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Passing The Torch by Eightane *************************** The forest never seemed more alive. It was always like this, by the cusp of summer twilight... Squirrels sifting through seeds and edibles, bullfrogs in cantata from a distant pond, and between every tree, the soft glowing blink of courting fireflies, like points of yellow starlight. But somehow, with his father in tow, every sight and sound was amplified. It may likely be the fault of their focus, while he led the elder gargoyle through a carpet of pine needles; The light gone, just enough to allow their waking presence. Brooklyn's first rule was to get an early start, and for their kind, this meant the very height of their senses... Soon enough to still be shedding small crumbs of stone, when neither food nor distraction had dulled them. The shorter, skinnier, blue-hide male stepped gingerly, ensuring his feet made less noise than his stomach, gurgling in vain. A single lock of hair entered his view; his own raven-black bangs, no less long or majestic than the grey draping crown of his father's. Sweeping it away, he was distracted, and stepped straight on a leaf... Months-old, leftover from the previous autumn, it disintegrated under him with crinkling. "Watch it, Nash," he heard Brooklyn whisperingly scold. His lip curled to a scowl; only when criticized, would he hear the shortened version of his name. But the frustration died quickly... Here, among the very cradle of nature, the life and activity charmed him. So captivating, it held his mind in gorgeous clutches; and though taught to respect its beauty, he could almost smell the fresh meat of a deer. Brooklyn shadowed the boy, only stepping when Nashville did, and the noise they stirred was relatively level. Though the red-skinned guide had more practice moving quietly, he had more than a foot on his son, and several pounds of weight atop that. But in fairness, if a spell's hibernation would count, he also had ten centuries, or some number more than that above Nashville's eighteenth year. For every tree they passed, he etched a silent mark on the trunk... When the night's kill was made, or if they stayed close onto sunrise, it would guide them back out. The old-growth preserve had one drawback; branches above grew like patchwork. Taking flight was beyond possibility. "Hold it", Brooklyn snapped, stopping short with nose pitched upward. Nash halted in mid-step, and so frozen with one foot down, cautiously dropped the other. His head swung, to view his escort taking short whiffs. "You find something already?" He followed with his own deep sniffs, but didn't catch even the slightest scent. Brooklyn's chin lowered; he tried until a moment after his boy had given up, but it was fruitless. "Ehh, false alarm. Might just be what they left behind, it's not strong enough to be the real McCoy." The young gargoyle nodded. With deep shade from above, it would be hard to see this gesture, or the tiniest smirk he wore. Following his instincts, as Brooklyn had instructed him, he slowly took a step, and led them on through the understory. His pulse was racing. Just thirty minutes in, and though they'd caught a dead lead, it at least implied their prey had been through here. The forest above was changing, from mostly-pine to more heavily broadleafed; he was brought to look down, and follow narrow paths of quiet needles. In this, he found more than just a trail; and his heart leapt to his throat, at the clear, shallow pits before him. He stopped on a dime; and Brooklyn nearly bumped right into him, before he caught the eager pointing of his son's clawed digits. "Tracks! And look, they're exactly how you said they'd be!" Brooklyn stepped up, slow and careful, to beside his son's near-trembling. The space between trunks had also dwindled; enough that for Nashville, the smells of the forest now mingled with the scent of his father, while that darker-skinned guide examined. "... Rounded... No branching for toes... No marks for claws or pads..." He looked to his son, and gave the boy's excitement a boost, with a smile of cheer and pride. "Looks like we're in luck tonight. Keen eye, son, I might'a missed that." Nashvile, new enough to be somewhat impressionable, blushed. His chin meekly sank, and with it went his focus. Almost nothing but dessicated leaves, now... Thus he observed, with Brooklyn's lean muscle in the corner of his eye. "Dad, I... How would we advance from here?" His father's pride slowly melted, as a glance down confirmed just what Nashville had. His hand shot up, to scratch at his chin. "Hmmm... Can you glide?" "Well I, uh, sure I can!" For the second time, he stuttered, though somehow Brooklyn missed them both. By chance, he also missed the pair of eyes on his chest, watching it expand with his breath. The younger male had no clue of where he'd set his gaze, thinking more about what his guide could possibly mean. "Well I mean, I can, but how's that gonna-" He caught a sliver of Brooklyn's smirk, just before that gargoyle leapt up, pouncing on a tree. To Nashville's amazement, he saw his father latch onto the side, and claws near-silently dig into the bark. Poised like a bird on a branch, but with core and limbs sideways, he shot back a cheeky smile. "It'll be tight, but if I can make it, I have faith in you." From there, he all-but-catapulted himself from the tree, his weight thrown to the open space beyond. Two dark wings came out in the blink of an eye, and extending them, he floated on the gentle's night's breeze, carefully between every trunk. When twenty yards were behind him, he found the nearest large trunk and slammed four limbs into it, just before momentum could've faded. All in the span of five seconds... And gazing back to see his son in shocked wonder, he took one hand loose, to wave Nashville on. The blue-hued greenhorn did his best to copy move-for-move, and succeeded in planting himself. His neck shortened, unconsciously drawn in while he marshalled strength and focus, guaging the path of his father. Brooklyn never moved, not a single twitch of sleek muscle, though he mentally crossed fingers that Nash had inherited his stealth. Nashville reared down, close to the trunk as he could sit; one deep breath, near as loud as their whispers, before flinging his thin form free. The first half-second was hellishly uncertain... But in no time, he realized its simplicity, at least for those of their kind. Brooklyn watched like any vigil parent, and though he knew better, immediately wished to shout. Joyfully, for as he watched, he found his son was even faster, more precise, dodging and cornering like second-nature. Though Nashville might've understood, in the back of his mind, Brooklyn knew on-sight. His son's body was slender, limber, and as the cool wind skirted around him, aerodynamic. But the moment ended fast. In simple fate, they both realized that Brooklyn had grabbed the only sizeable perch, close enough to secure a good landing. There were only two options; push himself off without preparing, or scramble up the side like a cat. He had fractions of a second to act; and so doing chose the better one, climbing enough for Nashville to dig in below. It was almost too close; Nash stabbed in just inches from his tail. Though it had them both sweating, the near-miss brought a pair of nervous chuckles. Nashville looked up, where his guide sat five feet above... Feet to either side of his own shoulders. "Well I guess I... Um, so you think it was... How was that?" More stuttering, and this time more breathless. Though it was partly from the effort put into this elaborate motion, something else had unsteadied his voice. He meant to lock eyes with Brooklyn's face, in the natural way of speaking; but as Brooklyn looked out, straining to see the next huge perch on their route, something obscured the young male's view. Brooklyn's waist, his narrow hips; and his loincloth. The breeze hadn't died; and with a few firm gusts, it whipped the fabric, just wide enough for Nashville to see. Brooklyn kept all attention to the distance; he had no idea his son had caught a lengthy glimpse of manhood. Six smooth inches, soft and at its least, but still sized enough to point straight down. So shocking Nashville, it barely registered what he was staring on; while the head, and the slit behind his father's foreskin, seemed to stare right back at him. Brooklyn still hadn't found an ample second-landing; and so climbing a bit more, adjusting his pose for better sight, the younger male watched that member swing, a manly pendulum; and its sack, full and generous, nudged the glans on every sweep. Nashville's lips parted, his jaw gaping; he sat so close, he felt the heat from Brooklyn's endowment, and soon enough caught the same familiar scent as before, only stronger. As he perceived it, almost more... Tempting. "Bingo!", the elder exclaimed in whisper. Nashville, jarred by sudden sound, was snapped out of his peek just in time. Brooklyn gazed down, to see his hunting partner's eyes bewilderedly locked to his own. "Nice start back there. Lessee if you can keep it up-" With that, he leapt free and dived for the next one. This time the distance was near-doubled; and only Brooklyn's perfect launch, made it possible for him to reach all the way. Every move, every adjustment to cruise around the smaller living poles was pinpoint. And as a gust whipped his hair behind him, Nash did all to focus on just how he'd performed this leap. But now his focus was compromised; once Brooklyn leapt away, horizontal in glide, all that kept in view was his feet, his tail, and what lay beneath that dark canvas cloth. But as he'd perched lower than his dad, he couldn't see the targeted goal, and so watched Brooklyn vanish beyond him. Red gargoyle hit the distance with a thud; and Nashville was sure he heard low cursing. Near enough to cause a chuckle, as he guessed what it could be; but remembering himself, he reared down on the bark and prepped to follow. But as he did, came hesitating jitters; his eyes darting around, struggling to think of just how Brooklyn had led him. He sighed deep, and marshalled all attention to the moment; his brow crinkled, and legs shook, just before he took to the air. It was doomed from the start. Nashville hadn't time to see the stand of poplars, tall but thin like jailbars. It give the path a sharp curve he coudn't navigate; and though he frantically leaned to dodge them, his left wing clipped the closest one, sending him to a tumble and nosedive. It seemed like eternity before he hit the dirt, the forest spinning like a green-and-brown kaleidascope. His back felt it first, crashing hard on his spine between each wingroot. Then his right heel, as inertia slammed it to the ground, heel digging in by half an inch. At least, beneath the leaves he'd now drastically stirred up, the loam was soft. Nothing more than a scrape or two; but the biggest bruise was saved for his ego. He was certain he'd hear about it; either criticizing shouts of his father's, or belly-laughs from the same for just how graceful he'd failed. He heard neither; and shaking off the landing, he looked around to see the cause. Two feet from his snout, lying perpendicular to him, was his dad. Now the laughter could begin. Barely restrained in any way; if there'd been deer around before, there sure as hell weren't now. Twenty seconds they carried on, just a twinge of frustration in either. Once it calmed to chortles, Brooklyn bent his knees, and put weight to his feet. He rose nearly to a full stand before Nashville started up; rolling in the dirt, to push himself up by his hands. While he shot up vertical, the last giggle ended. The blue gargoyle looked to his teacher; and gazing low again, shook his head with a smile. "Guess it just wasn't meant to be, tonight." At last he spoke above whispers, since there'd be no point in going on that way. "Heh. Well don't let it get you down," Brooklyn answered, tone smooth as he approached his friend-in-failure, "You shoulda seen me, the first time I went on the prowl. There's always next time." Standing close to Nashville, he reached a hand up, batting away wet sticks and leaves. Any night before, and Nashville would think nothing of it; but here, now, he felt the palm on his chest, warm and smooth even as it swatted debris. Brooklyn made short work of the trash on his front, and so grabbed him by the shoulder, spinning him around to clean his back. This side took longer, what with nooks between his spine and wings, so Nash was left to think in silence. He started with the night itself, and how eager he'd been to come out for it; the week before, he'd practically beamed when hearing it suggested from his father. He'd never argue that he wasn't young and naive; but he knew enough to understand the weight of this event. It was never about food; after all, they lived in a sprawling metropolis, no need to expend this much effort. It was about what every gargoyle male would face, with open arms; the rise to adulthood. But in thinking, he made the natural connection. Regardless if they brought something back, he was seen as mature, ready to call himself a 'man', by the most important place it could come from; just a hair behind him, running fingers down his back. It was only to clean him of litter, but the touch, and how familiar and comfortable its source, sent his mind dwelling on sensations. The cool night's air, as it had blown over Brooklyn, and so easily lifted that cloth; the hard pulse of his heart, as he'd seen the size his father owned; how its warmth was strong, like the blush he'd felt race across his cheeks. And though he'd been too shocked to even notice, what he felt now was no different than the moment he'd seen; a steady rise in his own loincloth, throbbing as it pushed upon the garment. Brooklyn, ignorant of everything above, flicked the last fetted leaf from Nash's mid-spine. "Well before this right here, you were on it. And since it's kinda my fault we fucked it up..." He pushed his son's shoulder, to cue that he was done. "... I'd say you still aced the important stuff. Welcome to the big time, son." Pride shown strong, below his mane of white... But gradually left, when he realized Nash wasn't turning around. One eyebrow went up, as did his head by a slight pitch. "Hey, I'm done. We can go back now." Nash wouldn't budge. Though he barely gazed down - just to avoid tipping off what delayed him - his eyes set fast to his loincloth. Rising and falling, with every hard throb. He tried everything to clear his head; thinking of the cold ponds in Central Park, fights with their nemesis, Watching late-night TV with his dad and the others... And the last of those only made it worse, as he recalled their bodies. Hot fluid pumped through his member, so hard it contracted at how the canvas rubbed it. His breaths were slow, still in hopes that it would go down. In the meantime, Brooklyn took his son's lack of compliance - and the dread silence pervading - to mean something different. His chin sank to the side, eyes wistful and beaming remorse. "Look, I'm sorry. I wanted it to go better, you know that. But I'm telling you, you've got what it takes." "It's not that at all..." His boy mumbled, frozen stiff. "I'll... I'll be okay in a minute. Just start without me." It wasn't something Brooklyn liked to hear. His sadness fell away, as his chin shot up... A scowl in his gaze to Nash's cheek. "No can do. You don't leave a partner by himself, in this kind of thicket, without a reason." The fact that Nashville didn't budge, and almost seemed to be ignoring him, spurred him on to stern vigor. "We've been over this." This time, instead of pushing, he grabbed Nashville by the shoulder; the ice-blue gargoyle trembling as he felt himself pulled around. "Now we'll talk about it when we get baaa-a-a-" Brooklyn's tone was dashed to bits, like a stone over a waterfall, his eyes wide and mouth gaping. He'd brought his son to swing a 180, and in the motion, Nashville's loincloth dragged up over what it was there to hide. They both locked in downward stares; the young gargoyle's foreskin exposed, atop the head of his endowment, still bouncing twice on every second. And with it lifting his garment, so too revealed the sack beneath, even lower than his father's. Nashville stared in horror; Brooklyn simply in shock. It took what seemed like an eternity, before either made a move... And it was Brooklyn, his surprise dying off, eyes no longer widened. Though his jaw stayed slack, it at least gave a good prolonged chuckle, nervous but hardly in any way repelled. "Ohhh, that. Don't sweat it, son, that's just part of bein' a man." Somehow, the smoothness of his tone broke Nash of terror, and drew his focus from the eight-inch hardon to the coy smirk on his dad's face. "Just means you're ready for the good stuff." Inside, Nash was relieved his father didn't blow up on him... But still so fearful, he could only shout in his reply. "I know, Dad, I-I know..." His wits returning, he quickly pulled down on the cloth, as far as it would go. But in hiding his cock, it only stretched taut; without a wrinkle, it revealed his full shape, a long and straight outline. Frustrated, his head whipped around, despite knowing there was no one else to see. "But it shouldn't happen around you. Or Goliath, or Broadway. I-..." The quake in his voice endured, as it softened. But now, it would return with a question. "... Should it?" Brooklyn well-grasped his son's worries, but never lost that sly smile. "It just happens when it happens. Sure, it might say something about what you like, but... You could do a lot worse than be excited by Goliath. Or your ol' pop." Nash was still terrified, in a good share of ways; but it helped to know his father never cringed, or yelled, or seemed the least bit disgusted. Slowly, as time allowed him calm, he found comfort in the openness. And before he even realized, he'd forgotten why it troubled him, and the worst emotion held was uncertainty. "I guess it's pointless to argue. And yeah, I know what it's for..." He could at last look down and be relaxed about it, "Even if it's never been... Taken for a cruise." The crimson gargoyle laughed through his teeth... And his eyes, for whatever reason, hadn't moved away from Nashville's tool. "You're young, that's nothing to feel bad about. If you wanna know, it wasn't 'til I was pushing twenty..." At this break, Nash heard a brief, wheezing chuckle. His dick had never lowered; but in the top of his vision, he first saw the red fingers move. His vision commandeered, he watched as Brooklyn grasped his own cloth, pulled away, and yanked it free. A wave, like a bodily tsunami, wracked him from knees-to-neck... As he viewed his father's thick, soft weapon, hanging low, swinging while the cloth was tossed away. And only now, with a grin and his every inch in view, did Brooklyn go on. "... 'Til I was using this big ol' fucker." Nashville's gasp filled their ears, infused with groan, echoed back to him from the silent forest. The blue shaft that before had only pulsed, now leapt high and hard; every inch so rigid, stronger than he'd ever known. Brooklyn's eyes strayed, from his blessing up to the young gargoyle, relishing the spread of that reaction. Watching his boy's chest roll, as it expelled a wanton breath, speechless, entranced, his eyes hiding nothing of the crave. Brooklyn raised a true man, to be sure, every bit as agile and worthy as himself. And to know that man admired him; just explored his naked form with that stare, aroused beyond words. To be worshipped like that only etched his grin deeper, ignited pleased murmurs. His long, soft cock felt even heavier; it was growing, and as he glanced down to confirm, saw also Nash's manhood, throbbing far past a loincloth made useless. Brooklyn had him in the palm of his hand; the sleek red core, skin smooth and cool from every corner, a ray of moonlight piercing the trees to illume his look of indulgence. For Brooklyn, no thought was ever needed; his foot came forward by instinct, and as the other followed, cut in half the distance between them, and two well-endowed proofs of their virility. Nash was already so taken by his father's size, growing longer and thicker than his own, rising to a dark red erection. But now, with every part of them so close, he gasped harder; to ogle that huge, veiny shaft, he had to look beyond Brooklyn's chest; a wall of lean muscle, above a tight, warm washboard. Everything about his guide, his friend, his father, was unmarred by any flaw; even Brooklyn's hands, their wide mitts rising from his haunches. Nashville, though so distracted, knew they moved to act; and as one reached forward, Brooklyn's ring finger hooking into his son's loincloth, the other reached nearer to himself. Nash all-but-moaned, to see the wrinkles of his dad's palm move to wrap those ten red inches.

"Mmm, yehh..." Brooklyn's pitch, low and rumbling thrill. "You won't be waiting long, I can promise that. Good mind on you, and honestly, not bad at all to look at. You'll prob'ly get even more than your old man - Unnghmm..." The ending groan was for Brooklyn's own hand; rotating on his meat, as he started an affectionate tug. His eyes narrowed, and set briefly on Nash, who could only stare down at that exhibit, in silent whining breaths through its owner's narration. "But in the meantime, you always got this... The best thing about bein' a guy." They stood a mere pistol's-length apart, and as Brooklyn gently dropped his son's cloth, any pretense was discarded. Standing close enough that Nashville felt his breath; smelled the sweat beading on his neck. He had two inches on his son, both in height and below; so as Nash stood entranced, watching his father stroke that throbbing tool - slow, just so clearly loving it - Brooklyn's words went straight to his ears. "Yeah, feels so good to remember. This pipe gettin' all that action... Deep in some tight, wet hole..." As Nashville watched, gasping for how hot it all made him, he knew the tone of this moment. Brooklyn wasn't there to be a 'show', or seduce him like some meaningless conquest. It was of a bond; what they could share, two souls of the same kind, same gender, same inherent needs. His father's steady strokes leapt in speed; for a few seconds, jerking that monster cock like mad, groaning sighs of pleasure straight next to his son's ears. Finishing with two of the strongest, from base-to-hooded-tip; and as he shuddered for how strong their sensation, his body swayed far enough that two rigid cockheads collided, and grazed one another. Whether he'd intended it or not, Nashville didn't know; but the glory was immediate. Both males recoiled in moaning ecstacy, quakes through every cell of their flesh. There'd be no resisting it; and before Nash quite knew what was happening, his arms had outstretched, to snag Brooklyn by the haunches and pull his warm figure in. The first Nash saw, when at last his faculties returned to him, was his father's tight stomach, nearly touching his own were it not for the pair of thick obstacles, prodding each other's foreskin as they seemed to stare right back at him. But they wouldn't've done so on their own, defying gravity, without a little help. Their faces so close, they could've tagged the moment with a kiss, The ice-blue gargoyle saw the passion in his father's eyes... But more than that, the half-aborted wink. Brooklyn was to blame; and for something he couldn't well have done, without some past experience. Their breaths heavy, Nashville felt his father's hand slip inbetween their abs, and gently close around both members. "D-dad... You mean I'm not the only one who-" "The nuts don't fall far from the tree, son." His own words grew raspier, robbed of strength by what he began. Slowly, wantonly thrusting into Nashville's abs... Sliding their meat on one another, from the fat base all the way to those tender frenulums. He looked nowhere else but deep into his son's eyes; and every speck, every nuance of his pleasure could only hit home, while their tools throbbed hard on one another. "Women aren't the only ones to have... Nice, slick hollows... Made just right for takin' huge pricks like ours." He dripped fervour with every word... And though so into the moment, he played it up even more... Ensuring Nash could do nothing less than love every second, every time their cocks glided to rub. By now, Brooklyn's hand was put to use... Stroking both himself and his son, in the tiny space between their svelte cores. Nash, though astoundingly hot for it, broke in with a weakened chuckle. "Huge like yours, you mean. I'm pretty big, but I don't rival you..." That was all it took to feel Brooklyn's pace quicken, of his weapon sliding down Nash's, and his hand gripping tighter as it jerked them both. Nash could only wail; eyes flashing up to his father's, catching that look of benevolence. "Chalk it up to age. And you are pretty fuckin' big... Still more than some other guys we know." Nashville's gaze grew wide; but his father only leaned closer, to the point that just a hair's width could separate their jaws. What Brooklyn said next, sent more passion than words were meant to hold. "I'm proud of you, son..." Nash never knew if it was him, or Brooklyn, that initiated. But those beaks only came closer, and by some instinct their eyes drifted shut. Had Nashville's hands not been tight around those red hips, they'd have curled in euphoria; all control gone from him, as he felt his father's tongue invade his maw. He couldn't fight it, and he'd never have wished to. All he could do was return, his oral muscle flicking, batting Brooklyn's, swirling as their lips pressed together. Finally, Nash's hands could move, floating up his father's spine to carress the bend of that warm hide. Brooklyn's hand still worked their endowment, steady and imbued with a father's love; Nashville felt a tingle up his back, as the other crimson hand wrapped his shoulder blades, and squeezed him hard to relish that kiss. It was almost too much for Nash to bear; the heat and smell of his father, feeling Brooklyn's tongue down his own, and those ten inches just as rigid as his. The blue male knowing, even more than how incredible it felt to satisfy his cock, that his father only did the same. Feeling just what he did, enjoying it no less, through the very instrument that brought him into the world. Just to know his father would share this with another male... With him... ... Nash nearly had to shove, to break his father's grip on those shoulders. Their lips parted, tongues did the same, and for the split-second Nash looked to his dad's face, he caught well the confusion. But there wasn't time to explain, when he could just prove his agenda. Lowering his chin, and his head with it, staring down past Brooklyn's smooth chest. His knees weak and trembling, it was a battle to lower them so steady. Panting against his father's skin, as his gaping mouth passed those abs, still sinking beyond his elder's washboard. He had to stare back up, just once. Just to see the change in his father's expession, where the questions melted away; replaced with passion, delight, anticipation. Brooklyn's jaw set as slack as his son's... Proving to Nash he knew exactly what that young male would so imminently, cravingly do. The nearly-foot-long meat hit Nash's chin, pulled groundwards as he sank further still, Bringing Brooklyn to moan as it fought his steeled erection. Between hearing this and his own impatience, Nashville fasttracked the remaining dive; the skin of Brooklyn's head passed his chin, and losing hold, he watched as that giant shaft rebounded. Launching into the air above him, towering high and looking every bit as huge as it was, until gravity brought it back down. Only one place it could go; pounding Nash's nose with its weight, as he took in the impact, the smell and weight of his father's loins, that monster's throbs atop his forehead. So aroused was the blue nightbeast, his body arched with rising goosebumps... Eyes only on that package, its base close enough to lick; looking neither to the sack underneath, plump and full of what could only be earned, nor to Brooklyn's face, a smile of panting dominance but barely less overwhelmed. Brooklyn knew the want of his boy; all too well, written on every move Nash made, tilting his neck to rub that monster sideways down his lips. All too close to opening that jaw its widest, just room enough to clasp his dad's size. One single moment before he could, he heard its owner's lilting mumble. "Nashville, I... I never believed you'd..." Proving his shock, no weaker than how Nash had felt, before desire put all queried doubts to rest. The boy answered, but didn't interrupt; Brooklyn simply trailed off, enraptured by the sight of his treasure, his pride and joy, lusting for the chance to give release. Barely hearing himself, Nash craned his neck, rising to nudge his father's midpoint. "I'd say the same back to you. But does it matter... When we can just enjoy each other?" He paused, just to wail for how that massive pipe throbbed between his eyes. "Enjoy what we are, together..." "I... I'm so glad I made you..." It was the last Nash would hear. Not a word would get through from ears to mind, once he wrapped lips on Brooklyn's shaft, and slid his way down. The muffled groan hummed, under his father's whine, filling the air with tenor echo. He tasted the skin, the sweat, the air of loincloth's fibers atop just where it kept. He felt the rhythm on his tongue... His father's heartbeat, racing as he served its full diameter. The red elder so taken, so helpless to ignore, he could barely balance on his own legs. And so Nash felt him draw back, leaning hard against the closest tree, arms back around its girth, while his ice-blue jaw stayed firm, still caressing those double-digit inches, the body below crawling forward on its faltering knees. Brooklyn's weight lay propped on a poplar; his wings out to either side of his kneeling son, whose mouth skimmed like butter up the massive exhibit of his hang. Nearly to the top, by the bend of Brooklyn's hooded corona; and though young and virginal, something in Nashville compelled him, commanded him to whip his tongue, fast and smooth across that bend's recession. His reward was a growl; pure, masculine pleasure just erupting from his father's lungs, as they quaked with the rest of him. Neither could hold off another second... And as Brooklyn gazed down, shining the leer of a reinspired stud, he got exactly what he came so near to asking. Nash's tongue was the last move made before his neck went straight, mouth wide above that uncut head, and just plunged straight down on the prize. His hum reached to every end of Brooklyn's body, from long, clawed toes to the very tips of leathery wings. Sent on instant, conducted through the root of red manhood. Nash had managed seven... All he could take, before the first gag of his life impeded him. Not the best he'd ever felt, but somehow the discomfort was lessened, just to know what caused it. His throat took Brooklyn's tip, the back of his tongue on that fren, the front tickling his father's fourth inch. Sweat beaded on his brow, effect of the heat from Brooklyn's abs. Though uneased by the shoving on his throat, he wouldn't budge, wouldn't let off by a hair. His tongue whipped beneath that monster; and his eyes rolled skyward, to see exactly what he hoped. Brooklyn, viewed from below that muscled core, pecs shading his abs in the shaft of moonlight. White mane whipping in the breeze; and astride that, the narrow, glowing eyes of his father. Lips curled in a smirk unlike one he'd ever seen, sly, deviant, commanding. There was still affection there, behind them; but if he gave less than his all, he hadn't a doubt that he'd be ordered. And to see the evidence, only heightened his drive to soldier on. From seven, he pushed himself to suckle the eighth, while the gag died painstakingly slow. But no lack of comfort could dissuade him; not with Brooklyn's grunts above, chin tilting to the sky with a wince. He felt those slender legs, to either side of that monster, tightening like harpstrings; or like the ruddish stomach that grew concave with moans. His mouth clamped tight, a vice to softly relish and nurse his dad's weapon, bobbing beneath his black mane. Nothing else cut into the gag like the sound of Brooklyn's pleasure; so effectually muting it, he quickly ceased noticing. And so he took more... Down to inch nine, eyes shut as he swiveled his head with every dive. Close enough to the base that he coated it with spit; hard enough in his maw that it dribbled pre down his loosening throat. And his own so rigid below, nothing on Earth could have bended it, or stopped its pointing straight up from his naked hips. Brooklyn's head came down, lightning-fast for how his son's work affected every muscle. Luck, that Nash chose that moment to gaze up, wanting only to see his father's quaking body as he took the last inch. And that he did, though Brooklyn had looked on him for something else; so as lean muscle shuddered, the elder collected all strength to speak through his ecstacy. "You're a... Natural... But I think... Ohhghgh..." He couldn't finish; not with Nashville taking him deep, hitting beak to his base as the tongue within worshipped his girth. But for as taken as Nash found himself, wanting no end, he at least knew when his father had a point to make; and so with lustful reluctance, his head lifted, retreating with suction so strong his jaw ached. Brooklyn took time to proceed; his whole body arched out from the tree, wailing deep, member straight and oozing clear by Nash's lips. Once he could collect himself, he met his son's stare once more; his grin still so deviant, but affection seemed a tiny bit stronger. While he breathily spoke, those red arms slipped down from their grip behind. "Nash, I can't fuckin' say how much I wanted more... But there's somethin' even better..." The young male held off as long as he could, before leaning down to lap the pre from Brooklyn's hood. And along with the taste, came a slieu of brief gasps in return. "Tell me, dad..." He managed to spout, between licks. "Show me what I can do... To get you there..." Gazing up again, he caught another change in Brooklyn's countenance; the sly bend was doubled, tripled. With his father's hands now off from the trunk, one came up to lay its weight on his scalp, skimming through his raven mane. "Boy, I'm glad you used the word 'show'..." He could almost see Nash's eagerness, by the last of that phrase. "... 'Cause I think the wrong man's up here on this trunk." Nash's gasp was reflex; everything in him said his 'guide' would return the favour, as Brooklyn's hand moved from his scalp, open-handed down his cheek. It stopped on his chin, wrapping fingers beneath the blue beak, lifting just enough to make him start to stand. They were soon to eye-level; in the few seconds they remained there, casting looks of mutual hunger, what couldn't be resolved by food. The thought alone had Nash breathless; finally to lose his shame of inexperience, take the place of his father on that tree. It would be just in time; with his eight-inch member even harder than Brooklyn's, standing far taller for the same, he longed to know the joy of just what he'd been eagerly giving. But he quickly found things different. Brooklyn's hand shot away from his chin, grabbing his forearm, the other crimson palm following. Taken by both limbs, the other two weak in arousal, and now compromised by shock. So off-guard, while Brooklyn's face took on a scowl with his smirk, and whipped him around. The motion forceful, almost slamming him back-first to the poplar, his wings trembling on impact. Anyone else, any other moment, and it might've struck fear; but it wasn't hard to see what Brooklyn intended. Leaning into him, eyes half-shut, in raw passion as their bodies came together, their breath swirled and blended. And in this moment, pinned to a tree, bare against his father's naked warmth, he felt the slightest loving stroke of his biceps... Before they were lifted, his whole body rising along. Were he any older, he might've known how it had him feeling drunk; the mix of emotions, craving release, being manhandled for the pleasure of his father. He barely kept his wits; hardly realizing he was now three feet off the dirt, his fingers locked behind the trunk, legs out and spread wide. His weight held by Brooklyn, ten sleek digits on his underarms, keeping him to just the right height. Nash never looked down; never took his eyes from the twinkle of his father's, the playful intensity. So he only felt the tip, next to his downward-pointing tail; only took the sensation, new and harsh as it pushed in that unexplored hole. The wail rose on-contact, and the wince could hardly be stopped. Nash's weak, trilling squeal as he took the flare of Brooklyn's head, squeaking from a jaw made limp. His neck tightened through every muscle; no different than how tense he strained, to take his father's girth. He could hear Brooklyn's groan, and the power it held; feel a gust of his breath, sleeking by his nose. The blue tail practically vibrated; inch by massive inch, given slow but stretching him far past any foresight. Brooklyn, even though ignited in crave, showed care and tenderness; mindful of how Nash would receive him. Bit by bit disappeared in the young male's hole, sounds of damp invasion and Nash's coarse yell. So intense, his core tumbled like the deep, his claws carving into the tree as they bent and restraightened. Brooklyn was two-thirds in... And though just six were out of sight, the rest stayed exposed, as Brook leaned in. "You okay, son?" He whispered beneath Nash's ear; honest in his question, but clinging to his verve and arousal. He'd hoped - for many reasons - the answer would be positive. Nash knew well that his skewering was halted; and slowly easing himself, acclimating to the size of what explored him, his body relaxed, and he remade a better a grip on the bark. Brooklyn at last saw the black of his pupils, full of nothing more than a pleading energy. "I... I've never been better... Except if you would..." He trailed off in a whine, one last surging ache from his tailhole. Brooklyn knew fast what he'd been told... The grin never wider, on lips where a single drop of sweat had filled their crease. But still he asked, just for how it gratified. "Go on. Tell me how you want it. You'll have this monster all the way, now just pick your flavour." He oozed ego on the last phrase, counting on Nash to understand him. How it 'tasted', was the mood of his performance; sweet, or brutal, or anything between. Nash held a smile of his own; but feeble, just as slight as his subjugated form. Hard as he could try, he bent down, close enough to plant lips on Brooklyn's ear if he'd wished, but only to speak his piece. "I just want it how you would. All I could ask," He near-whispered, "Is that you enjoy me. You're satisfied in what I can give." The pearl glow of Brooklyn's eyes returned; but soft, like a candle in calm darkness. It was fleeting; Nash meant every word, and reanchoring himself on that tree, only made it simpler to push off from it, guiding force straight down. Father and son moaned as one; he'd forced himself from inch six, to the cusp of taking eight. He knew now to expect wincing, and so staved it off; to see Brooklyn's jaw fly open, and the rest of him taken from surprise to the depths of heated passion. Given the clue that Nash wanted all of him; given free reign to dominate, for nothing more than what pleased him. Nash felt his aggression, the surging zeal in every thrust, while his last inch was buried again and again. To the newly-broken male, his hips enclosed a field of ache; pain that ebbed and grew, but sending bolts of bliss upwards, heaven in how his father used him. Brooklyn did just as Nash had allowed, just as he himself wished; and what he wished was to rail on that passage merciless. Every thrust was empowered, pure effort from his well-endowed size and strength... To show himself the action he craved, but even more, to show Nash a shining example. What an admirable man could do, or if that blue gargoyle wished, how a man like Nash would take it. The moans were exquisite, tonally unique for each; Brooklyn's were strong, uneven, entrenched to the work he put in. Nashville's rose higher, louder, but meek and purely submissive. His wings bouncing every second, with Brooklyn's strength so devoted; plunging in so hard, his son's whole silhouette rose and fell on his weapon. Mere minutes, and they flirted with climax, Brooklyn's length stone-hard and slicking the loosened hole with pre. He wanted only to concentrate, focus on the long-pent release; the many days since he'd last been with Lex. But he knew from Nash's wail that both were hell-bent for the finish. Without even trying, his mind sparked, and had Nash's gaze been open he would've seen the spread of high deviance. As it was, he only heard its intent. "Ohh-h-h... Nash, I think we're... Ngghgh, on the edge... But I don't..." Though overwhelmed by that monster, shoved deep and conquering his pucker, Nash found the strength to ask. "You - ohhmmn - don't what? " Brooklyn's hands gripped him harder... And though still pumping into him, it eased, as if preparing for a change. The elder male's tone seethed with foresight. "I don't think you'd wanna miss this..." Nash had little time to guess. In fractions of a second, he was made to scream, Brooklyn's rod drawn out like a sword from its scabbard. Every nerve near his tail on fire, everything in him too shocked to even realize he was higher in the air. By instinct, his arms moved from the tree, just long enough to avoid their scraping; the same instinct that brought them to reclamp as he was held level. Brooklyn's arms were straight, the body they held near seven solid feet from the ground. It wasn't anything Nash could predict, his conscious reeling; he was left to wonder in delirium, mind grasping at straws, until the moment that moisture hit his hole. Never had he whined so far beyond control. What he felt by his tail, seemed to chase every twinge of pain away. Brooklyn had him in the sounds of a whore, the flat blue stomach arching, while a tongue ran gently on his rim. Tracing its oval, soothing what had stretched it to prime, tasting the sweat from its owner's huge manhood. Nothing before had this power; even for the lust in Nash, ignited on his father's penetration, he'd not been so helpless. Brooklyn knew this would be the case; and so teased him for his own enjoyment, slinking his tongue up that passage, between circling his son's tender rim. Nash lived in that moment. Not a single thought could rob his sheer joy, though one still popped into his conscious. It was how nothing could be closer to heaven; Brooklyn's tongue just worshipping that hole, relieving sore treatment. But the elder male had one last ace in the hole; and as he worked that gib through Nash's supple crevice, it shot deep and hard, with the beak that gave in pursuit, closing in on the boy's rim. His tongue reached its furthest, whipping through the cave he'd broken in, and those lips were planted soft and warm to Nashville's ring. It was a scream, nothing else would do it justice. Nash's explosion of pure, devoted crave, a naked frenzy. He writhed from neck to knees, flinging drops of sweat through the air, his yowl morphed to a set of cracking yelps. Toes wriggling, arms barely strong around the pit of tree's skin, while Brooklyn extended his affection. Ten seconds that seemed like forever, unending service to show his son the height of sensation. To hear Nash's shout, taken and vulnerable, his ten inches were hard as diamond. Nearly an ache for every throb, leaking clear like a springhead down his length. He could hold off no longer, and Nash had seen just the act he intended; so as lips and tongue retreated, and the blue male's hind could relax, it was dropped to take more punishment. Barely the time to lose its pain, before Brooklyn impaled him all-at-once, down to his vein-wrapped base. Nash's jaw hinged wide, in proper shivers, but now lacking all sound. His lungs held their air; frozen like the rest of him, all-but-thrown onto his father's rigid pipe. Thrusting was immediate, Brooklyn's groans seemed even quicker. For the young gargoyle, taking every shred of the bigger male's strength, power impassioned, he could only drift through his own thoughts. "So hard... Hurts like hell, but it's wonderful... He wants to... He's about to... And I'll take every drop..." Brooklyn sped on, his rhythm only growing while he lubed Nash's hole, throbbing and spurting pre. His eyes opened so slight, a hair could barely fit the lids' gap; a single drop of spit on his beak, in tiny ripples with his moan rolling past. His knees were pistons, tail planted firm to reinforce him; while Nash could only cling to the tree, bobbing from the force of his father, tail swishing sidewise in abandon. He felt it coming on; familiar just from his own hand, in months past, but so incredibly stronger. And all while Brooklyn felt his own welling, in a cock that went hotter each second. He had little time; in the last moment he could look on anything, he fixed on Nash's collar; close enough to see both the body, and his son's face in ecstacy. It wasn't time that brought his peak, or even going strong enough to coax it. The feeling, new and tender, steeped with affection as it brought that godsend rise; it was pride, and love, that brought him to release. "Ohhhh... OHRRGGH, son... So tight, I'm... I'm gonna..." "Ohh-hhh, I kn-... Know. Andiwantitso... Fuckin'BAA-A-D..." The deeper groans climbed loud, pitched higher; Nashville matched him sound-for-sound, and in that moment they crossed the line together. Brooklyn's first rope was a cannon; shot high into Nash while his own fired over their heads. Eight ice-blue inches, bouncing as they blasted thick loads, with Brooklyn's gift filling every stretched crevice. They shared the genes of power; each's cock let off like a shotgun, hard enough to fly meters, but only Nash was poised to prove it. The first rope landed behind them, the next splattered Nash's nose. But the third was straight-vertical, and came down on what fired it; right on Nash's fren. Thus came the longest trembling wail of the night; and as Brooklyn unloaded, pushing thick gobs with every thrust, Nash had brought himself to shoot twice as hard. His father's work moved them both, and kept his dick in sway; no two shots landed the same. Brooklyn's abs, the crease of Nash's pecs, a blue armpit and a crimson chin, all were targets that took a hot burst. Neither could hope to hold eyes open; Brooklyn only heard his son painting his own core with cream, and Nash had to miss his dad's tongue, whipping down to gulp what hung from his beak. In the sultry night air, dual moans, splashing shots, and the rustling of leaves by Brooklyn's feet, were all either heard... Above their own heartbeats, pumping joy and a bond enriched. But what they'd want most to seem unending, was over all-too-obviously-fast. Brooklyn's pumping lost power, his loads becoming slow leaks, thrusting made gentle as he emptied. Nash's shots went longer - maybe for age - but soon were trails, warm down his well-spent cock. Still he moaned; afterglow kicking in, with the pressure down deep, what felt like a gallon of cum held in every nook of his guts. His head swam long after Brooklyn's sigh, with ten inches slowly pulling out, Nash's feet raising while it raked his raw hole. And at last the tired stares found each other. Brooklyn's held a twinkle, his body moist and nearly-slouching in exhaustion, the red monster dangling as it softened. Nash's body slinked down the tree, lowered carefully as his 'first' could manage in their state. Toes hit the dirt with crunches, curling into the peat just to feel their cool anchoring. But he wasn't quite ready; and in standing, muscle showed its weakness, his knees rolling forward as they failed him. Though drained of energy, Brooklyn held to the instincts of the night, and in reflex caught his son as he fell. And so Nash found himself held tight, behind his father's wing, the ice-blue pecs against Brooklyn's stomach, and his own gut slicked by something low and coated-white. He peered up, to see the same enfeebled grin he now wore... The white locks draped on their owner, in a fleeting calm. Brooklyn's voice was low, but meek, hardly breaking the peace of their reverie. "So now you know. Was it what you imagined? " Nash detected a chuckle, barely stifled. He replied with his own, close to giddy, as he felt the cream leaking from his hole. "And so much more. But I never thought I'd be... Spending it with you..." He tried again to stand, this time successful. Rising to near the same height as Brooklyn, while that elder kept one arm around his core; the other rubbed his back, on the way to run fingers through a jet-black mop. "That mean you're disappointed? " It was disingenuous; he knew well how he'd be answered. Nash's head shook hard to begin, with his eyes coyly lowering to Brooklyn's neck. "I might still be 'fresh', but I know I couldn't ask for a better welcome." Five blue fingers slid between them, opening on Brooklyn's chest, proving their love and esteem. Then a quick, breathy laugh from Nash, as if he weren't even aware he'd done so. "Sure beats the hell outta tracking prey all night, doesn't it-" His eyes widened twice as quick as he laughed. Gazing up again, this time in dismay, mouth slack in self-inspired shock. "Oh God, I didn't mean it that way, I really DO enjoy-" The hand that had plowed his hair, shot up to place a finger on his lips, just long enough to stop him before it slinked away. The action alone calmed Nash, far more than the words thereafter could've. "Relax, I know you better than that. And even if I didn't..." His tone grew stronger, and for how it sounded to Nash, inflated by honesty. "Wouldn't matter if you never prowled again. You're a man now, in a way I think's more important." A widening grin. "And sure as hell better for the time put in." He watched Nash's eyes brighten, while they shared a soft guffaw. Never breaking embrace, just wrapped in each other's warmth below the trees. Nash cleared his throat, finally conscious of the scratch, a tame irritation. "How late is it, do you think?" Brooklyn hummed a show of his thinking. "... Can't be early, I know. We should head back, just tell the guys we caught a trail that went cold." "Well..." Nash trilled, as they loosened grip on each other, "We did, so it wouldn't be a lie." His pitch sounded rare deviance. "Not that I'd care." A mischievous laugh from Brooklyn, punctuating the hug with a pat to Nash's spine. "Not bad, you're already thinking like one." Staggering a tiny bit at first, he found his stride, and by the fifth step Nash followed in departure. The young male was bewildered, by nothing more than sense; the air itself seemed more crisp, sounds richer as an owl called from behind them. Nature itself was enhanced, through sharpened eyes. And as he bent down to fetch their loincloths, a dark red tail swishing in front of him, one single question came to mind. "You don't think the others would guess, right?" Brooklyn's hair flew sidewise, shining pearl as it hit another moonbeam. "Don't sweat it. Goliath and Hudson won't judge." Nash wasn't worried. But the answer seemed rather indirect. "... What makes you say that?" On the elder's profile, set a leer drenched in subtle memories. "They've never let us down before." "... Us? " It was only natural, the smile that took Nash. Brooklyn walked on without pause. "Let's make double-time, son. Lex and Broadway are expecting us." Neither was more anxious, to beat sunrise. ********************************************** Fin.