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Foundations, Chapter 5

By Kenneth Beltan

Blake, Quentin, and Nieve are all copyrighted and are owned by Nievelion. I have had permission to use them for this story. All other characters are mine.

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5

Blake took his time drying off, his thick fur fluffing all over and making him look ridiculous. After blowing a good load, he was able to think more clearly about what he had learned tonight. He contemplated serendipity -- not how it was the divine gift from the gods of fortune but how it seemed so fortuitously random. He also marveled at how damned lucky he had been with it lately, not to mention his father. It felt as though everything in Nature was telling them to do this. It was a crazy idea, but in his mind, Blake was more than extremely tempted to accept it unquestioningly. Even if it seemed too good to be true, he took pleasure in entertaining as many possibilities as he liked. Nevertheless, he possessed a hard rock of sensibility, installed in him with particular ardor by his sensible mother. It refused to budge, and so Blake had to resign himself to its sage (if sometimes unwanted) council. He still felt surer of his intentions now that he more evidence of his father reciprocal feelings, but he knew that he would still have to proceed carefully. The question was how to go about it. Devising scenarios was great fun, each of them led to a quick realization of his desires, but he knew letting himself get carried away might wreck everything. As uninhibited as he liked to appear, he was not a fool and knew to look before he leapt. Patience and vigilance were necessary qualities not only for a successful life, it was critically important for a competent cop. Indeed, his mother had taught him well in only ten years. "Goddamn it," he grumbled to himself. "Why does society have to have to fucking many hangups? It'd be so much easier if we could just say what we mean." He looked at his body in the full-length mirror in the bathroom that was used for grooming, and smiled as he hefted his cock and balls a few times. "Of course, you don't need words to speak loud and clear." His stomach then rumbled, and he gave it a pat. "You can even make sounds that aren't words and still speak clearly." With a final, affectionate pate, he chuckled and padded completely naked out of the bathroom, heading straight for his father's bedroom. "Hey, Dad, I'm hungry again. Wanna quick bite before bed?" he called as he came down the hall. It was Friday, so he was allowed to stay up if he wanted to. "You're always hungry, Blake," came his father's accurate response. "Don't I know it?" the young Amur said to himself, referring to more than just gastronomic satiety. He entered his father's bedroom as bold as brass, his fat member swinging heavily between his legs and over balls that only got bigger and bigger. He found his father laying face down on his bed, his glasses resting on the bedside table beside his pillow. Blake gave a silent sniff of the air and, sure enough, found traces of scent that told him his old man had engaged in a bit of fun of his own. It was a nice scent, mixed in with the base scent of his father that he had loved instinctively since he was a tiny kitten. He got closer so that he could look over his father's ass and see if his cock and balls were poking down between his legs. Again his expectations proved well-founded. The giant shaft poked a few inches out from under balls large enough to fill both of Blake hungry paws. Looking back up to Quentin's head, he saw that his father still had his eyes closed in relaxation. Even his tail was motionless. "Come on, Dad. I thought you wanted to spend more time with me," Blake said with mock impatience as he crossed his arms over his chest. "I meant at civilized hours. You just want me to make you a sandwich," the larger Amur responded sagely. Blake stuck out his tongue and rolled his eyes. "Don't point that thing at me," Quentin quipped, his eyes still shut. "What?" Blake tried to act innocent, though he knew that it was futile. "I could sense your tongue passing beyond your teeth. Parents can do that, son." "Parents have weird powers." "Useful all the same." Quentin yawned large, his tongue hanging over his front teeth, and stretched his whole body luxuriously. He then rolled over and sat up, as much to help himself wake up a bit as to give Blake a show. In truth, he was now feeling quite tired. It had been a very long day, and while it had ended very satisfactory, it all conspired to make him sleepy. "So I take it you want something more exciting that flour paste." "I've only done that twice!" Blake grumbled. The father laughed merrily. "I wager you'll do it again before long." He looked his son over. "So now you're dispensing with clothing all together, I see." "You've never exactly been modest," Blake countered, sweeping his paw out to gesture along his father's body. Gearing up for some feline banter, he continued amiably: "I'm probably psychologically damaged or something. I'll need years of work from some shrink in the City." "Blake, my son, you are the son of your mother. There was never any hope for sanity from the start. Look how she corrupted me, bless her soul." Quentin kept his face placid, as if this were an exchange about one's preferences for sandwich toppings. "Now, raising you, especially by myself, I'm sure will necessitate extensive psychotherapy. Alas, what a hard life." Blake half-frowned but had an immediate response. "Isn't that what Professor Urquhart is for? I thought he was your shrink." By the tone of his voice, it was clear he meant much more. It was the first time that Blake had ever let on that he was aware that more went on between them than mere academic consultation or friendly but platonic conversation. It was now Quentin's turn to frown. "What are you implying, Blake?" The young Amur realized that might he have crossed a line and tried to look apologetic. "I...I just meant that I know you two sometimes share more than conversation. I can smell it on you sometimes. It's all right, Dad. I'm not upset about it, and I don't mind either. I know you have needs. You're a man after all. You can't stay celibate forever." Quentin regarded his son for a long while, considering what to say and choosing his words carefully. "How much do you know about my sex life?" "I know at least that you have one," Blake answered just as carefully. "I don't gossip about it or anything. I wouldn't do that to you. I don't try to spy on you or anything." That was only partially true, but this was not quite the time to share that kind of information. "I've just become aware of it over time is all. You told me that I shouldn't be ashamed of my body. Doesn't that extend to sexuality? You told me not to be ashamed of mine, though I know you meant that I shouldn't be ashamed of being gay. Still, shouldn't that lack of shame extend all the way to actually having sex?" Quentin had resist his fur puffing out in unease. Once more, his son had managed to impress him with suddenly being quite clearheaded and insightful, and he said it so cogently and sensibly. He was just like his mother in that respect. Not for the last time did Quentin wonder if a piece of her spirit lingered in their son. "You're quite right, lad. Just act responsibly and thoughtfully when you do have sex -- just so long as you wait until you're either eighteen or no longer living under my roof. It's not up for debate, Blakeson," his father added just as his son was about to protest. Blake fell silent in acquiescence but still looked rebellious. Quentin's expression now softened. "I appreciate your discretion regarding my activities, son. I really do. I suppose it was foolish of me to think that I could completely keep it a secret from you. Why did you mention it, though? Was it just to score a point or did you really want to tell me that you don't mind?" Blake grinned. "A little of column A and a little of column B," he admitted, his ears flattening slightly in contrition. "Seriously, though, I don't mind it. I won't think less of you for having some fun. Professor Urquhart's a good-looking man; so are you. You're entitled, Dad, to do what you like. I can't stop you, and I wouldn't dream of doing it anyway. I want you to be happy, and I know that I can't be everything to you, much as I sometimes want to be." He was blushing now, having made a very, very personal admission about his feelings, something he was increasingly loathe to do even to his father. For his part, Quentin was suddenly dying to take his son in his arms, and if it happened to lead them to seeing just how more they could be to each other, all the better. He was suddenly feeling lust welling up inside of him again. After all that he had done, he wondered how much more could be left inside. He should have been cross with Nieve for slipping him aphrodisiacs, even if Quentin had suspected it for a while. He knew the lion never meant any harm, just a bit of mischief, and it was always for their mutual satisfaction. This one was not wearing off so easily, and he was feeling ever more inclined to rut rather than sleep. He could also feel blood moving to his member, which he was mentally trying to suppress. A bit of plumping was going to happy one way or another, and he could not decide if he should have cursed Nieve or praised him or both. "I appreciate that, Blake. I really do." He reached out and took his son's paw, holding it lovingly and looking him in the face so he would not be tempted to look downward. "Understand that I do love Nieve very much, and Edward, too." He grinned as Blake's eyebrows arched up, confirming another suspicion the young Amur had but had not otherwise voiced. "They are both dear, dear friends to me. I am not in love with them, of course. Our erotic pursuits are friendly. If I was really thinking seriously about someone, I would tell you well before it got very involved." Blake squeezed his father's paw back, taking a small step forward and sitting on the bed next to his father, both to be closer and to make it so that his own cock was impossible to miss. It struck him how strange it felt to be having such a heart-to-heart like this while also totally naked and flirting with sex. It also fueled his next question. "You mean you can be friends, even close ones, and still have a sexual relationship?" Damn horny teenagers, Quentin thought ruefully to himself as Blake sat down so enticingly in front of him. "Yes, son. I think it is much more common among gay men, but I cannot be certain of that. Sex is simply another activity that friend can enjoy together. It does not have to be tethered to a specific kind of commitment or relationship. It can augment them and even bring closeness. I think friendship among gay men tends to be more dynamic and flexible than most other kinds of friendships, and I am grateful for it. Friendship, like other relationships, is often over-constrained in a heterosexual context I believe. It limits them in unnecessary ways and attempts distinctions that are more imagined and contrived than real, or even needed."? "It sounds complicated." "Such is life, but if you choose to look at the variety you will be more likely to find what you want, what you need, and other wonderful things you would not have imagined otherwise." "Like the joys of flour paste," Blake quipped at his own expense. Quentin fell back on the bed and laughed hard, soon holding his abdomen as it got soar. "If you will," he finally managed to say after a good laugh, brushing tears from his eyes. Blake had laughed with his father a bit but mostly just enjoyed watching him. He loved to hear his father laugh, and he was glad that he could still make him do it. It made him feel closer to his father. "You know, this would only be funny to us, I think," Blake mused. "Probably," Quentin admitted. "Sometimes one has to be there to understand it." "Well, speaking of flour paste, I still want food. You coming, Dad?" He stood up and held out a paw to his father. Chuckling and taking his son's paw, he swung his legs over the edge and got up. "Yes, I will. Just something small, though, and then off to bed with us both. It's very late, and I'm exhausted in spite of my exertions today." Throwing his cautions to the wind, Blake suddenly embraced his father tightly. Quentin was momentarily startled, as they had never embraced quite like this before. He could even feel their members touching one another slightly, yet the movement and ardor of the embrace suggested spontaneous affection rather than calculated lust. His son's deep, happy purrs also confirmed as much. There was really no way for them to hug without their front getting close, and being naked, their cocks were much freer and more likely to actually meet. It was certainly erotic even if it had not initially been intended to be so, but it was also very sweet. Quentin simply returned the embrace warmly, gently petting the back of his son's head and lapping at his ears slowly. "I love you, Dad," came Blake's muffled Southern drawl that he never relinquished. "I love you, too, son. With all my being." Silently, they both would have liked to express that love with every fiber of their respective beings, feeling sure in a way that neither ever had before, that such was indeed quite possible and very much desirable.