Snow Drifting

The conversation was equally stilted, with the only discussion that seemed to be safe being professional sports. But there was a split in loyalties expressed there too. They even had to quickly drop the subject of the weather. Scott had mentioned the unusually early heavy snow in the same sentence with climate change and, as Doctor Reynolds was poised to agree and add to that, Steve attacked, saying climate change was fake news by fucking liberals, and the topic was closed. Samantha tried to save the conversation, but only made it worse by talking about hurricanes, which really needed to be discussed in Watertown. The doctor didn't help by picking up his favorite discussion ever since Scott had reappeared.

"Have you thought about what you're going to do now, son?" he looked to his right and asked.

"Not much, Dad. I'm either on vacation or looking for something more permanent," Scott answered.

"You can't just drift along forever," Stanford said.

"I rather thought that might be an option too," Scott answered, clearly tired of this line of questioning and showing it.

"You have a community college diploma. I can help you pay for a full college education. Business, that's the way to go these days, I think."

"I feel like I have had the business, Dad. I have benefits from the army if I want to use them."

"But you aren't thinking of reenlisting," Stanford said, making his big fear evident. The two had wrangled when Scott had first enlisted. That had been when Scott realized that both of them were fucking Cory. And then the father had gone ballistic—and silent for several months—when Scott had reupped in Afghanistan. Scott hadn't been able to tell him why. He hadn't told anyone in his family about Kentuck. He didn't fully understand why either, other than he had to do it to be able to live with himself—to honor the memory of Kentuck. Kentuck had been gung-ho for the war effort, certainly more so than Scott was. For some reason he couldn't fully explain to himself regardless of to anyone else, he had felt honor bound to fulfill Kentuck's Afghanistan commitment as well as his own. That and he had a grief he couldn't explain to anyone else—and didn't want to have to.

In time that particular hurt between father and son had lessened, but, as is often the case in families, it never went away.

"Yes, that's an option too, Dad." The silence at the table was palpable. The tension was only broken by Cory.

"So, is everyone ready for desert now, or do you want to have it later?"

"I couldn't tuck away another bite now," Samantha said. The atmosphere was so thick, though, that no one joked that she'd eaten like a bird, obviously worried that she'd do something wrong even in lifting a fork.

Cory rose from the table. "Why don't the rest of you go on into the living room, while I clear the table? We'll have dessert later."

They cleared from the table, but Scott found himself to be the only one who entered the living room. Stanford helped Cory clear the table, the two of them whispering in serious tones. Scott had noticed there had been tension between the two of them since he'd reappeared. He hoped it wasn't because of him. As far as Scott knew, Stanford had never realized they both had been fucking Cory. Regrettable, the Cory ship had sailed for him, he thought—and hoped. He still got hard just looking at the handsome young man, though. Cory was about half his size. He was perfectly formed, though, and closer to being beautiful than handsome. He moved with grace, like a dancer. Scott's father had told him that children and women were happy and comfortable with Cory's care. Scott thought that there were probably more than a couple of men who got hard while Cory was tending to them. He knew he would—but then, he'd experienced the charms of Cory intimately.

He didn't want to be in the living room alone and he had to piss anyway, so Scott climbed the stairs to the second level, where there were four bedrooms and two baths. The house was so old that there once had been five bedrooms and no baths of there, but the Reynolds had taken one of the bedrooms to create a bath for the master bedroom and a larger one off the central hallway for the remaining three bedrooms.

Leaving the hall bathroom, Scott heard sounds coming from one of the back guest bedrooms. The door into the bedroom was ajar and he had a clear view of Steve fucking Samantha by the bed. They both had their backs to the door. Samantha, dressed only in a necklace, a chain around her belly, and an anklet, was bent over the bed, her right leg raised, with that foot on the surface of the bed. Her left leg extended to the floor. Her arms were spread out in front of her, her hands buried in the bedspread. Steve, naked, was covering her from behind, one hand cupping an ample breast, the fingers of the other hand working her clit and cunt, and his dick cocking her from behind.

There was very little in physical characteristics between the two brothers. Scott took after his father, tall, ruggedly handsome, robust, blond, smooth skinned. Steve was like their mother—of average height, thin and wiry, a bit hirsute, dark. He was handsome, but in a foxy sort of way. Scott and his father were stallions. The similarity in the brothers, though, was in the vein of a stallion. Both of them were hung. Samantha was receiving the full benefit of that from Steve now. Scott knew Steve had women all over town. The attraction of his cock was probably one reason he could manage that. Once, though, when Scott had accosted his brother about using and then dropping women casually, Steve had retorted that he had to make up for three Reynolds men with the women of the town. That so many women here wanted them, but only Steve wanted them back.

Scott had no doubt that this moment was what Steve had had in mind when he brought the poor woman to Thanksgiving dinner here. He was sticking it to his gay father and brother in his father's house. No doubt he'd appear at Christmas with another woman and bring her up here too—and leave the bedroom door open so they could be seen in coitus.

When Scott went downstairs, he found his father and Cory standing in the foyer. Stanford was pulling on a heavy coat. He already was in his snow boots.

"Your father got a call. He has to go out," Cory explained.

"Of course he did," Scott said. It was a running family joke that no family occasion went unchallenged by someone's medical emergency.

When Stanford was gone, Scott and Cory entered the living room. Cory waited to see where Scott would sit—on a sofa at one end—before he sat—in an armchair across from the sofa.

"We haven't really been alone since I came home," Scott said. "I hope you haven't been avoiding me."

"No, of course I haven't. It's been busy in the office." Cory sounded a bit nervous.

"I've been avoiding you too," Scott said. Both gave a little laugh, Cory's more nervous and forced than Scott's.

"Seriously, it's OK, Cory," Scott said. "You and Dad OK? You seem a little reserved with each other. I hope that isn't because I'm here. Seriously, it's OK. I want you and Dad to be happy with each other—you both deserve it."

"He's good to me. Really good to me," Cory answered, leaving something unsaid lingering in the air. Scott picked up on that.

"But?"

It took a while for Cory to answer. "I think maybe he's seeing someone else."

"Really? That would surprise me. Why do you think that?"

"We sleep together—still—but we don't . . . you know . . . do it. We're like an old married couple. We are comfortable with each other—were comfortable with each other—but . . . I don't know, it's changed somehow."

"I'm sorry to hear—"

"I think I'd best get to those dishes. I wonder where Steve and his date are." He stood up.

"You don't really wonder, do you?" Scott answered. "This is Steve we're talking about. What do you think they're doing?"

Cory blushed. "Yah, I guess I knew what Steve was up to with that. I wondered if it deflated him when he found out that she was a patient of your dad's and that Stanford would treat her like family."

"I don't think he's deflated about it," Scott said. "When I saw them upstairs he was as hard and inflated as she could take."

"Yes, well, the dishes call." Cory fled the room.

Some minutes later, Scott came into the kitchen. Cory was standing in front of the sink. Scott came in close behind him and extended his arms, grabbing the edge of the counter on each side, coming in close behind Cory.

"Scott. Don't," Cory whimpered.

"If you and Dad aren't doing it. . . .You smell nice," Scott said, his face buried in Cory's throat and taking a big pull of breath.

"Scott. You can't. We can't?"

"We can't? You want it, don't you?"

Cory didn't answer.

"I can't stand the thought of you not getting attention. You're too young to not be getting it. If Dad won't give it to you—"

"No, Scott. It wouldn't be right. Oh, why did you have to come back?"

"You want it don't you?"

"Do you think you can just waltz back in here and take what you want?"

"Yes. I've never lied about it. I take what I can get when and where I can get it. I've held off on you because of Dad. If he isn't taking it from you, though. . . . You want it, don't you? I can feel you trembling for it."

"Yes, god damn it, I want it," Cory answered through clinched teeth.

"You want it from me." He had unzipped himself and pulled his hard cock out. And he had pulled Cory's trousers and brief's down in back. His cock had been shoved between Cory's thighs, which opened, with a sigh from Cory, to give him access to his crack.

"Yes. From you. I've always wanted it from you. You've always known that. Oh, shit." The cock was being rubbed across his hole—the thick side of it rubbing across it, but also the bulb teasing the rim. Cory reached up with his hands, cupped the back of Scott's head, and brought their faces in position for a deep kiss.

"You want it here or upstairs?"

"Upstairs. Not in Stan's and my bed, though, please. Anywhere else."

Scott picked the smaller, lighter young man up, slung him over his shoulder, belly down, and climbed the stairs. He fucked him in his own room. He took his time because, as he'd already known, he was really too big for the small man. Stanford wasn't as heavenly endowed as his sons were. Cory wasn't reamed to Scott's specifications any more. It had been too long since they'd last coupled. Scott took his time with Cory, which should have given him pause to consider why it was only Cory he did this for. Scott was a rough fucker. He'd taken other small channels before, but he'd given them no quarter. He'd conquered them all at a quick pace. It was only Cory who he made slow, sensitive love to.

They lay on his bed, stretched out against each other, Cory on his back, with Scott turned toward him on his side, an arm around Cory's torso, that hand run into Cory's hair, holding the young man in place. Cory's right leg was bent, his foot on the bedspread, his pelvis turned to Scott. Scott's free hand grasping Cory under the balls, his fingers working in Cory's ass, a finger being added as Cory's channel could open to it. Cory was moaning deeply and murmuring, "Yes, yes. God, it's been so long."

"So long since you've had it from me," Scott whispered, wanting it to be about Cory and him. Taking his father out of the equation. "And you want it from me."

"Yes, so long since I've had it from you, Yes, I want it from you. Fuck me. Fuck me now. Do it. Do it now."

Scott knew Cory wasn't open enough for it, but he couldn't wait any longer than Cory was indicating he could.

"You're so sexy; so beautiful. I want you now," he said, pulling Cory down to the foot of the bed with him. Grabbing a pillow to take with them.

"Yes, yes. Do me. Fuck me," Cory was insistently moaning.

Scott got the small man to the foot of the bed, his buttocks on the edge. He manipulated Cory's legs spread and bent, the young man's feet curled on the edge of the bed. The pillow went under his lower back, raising and rolling up his pelvis. Scott stood between the spread thighs, hunched over Cory's prone body. Cory was reaching out, tracing the pec and sleeve tattoo on Scott's torso.

"Love the tattoo. So nice; so sexy; so . . . oh, shit. Oh FUCK!"

"Am I hurting you?"

"Yes. No. Yes. God you're big!"

"You want me to stop?" The bulb was barely lodged in the hole.

"No. Don't stop. Just take it slow. Fuck me. I want it so bad."

Scott did take it slow, but he was relentless. Cory cried out and groaned and moaned, and he grabbed up wads of the bedspread in his fists. He even turned his head to the side and stuffed the bedspread into his mouth to keep himself from screaming. But he persevered and he slowly opened to the cock, which moved, relentlessly, up inside him. Scott gathered him up in his arms and began the long-sliding pumping of the passage as Cory moaned and panted and gasped for air. He took his own cock in his hand and stroked himself off while he put his pelvis into motion, rocking against Scott's groin, taking the cock, taking it deep, the muscles of his channel rippling over the thick, insistent shaft.

Cory's eyes opened wide and his panting went into double time, as Scott tensed, held, unloaded, tensed held, and unloaded again. He wasn't sheathed. Cory got the full load. Scott brutally took Cory's lips with his, and, again, he tensed, held, and unloaded. Tensed, held, and unloaded.

"It's been too long," he murmured in Cory's ear.

"Yes," Cory said, but he wriggled out from underneath Scott, rolled off the bed, and grabbed his clothes off the floor. "Damn you, why did you have to come back," he sobbed and fled out of the room and across the hallway to the master bedroom.

Scott heard the lock on the master bedroom door being shot home. It was a shot to his gut, as well. Had he gone too far? Was this making it all worse? Would Cory hate him? And when his father found out—if his father found out—would he hate him too and throw him out on his ear?

He picked up his briefs and pulled them on. On his way to the hall bathroom, the sounds from the back guestroom told him those games hadn't concluded. Samantha as on the bed, her rear raised off her knees, her tits grinding into the bedspread. She was giving little yip sounds. Steve was crouched above her, grasping her hips between his hands, fucking her in the ass in long slides. You could take the barmaid out of the tavern, but you couldn't take the johns' cocks out of the barmaid's ass. The door to the bedroom was still open enough for anyone in the hallway to see them on the bed.

Scott turned back and went into the hall bath. Before he turned on the shower, he was able to hear that Cory had turned on the shower in the master bath. Anxious to wash the violation of Scott from his body, Scott wondered.

What was done was done, though. And it only had made Scott more horny. He showered and dressed and went downstairs to raid the liquor cabinet. He heard Steve and Samantha fussing in the foyer, but he didn't go into the foyer to tell them good-bye. Steve had made his point and Samantha didn't deserve the embarrassment of knowing what that point was.

As the front door closed, Scott picked up the phone and rang Jack Schafer's apartment. No one answered the phone. Doctor Reynolds wasn't home yet either.

* * * *

Doctor Reynolds drove carefully and slowly in the Jeep Cherokee, because of the drifting snow, out Bradley Street, past the North Watertown Cemetery to the left and turned into the drive to the county library just before the Superior Street intersection. The parking lot had been cleared earlier in the day but already was filling in with drifting snow again. No other cars were in the lot. The library, fully glass across the front, was dark, although some night lights shown through from the back of the main room.

Maybe he couldn't wait, Stanford thought. Maybe he had to leave because the snow was accumulating too fast. His car isn't here. But, no, there he was standing in the window next to the main door, shown in the headlights of the Cherokee as Stanford rolled up to the door. Ken Dayton. The new county librarian. Somewhat under height, slim built, blond curls, and blue eyes. An angel, dedicated to introduce the masses to other worlds through books. Stanford, of course, couldn't see that in the dark by the light of his headlights. The doctor knew that from intimate knowledge of the young man who had first come to him with a sprain from a hiking accident.

"I thought you'd gone," he said, as Dayton opened the door and he slipped in. They didn't turn on the lights as the fifty-five-year-old doctor pulled the twenty-one-year-old librarian into his arms and went into a kiss.

"I walked here for work today," Dayton answered when Stanford released his lips. It was always the older doctor who guided this relationship. "My Miata wouldn't make it here and back in the snow. They don't have snow like this in North Carolina. You'll have to drive me home. It's just across Bradley, on Hillcrest. I just realized that you have never been to my apartment."

"Later. I want you now. I must be inside you right now."

"Now? Here?" He wouldn't say no. He couldn't make such a decision in this relationship. His response was purely from surprise that Reynolds would be so insistent, so in heat. Perhaps he wasn't as much in control of himself and his needs than Dayton had thought he was.

"Yes. You don't know what a day it's been. Family. And Scott and Cory giving each other the eye like they would fall on each other the moment I'd walked out of the room. I'm in heat and I'm exhausted from the two of them dancing around each other since Scott came home."

He pushed the young man down on his knees, right there at the glass, beside the door, unzipped himself, pulled his cock out, put his hands on the back of Dayton's head, and pulled the young man's face into his crotch. Dayton opened his mouth to the shaft and took it in. He was on familiar ground now. All of their encounters had begun with him paying homage to the doctor's shaft. He gave it gagging suck for a few minutes but pulled away when the lights from a vehicle pulled out of the mouth of Pamelia Avenue, directly across Bradley from the library driveway, sweeping its lights across the front of the library building before the vehicle turned south on Bradley.

"Not here. It's too exposed," he said. There was no way they'd been seen, of course. The car was too far away for anyone to pick out unexpected activity in the library building. But this was where Dayton worked. His encounters with Reynolds had been alien to his basic nature. He didn't feel right doing this at his place of employment. He realized, though, that if Reynolds didn't care, his reticence was irrelevance. The doctor had dominated him from the moment they had met—not in a cruel or evil way. It was more a matter or two lonely men in need finding each other and the older man being bold enough to do something about it.

"The offices are in the back?" Reynolds asked. "They have interior walls separating them from the main room?"

"Yes, come with me."

"Strip," Reynolds commanded when they entered Dayton's office behind the checkout desk.

"I'll have to clear the—"

"Strip. I want you now," Reynolds growled, sweeping the desk clear with his arm. His voice was insistent, almost primeval. Any of his patients would declare that this couldn't be their doctor speaking in that manner. The sudden appearance of Scott back in his life had unsettled him more than he had realized.

Reynolds didn't strip. He was unzipped, with his erection and hair of his bush protruding from his fly. He grabbed the now-naked, small-statured librarian in an embrace and took him into another kiss, bending him over the desk on his back. He kissed him on the lips and down his cheeks and on the throat and then down to the nipples, as the librarian gasped and panted hard. Turning Dayton, Reynolds slammed him down on the desktop on his belly, went down on his knees behind the young man, pulled Dayton's butt cheeks apart with his hands and went for the hole with his lips and teeth and tongue. Dayton writhed under him and began to rock his hips back into the doctor's face. Reynolds pulled the young man's cock through and alternated stroking and sucking that with the attention he was giving to Dayton's hole with his mouth.