tomorrow (P/P, NC-17, past First temple)
It's been too long, guess they must be hungry... :-)
title: A new tomorrow
author: Lady Charena
fandom: Kung Fu - the legend continues
codes: P/P, NC-17
archive: TOSTwins - others just ask
sum: Always a night between today and tomorrow...
After "The first temple".
Disclaimer: This story's mine, but I do not intend to touch the rights of the owner of the characters from KF-TLC I've used. No moneymaking, no offence meant.
More P/P stories from me and my friends at the Dragon's lair -->
Caine: Try to think of this night as its own remembrance.
Caine: Because it is all that separates us from tomorrow.
Peter seems lost in his thoughts as I step behind him.
Lo Si left a few minutes ago, a satisfied smirk on his face. He patted my cheek as he left, startling me in doing this.
I rest my hands upon his shoulders, bend my head and say, my mouth close to his ear: "You are tired, Peter. Perhaps it is time for you
to return to your home and get some rest."
Peter shivers as my breath brushes his skin. "You want me to go, Pop?"
I close my eyes for a moment. "No."
"I'm not tired." He turns to look at me and I take my hands off his shoulders. "What is it?" He leans forwards to brush my lids with his lips. "You look so sad."
"It is nothing, Peter." I shake my head. "I was only... thinking."
"Thinking of?" His fingertips travel along my cheek.
"You. I was thinking of you."
"And Mai Chi."
My control must be slipping tonight for he reads me far too easily. I do not answer. To deny it would mean to lie to my son.
"I felt you... you closed your mind to me. Then. When I made love to Mai Chi."
I turn out to look across the nightly town. "You are entitled to your privacy."
"I loved her."
"I know." I know she is dead for a long time... still - the pain is surprisingly strong. Never before I felt so... threatened by a woman in Peter's life. What we share... our love... our connection... is not be described in words.
"But I still love you more than anything... anybody... else."
What I feel know is not to be described in words, so I only look at my son. I wonder where tonight will lead us.
Peter smiles, shakes his head. His eyes do no leave mine as he reaches up and flickers the collar open, running his fingers down along the seam to open his shirt.
I spread the fingers of both hands over my Peter's chest. His beautiful eyes flutter close as though he is committing the touch to memory. For a second I feel a foreboding... I lift my hands to cup Peter's face so I can lay a kiss on each closed eyelid. The hazel eyes open. I see a gleam of mischief in them. His fingers curl around my wrist, forcing my hand to where his trousers are still closed. A clear hint.
I hide a smile and lower his zipper. Obediently the material slides down Peter's long legs to the floor to pool unheeded at his feet.
I trail one finger down the dark line at the center of Peter's belly, down, down, my eyes following my intrepid finger to the rampant proof of my son's desire for me. "You are beautiful," I whisper, letting my hand touch, delicately, the silken skin of the thick, pink-flushed cock. Yes, silk.. and steel... It pokes my thigh. I encircles his gorgeous cock with my hand, stroke once from base to tip and back again, then release it to cup the heavy testicles below.
My head rests on Peter's shoulder, my cheek pressed against his and Peter's breath is quick in my ear. I look up at my lover, asking with glance: Do you still want me? Finding my answer in the unwavering open gaze of burning hazel eyes, I sink to my knees and rub my cheek against the hard shaft. Peter moans softly and drops his hand to my head, stroking my hair.
I settle my hands around the firm buttocks and gently, gently take his proud cock in my mouth. Peter's hands convulse in my hair; sweetness bursts on my tongue at the same moment - a drop of pre-seminal fluid. I lave the flared head with my tongue. Opening my mouth to take more of the smooth, faintly pulsing shaft in, I close my eyes. I make my lips tight for him, open my throat, wanting to make it good for Peter. So I listen to every movement, every sigh, to know what pleases him most tonight.
Above me, Peter gasps and starts to thrust helplessly into my mouth, his hands in my hair both urging me and holding me back, as if he fears I might end it too soon. I pull back gently, release the slick, still-hard cock and sit back on my heels. Peter immediately drops to his knees to face me, holding up both hands. Our fingers entwine.
"Pop..." Hazel eyes, ablaze with a passionate fire, search mine.
"Do you want me to stop?"
"No... never! I long for you to continue, but..." A wicked smile lights up his face. "Wouldn't a bed be more comfortable? And surely..." His fingers find the closure of my shirt. "...you're a bit overdressed."
"I... guess... I got carried away." Perhaps I make too much of it, but I think Peter's hesitation is not a part of the erotic game, he loves to play. He tried to tell me something, but hesitated and changed his mind. But I can do no more than to wait for him to decide to entrust me. I open my shirt, pull it off and throw it somewhere. Peter's eyes widen in surprise to my unusual behavior, but then his grin deepens even more. Standing, I take Peter up with me; unsealing the front my pants with deliberate slowness. Peter watches me, impatience radiating from him like heat from an oven. He swats my hands away; pushes my pants down and urges me to step out of them. Then he takes my hand and pulls me over to the platform next to the French doors, too impatient for the backroom with the futon.
We sink into each other's embrace on the thin mat, to lie on our sides, face to face. "Better," I agree. Now I can press the length of my body against Peter's, skin to skin, and feel the incredible heat of him, the incredible joy of bare skin on bare skin, legs entwining, arms caressing. My hands find the curve of one shoulder, up, one ear and I let my fingers follow it up until I can thread them into the lushness of my sweet boy's hair.
Peter worms a hand between our bellies to grab my already firm erection. Working his thumb over the tip, he finds moisture to spread it over the spongy head. The feeling of that insistent, strong thumb is maddening. He knows how to please me well... I release his mouth. "Peter," I whisper softly in his ear.
"What do you want, Pop?" Peter inquires in a low voice, rough with desire.
"Suck me," I say and hear his breath falter for a moment. "But turn around so I can enjoy you the at the same time."
Eagerly he follows suit the action and I take him in my mouth again. A shiver steals up the back of my neck as I feel Peter's warm lips touch my manhood. Slowly I sink into the incredible hot, wet softness of my son's mouth. Peter moans; his lips move to pleasure me. To love me...
I feel Peter's fingers stroke my testicles and the insides of my thighs. I feel the silk of his hair cradled on my left thigh, the sweet caress of one hand moving over my ribs, stomach, flank and hip with just enough pressure not to tickle. I catch his hand and lace his fingers together with mine, completing the circuit of intimacy.
At the touch, Peter starts to rock his hips gently, thrusting his cock into my mouth as though he could not get enough. I match the rhythm and begin to rock also. Peter's free hand wraps itself around my straining manhood, one finger stroking all the way to the tip, even as he sucks.
I let go of Peter and lift myself enough on my free arm to watch my penis and that one, maddening finger disappear into Peter's mouth together. The motion disturbs the rhythm of my thrusts, but I stay apart from restraining my control, watch my body responds of its own accord while I float on a wave on pleasure. Tightness gathers in my testicles, Peter's hand moves from my manhood to caress my buttocks; our free hands still tightly interlaced. Wordlessly urging him to continue. Peter's fingers find their way into the crevice between my buttocks and slide deep, teasingly and I feel myself losing grip on everything but my son's hand. I will never, never ever, let it go...
Pulsing waves of pleasure, tumbled over each other like waves thrown to a beach by a storm, consume me. And I watch myself come, watch Peter drink from me, not sparing a single drop. For a moment it feels like he sucks my very life from me, leaving me drained and withered. But only for a moment, then my strength returns.
I lean down to drop a quick kiss on my son's jaw as Peter releases me; then I move back to take his still-hard penis in my mouth. I tease him and can tell by the quickening of his moans he is rapidly reaching the edge. I suck and lick him everywhere - his groin, his inner thighs, the heavy testicles squirming in their sacs, the soft skin beneath the scrotum - teasing, hinting at more...
Peter squirms under my ministrations, breathless whispering my name and words I do not quite catch. I move my free hand up to his chest, find the hard nipples, reach as far as to the base of his throat. I feel the pulse of life there, fast and light, in perfect rhythm with the pulse of the penis under my lips. I tongue the veins along the shaft, feel steel hardness grow impossibly harder, feel tight balls clench; hear Peter cry out almost pained...
And then my mouth is filled with sweetness, the thick liquid essence of Peter, and I drink it until there is no more to drink. The cock in my mouth pulses its joy. When it finally stills, I let it go. And breathe again.
Our hands are still joined. I lift them to my mouth and kiss Peter's fingertips one by one. Peter regards me out of wide eyes, completely open, completely filled with love.
I finally release what must be a bruising grip on Peter's hand and move up to lie next to my son. Peter molds itself into my side and lays a hand onto my chest. I run my fingers through his disarrayed hair; love the silky feel - and the permission to do this to my beloved. "You are beautiful," I whisper, teasing his earlobe with my lips. I let my lips travel down his face, caressing his temple, his cheek. Ravishing his mouth with mine.
Then I put a reign on my desire and lift my head to watch Peter's face. He smiles back at me, the open, innocent smile of his childhood years. But underneath his satisfaction I sense exhaustion. Peter needs to sleep. And I need to hold him.
I brush the bangs back from Peter's forehead and drop a kiss onto it. His eyes close. "Wo ai ni," I whisper. "Sleep now, my love."
"Wo ai ni," he echoes, his voice already soft with sleep. "Love you too, Pop..."
A shameful thought, born out of the even more despicable emotion of jealousy threads my serenity. Did he say the same words to Mai Chi? Did he... I bow my head in shame, close my eyes and force back the thought into the darkest recesses of my mind, where it was born. Pulling Peter closer to me, I too close my eyes.
I will not sleep tonight. I will remember it, so there will be a new tomorrow for Peter and me...