author: Lady Charena
fandom: Kung Fu - the legend continues
codes: P/P, NC-17
archive: TOSTwins - others just ask
sum: Just a little trip, some campsite loving
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 -->
And all the love I needed to give
finally found a home
you've given me a reason to live
can't go back
don't let go
I found myself in you
(Beverley Craven - lost without you)
This time the area was free of wanderers and criminals, much to Peter's relief. He didn't want another run-in this time. They would have no more than an over-night trip out here in the woods and he was determined to make it a good trip for both of them.
Peter returned with an armful of wood to tend the fire. Caine was cooking over the portable stove, Peter had insisted to buy. A decision he had come to curse during the day, when his backpack seemed to get heavier with every step. Much to his father's amusement. Well, the delicious smell coming from that pot his dad was busy stirring made worth the effort. Caine seemed to take a genuine pleasure out of the simple task preparing a meal for his son and himself to share.
Their camp nestled in a grassy hollow, sheltered by a ring of old, high trees, creating a natural clearing. Beneath the low-bending branches Peter had built up their tent - it was too cool to bivouac tonight.
Peter simply stood there, watching his dad. Caine stirred the vegetable stew meditatively, obviously lost to his surroundings, while the evening peace settled around them. A warm glow sparked to live inside Peter's chest. He went towards the fire and dropped the wood.
Caine lifted his face to stare over to the trees. Shadows in his eyes sent Peter in a beeline over to his father's side. "What's bothering you, love?"
Uncharacteristically, Caine started, lost in thoughts he hadn't consciously noticed Peter's presence. A concerned hand settled on his shoulder. "Only that you have not eaten since this morning. Take this dish."
Peter settled down close by. "Thanks, Pop. I'll be sure to finish it all." He started to dish out the stew, handing one of the plates to his father. "Mmm. This is great stew. I'm a lucky man."
"In what particular respect?" A small smile played around Caine's lips.
"I'm in love with a good cook. Will save me hours of misery in all the years to come - all I can cook is coffee."
Caine blinked in astonishment. Surely, they were not yet so mentally attuned that Peter had read his earlier thought? Peter smiled at him, innocently. Then realization of the actual words sank in, and the priest stretched out his hand. Stew dishes were discarded as the two reached for each other.
"You didn't doubt it, did you? That we will stay together for a very long time. For ever." Peter said, slightly breathless from the intensity in his father's eyes.
Caine shook his head, and swallowed. "It pleases me to hear you say the words, Peter."
Peter bit his lip, rested his forehead against his lover's and traced one side of his face with a fingertip. "I guess I better tell you I'm in love with you, then. And that I've never been so happy in my life, that it scares me, and that I'll never let you go."
An eagerly questing mouth fastened on his, the kiss deepened swiftly and he felt the sensory echoes throughout his body. Peter was hungry for his father, working their mouth together, tongue entering and withdrawing with gentle insistence. Weight settled on top of him, and his neck received loving attention.
"Let's hurry eating, Pop," Peter whispered. "I want you in that tent."
* * *
Caine looked up at the body of his son, his love, quivering over him, every muscle defined in fluid bronze from the passing summer's sun, thighs taunt and manhood arched out above him. It glistened with the moisture of Caine's own mouth. Peter's chest was heaving, and the intensity in his eyes was almost too bright to bear. Instead, Caine looked at his son's cock, the smooth, flared head flushed dusty pink, the dark vein on the under-side, the shining droplet weeping from the tiny slit. Longing to taste again, Caine opened his mouth, and Peter leaned down, in perfect harmony with his father, grasped his head and thrust into his mouth once more. Pressure stretching his throat – he groaned around the invader, as Peter rocked forward three, four, five times.
Peter's eyes were half-closed, tousled head swaying. They had been doing this for a long time. It was like some hypnotic dance. Peter withdrew again, pinched Caine's nipples hard, and rocked back, rubbing himself against the priest's own hard length, clenching his buttocks tantalizing around the shaft, never gripping hard enough, with his knees straddling Caine's hips.
Peter opened himself wider and rubbed against Caine's cock. The Shaolin felt the warmth of the puckered opening against his flesh, bathed by his slippery pre-ejaculate. A gasp hissed through his clenched teeth. Peter's heavy lids lifted and he gave his father a look of liquid fire. Holding that gaze, he reached slowly back and grasped Caine`s rigid shaft in his hand. Caine squirmed.
"Please, please, Peter..." the breathless whisper was torn from him as Peter shifted his weight and angled Caine's penis towards his anus. Slowly, slowly he eased downwards, mouth opening involuntarily, groaning.
"Pop, love you... love you..." Peter threw his head back as Caine, fully unsheathed, grasped his bucking hips and thrust upwards.
With one firm stroke of his hand, Peter came with a wild cry, his semen falling across Caine's chest as Caine lost himself in the inferno of orgasm.
* * *
A long time later, rolled in their nest of blankets and soothed by rhythmic stroking of his shoulders, Caine's thoughts began to settle, to be grounded, leaving the place of light to which their lovemaking had transported him. He kissed Peter's collar-bone, then licked at the salty taste of his skin. Peter pressed his face into Caine's hair.
"I love how you smell, Pop."
"That is fortunate," Caine replied with feigned seriousness.
Quiet laughter. "Gods, you are fantastic, Pop. I mean it - demanding, responsive, strong, mmmm, your strength excites me."
Against Peter's shoulder, Caine smiled. "Your stamina surprises me."
"No kidding, Pop, not right now."
Cuddling, snuggling, were such expressive words, thought Caine somehow fuzzily as sleep crept upon them.
"I love being alone here with you," Peter murmured dreamily. "No pain-in-the-ass criminals, no phones, no..."
"Peter, go to sleep."
Peter felt the tug of sleep and he surrendered, eyes closing, the warmth of their bed, the safety of the arms around him and the scent of Caine's hair quickly carrying him away. He didn't even notice the kiss to his forehead.