Hi Hungry. I'm Dad.

❝Fine. I will help you appease your husband’s devoted flock. A salad it is. I mean, it’s impossible to fuck up a salad. You just throw a bunch of vegetables into a bowl.❞ Nathan reaches into the cupboards and pulls out a large serving bowl. He slaps it onto the counter, trashing the disaster they had tried to cook. ❝And by the way, Stacy’s roots are shit and that’s why she’s always on your case. Fuck her.❞

God, that was the best release he's had in so long. Jerking off at night by yourself loses it's satisfaction after a while. He pants and squirm, cheeks stained with tears that are a mix of absolute pleasure and heart ache. Robert's tongue provides a distraction, licking up his spunk like it was ice cream before forcing Nate to taste himself. It's so disgusting and dirty...And so fucking hot. He keens into it, sucking on the man's tongue. Jesus fucking Christ. He had loved his wife, but sex with Robert was on another level. He had never felt such pure, unadulterated, bliss in his life. And it seemed like it wasn't even over yet. The world flips again, Nathan nothing more than a boneless rag doll after orgasming. A pillow greets his cheek and that thick member is pushing into him again. He cries, trembling heavily. He's oversensitive, but he knows Robert has him. He's safe and cared for. This man had never done wrong against him. He took care of Nate, even back when they had only just started to become friends and Ernest kicked him in the knee. Or the time he had cut himself while trying to whittle. And so many more times after, like when Nathan got a really bad hangover and Robert just sat in the bathroom with him, rubbing his back. There it is again, burning up his inside with it's strength as hands soothe his spine. It's so much less animalistic than what Nathan had pulled out of him earlier, such sweet tender kiss pressed to his shoulder. He wants to say those three little words so badly. He wants to let Robert know that he's not broken like he believes, that he's not beyond redemption. He's just bent. He deserved love, real and sincere. A love that would be there despite his flaws and, God, Nate could supply that. He's been supplying that this whole time. If only he could just make the man see that he doesn't have to be good to be good enough for him. Nathan loves him. He loves him. He wants to scream it in his face to make him understand. He'd bleed for him. Die for him. He wants to wake up everyday to his grumpy morning face and his messy hair. He wants to sit in the bed of his truck and whittle while Robert makes up amazing bullshit ghost stories under the stars. He wants to enjoy more silences with him, curled up together. He wants to hold his hand and trace over the little white scars, kissing the tattoo so he can change the memories attached to it. He wants Robert. He would never feel an ounce of shame proclaiming to the world that this was his man. Blood drips onto the pillow and Nathan realizes he's been biting down on his bottom lip to stop himself from bursting open, spilling it all out. With how deep he's split it, it was going to take a few days to heal up. For now he just licks it away, flushing heavily as the man keeps rolling into him with much more intimate thrusts. His fingertips dig into the sheets for something to steady himself. ❝Robert! Robert!❞ Is all he can say as his poor spent cock starts to fill with interest again.