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The calm of the morning trembles in the wake of steadfast confessions.
Felix hops down from his chair, rounds the table in a few unsteady steps and throws himself into Chan’s lap. His tears drip wetly into the shoulder of Chan’s shirt. “I don’t wanna forget. I love you, dad,” Felix whispers. It’s a promise. “I don’t wanna forget.”
“Then we’re not gonna forget. We’re not gonna forget.” A breath trades itself for a promise. Dawn breaks across the walls of their home. “I love you too, Felix.”
Felix pulls back to search his eyes, hands clutching at his face. Their noses brush together. Then, his son kisses him, mouth as soft and as warm and as true as the night before.
Chan opens up for him. Licks the salt off his lips and fists his hands tighter into the back of Felix’s shirt, Chan’s old grey sleep-shirt from college that’s still too big for his son despite predating him. He tugs Felix close and runs one palm up his spine and along the nape of his neck and into his hair, scratching lightly at the base of his skull the way he’s always liked. Like a little kitten.
There are still a few stray tears tracking down Felix’s cheeks. Chan kisses them off the bow of his mouth and wipes the rest away with his thumbs. His sweet boy. Thinking of his old man even when it’s for something like this. Making promises for something like this. Chan ignores the way his heart twists and settles for cupping Felix’s chin, asking, “Feeling okay? You want to go lie down for a little while more?”
“No,” Felix says, voice thick, eyes shuttered. “No, m’okay. I just wanna stay here. With you.”
He leans in for another kiss and Chan welcomes it. He welcomes Felix’s eagerness and the way his fingers skim tentatively over Chan’s chest like he’s asking if he’s allowed to touch. He is, he is now. The latent realisation that they’re going to have to relearn all their boundaries buries itself within the back of Chan’s head.
The same hand slips lower, resting first against the band of his sweats and then tilting to palm at his crotch. Felix looks at him with those pretty tear-stained, red eyes like he’s asking for permission. Chan lets out a soft breath. “Felix,” he murmurs, and Felix slides out of his lap and down to the floor without a word. “The food’s gonna get cold.”
“Not hungry,” Felix says, almost petulant in the way he responds. His breath is warm against the inside of Chan’s thigh. “Wanna eat something else.”
“Felix,” Chan repeats, letting out an exasperated laugh, but he doesn’t say anything else. Instead, he runs his hand over Felix’s cheek again. Rubs under his eye, along the shell of his ear. Tucks his fingers under Felix’s jaw to pull him in closer when Felix gets his cock out of his boxers and braces his hands on the floor to push himself up. There’s a pause where Felix just presses his unmoving lips to his length like he’s gauging it. Shuts his eyes and breathes him in, like he’s trying to reconcile the real thing with the fake he’s been making do with for the last few weeks.
His tongue darts out for a taste. His mouth then drags up and over the head of Chan’s dick, which twitches when Felix drops a kiss onto it. Then, Felix’s eyes open and meet his. “Dad,” he whispers, mouth brushing against skin with every syllable, “love you.”
He swallows Chan down with his wet, hot mouth, and he’s perfect. Chan thinks he’s perfect because he knows he’s perfect, he’s perfect like this. Pink across his freckled cheeks and eager when he bobs his head, letting Chan slide a gentle hand into his hair to guide him deeper, slower. He’s perfect because he’s Chan’s.
Love you too, baby, Chan thinks desperately, love you more.
The heat, the slickness of it, the way Felix holds him in his mouth like he doesn’t want to pull off—Chan’s toes curl into the kitchen floor. There’s a steady flush of warmth growing up his neck and face, bleeding into his ears the way it does whenever something gets too much for him. He hasn’t had anyone suck him off like this in years, like there’s nowhere else they’d like to be, like it’s getting them off more than him. Chan’s trembling, head tipping back with a hard exhalation each time Felix licks at him with that clever tongue. Felix, Felix. His baby’s so good, so perfect.
Felix pulls off, breath wet and hoarse, and he jerks Chan off at the same pace as he says in a rush of words, “You’re bigger than the toy is. I knew—I knew you would be,” and the mental image of Felix fucking his mouth on the dildo just to know what his father’s dick feels like fills Chan’s mind right up until he’s coming with a groan. A few streaks of white catch on Felix’s chin. Felix licks it off and then manages to lick a stripe off Chan too before Chan drags him back up to ruck the shirt up and tug his own underwear down enough to fist his hand around his son.
There’s an attempt by Felix to get back into his lap, but it fails when Felix just ends up rutting into his grip, too wound up to do anything but grip the back of Chan’s chair and fuck his fist. “Please,” Felix whines, hips moving faster when Chan grips the underside of one knee to hold him firmly in place and give him more leverage, “dad, please—”
“Just like that, baby.” Chan watches his face contort, mouth falling open as he comes, spilling across the tiles. “Like that. Perfect. You’re perfect, Felix.”
Felix sways and leans in to rest their foreheads together, chest heaving. “Daddy,” he whispers, and Chan kisses him without a care for where his mouth’s just been. “Thought about that for so long.”
Chan’s eyes flutter at the admission. “Not sure if I should say the same,” he admits quietly. “I’ll just sound like a dirty old man.”
“You mean you’re not?”
“Wow,” Chan says. Felix lets out a giggle, and noses at his cheek. “Way to kill the romance, buddy.”
His son laughs again, and presses their lips together with a soft sigh. “We’re just getting started,” he says lightly, and Chan aches just looking at him like this. Eyes big and bright, the orgasm high making him punch-drunk and exuberant. He’s so beautiful. It’s the same thought he’s had all day, all week, almost all month, really—but it won’t ever cease to be true.
“Yeah,” Chan says softly. He lets Felix back down onto his feet and goes to wash his hands off at the sink once he’s wiped the floor down as Felix rinses his mouth with a cup of orange juice. After, Felix clambers back into his lap in an attempt to kiss him again, but Chan gently pushes him off and redirects him to his own chair. “C’mon. Eat your breakfast. I’ll call in sick to work.”
Felix obediently sits, taking a bite of his cold, overdone toast, and he smiles like it’s the best thing he’s ever had.