Chris considers himself a pretty sensible, responsible guy. For a seventeen year old anyway. He does his chores. He gets good grades. He only rebels enough to prove that he should be allowed to do more of what he wants cos look mom, the fishnet tights and assless pants didn’t result in getting arrested, told you so. This means he mostly gets to do what he wants, because his parents don’t think he’s doing anything. He’s gotten good at not raising suspicion.
Well, not parents, really. His mom and his stepdad, actually. Don’t get him wrong, Chris likes Tim. He’s...y’know, actually pretty cool as stepdads go. He’s just not what Chris pictures when someone says stepfather. That word conjures khaki slacks and argyle-knit cardigan sweaters, and Tim Sköld (the first time Chris had heard it he'd burst out laughing cos honestly what kinda fucking name is that? Sköld? He's never changing his surname from Cerulli, even if there's a fire) does not wear khakis. Actually that's not true either, he wears khakis and shirts to work, but as soon as he gets home he changes into all black, with jeans so tight Chris could probably tell his religion were he in a mood to look at that area. At weekends and on date nights he usually wears a lot of leather, and Chris is pretty sure he's the only one of his friends whose father figure has a mohawk and wears eyeshadow and more lipstick than his wife. They're not quite swapping make up tips or polishing their boots together, but having stuff in common with Tim is pretty cool.
How his mom, who's just like...a mom , ended up with a total übergoth, Chris will never know.
It happens just as Chris is about to head out for the night.
He’s in his mom’s room (mom and Tim’s room, he corrects himself), searching for his red eyeliner that his mom keeps stealing because it's actually her red lipliner. She’s out of town for a few weeks and he hopes she didn’t take it with her. He's rooting around on her dresser, minding his own business when -
“ Jesus, Chris! Knock much?” Tim yells, startling Chris who whirls round to see Tim, Tim who he forgot was home, fumbling with a towel. A towel that clearly wasn't around his waist to begin with. He's trying frantically to get it around his waist but he's wet and slippery and just out the shower so he keeps dropping the corner he's trying to tuck in. It's too late anyway. Chris has seen everything. No longer will he ever have to wonder what "religion" Tim is. There's a terrible beat of silence where they just fucking stare at each other before Chris finds his voice.
"I-uh, sorry I just, I- let me get the absolute FUCK out of your way," he mumbles, liner forgotten, whooshing past Tim and down the stairs and practically throwing himself out the front door. He sits on the kerb, hidden from the house by the wall and shrub, and thinks about what he saw while he waits for the guys to show up.
Mercifully he's not left with his own thoughts for long. Chris slides into the front seat of the car, not even noticing that his knees are practically at his ears. Or that Vinny was in the seat first, sending him scrambling into the back to sandwich himself between Ryan and Justin.
“You ok man?” Ryan asks, peering around the headrest to look at Chris. “You look kinda pale. Well, paler than usual.”
Chris blinks but stares straight ahead, still completely incapable of seeing anything other than Tim’s dick in his mind’s eye. “Uh, yeah. Yeah I’m fine.”
“Are you sure, Cos you look -”
“I said I’m fine! Can we drop it?” Chris barks. Ryan slowly sinks back into his seat. Ricky turns the engine over, and they drive to the mall in near silence.
They hang out behind the cinema and smoke shitty weed that Vinny scored from his brother. That's all Chris really absorbs from the night, because all he can think about is Tim's dick and the fact it's uncut and what is it like to suck an uncut dick? He stares at his phone, googling the random thoughts about his predicament that come into his head, until Justin grabs it and threatens to stuff it up his asshole if Chris doesn’t put it away. Chris knows better than to risk it, and pockets his phone for the rest of the night.
When he gets home, more buzzed on cock-fueled hysteria than Mike’s Hard Lemonade, Chris does his usual of taking off his boots by the door. He’s creeping past the closed bedroom door before he remembers his mom’s not home, so there’s no need to worry about waking her up with his stomping. Though Chris is amazed his mom can sleep through Tim’s snoring.
Tim’s snoring...that Chris can’t currently hear.
He pauses and looks at the door. There’s the faint glow of light coming under the door, and through the keyhole. Huh. Usually Tim and his mom sleep in the dark.
Wait. The key...hole. Chris’s brain tries to connect the dots through the haze of alcohol, knowing there’s something in there. Something interesting.
What if...you look. Through hole? There we go. The pieces finally slot into place.
Slowly, silently, he gets down on his knees, peering through the lock. He can’t see much, the room only illuminated by a bright laptop screen on the desk facing the door. It’s just visible past - oh god, just past Tim’s shoulder. Tim’s shoulder that’s bouncing up and down while he clearly jerks off. Every instinct in him is telling him to look away, to go to his room and just pretend this entire night hasn’t happened. And he very nearly does.
Until his eye manages to focus on what Tim’s jerking off to . It’s not hot goth chicks like Chris first assumed.
It’s hot goth guys.
Chris doesn’t even stand up, just stays on his knees and crawls to the bathroom where he falls asleep hugging the toilet.
The next morning brings everything back to Chris in one fell swoop. The phrase “I want to fuck my stepdad/I want my stepdad to fuck me,” goes round and round his brain like a Times’ Square marquee. His morning wood throbs and he doesn’t even have his eyes open before his hand's wrapped around it. Tim and his dick, of course, is the first image his hazy brain brings to the forefront, and Chris groans, frustrated. He’d kinda hoped he’d be over all the nonsense from last night by now, but no such luck. He’s just contemplating that and what it means and what he’s gonna fucking do about it when there’s a couple of solid thumps against the bathroom door.
“Chris!” Tim yells from the other side of the door. “Get out the fucking bathroom before I piss on you!”
Fuck . Chris’s gremlin brain is tempted to stay where he is to see if Tim’s serious, but he shits it at the last minute, standing and adjusting his erection before he opens the door.
“Hey, Tim, sorry man,” he mumbles as they pass. Tim shoves past him, locking the door behind him. As he turns to leave he remembers an idea he had last night. Now it’s Chris’s turn to shout through the door. “Hey, could I borrow your laptop? I’ve got some school shit to do and mine’s on the fritz.”
Tim groans loudly. “Yeah fine, whatever, just let me piss in peace!” Chris grins, slinking away from the door and into the empty master bedroom. Tim’s laptop is exactly where it was last night. He bundles it under his arm, wondering if Tim may have left the page he was on open.
Oh my god, he fucking did. Chris’s eyes nearly fall out of his fucking head as he quickly scrolls down the page. It’s fucking perfect; Chris already had a plan, but Tim forgetting to close his browser just adds a delicious twist of schadenfreude. He tabs over to a new page, typing in the site he’d bookmarked the night before. He’d mostly looked it up to see if it was something that other people felt, and not just in a pornographic way, but it sowed the seed for what he’s about to do.
A few hours and three frantic orgasms later, Chris casually wanders back into the bedroom and drops the laptop back on Tim’s desk. Leaving browser windows open really is a terrible habit...
When Justin comes over the next night, Chris has him on the bed and in his ass before Justin can even get his hoodie off. He rides him hard and fast, clamping a hand over Justin's mouth while he throws his head back and moans Tim’s name loud enough for the neighbours to hear. Justin stares up at Chris, eyebrows furrowed, but doesn’t try to stop him or ask what the fuck Chris is doing. Afterwards Chris just says “I'll explain later,” and laughs. Justin gives him a weak chuckle and shakes his head.
“Hey Tim, got a sec?”
Tim doesn’t look away from the TV, completely engrossed in one of those shows where they cut open dead bodies and poke their organs to find out how they died. “Uh, yeah, what?” he mumbles.
Putting on as pitiful a voice as he can, Chris lowers the bait. “I was playing ball with the guys last night and I think I’ve pulled something, would you, like...massage my thigh?”
“Wha- grlink,” is roughly what Tim says when he finally drags his eyes away from the screen to look at Chris.
Chris, who’s standing in just a t-shirt and boxer shorts, all long pale limbs and slightly knobbly knees. Tim’s eyes seem to get stuck somewhere near Chris’s thighs, which doesn’t surprise him; he’s not lanky like most boys his height, and he’s already six foot three at only seventeen. He’s got thick legs and more than a little ass, and lean muscular arms. Quite similar, in fact, to the guys Tim was jerking off to the other night. Huh. What a coincidence.
“Yeah my phys-ed teacher will kill me if I have to sit out another class so like, I really need this. If that’s ok, I mean,” he finishes hurriedly. Tim just opens and closes his mouth wordlessly a few times before just nodding at his lap. He doesn’t look at Chris as he lies down across it, thighs on thighs.
The way Tim’s hands shake a little when he touches Chris’s flesh is kinda adorable, but they’re strong and sure when they start to press. He’s done this before. Dutifully he does as Chris has asked, Chris occasionally saying “Higher, higher” until Tim’s practically massaging his taint. Jesus fuck, Chris’s feels his dick getting harder and harder and he can feel it pressing against Tim’s thigh, but Tim’s still just rubbing Chris’s leg. It’s a way more soothing action than Chris expected it to be.
The screech of the door buzzer breaks into the silence, and Tim stands up so quickly Chris nearly ends up on the floor, dashing out of the living room into the hall like his ass is on fire. Chris catches himself and scurries off to his bedroom to take care of his erection before Tim comes back in the room.
Tim goes out one night. It’s obviously not work related, given he’s dressed top to toe in black, including a pair of PVC pants so tight Chris wonders how much baby powder he had to use to get into them. He doesn’t give Chris much in the way of instructions, knowing he’s not going to throw any raging keggers or anything; he just warns him not to drink his expensive vodka and not to order any porn on the adult channels. Chris hears him but doesn’t remove his headset, just grunts acknowledgement to give Tim the impression that he’s super engrossed in playing Madden with the guys and not really paying attention. In reality he’s barely paying attention to the game or chat, instead waiting for the perfect time to drop his next hint.
Chris waits until Tim’s opening the front door, then says “Oh man yeah, same here, I fucking love rubbing my dick against PVC. It’s the fucking best!” loudly into his mic. Is it a clever line? No. But did it sound convincing? Well, there’s a beat of silence both in the room and in Chris’s ear, before the front door slams so hard the pictures on the wall shake. Chris just laughs when the guys ask what the fuck just happened and says he’ll explain later.
Later, Chris is heading to bed when, as he’s walking past his mum and Tim’s room, he notices a tshirt lying on the floor just inside the doorway. Huh. Not like Tim to be so sloppy. He bends to scoop it up and he’s about to dump it on the laundry pile when he realises what shirt it is. It’s one Chris has had his eye on for ages now, black with a silvery-grey wolf and the name of Tim’s band on it (which is just Tim’s surname without the weird punctuation. It’s always struck Chris as kinda egotistical and also pretty awesome). He rubs the fabric with his thumbs, savouring the soft, well-worn texture.
Later, he’ll swear his hand got down his sweats of its own accord. Same as how the shirt got wrapped around his dick when he started jerking off. The print scratches his skin a little but it still feels ridiculously fucking good. Chris has to reach out and lean one shaking hand against the wall to keep himself upright while he fucks his hand, imagining Tim doing it for him. Tim’s hand around his dick. Tim’s fingers in his ass. Tim’s dick in his ass. Practically every combination he can think of crosses his mind at least once, pushing him closer and closer until he finally blows and comes so hard his knees nearly give out.
After, he doesn’t quite drape the shirt blatantly on top of the laundry pile, but he doesn’t exactly drop it haphazardly. It’s just intentional enough that Tim wouldn’t see it instantly, but he will see it...
Rickard Horréur: You ready to go man? We’re nearly at yours x
Chris reads the text from Ricky as he crams a forkful of pasta into his mouth, texting back that he just needs five minutes, one handed while he pats his pockets to double check he picked up his lipstick to reapply. He was gonna just grab something at the mall with the guys but Tim had insisted that he eat at home. Had come home from work and made Chris’s favourite vegan mac and cheese before he even got changed. It was a bit weird but Chris isn’t gonna argue if it saves him money.
So engrossed in trying to text is he, that he doesn’t even notice Tim come back into the kitchen.
The fork clatters onto the table as Chris drops it in fright. He’s never heard Tim’s voice like that. He sounds like fucking Pinhead. He looks to the side to where Tim’s standing right next to his fucking chair and holy shit, Tim fucking looks like Pinhead. He’s wearing a shirt that has separate sleeves held on by thick straps that make his shoulders look fucking huge, and it clings to every single firm muscle, all the way down to -
Chris’s mouth goes dry. Tim’s wearing black skin-tight pants. Specifically, the black skin-tight pvc pants. Oh. Oh fuuuuuuuck , he thinks, the reality of the consequences of his actions hitting him like a bus. What have I done?
Before Chris can even open his mouth, Tim’s holding a hand up to silence him. “Stand up, undo your pants, and turn around, hands on the table.”
He does as he’s told, knees shaking, trying to lick his lips. He can’t look Tim in the eye. Nothing could have prepared him for actually getting what he wanted, and now Chris isn’t sure he wants it after all.
“I always knew you were a fucking brat,” Tim sneers, and Chris gasps, certain parts of his body jerking awake. Fingers snake into both waistbands, tugging his pants and boxers down under the curve of his ass. “You act like butter wouldn’t melt, but I knew better. You’re a little fucking freak,” Tim punctuates the sentence by grabbing a handful of asscheek so hard Chris has to bite his lip to keep from yelling, fingers white-knuckle gripping the edge of the table.”I told your mother you needed discipline but she wouldn’t let me.” Letting go he leans in, right up close to Chris’s ear. So close Chris can feel damp breath against his skin. He whimpers. “Well, she’s not here to stop me right now, is she?”
There’s no time for Chris to react before Tim’s slamming him down against the table, one hand flat between his shoulder blades. There’s the sound of saliva being hocked from the back of Tim’s throat, then two wet fingers are tracing his hole. There’s no preamble, no build-up. Tim just rams both fingers inside Chris, barely giving him a second to adjust before he starts fucking them in and out over and over.
“Is this what you wanted?” Tim pants. Chris doesn’t answer, so Tim stabs his fingers right against his prostate, making him howl. “I asked you a question, Chris. I expect an answer.”
He nods frantically. “Yeah, yeah, I wanted this.”
The sneer in Tim’s voice is practically audible. “You little slut. You’re fucking sick, you know that? Good kids don’t want to fuck their stepdaddies. I bet you thought you were being clever, being so - so blatant. Leaving your fucking porn site tabs open on my laptop? I half expected you to drop a pencil and bend over with no underwear, that’s how uninspired your attempts at getting me to notice you were.” Chris gasps as Tim moves his hand and scruffs him hard by the back of the neck, fingers making grotesque squelching noises as he fucks them back and forth faster and faster, dragging the tips over his prostate every so often. “I almost hoped you would. Planned what I’d do if you did. You wanna know?”
Fuck, the shame that washes over Chris at that makes him weak at the knees, because yeah, yeah he really wants to know. Tears streak down his face as he tries to find his words. His dick’s fucking aching. “Yes,” he pants, “Please, Tim, tell me.”
Those fingers pinch tighter on his neck. “Was gonna bend you over the couch and eat you out til you were fucking dripping,” That makes Chris whine brokenly. Tim doesn’t stop. “Then pull you over my lap and slam that pretty little ass down on my cock over and over and over . Make you fucking scream my name and beg for more like the little slut you are. Fuckin’ fantasized about it so many times. Why the fuck do you think I jerk off to guys that look just like you?”
Chris just sobs openly. His ass is on fire, straddling that line between pleasure and pain that’s blocking out any and all external stimuli. Until Tim leans in and licks a flat stripe up his foundationed cheek. Now he can feel his dick drooling in his boxers, and he knows if Tim doesn’t give him a second he’s going to make a mess. Suddenly there’s a loud honk from outside, and Chris’s heart speeds up. The guys are here. There’s no time to get changed if he creams his underwear. “Please,” he begs, “Please, let me get my dick out.”
Tim laughs, a cruel note to it. “Nope. You’re gonna come in your pants then go out with your little friends, like the disgusting creature you are. Maybe that’ll teach you about what is and isn’t appropriate to use as a cumrag.”
The words and motions hit their mark, and Chris starts to come unraveled. The long low groan that comes out hurts his throat and his stomach turns when he feels his own come start to soak into the fabric of his underwear, running down his shaking thighs, making him feel every bit as disgusting as Tim told him he is.
Chris grunts as Tim pulls his fingers out, rough and fast. His fingers tremble when he tries to fasten his pants again, rubbing the tears and snot off his face with the back of his hand. Chris knows his makeup must look awful now but he doesn’t have the energy left to care. He glances around behind him, seeing Tim washing his hands in the kitchen sink. His voice is practically devoid of emotion when he speaks to Chris again.
“Don’t be out late. I think we’ll need to continue this conversation before bedtime.” Tim’s voice cuts through him. Chris just nods shakily and limps out the front door.
“What the fuck happened to you?” Ricky asks, and Chris can feel all his friends eyes on him, burning like the fucking sun. He catches a glance of his tear-stained face and ruined makeup in the rear view mirror, but can’t meet his own eyes.
“...I’ll explain later.”