches of rigid flesh, thick as Gus's wrist, the head flushed dark purple and weeping a steady stream of precum that glistened in the sun. The shaft was veined, pulsing with Gary's heartbeat, and it smelled of clean sweat and arousal, the scent making Gus's mouth water.

"Fuck," Gus breathed, his own arousal straining against his shorts, a wet spot forming at the front. "Missed this too, Dad. Missed you. Missed the way you taste, the way you feel in my mouth."

He started with his tongue, a long, slow drag from base to tip, gathering the precum that beaded at the slit, savoring the bitter salt of it, the unique flavor that was his father's essence. Gary groaned above him, his fingers tightening in Gus's hair, his hips shifting forward involuntarily, seeking more contact, more heat.

"That's it," Gary encouraged, his voice rough, his eyes fixed on his son's face. "Take your time. Love watching you. Love how much you want it, how eager you are. You make me feel like a king, Gus. Like the luckiest man alive."

Gus took the head into his mouth, his lips sealing around the shaft with wet suction, his tongue swirling in slow, deliberate circles around the crown, pressing into the slit, gathering every drop of fluid. He was practiced now, knew exactly how his father liked it—firm suction, lots of tongue, the occasional scrape of teeth that made Gary hiss and shudder and grip his hair tighter. He sank lower, taking more of the shaft into his throat, relaxing his jaw, his eyes watering slightly but never breaking contact with Gary's gaze, letting his father see how much he loved this, how much he needed it.

"God, Gus," Gary panted, his free hand bracing against the counter, his hips beginning to rock in gentle thrusts, fucking his son's mouth with increasing urgency. "You're incredible. You know that? Best I've ever had, bar none. My perfect boy. Made for this. Made for me."

Gus moaned around the intrusion, the vibration making Gary groan louder, making his thighs tremble. He pulled back, letting the shaft slip from his lips with a wet, obscene sound, strings of saliva connecting his mouth to his father's cock, glistening in the morning light. He stroked the shaft with his hand, his thumb pressing against the vein on the underside, his other hand cupping Gary's heavy balls, rolling them gently, feeling the weight of them, the promise of what was to come.

"Love your cock, Dad," Gus murmured, his voice hoarse, his lips swollen and red and wet. "Love how you taste. Love making you feel good. Love knowing I'm the one who can make you lose control like this."

He dove back in, taking Gary deeper this time, his nose pressing against his father's pelvis, the thick shaft filling his throat completely, his muscles working to swallow around the intrusion, to massage the sensitive head. Gary's hips stuttered, his control fraying, his grip in Gus's hair becoming more demanding, more possessive.

"Fuck, yes," Gary growled, his thrusts becoming more pronounced, more urgent, losing the gentle rhythm in favor of raw need. "Take it. Take your dad's cock. Swallow me down, good boy. Take it all. Let me use that pretty mouth. Let me fuck your face like you need it."

Gus let him, relaxing his throat, his hands gripping Gary's thighs for balance, his own cock throbbing in his shorts, untouched but leaking steadily, soaking the fabric. He was drooling now, thick ropes of saliva spilling from the corners of his mouth, coating Gary's shaft, dripping onto his own bare chest, making his freckled skin glisten in the morning light, making him look debauched and perfect.

"Look at you," Gary panted, his eyes dark with adoration and lust, his face flushed, his chest heaving. "Look at my beautiful boy. So messy. So perfect. Taking your old man's cock like you were made for it. Like it's your purpose, your reason for being. And maybe it is, Gus. Maybe this is what you were born for—to kneel for me, to serve me, to take my cum like a good boy."

Gus pulled back with a gasp, his chest heaving, his face flushed, his lips puffy and wet and obscene. "It is," he breathed, his voice breaking with emotion. "Made for you, Dad. Only for you. Only ever for you."

He returned to his task with renewed enthusiasm, bobbing his head in a steady rhythm, his hand working the shaft in counterpoint to his mouth, his tongue fluttering against the sensitive underside of the head, pressing into the slit, worshipping every inch. Gary's thighs were trembling now, his orgasm building, his balls tightening against Gus's palm, drawing up close to his body.

"Getting close," Gary warned, his voice strained, his hips jerking, his thrusts becoming erratic, losing all rhythm. "Gonna cum, Gus. Gonna fill your mouth. Take it, boy. Take it all. Swallow every drop for me. Don't spill a bit. Take your dad's load like the perfect cocksucker you are."

Gus moaned his encouragement, his suction becoming more intense, his hand pumping faster, his eyes closing in bliss as he felt Gary swell, felt the shaft thicken, felt the pulse that meant release was imminent. And then Gary was erupting, his cock pulsing violently, flooding Gus's mouth with thick, hot seed.

It was copious, endless, spurt after spurt of bitter cream that filled Gus's cheeks, coated his tongue, slid down his throat in thick ropes. Gus swallowed eagerly, his throat working, his hands gripping Gary's hips to hold him steady through the aftershocks, milking every drop, draining his father completely. Gary cried out, a sound torn from deep in his chest, his whole body convulsing, his hand white-knuckled in Gus's hair, holding him in place as he spent himself completely.

When Gary finally finished, his cock still twitching, still leaking the last drops of essence, Gus pulled back slowly, licking his lips, cleaning the tip with gentle swipes of his tongue, gathering every remaining bit. He looked up at his father, his face a mess of saliva and cum, his eyes shining with devotion, with love, with the satisfaction of a job well done.

"Perfect," Gary whispered, his chest heaving, his hand cupping Gus's cheek, his thumb wiping at the mess lovingly. "Absolutely perfect. Come here, my good boy. Come here and let me taste myself on you."

He pulled Gus to his feet and kissed him—deeply, thoroughly, tasting his own release on his son's tongue, their mouths mingling, the kiss wet and messy and full of love and possession. They stood there in the morning light, entwined, until Gary finally pulled back with a soft smile, his forehead resting against Gus's.

"Better get dressed," Gary said, his hand lingering on Gus's shoulder, his eyes soft with affection. "Unless you want to stay like that all day, covered in your dad's cum."

Gus laughed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his own arousal still evident in his shorts. "Might shower first," he said, his voice rough. "Then mall? Maybe catch a movie?"

"Sounds good," Gary said, pulling up his sweatpants, grabbing his coffee again like nothing had happened, though his hands were still shaking slightly. "Love you, kiddo. More than anything."

"Love you too, Dad," Gus replied, heading for the stairs, his heart full, his body warm, the taste of his father still rich on his tongue, the memory of the morning already etched into his mind as perfect.

Just another Saturday morning. Just another perfect day.