Work Text:
There was a reason Crepus asked to not be bothered while he was in his office.
The staff probably thought it to be mere diligence. After all, Master Crepus was known for the quality — and overwhelming quantity — of his work.
They most likely did not imagine one second that it was because his son, sixteen-years-old and already a little slut, was so eager to warm his father’s cock.
It was challenging to get anything done in this configuration — his son gently moving on his lap, pussy clenched around Crepus’s cock — but Crepus liked a good challenge. With time, he’d learned to be efficient at both of his holiest works to date — his son’s orgasms and his winery’s prosperity. Besides, was there any sweeter music to work with than the moans of his son, head thrown back against Crepus’s shoulder, hands holding Crepus’s to guide it between his legs?
Crepus couldn’t think of anything — until Diluc found a new song to hum in Crepus’s ear, of course.
That day, however, Diluc was not in the mood to share. He was patient for a little while, sitting fully-clothed on his father’s lap and grinding his ass against Crepus’s hard cock, but he was not settling for their usual dual activity.
“What are you preparing?” Crepus murmured in Diluc’s ear, pressing a kiss to his nape. “Driving me crazy with all this attention but still fully-clothed?”
Diluc pouted. “You work too much. I feel like being mean.”
“By teasing me?”
“Yes.”
“I like when you tease me, though.”
Diluc hummed. “Do you?” he breathed, nuzzling into Crepus’s neck — and his lips brushed his father’s neck, hot tongue gently sucking on a portion of skin he’d claimed for himself.
Crepus shivered. His cock twitched. He moaned softly, but as he let go of his pen to close his arms on Diluc’s slender frame, the latter stopped him. Confused, Crepus watched as Diluc stood up, pushing Crepus’s papers to the side — and glaring at them, objects of his anguish. Then, he hopped onto the desk, leaning back as he kicked off his shoes, then his socks.
Then, his pants.
He patiently undid the ribbon around his collar, popping button after button — until perky breasts peeked from the flowy lapels, delicate shoulders exposed by slipping sleeves.
But he kept the flowy blouse on.
Crepus swallowed. He heaved a long sigh, taking in his son’s impish smile. “I can’t tell if this is a reward or a punishment.”
“What would you need to be punished for, Father?” Diluc asked innocently — and it was all Crepus needed to know to be sure his son resented him. Well, it wasn’t pure resentment. Knowing him, it was likely to be a need for attention. Nobody knew the respected Diluc Ragnvindr, heir to an empire, was a needy little whore in his father’s arms.
Crepus couldn’t say he disliked that.
“I suppose,” Crepus started, leaning back in his seat to undo the buttons of his pants. Diluc let him — but tutted when Crepus tried to jerk his own cock. “I worked too much, and neglected my perfect little slut of a son.”
Diluc smiled, victorious. “Correct.”
Caught red-handed, Crepus opened his arms in a show of good will, then rested them on the armrest of his plump chair. His hard cock peeked through his open pants, but he didn’t touch it — as per his son’s orders. “I’m ready to repent.”
Diluc’s gaze took an edge Crepus knew by heart. Power, over his father whom he knew would never break a vow. Sometimes, Crepus worried about just how far Diluc would take this search for his limits. Although it mattered little; he would still follow him into his wildest fantasies. What else was he, if not Diluc’s most fervent servant?
With a dexterous movement, Diluc lifted his legs, wriggling out of his underwear until he wore nothing but the open blouse. His nipples hardened, pointing beneath the silk of his blouse, but he did not touch nor reveal them. He simply watched Crepus, whose gaze trailed down graceful bare legs, following the underwear down its path — catching, when it dangled around Diluc’s foot.
Once the garment touched the floor, Diluc turned a hooded gaze toward his father.
And he spread his legs open. With one hand — the other holding him steady as he leaned further back — he pried his pretty pussy open, tearing a shiver from his father.
The pink shell of his pussy was already drenched, wet from all the teasing he’d done for hours. His hole twitched, expectant of the usual generous girth of his father pressing against it, stretching it open as it pushed through the entrance.
But Crepus did not move — even as his mouth watered and his hands itched. Diluc’s gaze stopped him, hard but not unkind, amused and aroused at once.
“Watch me,” he said, one finger rubbing around his clit. “Don’t look away.”
Crepus did not — could not — look away. He exhaled. His gut clenched when Diluc slipped one — then two — fingers into his own hole, a short-lived whimper breaking through his serious composure. Already, his neck was flushed — a color that matched Crepus’s neck, he presumed. He certainly felt it, that warmth creeping up his body, flooding his cheeks, with his temples pulsing in rhythm with his veins — including those on his aching cock.
As if that performance wasn’t torturous enough, Diluc spread his thighs wider, offering a better view of his pretty cunt — swollen with need that his two dainty fingers could not provide.
But he didn’t relent for it. He threw his head back, long red curls cascading down, and Crepus could have come from that ethereal sight alone — his son splayed out on his desk, bedroom eyes searching for his father’s as he fingered himself, thighs coated with slick and hard nipples pointing behind a blouse that barely covered what it needed to.
Crepus was about to go insane.
He groaned, shifting on his seat in search of a modicum amount of friction — but at Diluc’s smile — that challenging curve on his lips — he stopped immediately, rooting his ass in his armchair and mentally cursing himself for being such a competitive idiot.
So he stayed there. For long, long minutes — that turned in an hour — his cock aching and aching, and he did nothing about it, instead watching his beautiful son masturbate in front of him.
When Diluc came for the first time, it was with a string of “Father, Father…” hanging by his lips that echoed deep into Crepus’s stomach, desire stirring there. Rosy cheeks and tears coursing down Diluc’s face, he was the picture of an angel — one with fingers buried knuckles-deep into his pussy.
Crepus grunted, a wave of arousal hitting him in the gut. His cock gushed out precum, the wet trail gliding down his burning length, but he did not touch himself.
He could hold, still. Entranced by the throbbing hole exposed to him as Diluc retracted his fingers, slick dripping down from it. It was so easy to picture the familiar, most welcome heat of that pussy — the walls clamping down on his cock, warming it all afternoon long, pumping itself full of seed. At this moment, he wished he’d given more attention to his son — so he could be pounding into him like the animal he was.
Instead, he dutifully opened his mouth as Diluc offered his slick-covered fingers, and he sucked on them blissfully, clinging to the salty taste he knew by heart. He wanted Diluc to fuck his face, smother him between those pale thighs, use him like he would a toy.
“You’re doing so well,” Diluc praised, his wet hand caressing Crepus’s bearded cheek. He combed his fingers through the dark red locks that almost matched his, then grinned.
He got rid of his blouse. Hopped off from the desk, and knelt between Crepus’s thighs.
When his lips closed upon Crepus’s engorged tip, Crepus knew that, too, was part of the challenge. The way Diluc looked at him as he gleefully sucked on Crepus’s cockhead, he was daring Crepus to come, to grab his head and fuck his mouth like it was his pussy.
Crepus held back the best he could. He moaned, and writhed, and stroked his son’s head as the latter took more of Crepus’s cock, burying it in his throat as his head bobbed onto it. Precum flowed down Diluc’s chin, wetting the cushion of the armchair, but gods forbid Crepus lost that game so close to his goal.
He wanted Diluc to beg. Wanted to hear him mewl in that needy way of his, “Father, please, please fuck me, I want your cock— Father—”
Diluc had to be close to that point. Already, he was closing his eyes, grinding his pussy against Crepus’s leg as he choked on his cock — and when he whimpered, more tears plopping down his rosy cheeks, thighs clamping around Crepus’s shin, Crepus knew he was close. He grabbed Diluc’s head and fucked into his throat without warning, the way Diluc liked it — rough and unforgiving, pumping into it while Diluc kept humping his leg.
“A proper bitch in heat,” Crepus breathed. “You take my cock so well. You were made for it, weren’t you?”
Diluc moaned in agreement, more tears falling down from his pretty eyes.
Then, Crepus stopped. He pulled out, hooked his hands under Diluc’s arms, and dragged him to sit properly on his lap.
“What—Why?” Diluc whined, wiping the drool from his lips. “I was so close—”
“Two can play this game, my beautiful.”
Once he came down from his frustrated, unfulfilled high, Diluc found it in him to smile resentfully at his father. But rather than giving up, he straddled Crepus, lowered his hips, and — Crepus was holding his breath, counting the seconds with the throbbing of his cock — he… did not take Crepus’s cock into him.
Instead, with nimble fingers, he placed Crepus’s cock between his pussy lips and rubbed onto it, trapping his father’s hands on the armrest. Already, his breathing accelerated, the humping increasing in speed and pressure, and it took everything Crepus had to not spill right there and then.
But was not born a quitter. There was nowhere else he wanted to cum than into that cocksleeve of a son — his cocksleeve. His impish, devilish, naughty little cocksleeve, with a pussy tailored exactly for his father’s cock.
He waited until Diluc edged the tip of the wave before grabbing his ass and forcing him down, holding him still on his lap. His son was strong, but Crepus was stronger — and so, Diluc was forced to stop moving, his throbbing clit kissing the painful length of Crepus’s cock.
“You’re a sore loser,” he mumbled, hazy eyes searching for Crepus’s.
“I haven’t lost yet.”
“You will once I use my secret weapon.”
“Which is? You’ve humped my leg like a dog in heat, I doubt you’re in any shape to edge me on further.”
Diluc failed to keep a serious face. He was trying hard not to laugh — and his glee was contagious. “Then make me lose. I dare you. Make me beg — you should know how to.”
It was all Crepus needed. With infinite tenderness, his lips trailed down Diluc’s neck, soft pecks leaving little fires everywhere. His son talked big and acted bigger, every new stunt of his more whoreish than the previous, but ultimately he craved gentleness and praise more than anything else. “All I want is to make you feel good,” Crepus said, as if he hadn’t just denied Diluc two orgasms.
His son seemed to catch the joke. He puffed out a laugh, and the humor relaxed his body. He slumped against Crepus, letting the latter caress his back, his ass, his shoulders and his arms, his small breasts with cherry nubs that came alive under Crepus’s ministrations. It was one of Crepus’s guilty pleasure to jerk off to those minuscule breasts, unloading his seed onto their perky nipples and watching as it dripped down like milk. He became a mere animal in those moments — one whose only function in this world was to breed his beautiful son full at all times.
But not now. Now was for Diluc. Crepus rolled the cherry nubs with the pad of his thumb, his lips kissing Diluc’s neck on and on. When his free hand dove between his son’s legs, Diluc rattled with a brutal shiver, whining as Crepus pressed onto his clit.
“F-Father,” he stammered, his voice trailing in incoherent requests. His thighs quaked, and, again, he humped Crepus’s hand, so desperate to come.
Crepus did not give him the pressure he sought. His touch was soft, feather-light — but between them, he wasn’t sure who would hold longer. For all his talk, his cock was close to bursting.
“What is it, my baby?” Crepus murmured in Diluc’s ear, and at the pet name, Diluc whimpered. His hips shook, engorged clit so hard against Crepus’s wet fingers. His breathing quickened, in time with Crepus’s caresses down his back and up his chest, sweet nothings whispered in his ear driving him crazy.
And at last, he caved. “Father,” he called, panting, gripping Crepus’s shoulder. “I lose— just fuck me, fuck me silly, I can’t wait any longe—”
He wasn’t done talking that Crepus had lifted his hips, spearing him onto his aching cock. Crepus let out a long groan, neck rigid as he exhaled as slowly as possible to not cum right away. He wanted to enjoy that sensation — the velvet walls pressed against his length, mapping out every vein upon it. But barely two thrusts in, Diluc came violently, clinging to Crepus as he would to a buoy. His voice stuttered with mewls and begged requests for more, but Crepus did not wait for the clamping cunt to milk him dry. He stood, strong arms carrying his son with his cock still inside Diluc, then dropped the latter onto his desk and spread his legs open.
And then, after hooking Diluc’s legs around Crepus’s hips, Crepus pounded into his son the way he’d wanted to for the past hour and a half. He pushed in so deep, pistonning in and out, fucking into that sensitive pussy with all he had, there was a point where he couldn’t reach deeper yet kept trying.
“Deeper, deeper—” Diluc begged, and he clasped his ankles around Crepus’s hips, holding him closer and closer still. His fingers dug into Crepus’s back, voice hoarse with moans and whimpers, but Crepus wasn’t done. He got drunk on these pleas and used them as fuel to his own wishes.
His cock hit against a spongy wall, then. As Diluc trembled in pleasure, crying out for his father to keep going, Crepus burrowed himself deeper — his cockhead nudging against that buried opening. With a white-knuckled grip, he grabbed Diluc’s ass, pushing it onto his cock as his hips thrust forward — and, right as Diluc cried in pleasure, his pussy squelching and squirting around his father’s cock, Crepus broke through that new opening. He moaned and, at last, released his seed into Diluc’s womb, spilling everything he had there until his son’s tummy was bloated with cum. He watched as Diluc’s eyes rolled back in their sockets, as he squirted at his fourth orgasm, the clear liquid dribbling down Crepus’s balls.
He waited until they both came down for their high. Neither of them tried to move away, and when Crepus sat back on his armchair, he did not pull out of Diluc, simply carrying his son with him to let him straddle his lap further. His cock plugged Diluc’s pussy for so long it grew soft, but never for long. Animated by a new primal need Crepus had awakened by plunging into his cervix, Diluc fucked himself stupid long after his father could move, filling himself with seed. Even when he nuzzled against Crepus, he kept humping him, hips lifting and plopping down until Crepus had nothing more to give.
It was in this configuration that they both saw the day end, sunset painting Diluc’s skin with golden light. He was still stuffed full with his father’s cock, nuzzled in his embrace, and refused to move.
“You lost,” Crepus remarked, once he felt it safe to do so.
Diluc gave him a long look, then bit onto his lower lip. “You didn’t raise a loser,” was all he replied.
* * *